When I wake up for the second day of school, the first thing I notice is the absence of sound. I sit up and squint at the blurry window. It's still gray outside, so a hoodie is a definite, but at least it isn't raining. And hey, I can do some splashing in the parking lot. I take three strides to get to the bathroom, much quicker than Charlie, who is shouting for me not to use all the hot water.

Something about this day feels better than yesterday, and as I brush the knots out of my hair, I wonder just why that is. I mean, weather aside, it seems to be a typical day in Forks. Maybe it's because I have new people to talk to, and I know what to expect. That is quite the weight off my shoulders, come to think of it.

I shake my head and turn the water off. I can't risk lulling myself into a routine so soon. You never know when things are likely to change. A shock of cold water sends a scream out of my mouth, hammering the point in.

Mrs. Jameson has written on the board our task of the day. Read over Macbeth and take notes. It can be silent, or group work. I'm not really given that choice, as both Erica and Michelle crowd around my desk, begging for help. Michelle even goes the extra mile with a puppy pout.

I pull my hair in a ponytail and break out the old notebook, ready for almost anything. Fifteen minutes into my mini-lecture, Erica seems to understand. She's mirroring the study strategy I've been using for a while — been using since 6th grade in fact — to help simplify complex phrasing. Hell, she even starts helping me explain what's going on by the time Michelle's face meets the top of the desk.

Which... I can't really blame her for that.

"I don't understand what they're saying!" She groans with a nasally undertone. "The language is too damn old, how can anyone read this?"

"This was the language of the common people, actually," I say, leaning over and transcribing the phrase into modern English as a last-ditch effort. "My old tutor used to translate the phrases for me so I could compare them, helped me pass 7th grade. Here, is this easier to read?" I slip it over to Michelle, poking her head with my pencil until she looks up.

"... Yeah, this makes perfect sense now. She's manipulating him into killing the King, right?"

"You got it!" Erica celebrates, throwing her hands in the air.

"Man, do I feel stupid..." Michelle chuckles, looking at me. "Thank you so much, Beau."

"Don't worry about it, I'm just happy to help. I uh... I think I have a copy of the modern English version, but I might have given it to my cousin... I'm not one for Shakespeare."

"Well, maybe we can suffer through this together." She muses, leaning on her hand. I swallow and scoot away from her, watching as Erica reaches over and swats the back of her head. She and I exchange a nod before shifting the subject over to the flower drawn on Erica's hand.

I get through the rest of the morning without incident, save colliding with a handful of lockers mid-way down the hall. With Jesse chattering my ear off from the right, I find the trays and start toward the small à la carte available to the students. That's when I notice Edythe, standing by the start of the line with her hands in her pockets, her brilliantly copper curls braided down her back. She glances over at me and stands straight, blocking my way to the food with her body — which is right at my chest. I shrink down.

"H-hey, partner. Can I help you?" She doesn't have the same Ready-To-Slaughter aura that radiated off her yesterday; her eyes are on the floor, and her bottom lip is tucked under her front teeth. She glances around, and then looks at me, like she's considering something. My brain buzzes, making me whine aloud. "Look, I don't... I don't want to be rude, but I'm starving. Can this wait for class?

"I uh... yes. Yes, it can! I'll see you then, uh... bye." She walks to her table, tucking her entire body into a slightly oversized hoodie, putting on her headphones before hiding inside the hood.
I can relate to her on a spiritual level in this moment.

The other Cullens look from her to me, their eyebrows raised in unison. Then the pixie one, Alex, gets this excited look on his face, a cartoon-ish contortion that only emphasizes the youthfulness of him. He scoots down to Edythe and tries to get her attention, earning a head shake from Roland Hale — and a photo-op from Jasmine. She's definitely the fun twin...

"Did you bring your notes, Beau? Jesse's confused about the whole Macbeth thing, too." Michelle says when I sit down. I swallow a good bit of my drink and pull out my phone, introducing a group of Juniors to my life's blood — SparkNotes, the only reason I pass any English class.

