Everyone watched the boys as they walked to their lab table. Edward no longer angled the chair away. Instead, he sat quite close to Beau, their shoulders almost touching.

Mr. Banner arrived wheeling a clunky television and VCR into the room. A movie day—the lift in the class atmosphere was almost tangible. Spring break was coming up and clearly the students weren't the only ones counting down the days.

Then, as soon as the room darkened, Beau was suddenly aware that Edward was sitting less than an inch from him. He was stunned by the unexpected electricity that flowed between them. He swore he could almost hear the air crackling with heat as a crazy impulse to touch Edward nearly overwhelmed him. Beau crossed his arms tightly across his chest to stifle this impulse. He was damned-near losing his mind.

The opening credits began and lit the room by a fraction. Beau started to smile sheepishly when he realized that Edward sat in an identical manner, fists clenched under the arms, sneaking a sideways glance in his direction. They grinned at each other and looked away.

The hour dragged on and on. He expected the electric current to slacken, to get just a moment of relief, but it never happened. The overpowering craving to touch him also refused to go away. His fingers ached with the effort of resisting. He wondered if this was how Edward felt all the time, being so tempted by blood. It must have been agonizing; Beau could barely make it through a class period.

"Well, that was interesting," Edward murmured after the bell rang.

"Umm," was all he could manage to reply. Beau took some comfort in knowing he wasn't the only one struggling.

The two paused at the gymnasium door to say goodbye. Edward's face was startling—he looked torn, almost pained, and so fiercely beautiful that the ache to touch him was nearly too much. Their farewell, if only for an hour, seemed like an impossible undertaking.

Edward raised his hand, hesitant, conflict raging in his eyes. Then he brushed the length of Beau's cheekbone with his fingertips. Edward's touch was icy as ever, but the trail his fingers left was alarmingly warm—like Beau had been burned, but didn't feel the pain of it yet. Then Edward turned away without a word. Beau backed into the gym, lightheaded and wobbly, drifting into the locker room as if in a trance.

Reality didn't fully set in until Coach Clapp marched the class to the corner where a handful of blue floor mats waited.

An audible hush fell over the students when he pointed up in the air. Four ropes were dangling from the rafters. Each rope was thick, knotted, and crowned with a bell at the top. Someone in the back of the group whimpered. Coach Clapp flashed them all a broad smile, clearly enjoying their discomfort.

"Rope climbing is a test of mental and physical strength," he boomed. "It is not for the faint of heart. Unfortunately for some of you, the rope is also a requirement for this term. Now line up, we don't have a lot of time—you don't have to ask me to go to the bathroom, Yorkie."

"No, Coach Clapp, it's not that. I have asthma, so I don't think I can—"

"No excuses in my gym, Yorkie. Just don't hold your breath. You're spotting first."

Beau sighed when he and Mike were picked to start the exercise. The two shared an uneasy glance before reaching for their ropes. Lee and Eric stood as their spotters on the floor. Beau prayed Eric's asthma attack would hold off until he was safely on the ground again.

"So," Mike said as they inched up the rope. Below, the class grew smaller and smaller, as Lee and Eric held steady, for now.

"So what?"

"You . . . and . . . Cullen, huh?"

"That's none of your business, Mike," Beau huffed as his patience from the morning disappeared.

Mike's face was almost purple as he struggled with his grip. "I don't like it."

"You don't have to."

"Hurry up, boys!" Coach Clapp shouted from the ground. "Time's ticking!"

Beau felt his whole body straining with the effort. The bell was an arm's length away, but he paid no attention to it, the anger bubbling in his chest.

"What's it to you, anyway? You got what you wanted. You have Jessica and now you're the big man on campus again."

"That's not what I want," Mike gasped, one arm reaching in desperation, but he was still a few inches short of his bell. Beau watched him struggle for a moment longer before ringing the bell above his own head. Clapp whooped and led a round of applause from the gym floor. In spite of himself, Beau grinned.

Mike scowled and began to shimmy down the rope so fast that Beau could barely keep up.

"What's your problem, then?"

"You think I want to be the second choice? The default big man?"

"Mike—"

"First, you come here and steal my spot on the baseball team, but you don't want it. Then, when Jessica drapes herself all over you, you're not interested. Now you're dating Cullen, and you're still Superman! You can't even let me win in Gym!"

