I'd already sat down by the time Matt finally finished finding all the change from his pocket to pay bus fare. The bus had started moving toward its next stop, which was a busy one judging by all the people starting to get up. He wove between them, moving gracefully, like it was some kind of dance. Until he flung himself into the seat next to mine.

"So what was Washington like?" he asked suddenly full of enthusiasm.

I ignored him.

"What are your hobbies? Do you have any siblings? Favorite food? Favorite book?"

He went on for a few minutes as I stared pointedly out the window. I almost wondered if people thought he might be bothering me, and try to stop him. Like he was harassing me, or some sort of stalker.

"...Favorite teacher? Least Favorite subject? Here's our stop by the way," he said, springing up towards the door. I almost missed it in the never ending flurry of unanswered questions. By the time I got down the stairs of the bus, he was actually pirouetting on the side of a planter.

"How old are you? Like six?" I finally broke my silence to ask.

"I'm seventeen, but I'm young for my age," he said, jumping lightly down to the ground. "So is my silent treatment over?"

I didn't answer. I was upset at myself for breaking it for that one snide comment. There really wasn't any reason to make fun of him anyhow, it was petty of me.

"Just in a bad mood?" he asked, beating me to my own thought. We walked through a set of double doors, into a single room with a large counter running most of its length.

He walked up to the counter, where a greasy looking man who plainly had a great deal of experience with food was standing behind a register.

"I'll have meat bomb and two drinks."

"Got a date or something, Matt?"

"You know me, such a lady's man." They both laughed as if it was some terrific joke.

"So, I've decided to pick a more potent topic to get you to talk to me," Matt announced as we arrived at the table.

"What do you want to drink? That's not the topic, I just realized I forgot to get drinks before I sat down. The topic is Edward," he announced, then he sighed theatrically, as if he was some love struck fan swooning over a movie star. Now I had reason to be mad at him. I glared at his back as he weaved his way to the soda fountain. He got coke and lemonade, since I had still refused to answer.

"How did you and Edward meet?"

I thought back to that first day, seeing him across the cafeteria, the biology class where it looked like he hated me, as if he saw me as I truly was, like he did when he finally left. No, stop thinking like that. He had some reason, you just don't know it. I tried to convince myself, but it was really just that I wanted to believe it so badly that it had any kind of chance. It didn't seem particularly true.

Meanwhile, Matt was examining me, as if he could somehow get an answer from my silence.

"Ok, I can talk about me, if you don't even want to talk about Edward. I thought for sure that would get a word out." He seemed confused that it hadn't.

"I was born in Mississippi, but moved here to Jacksonville with my father when my parents split up. That was when I was two. I don't really have any memories of ever having lived anywhere else than here. I don't remember my mother very well."

"I used to be more normal, played baseball, had lots of friends. I'm still a straight A student that loves to read. I also love playing cards, and you can expect me to have at least one standard fifty two card deck on me at all times. So now, you talk," he said, flourishing his hands at me as if tossing a ball, or a will to communicate.

"If you don't ask any questions, I won't answer them. I dislike talking about it enough that if you give me an excuse I won't."

"How do you know anything about Edward?"

"Well some of it is just observation. I expect, for example, that he was a good pianist, considering where Tim and I found you. I think he might not have eaten much, though that might just be some self esteem issue. Judging by the way you react to being held or caught, he must have been quick, since you made it clear that it wasn't my place to do it."

"How did you know what he looks like?" I demanded, enunciating each word.

He fidgeted, twirling his fork through his fingers.

"I don't know."

"You don't know?" Hadn't he said he'd answer my questions, as long as I asked them?

"It just felt right, like that was how he was supposed to look." He seemed incredibly nervous, as if this whole thing made him very uncomfortable.

"Why does it even matter how I knew? How do we know things anyhow?"

"You learn them."

"Not everything. How do you walk?"

"What?"

"Tell me how to walk. You can tell me to put one foot in front of the other over and over again, but I don't know how to move the muscle. It just moves."

"Those aren't the same."

"Well, why not?"

"They just aren't," I said, feeling stupid for the answer. "Ones something you remember, the other is an, I don't know, an unconscious process I guess."

"Well, maybe I remember things wrong. I've never been very good at remembering."

"So you remember things you shouldn't?" What if he knew "remembered" they were vampires? Did he know already? How much trouble could he cause the Cullens? I shook slightly as I wondered.

How much trouble could he cause Edward?

"I don't know how it works," he said, as a large rectangular pizza with pepperoni, ham, sausage, and several meats I couldn't readily identify thick on top of it.

I let him eat in peace while I pondered how to protect Edward from someone who didn't even realize what a threat he posed to the people I loved. They left so that I wouldn't complicate their lives, I would make sure that this didn't either.

Author's note: Don't worry, the mechanics and causes of Matt's "feelings" will come up lots more, I promise it'll get clearer. If anyone has any guesses, I'd love to hear them. I'll tell you if you guess right. And maybe come up with some other suitable prize.