Edythe is silent during the Biology lecture, but it is plain to me she isn't paying the slightest bit of attention. A wire sticks out from the bottom of her curls, tucking into her hoodie and out the bottom, ending in her pocket. Her phone is out of sight, out of mind, and Dr. Molina doesn't suspect a thing.

We both continue our respective scribbling, and while mine takes the shape of the cell on the board, I chance a peek over at what Edythe is working on. Then I double take.

Those aren't scribbles... she's writing music. The entire notebook is sheet paper. Treble clef, b flat, 4/4 time. The most basic of composition settings with some of the trickiest formations I've ever seen. I don't see a title, or even an instrument for the piece in the corner — hopefully it's meant for a stringed instrument, or the piano. A wind or brass player is going to fall on their face before they get to the first coda.

I don't notice my lean until the stool kicks out from under me, making me crash into Edythe's shoulder and head straight to the ground. If it weren't for a pair of cold, powerful arms around my shoulder, I'd have a broken nose, and a concussion.

"Beau..?" Edythe's voice, so light and lilting, has an incredulous tone to it. I push back, looking around at the crowd of eyes that are locked in on us, and hide inside my shirt. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I uh... thank you, Edythe." I feel Dr. Molina's hand on my shoulder, her face wrinkled with concern. "I'm alright, ma'am. I promise. Edythe, er... caught me."

"I noticed. Are you feeling alright, Beaumont?"

"Who, me? Yeah, perfectly fine. Totally. Just got lucky, you know. You should check on her," I point to Edythe, who is much smaller than me, "She was the landing pad." Edythe snorts and giggles, her nose wrinkling and her eyes shutting, tight. A small blush reaches her cheeks, and my own heat up. I wait until Dr. Molina takes her leave and lean over, writing quickly on the corner of my page.

"Sorry about using you as a landing cushion, partner. But if it makes up for it, you do a damn good job of it." I look at her, silently guffawing at my own quip. But Edythe, she just looks at me, her lips in a straight line, clearly fighting something down. And with handwriting much cleaner than a teenage girl should boast, she writes back:

"It's alright, Beau. I'm just glad you didn't hit the ground. A bloody nose wouldn't suit you." I nod in agreement, not realizing why I have a strange feeling in the back of my skull until I'm half-way down the hallway toward gym class.

We never introduced ourselves. Not really. How did she know I go by Beau?

I'm back home before I know it, still wondering how to make my fall up to Edythe. Though, now that I've thought, I can't help but wonder how she could catch me without falling, too. She's weirdly strong for someone so small...

To my surprise, there's a car beside me, with Michelle's face pushed against the glass. I hop out of the truck, "slamming" my fist into the glass and making her "faint" dramatically into Erica's lap. We laugh, and Erica rolls the passenger window down.

"To what do I owe this stalking, girls?"

"Stalking is such a strong word... but if you must know," Michelle says, sitting up in her seat, "we wanted to invite you to a new café in town. An open mic place, Jesse and Angel are dragging us to it."

At the mention of Angel, Erica grows a goofy grin, her eyes spacing out fondly. "I suppose I can fifth-wheel this adventure. Let me just check with the chief." I text Charlie, even with a joke about being kidnapped by two teenage girls and how I'll miss her jokes. I shake my head at her response of sobbing emojis and a heart. The best part about Charlie, I think, is her instant understanding of my stupid jokes.

I'm vibing along to Soundgarden as our orders reach the table, though I feel a slight level of betrayal as no one but me gets a cold coffee drink. I notice, through the curtains of my curls and the corners of my eyes, how Angel and Erica give each other soft, loving glances when they think neither is paying attention. This tiny seed of romance makes my heart swell, and flashes thoughts of a certain red head through my mind.

Then Jesse taps my shoulder, and my daydream shatters.

"You didn't hear a word I said, did you?"

"If I say 'no', do you promise not to hate me?"