"Guys," Eric wheezed. "Can you pick up the pace—"

"Shut up," Mike snapped, then jumped the last five feet onto the mats. He stumbled, lost his balance, and slammed into Eric, who pulled the rope taut on his way down to the floor. Beau yelped as the rope slashed his palms, and unable to hold on any longer, fell onto the mats in a heap with the other boys. Lee, for no other reason than being in the wrong place at the wrong time, fainted.

"Damn it," Coach Clapp groaned. "Newton, get up. Take Yorkie to the nurse before he asphyxiates to death."

"What about Lee, sir?"

"Crowley, get Stephens. I don't want another note from his mother about my methods. Swan, a word. Everyone else, take a lap!"

The rest of the class scurried away at his threatening tone. Beau stepped back to make room for a laboring Eric, a glaring Mike, an unconscious Lee, and a smirking Tyler.

"What's wrong, Beau? Lovers' quarrel?"

"Keep moving, Crowley," Coach Clapp barked. He waited until the four were out of earshot before turning back to Beau. His tone was surprisingly kind. "Are you okay, son?"

"My hands are fine, sir," Beau muttered. "I've had worse."

"I wasn't talking about your hands."

"I'm fine, sir. Really."

Beau stared at his shoes, the floor, anything to avoid looking into the eyes of a concerned authority figure. The silence wore on until Coach Clapp's voice returned to its usual gruffness.

"Hit the showers, Swan. You're done for the day."

Beau showered quickly and spent the rest of class glowering at the ropes. The exercise was completely barbaric. Wasn't the school afraid of being sued?

What made Lee Stephens faint all the time, anyway?

Did Beau have to baby his straight sort-of-friends every time he did something for himself? Was that the price of being part of this crowd?

Then his thoughts took a different turn: would Edward be waiting for him, or should he go straight to the Volvo? Would the other Cullens be there? Did they know that he was in on their secret?

He jumped up at the sound of the final bell and hurried out of the gymnasium. There stood the answer to one of his questions. Edward was waiting for him outside of the building, his expression untroubled. As Beau walked to his side, he felt a peculiar sense of release. Like everything from the past hour was unimportant.

"Hi."

"Hello." The answering smile was brilliant. "How was Gym?"

"Fine," Beau lied. He thought that word might start to lose its meaning for him.

"Really?" Edward was unconvinced. His amber eyes shifted their focus, narrowing, and focused on the doors over Beau's shoulders.

"What?"

"Newton's getting on my nerves."

Beau groaned and turned for the parking lot. "Are you listening again?"

Edward's smile broadened as they walked. "You seem to enjoy Gym class, so my curiosity got the better of me. I thought you looked very masterful climbing that rope. Well, until you fell on Eric Yorkie."

"I'm sure that made you jealous," he said sarcastically. "Me falling into a big pile of guys."

"Of course it did," Edward offered. "You can fall into my arms anytime."

Beau blushed furiously in response. They walked in silence—a mortified silence on his part—to the car. A small crowd of boys awaited them near the Volvo, and Beau felt his shoulders tense. But it was clear this group only had eyes for Rosalie's red convertible. Every one of them gazed at the car with lust, no doubt picturing themselves driving it, accompanied by the beautiful owner. It was clearly the Forks High fantasy of the decade.

"What kind of car is that, anyway?"

"Ostentatious is what it is," Edward muttered. "It's a BMW."

Soon they were out of the parking lot and onto the highway. Beau let his shoulders relax and noticed the Mariners cap in the backseat. A smile graced Edward's face as Beau plopped it over the bright bronze hair.

"I like this on you."

Edward tilted his head so the cap fell onto the passenger side of the car. "I'm a White Sox fan."

Beau scoffed. "Uh-huh. So, is it later yet?"

"I suppose it is later."

Edward stopped the car; they were already outside Charlie's house. He was solemn, but a hint of humor lingered in his eyes. "You still want to know why you can't see me hunt?"

"I was mostly concerned about your reaction."

"Did I frighten you?" The thought entertained him. Beau shook his head.

"No."

"I apologize for scaring you. It was just the thought of you being there . . . while we hunted . . ." His perfect jaw tightened.

"That would be bad?"

"Extremely."

"Because . . . ?"

"When we hunt, we give ourselves over to our senses . . . govern less with our minds. Especially our sense of smell. If you were anywhere near me when I lost control that way . . ." Edward trailed off and gazed through the windshield at the gathering clouds.

Beau kept his expression under control; his face gave nothing away as Edward turned back to study him. But as their eyes held, the silenced deepened, and changed. Flickers of the afternoon's electricity made themselves known; the interior of the car seemed to be humming with them. Beau drew a jagged breath, breaking the stillness, and Edward closed his eyes.

