Stephenie Meyer will always own Twilight.
Chapter 11 – What Are You Good At?
"Good game yesterday," I say to Edward before he even has time to unzip his backpack.
"Freeze, people," Banner says at the front of the classroom. Every head turns. "You don't need your books. We're watching a film." He pushes a VHS cassette into the player on the cart with the television at the front of the room.
Edward drops his backpack on the ground. I put mine on the lab table and rest my crossed arms on it. Our stools are positioned so close that our thighs brush under the table.
"Sorry." Edward leans away and stares straight ahead through the entire protein synthesis cartoon.
His cologne is a light compliment to his natural soap and Gain combination. My eyes slip closed long enough for me to become disoriented enough to almost fall off my stool when I jerk awake. Edward's arm shoots out to steady me, and I whisper my thanks and face forward.
When the credits roll, Mr. Banner flips the lights back on, and all of us blink and stretch. I take a tube of strawberry lip gloss from my pencil bag. Edward watches the roll-on ball glide across my lips, and I smack them together when I'm done.
He blinks. "Uh… Bella?"
"Yeah?"
He exhales, grimaces, and rubs the back of his neck. "Would you…? I'm going to be in Seattle for the next couple of days to tour the UW campus. Can I copy your notes when I get back?"
"Oh, wow. That was fast."
"What?" His eyebrows crinkle. "My mom set this up weeks ago. We're leaving this afternoon."
"Oh," I say again.
"After the game, of course." He grins and slings his backpack over his shoulder. "Good luck."
I trudge to the cafeteria, follow Alice and Jessica through the lunch line, and ignore my food to finish the slam book instead.
The next few questions are generic.
What do you want to be when you "grow up?"
No clue.
Where do you want to live?
In the desert or somewhere it doesn't rain every other stupid day
Who do you admire?
Senda Berenson and Michael Jordan.
What are you good at?
Basketball.
I scribble my signature on the sign-out page, close the book, and push it across the table to Jessica. I keep my hand on it when she tries to take it.
"Retire it when you're done," I say. "Cross your heart."
She looks at me, Alice, and then down at the silly evil book between us. "Fine," she says, slashing her pointer finger in an X over her chest. "Cross my heart." She flips through the pages without even looking at them, and I consider taking it back from her.
A/N – Happy hump day. I have to work Saturday, which super duper sucks. I'll still post, but it will likely be later in the day. I'm sorry in advance.
Thanks to Iris for fixing all the things. And for other, secret, things y'all don't know about. Yet.
See you this weekend.
MSC