He watched her even closer that day. If he'd thought it strange to pull of the necessity of such juvenile minds as her peers and teachers to watch her earlier, now he found himself nearly incapable of taking part in classes because his attention was diverted to only those near her.

Which was when he realized something baffling: Bella was clumsy.

It was true that she did seem to have problems staying upright. She managed to drop things more often than most of the people near her. She stumbled over her own books, the cracks in the side walk, the dividers in flooring, and even her own feet.

She had been on the floor and more than once shrieked at the drink in her hands.

Edward burst out loud laughing when he realized it was true, startling his entire English class.

Thankfully the bell was only a short pause of purgatory before he was free for lunch.

He raced, faster than a blur that might be seen, to the cafeteria. He could hear the racing feet far behind him still as he surveyed the empty domain, eyes raking over the table his family took usually. Then he took a seat at a table on the opposite side of the room, hands settled on the table as he watched the doors open for the flood of children.

Many of them gave him no notice. Some noticed it only to dismiss it as another one of those strange Cullen things. His siblings passed him in a silent, graceful march to their normal table, each with their own thoughts on the subject. He only snapped at Alice for her exuberant hopeful one. He could at least understand and appreciate all of the others considering that he'd finally lost his mind.

She'd still reminded him of the Biology Lab.

How annoying it was to be reminded that there would be another hour in which he could only watch her from a distance, through others eyes and filters, but there could come no good out of any Cullen being a room where Blood Typing was going on. He was grateful even as he found the occurrence to be bothersome to his other plans.

But then Bella walked in, looking across the room, with an expression of such exquisite sadness he couldn't think of anything else. He longed to get up and cross the room, lift her chin upward, to comfort her somehow. What could have affected her with such sudden seriousness? How did she like to be comforted? And was it even possible that she'd let him?

He studied her from a distance, trying to tune out the incessant chatter of Jessica's words and thoughts, wondering why she got so little for lunch. Certainly she should have needed more –something, anything – her body had thousands of processes that needed fuel to continue running. He'd only begun to contemplate just how exasperatingly fragile and complicated her system would be based on his medical background when Jessica pointed out he was staring.

He wondered briefly, if he'd been human, would he have flushed or felt the need to look away.

He only stared harder, waiting those agonizing two seconds, for Bella's reaction.

The snap of her head and the sudden demeanor change; her sadness gone.

That was far more than he'd expected. It left him….hopeful.

Edward crooked a finger and beckoned her over.

Bella's excuses to Jessica for his attention were expected, though he had to marvel once more than she didn't know at all what his reasons were. That she had no bearing to understand what all had taken place in him over the night. That the mad tenderness he felt in conflict with his morals and her scent had no relation to the anything he'd done before this last twenty four hours.

But then she stumbled twice on the perfectly even linoleum and he found himself smiling widely.

"I think your friends are angry at me for stealing you."

"They'll survive."

"I may not give you back, though."

"You looked worried."

"No. Surprised, actually…What brought this on?"

"I told you. I got tired of trying to stay away from you. So I'm giving up."

"Giving up?"

"Yes—giving up trying to be good. I'm just going to let the chips fall where they may."

"You lost me again."

"I always say too much when I'm talking to you—that's one of the problems."

"Don't worry. I don't understand any of it."

"I'm counting on that."

"That's really frustrating, you know."

"No, I can't imagine why that would be frustrating at all—just because someone refuses to tell you what they're thinking, even if all the while they're making cryptic little remarks specifically designed to keep you up at night wondering what they could possibly mean…now, why would that be frustrating? Or better, say that person also did a wide range of bizarre things—from saving your life under impossible circumstances one day to treating you like a pariah the next, and he never explained any of that either, even after he promised. That, also, would be very non-frustrating."

"You've got a bit of a temper, don't you?"

"I don't like double standards."

"No spiders?"

"Nope."

"And no radio activity?"

"Nope."

"Dang."

"Kryptonite doesn't bother me either."

"You're not supposed to laugh remember? I'll figure it out eventually."

"I wish you wouldn't try."

When she ran off to Biology, like a responsible high school student, Edward sat there at the table watching until her back and long brown hair vanished around the corner. Then watched her as she passed dozens of people through the hallway, different shots from different heights and varying states of being busy.

All the while breathing in the wildfire inducing scent of her as it lingered in the air around his table, his fingers still spinning the lid of her lemonade like a top.

He'd said too much.

He hadn't said nearly enough.

He ached with her absence and it hadn't been minutes yet.

Standing, Edward slipped the lid into his pocket and headed toward the parking lot to wait for his next class.