"Good lord, you need Adderall." He isn't wrong. "I asked about your school life in Arizona. Your friends, your groups, your hobbies. Shit like that. Are we up to snuff with city kids?" I tap along my cup for a moment before setting it down.

"To be honest, I didn't have many friends back home." I say, closing my eyes, embarrassment rushing back to me. "I got held back in middle school after failing a ton of my classes. My old man got harsh, being a teacher himself, and made sure I wouldn't fail him again. Because I buckled in, and was older than the other kids, I uh... I didn't make many friends. Been a lone wolf ever since." I shrug it off, not really liking all the eyes on me. "What?"

"You got held back? Does that mean you're older than us?" Jesse asks, the mental calculation clear behind his eyes. "Dude, you're an adult?"

"Legally, yeah. I turned 18 last September. It's kinda why I," my hands curl and I gesture toward my chest, "keep to myself. Even the teachers give me a snotty look when they realize they're dealing with a, uh... well, a moron on paper."

"You're not a moron," Erica says. "My cousin got held back twice, now she's a professor. Shit happens, right?" Everyone nods in agreement, Michelle's face in a strangely wide smile that makes me shudder.

I don't like that one bit.

"If it's okay for me to ask," she continues, "what do you do during class? I know you're a little ahead of us, content-wise, but you're always in a notebook, pencil going a mile a minute."

"I draw. It's just something I've always done. I have uh..." I pull one of my sketchbooks from my bag and set it on the table, "I've got, like, ten of these that are mostly rejects or half-done projects." I flip around, showing them various sketches, sketches in progress, and — to my chagrin — the one drawing of Edythe Cullen, which Michelle slams her hand down on.

"Look, it's the wicked bitch of Forks!" She cackles, earning a weak laugh from Jesse and a collection of rolled eyes from the others. "I mean, seriously, she acts like such an ass. She even stopped Beau in the lunch line."

"Oh yeah, I remember that." Jesse looks at me. "What did she want?"

"Simply said she'd see me in class. During which she helped prevent me from, you know, seriously injuring myself while I was eyeballing her notebook."

"Eyeballing?" Michelle says with a raised, maybe twitching eyebrow. "What could be so interesting about Edythe Cullen?"

"Well, she's a composer. I recognized the paper and format instantly. My step-mom got me into music pretty early in life, and while I couldn't write it to save my life, reading it isn't so bad after a while. And her composition was beautiful, from what I know of it."

"That would explain why her headphones are always in," Jesse says, tilting his head. "Maybe she's working on something big, a multi-part orchestral production or something. Her brother-in-law does work at the theater in Port Angeles."

"Ezra Cullen, really?" Erica lets out a small laugh. "I figured he was the Stay-At-Home-Dad type. I mean, his wife is beautiful, and makes bank. Why on Earth he'd want to work is beyond me."

"Hold up. I noticed something." I set my mug down and rake my eyes over the entire table. "So from what I've gathered, you all like the Cullens, but can't stand the one of them that isn't as extroverted and giddy as the rest. Someone who, on the surface, is actually a lot like me. But you don't like her? Because she's a freak? That isn't fair at all, people."

They all go rather pale, guilt on most of their faces. Angel, however, looks right at me and winks. Looks like I'm not the first one to point this hypocrisy out. More power to you, Heracles.

"Look, can we talk about something else, please?" Michelle says, trying to lighten the mood with her award-winning smile. The distraction is a good thing. And just like that, whatever connection I had to them starts to thin down, the red string connecting us all fraying in the middle.

I'm home and in my sleep shorts before the door clicks shut, shirts and other clothing piled in the far corner of the room where they'll stew until Charlie starts wacking the foot of my bed with her nightstick to get me to wash them.

As you do.

I settle in the armchair by the bedroom window and open my laptop, a little red dot on the email symbol. And instantly, the Fates swoop in for my life string.

"Beau,
Let me know when you get this! I lost my phone cord, but not the laptop cord. How's the second day gone? Still raining up there? I miss you already, champ. Oh, and let me know if you remember where my pink button-up is. I'll be leaving for Florida soon and I can't find it. Philippa says she loves you!"
Love Dad."