"Beau, I think you should go inside now."

The whir of the automatic window rolling down made him turn back. "Oh, Beau?"

"Yes?"

"Tomorrow it's my turn."

"Your turn to what?"

Edward smiled wider to expose his gleaming teeth. "Ask the questions."

That night Edward starred in his dreams as usual. Beau tossed and turned, restless, and woke up often. It was only in the early hours of the morning that he finally sank into an exhausted, dreamless sleep.

Beau found himself emulating Edward's fashion sense the next morning as he pulled on a brown turtleneck. He was quiet over his cereal, considering the coming day, when Charlie interrupted his musings.

"Are you still going to Seattle this Saturday?"

"That was the plan."

"Be careful, okay?" Charlie was unusually stern. "I heard buzz about some missing college students. Probably nothing, but keep your wits about you, all right?"

Beau saluted him. "Yes, Chief Dad."

"And you're sure you can't make it back in time for the dance?"

"I'm not going to the dance, Dad."

"Didn't anyone ask you?" Charlie asked as he brought his plate up to sink.

"It's a girl's choice."

"Oh."

Beau wondered if the whispers reached him yet. If they had, he didn't say anything.; it wasn't Charlie's way to pry.

He had to tell him.

It was now or never.

The words were on his lips, but before he could speak, Charlie was reaching for his jacket and waving goodbye. Beau watched him go and tried to imagine how a conversation of this magnitude would play out.

He'd be supportive, Beau decided. Definitely. Perhaps a little hurt it took him so long to say so, but one couldn't rush these things. They were just getting to know each other again. That kind of trust took time; he was still trying to wrap his mind around the previous day at school.

The silver car was already waiting in the driveway. Beau didn't know how long this bizarre routine would continue. He never wanted it to end.

He locked the front door and bounded down the steps, hesitating only for a moment before sliding into the passenger side. Edward was smiling, relaxed, and irritatingly coiffed this early in the day.

"Good morning." His voice was silky. "How are you today?"

"Good, thank you." Beau was always good—much more than good—when he was near him.

His eyes lingered on the dark circles under Beau's. "You look tired."

"Couldn't sleep," Beau confessed. He tugged the brim of the Mariners cap to provide some measure of cover.

"Neither could I," Edward said in a teasing voice. He started the engine, and it was so quiet, the sound made Beau compare it to the roar of Big Red. It might scare him the next time he drove the truck.

"I guess that's right. I'd wager I slept just a little bit more than you did."

"I'd wager that you did."

"So what did you do last night?" Beau asked. A great many hours passed in the world while humans slept. It seemed like a lot of time to fill.

Edward chuckled. "Not a chance. It's my day to ask the questions."

"Oh, that's right. What do you want to know?"

"What's your favorite color?"

Beau rolled his eyes. A four-seam fastball question. Easy. "It changes from day to day."

"What's your favorite color today?"

"Probably brown," Beau answered, pulling at his sleeve. It would be too embarrassing to say gold—the color of Edward's eyes today.

"Brown?"

"Sure. Brown is warm. I miss brown. Everything that's supposed to be brown—tree trunks, rocks, dirt—is all covered up with squashy green stuff here."

Edward seemed fascinated by the rant. He considered it for a moment, then reached across the car, his hand waiting expectantly. Beau passed over the Mariners cap in silence. Edward balanced it on his right thigh as he drove, and, after a moment's hesitation, smoothed Beau's hair back the way he liked.

"You're right," he concluded. "Brown is warm."

The Volvo pulled into its usual parking space. "What's in your CD player right now?"

"Absolution," Beau said. He was still warm from Edward's hand in his hair. "Muse."

That made him laugh. Edward flipped open the glove compartment and passed him the same CD.

It continued like that for the rest of the day. While Edward walked him from class to class, he was relentless in his questioning, determined to ascertain every insignificant detail of Beau's existence. Movies he liked and hated, the few places he'd been and the many places he wanted to go, and books—endlessly books.

Beau couldn't remember the last time he talked so much. More often than not, he felt self-conscious, sure that he must be boring him. But Edward was absolutely absorbed, and this compelled him to continue, if only for an excuse to stare into those hypnotic eyes.

Biology was complicated again. Another movie day, which meant they sat close but not touching, fighting the same spark as yesterday. Beau leaned forward on the table and rested his chin on his folded arms. A dragging noise informed him Edward moved his chair away for the first time since they started talking again. It didn't help the situation at all.

