Stephenie Meyer will always own Twilight.

Chapter 9 – Who's Your Best Friend(s)?


"Oh, no, you're not," Alice says, tugging it away and shoving it into her backpack. "I'll retire it when you're done, but this will make a complete set. I'm keeping them forever as blackmail material in case anyone from our class ever gets famous."

I laugh. "Jesus, I'm glad I'm your BFF. You're evil."

She shrugs. "I prefer conniving."

"Give it back. I won't burn it."

"Swear it."

"Fine," I say. "I swear I won't burn or maim the book."

She hands it over. "You're almost done, anyway."

The cheerleaders take over the floor, so I put it away. After their routine, we're dismissed to lunch. I bring out the book, flip to the end, and then flip it backwards to get to the next question.

Who's your best friend(s)?

Jessica finds us in the cafeteria and sits across from me. "I'm going to the dance with Mike, okay? I know you can't stand him, but he's cute and nice when he's—"

"Not around other people?" I finish.

She frowns. "I like him."

I sigh. "It's cool. It's not like I'm going."

"You guys can double with us," Alice says.

Edward and Jasper cross the room, both looking everywhere but at our table. Eric and Bree go through the food line together, and Mike waves to Jessica on his way past our table to sit with Edward and most of the boys' basketball team.

Jessica smiles, nods at Alice, and glances down at the pages spread in front of me. "Oh, my God. Is that a slam book?"

"Yes," I say, writing Alice's name and hers before shoving the notebook into my backpack.

"I'm next," she says. The rest of her squad walks toward us, toned legs and bangs for miles. "I've gotta go. You're coming to the game, right?"

"Wouldn't miss it." I stare across the cafeteria at Edward Masen instead of her and watch him wad his brown paper lunch sack and launch it into the garbage can six feet away.

Some of his fangirls clap and chirp. He glances around taking inventory. Our eyes meet long enough to jar us both. Jessica leaves, and the basketball team members follow suit. The rest of us dismiss to class when the bell rings.

Alice heads to study hall, and I climb the stairs at a snail's pace on the way to history. Mr. Dawson waits for the bell to ring, closes the door behind him on his way into the classroom, and takes attendance.

We remind him which kids are on the basketball team, which ones cheer, and which ones are probably cutting class to smoke in the woods beyond the football field. When he's done, he tells us to use our abbreviated class time to start the review guide for the next section.

"Do as much as you can now and finish the rest as homework," he says. "We'll go over them Friday, so you have a few days."

Most of my classmates don't bother, since it's a short class because of the game. I take my book out and find a pen.

Emmett hands his study guide to the cute sophomore sitting across from me and in front of him. She blushes, nods, and sets to work. I roll my eyes, and he grins and shrugs.

"My parents are spending the weekend away at some golf resort outside Seattle," he says to me. "Party at my house. Saturday at 8:00." He's a giant linebacker, the town rich kid, and a professional kegger-thrower. His parties are rare but legendary.

"Maybe," I say. "I'm supposed to go dress shopping with Alice and Jess."

"They're invited too," he says. "Come over when you're done. Everyone will be there." Sophomore girl looks back at him with hope, and he winks. "You're illegal—cute but illegal. Sorry."

Her smile sours, and she shoves his unfinished study guide under his nose. He snatches it and grins. The bell rings, and we file out of the room toward the gym to the game.

The crowds in the hall part, clearing a path for Emmett as he goes, so I tuck in behind him and follow him all the way. We walk in together, but Coach Cullen waves me over.

"See ya," I say to Emmett.

"Later." He points two fingers in a half wave and keeps going.

"Yeah, Coach?" I ask on approach.

"Can you handle the scorebook? Coach Platt is running the scoreboard. You can sit with her next to the team, or you can sit up in the stands."

"Sure." I take the thick book from him and make my way across the court to Coach Platt's table. She flips her long auburn hair over her shoulder, eyes Coach Cullen head to toe, and licks her lips midway through the trip. "Hey, Coach," I say. She blushes and pats the empty chair next to her.

"Hey, Bella. Are you ready for our game tomorrow?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good… Good…"

I watch the boys' team walk in, shed their windbreakers, and loosen up. She stares at Coach Cullen's backside until tip-off.

Edward steps into the jump circle, facing off against a guy his height and build but not nearly as fine. The ref gives them a word or two, nods, and throws the ball into the air. Both boys push off the ground, reaching for the sky, and it's Edward's slender fingers that make purchase.

Jasper transforms from goofball to menace, takes possession, and the ball is in play.


A/N – Technically, it's Saturday. Blame the dead of night posting on Silky O'Sullivan's St. Patrick's Day Parade. If you read Rest My Soul, you know exactly what I'm talking about. I'll be spending the daylight hours in Memphis – on Beale – eating and drinking too much. Probably.

Thanks to Iris for fixing all the things and to y'all for reading and reviewing.

See you soon.

MSC