I relax a bit at his calm tone and read the second one, sent eight hours later. I would have been in class when this came in. Dude...

"Beau,
Why haven't you emailed me yet? Are you waiting for something?
Dad"

The nerves started creeping back in. No "love", super short. Not a good sign.

"Beaumont Geoffrey Higginbotham,
If I haven't heard from you by 5:30 p.m. today I'm calling Charlie."

And the red flags fly high. He never uses my full name, and only removes the Swan when he's getting angry. I panic, my heart beating so hard I hear it as I type a reply to him.

"Pops,
I'm sorry for not getting to you sooner, but between school, homework, and friends, I've not had the time to just get on my computer. And yes, it's raining. So weird, but I'm liking it.
As for that ugly ass shirt, call your dry cleaner. I told you about it before I left. Oh, and Mom got me a truck! Yeah, it's old and kinda rusty, but I love it. I named it The Thing. Pretty cool, ain't it.
The missing is mutual, but don't worry about me. I've got my sketchbooks, my bass, and Ma. I'll sync my phone to the email app so I can get to you sooner, but please remember that I'm not glued to it. I promise, I'll reply to you. Scout's Honor.
Love you, Pops.
Beau."

With that taken care of, I glance over at the reading list and casually crumple it up and toss it toward the bed. I would rather not reread Wuthering Heights, or anything else on that list. Hell, I'd rather just take them all and throw them into the woods, make them the trees they were always meant to be. I lean back, taking the bass Philippa gave me from the stand, my fingertips running along the fretboard and the strings, my hands going to tune it without thinking.

I can hear Rene snapping at me whenever I'd play the old one from the attic. How music is a waste of time, waste of effort. How you never get anywhere in life on stupid drawings and noise. Never music. Never... just noise. I hum to myself and start strumming, foot tapping 4/4 as Edythe's composition appears in my mind – a bass line, warm and soft. Like heartbeat. The sound vibrates through the air, in my head.

By the time it registers that Charlie's gotten home, it's almost like the strings are moving on their own.

"Beau, you home?"

"Yeah!" I rush from the chair, setting the guitar down and racing down the steps in a couple bounds. She's at the door, eyes huge, with a take-out bag in her hand. "Oh, food! Whatcha get me, huh?"

"No love for his mother, harsh." She sets her gun on the entry table, tossing her keys a little bowl – aw, it's the one I made in 4th grade! "I tried that little Italian place down by main street."

"Everything is by main street."

"Alfredo, no chicken for you. Chicken parmesan for me." Charlie wiggles her shoulders and goes to the kitchen, a small dance in her step. I, meanwhile, am cringing at the very smell of her carrion.

"How can you even eat that, Ma?"

"Not all of us are allergic to meat, Bo boy."

I follow in suit, getting plates and forks as she gets drinks ready. I can't stop thinking about her gun, how carefully she sat it in a small, velvet holding case. I don't think she's every fired it, I know Rene would have gossiped if so. And I've never seen a Glock with a butt made out of horn and a mirror-like barrel. That's not even mentioning how she has it on her literally everywhere but at home. I pull my hair into a rough bun and shake my head. Probably better not to think on that too much...

I check the bag and snatch a warm roll from the container, stuffing it in my jaw before Charlie can even react. She bats at me with a hand towel and we got to the table with smiles on our faces. We eat in comfortable silence, content with our food and company. It's nice, seeing someone else at the table. It's new, but definitely nice.

Then Charlie clears her throat.

"Is it safe to assume school is going well? I mean, going out with a group of people on the second day is pretty impressive, especially for a Swan child."

"Yeah, I uh... I've got some friends now. Jesse, Angel, Erica, Michelle. I'm still learning about them, but I might have made them uncomfortable." I take a slow drink, eyes meeting my fork.

"What do you mean, Beau?"

"They know my age now, which is always a hard thing to admit..." Charlie leans over and lays her hand on mine, squeezing lightly.