Across the room, he noticed Angela was sitting the same way, her eyes burning a hole in the back of Ben Cheney's head. Beau could understand the longing in her gaze almost too well.

The two walked to the gymnasium in silence. After being quizzed all day, Beau treasured the quiet, but it was full of other things. Things that held more weight than his favorite books and movies. Just as he had done the day before, Edward touched his face, stroking a line from temple to jaw with the back of his cool hand. Every thought left Beau's head at the touch. He'd been both looking forward and dreading this moment all day.

Beau and Mike didn't talk during Gym. In fact, no one talked to him at all. Even the locker room was dead quiet when class ended. Beau dressed as fast as he could, ill at ease, and hurried out the door. He had been down this road before; he knew better than to linger.

But Beau felt safe when he went outside and found Edward waiting. The gold eyes flickered to Mike and Tyler, who were coming through the door. Beau folded his arms and stared as they passed, daring them to speak, but neither boy said a word. He stared until the boys disappeared around the corner, not breathing until they were alone again.

Edward was watching him. "Everything all right?"

"Perfect," Beau said through his teeth.

"Shall we?"

The cross-examination began again on the drive home. Edward's questions were different this time, not as easily answered. He wanted to know what Beau missed about Phoenix, insisting on descriptions of anything that he wasn't familiar with, which turned out to be the desert climate in its entirety.

It was a long way away from the deluge outside the Volvo. Beau tried to describe impossible things like the scent of creosote—bitter, slightly resinous, but still pleasant—the high, keening sound of the cicadas in July, the feathery barrenness of the trees, the very size of the sky, extending white-blue from horizon to horizon, barely interrupted by the low mountains covered with purple volcanic rock. The hardest thing to explain was why that was so beautiful—to justify a beauty that didn't depend on the sparse, spiny vegetation that often looked half dead. A beauty that had more to do with the exposed shape of the land, with the shallow bowls of valleys between the craggy hills, and the way they held onto the sun.

His quiet, probing questions kept Beau talking freely, forgetting, in the dim light of the storm, to be embarrassed for monopolizing the conversation. Finally, when Beau had finished detailing his cluttered room at home, Edward paused.

"Are you finished?" Beau asked in relief.

"Not even close. We talked about your room, the desert, and haven't even covered baseball yet."

"Do you have a week?"

Edward laughed, but his smile faded after a moment. "We're past all the evasions now, right?"

"Right," Beau confirmed. "What's up?"

It was rare to see Edward looking uncomfortable. Not uncomfortable in the I-want-to-kill-but-I-can't kind of way, but the human kind of discomfort, the kind where one would rather swallow a pincushion than admit to his own thoughts. Beau was more than familiar with the latter.

"Well, I was on Google last night."

"Vampires use Google?" Beau thought him to be a more microfilm-in-the-archives type instead. The idea of Edward using a computer was so close to the way Beau learned about vampires that he almost laughed.

"Vampires do a lot of things," Edward muttered. He looked like he could be blushing, if that were possible. "The thing is . . . I Googled you."

Beau's smile faded. "Oh."

"What I want to know," Edward began carefully, "Is what kind of injury sidelines a rising baseball star?"

They were past the evasions. Beau frowned. It was time to fess up—he just didn't expect to do it so soon.

"My dad got me into baseball as soon as I could walk. It was our thing, even when we only saw each other once a year. Any time there was a great game on television, Charlie would call me during commercials, just to check if I was watching."

"The American pastime."

"Right," he nodded. "I was good. I was great. Made varsity as a freshman and started pitching in the low eighties by the end of sophomore year. I was getting close to eighty-five—a few more months of practice, I would have hit it—and scouts were showing up to all my games."

Edward allowed him a minute to collect his thoughts. "And then?"

"And then, high school kids were high school kids." Beau felt his right hand clench into a fist. "I don't know how they found out I was gay. I never said anything. Never talked about it, never dated anyone. I always said I was too focused on my throwing game to worry about girls. But I must have been careless . . . too long a look in the locker room, maybe . . . anyway, they started hazing me pretty bad. Spray-painted my locker, wrote fag all my notebooks . . . they even keyed my mom's car. As if she had anything to do with it."

"That's terrible."

"Yeah. It got so bad that I lost us the championship game. Seeing them all on the bench, just waiting for me to mess up . . . my nerves were shot. Then they logged into the coach's e-mail and lured me to the locker room after hours."