"You can't help the past. If they judge you for that, then say 'fuck it' and leave 'em." I snort, choking on laughter until she leans back with pride.

"There's also the matter of Edythe Cullen that got things a little awkward. They're really hypocritical when it comes to her, so unfair."

"Edythe? That sweet girl?" Charlie's eyes flash with a high-octane rush, nostrils flaring. "What, they never met someone with anxiety before?"

"It isn't just that, Ma. They say she's arrogant, cold. Unlikeable. That she thinks she's better than everyone else. But they adore the rest of the family. I don't really get it." Charlie huffs, tenting her hands on the table and meeting my eyes dead-on.

"The kids in this town... Edythe's parents died not long after she was adopted, and Clarice took her in. Apparently, she lost her birth parents at a young age. That kind of shit messes with a kid, Beau. Honestly, if Clarice is aware of any of this, we're damn lucky she doesn't pack the whole coven up and flip us off as they drive away. I've had no problems from the Cullen kids, least of all Edythe, and that's more than I can say from the Newton's gang of brats! People are just... they're assholes. Complete assholes with nothing better to do. That behavior needs to be nipped in the bud."

I blink, awestruck that my mother said more now than I've heard in the last 18 years in one breath. I reach over and lower the knife she was using to point and gesture to the table, patting her hand lightly.

…the use of the word "coven" is strange, though.

"If it makes you feel better, Ma, I honestly like Edythe. She is off-putting, but nice. She's smart, she likes music, she's really pretty..." I trail off, shoveling a bite into my mouth before my mother can register what I said. "I'm thinking of playing at the café I went to with the others today. What do you think?"

"I think you have no filter between your brain and your mouth, Beaumont Swan. I really do."

We spend the evening cleaning up the house, catting about everything and nothing, and she even paused long enough to help me with my Trig homework before tucking herself into bed. I stay downstairs, a sketchbook on my lap, and a familiar face coming into fruition on the page. Her soft, sunken eyes. The strange hardness to her thin lips. The fire behind her eyes, even in pencil. I should... I should go to bed.

Come Saturday, Edythe and I have started chatting during downtime. She waits for me at the door before class, asks to compare notes during class to be sure she hasn't missed anything – which is cute, since I can see where she erased the old notes on the page – and we part ways without a speck of tension between us.

I'm plucking on my bass' strings when a soft rapping comes at the front door. I answer it, not even considering my state of dress or how my hair looks. In the back of my mind it's Charlie, forgetting something before she left for work, ready to scold me for not doing my homework.

Instead it's Edythe Cullen, her ocean blue hoodie jacket, and her beautiful eyes the size of the moon. She opens her mouth, eyes flicking to my torso before locking in the air beside me. I drum my fingers along the fret board of my guitar, feeling the chill of the winter breeze whip through my homemade tank-top. After a few seconds of awkward staring, she breaks the silence.

"Beau... is uh... Chief Swan still home?"

"Nah, sorry. She left a while ago, probably at the station by now. You can come in if you need to call her. Too cold to stand there." I back away from the door, turning my back and flopping on the nearby loveseat, legs hanging over the arms. "Mi casa es su casa."

"Oh, okay!" The door closes, and she steps in with an audible shiver. "Do you have a landline? I didn't even think to pick up my cell before leaving." I pull myself up, a hand gesturing to the swivel hinge door to the kitchen. "In here? Th- Thank you Beau, I'll let you get back to..." Edythe looks around, spotting an off TV, an underdressed me, and the bass on my lap, "...practicing." She deduces before slipping through the door.

My fingers dance on the guitar, soft cords reaching my ears, the way she says my name echoing inside my skull. I've heard it hundreds of times. "Beau", "Beaumont", even "Monty". But not one of them in my 18 years on this Earth match up to how she says it. Like it's a new flavor, like she wants it to last. Tasting it, savoring it. I know I'm reading too much into it. I just have a weird name, nothing more to it. Even so... I put my bass down and go to the door, pressing my ear to the old wood. Her voice is muffled, but clear.