Edward sat still as a stone. Beau didn't have to look at his face to know he was furious. But there was more to say. The can was open and the worms were out.

"They beat me up," he confessed. "Five or six of them. Broke my ribs, broke my nose . . . stepped on my throwing hand, too. Eventually, when I stopped fighting back, they got bored and left me there. The janitor found me right before school started the next day."

"You . . . you spent all night there? None of them came back?"

"Nope. Some teammates, huh?"

"Some . . . teammates," Edward repeated. "So that's why you were ready to fight the other night."

"Yup," Beau nodded. "I recovered and trained all summer. But when school started up again, I knew I couldn't go back there. It was too much. Renée homeschooled me during the fall semester so I wouldn't fall behind."

"And then you came here."

"Then I came here," Beau agreed. "And that's the kind of injury that sidelines a rising baseball star."

"Did you ever report them? Those boys?"

"No, I thought it was a waste of time. They'd cover for each other. I just wanted to get away. Be done with it, you know? Put it behind me."

Edward turned his head to gaze out at the rain battering the Volvo. They quietly for a long time, listening to the storm, before Beau spoke again.

"Thanks for telling me—that you Googled me," he added, when Edward threw him a curious look.

"Thank you for telling me what happened," he murmured. "I'm sure it's very difficult for you to relive that night."

"It was—it is. But it's nice to talk about it, too. I think that's why I've been trying so hard to fit in with Mike and Jessica. I thought if I could fall in with the right crowd, keep my head down . . . I could prevent it from happening again. I know how silly that sounds."

"And the hat?"

Beau smiled at the memory. "Charlie gave it to me at my first Mariners game. It makes me feel safe, like some kind of shield. When I wear it, I don't feel like the odd one out."

"Everyone wants to be included, Beau," Edward said gently. "I only hope you aren't using it as a crutch."

"Clearly I'm not. You stole it this morning."

They laughed for a minute. Then Edward tilted his head, still smiling. "Your father will be home soon."

"Oh right, my dad. How late is it?"

"It's twilight."

Edward was thoughtful now, gazing at the western horizon, obscured as it was with clouds. Their eyes met and his expression grew wistful.

"It's the safest time of day for us. The easiest time. But also the saddest, in a way . . . the end of another day, the return of night. Darkness is so predictable, don't you think?"

"I like the night. Without the dark, we'd never see the stars. Not that you can see them here much."

Edward laughed again. "Charlie will be here in a few minutes. So, unless you want to tell him that you'll be with me Saturday . . . "

"Thanks, but no thanks." Beau gathered his books, realizing he was sore from sitting for so long. "So is it my turn tomorrow, then?"

"Certainly not! I told you I wasn't done, didn't I?"

"What more is there?" Beau asked, exasperated by the faux outrage he was hearing.

"You'll find out tomorrow." Edward reached across the car to open the door for him. Their shared, sudden proximity sent Beau's heart into frenzied palpitations. For a moment no one moved. Then his hand froze on the handle.

"Not good," he muttered.

"What is it?"

"Another complication."

The flash of headlights through the rain preceded a dark car pulling up to the curb. Beau hopped out, pulling his hood up, curious about this fresh complication.

Edward looked ashen in the headlights; his eyes were locked on something Beau couldn't yet discern in the darkness. He looked frustrated . . . and defiant. The engine revved, tires squealing against the pavement, and within seconds the Volvo disappeared around the corner.

"Hey, Beau!"

"Jacob?" Beau asked, recognizing the husky voice. He couldn't see a thing through the drizzle. Then, helpfully, new headlights—the cruiser's—illuminated the other occupant of the dark car.

Jacob was climbing out, grinning, white teeth visible even in the gloom. In the passenger seat sat a familiar older man, heavyset, with the same dark eyes as his son. Those eyes seemed both too young and too ancient for someone his age.

It was Jacob's father, Billy Black. He was staring at through the windshield, scrutinizing his face, so Beau smiled tentatively in welcome. He looked shocked—afraid, even—and Beau felt his smile fade away.

Another complication, Edward had said.

Had Billy recognized him? Could he really believe the impossible legends his son had scoffed at?

The answer was clear in Billy's eyes. Yes. Yes, he could.


A/N: Poor fainting Lee. I hope I can provide some levity and teenage angst in this uncertain time.

Still working on my other projects! Keep pushing me on them - I need the pressure. :)