"Charlie, it's me … yes, I'm at your house, I'll leave soon, I promise. No, no! Beau's not in danger. I'd never do that to you." Her voice is almost impossibly soft, lilting like spoken cursive. I pull my hair from my ears and press closer, holding the underside with my toes so I don't fall through. Danger? What on Earth is going on around here? "Clari-Clarice and I... yeah, exactly. She thinks it best you blame an animal. Bears, maybe? Or cougars. Uh huh... Yes. Right. Next shipment is coming soon, Jas will call you. See you around."

Before she can make it to the kitchen door, I'm nested in the love seat, strumming cords absently in an attempt to look like I was here the entire time. Through my hair, I see her glance down at me, a suspicious gleam in her eyes. There's no way she could have heard me stop playing – no normal person could. Then the buzzing cracks through my skull, and my nails rake on the strings, water leaking from the corners of my eyes.

"Thanks again, Beau. I'll see you on Monday?"

"Yeah, totally! You can hang out, though, if you want." I shrug, waving to the empty couch and recliner still in the cozy room. "It's not like we've got anything else to do, right?" Her eyes widen, hand rising to her lips as a light blush dusts over her cheeks. Almost rosy.

"I... I'd love to, but Ezra is expecting me home soon. I'm behind in my Calculus class."

"Oh, yikes. I get it, though, math is like a foreign language. Drive home safely, Edythe." She gives me her soft, crooked smile and leaves the house. I don't hear a vehicle start, or leave. I get up and go to the front window, peaking through the blinds. There's nothing and no one, and the remains of a sudden burst of wind blowing some of the bushes to the north.

Monday brings an English test on Wuthering Heights and the end of my patience. I didn't pass, I just know it. Or, at the best, I got a C. Which I can live with, considering it gets me a diploma regardless. Walking outside amid a flurry of other students, who are also bitching about the test, a swirl of white falls like angelic dandruff from the sky. I skid to a stop, looking straight up, hearing the crunch of the others as their feet hit the ground. My neck cracks with the speed of my head swiveling. I know I look like a moron, but there are more pressing matters at hand!

I've never seen snow before.

"Beau, you doing alright up there?" Erica pokes my arm gently, Jesse jumping into the snow and kicking it with a laugh.

"It's so cold... I don't..." I stick my tongue out and let a flake land. It's just crystallized water, but to me, it's a scene straight from a fairy tale. I crouch and carefully cup a handful from the ground, the chill leaking through my fuzzy, thin gloves. I mush it into a ball, standing and looking it over. "This is incredible!" I decide, looking around and noticing a pair of tall, blonde heads in the distance.

"Is this your first time seeing snow, Beau? Aww!" Erica giggles, looking around like the vast white pillow around us is nothing. "Arizona, meet the White Death. White Death, don't kill Arizona." I throw the snowball into the air and let it hit the top of my head, laughing louder than I think anyone's ever heard my voice. Both Erica and Michelle stop in their tracks, watching me play like an excited puppy.

Until...

SPLAT! Right on the side of Michelle's head, snow drips onto her shoulder and sticks in her hair. My neck snaps in the direction of the assailant, only to see Emmaline Cullen in all her glory, a proud smirk on her face, with Jasmine Hale standing emotionless and still beside her, honey blonde hair hiding most of her face. Emma's hand holds another wad of snow, and I glance over at Erica and Michelle.

"War is a no-no for Beau Swan. See ya at lunch!" I slowly back away from No Man's Land, hands up in surrender. Emma looks me over, and nods, accepting my cowardice as she and Jasmine start arming themselves for all-out war on the student body. Through the morning of snowballs, people – myself included – falling on their asses, and the occasional person eating snow off cars, there's one thing that sticks in my mind.

And that's the fact that neither girl was wearing gloves.

Jesse and use each other as human shields on our way to lunch, though it is pretty one-sided from where I'm standing. We laugh and trudge through the six-inch blanket of snow, preferring it to the clear-ice on the concrete walkway. I notice, as we enter the cafeteria, the same chaos makers as earlier out the far window. Emma sticks out right away, being the tallest, pelting most every student out there before they can one up her. Though Jasmine is nowhere to be seen. And neither is Edythe...

"Hey," Jesse nudges my shoulder. "You okay? You keep spacing."

"What? Oh, yeah, I'm fine. I was just watching those morons over there." He looks over my shoulder to the fight outside the cafeteria. His face shows clear respect for the "blood bath".

"Emma cannot be defeated, it seems."

"Yeah, really." I grab a bottle of water and a salad, mentally groaning at the lack of vegetarian options at this school. We congregate at the table, inching away from the soaking wet pair that is Michelle and Erica. A frigid blast lets us know when someone else enters for lunch, and a roaring laugh clues me in right away who came in.

I turn my head slightly, trying not to be noticed. None of them are paying attention to the crowd of people. Emma and Jasmine shake snow from their jackets and hair, Alex riding on Emma's shoulders in apparent triumph. Roland laughs at them rather than with them, his pastel clothes and perfectly styled hair untouched by the snow. They're enjoying the weather, same as everyone else. But I can't help but have an uneasy feeling in the bottom of my stomach. Like something is off. And then it hits me.

And their skin is... wrong. Pink, almost healthy looking. I watch, waiting for the hue to vanish, hoping it's just from the cold outside. It stays. I don't... I don't think they're supposed to have this color to them. It isn't good, isn't at all good. Alex sits beside Edythe, who I assume was there the entire time, her notebook in her hands and headphones already on.

A tap on my shoulder brings me back to reality.

"Beau, what are you looking at?" Jesse follows my stare, my eyes widening and hands gripping the plastic fork in my hand until it snaps. I'm frozen, watching Edythe's eyes flash in our direction, appearing to meet mine, right as Jesse finishes his question. Her cheeks flush brighter, her teeth, though hidden from view, worry her bottom lip. Her hand raises and she waves. I wave back, feeling my lips curl up.

"Well that's unexpected," Jesse remarks, slapping my shoulder playfully. "Beau's melting the Ice Queen!"

"Don't be so loud." I snap, turning back to the table. "She's nice, if you actually give her a chance. Quiet, but not rude or anything."

"It's just weird, man. Edythe doesn't like anybody. Well, she doesn't really acknowledge anybody who isn't in her group. She's still staring, just so you know."

"Stop looking at her..." I glare at him, hissing between my teeth. He snickers but looked away, a playful tilt to his head. I start to think of all the ways I can break his nose if he decides to bring attention back to me again, but after a couple seconds of breathing, I'm back to listening to Michelle's suggestion of a massive snowball battle after school, with everyone enthusiastically agreeing to it, including Jesse. Though, I think he'd follow her off the edge of the La Push cliffs if she asked nicely.

…okay, that was a little melodramatic, but my point stands. I silently decide to hide in the gym after class, just to be safe.

I stay quiet over the rest of the period, not able to stop myself from glancing over at Edythe on occasion. Sometimes she's looking too, and she smiles. Other times she's lost in her music, lost in the composition – and those times, I smile. I swear, that girl just can't be real... she's too perfect. I look down at my empty tray and squeeze my eyes shut. I am too old to be getting crushes on girls I barely know.

Since Michelle is a prime target for snowball snipers, Angel and I walk a few feet ahead of her, laughing every time we hear a wet smack behind us. I hear the patter of rain on the roof once I entered the building, followed by a collective groan. Well, at least the rain means the snow might melt. I'd rather not risk breaking my back walking back to The Thing.

I'm a little surprised to see my desk empty when we enter the room. Dr. Molina is passing out microscopes and boxes of slides, speaking loudly about them being onion root cells for us to identify the stages of. I part with Michelle and Angel, settling at my aisle seat with an open notebook. I take out my sketch pad and make little circles, turning to my side when I hear the stool scratch beside me.

"Hello," comes Edythe's musical, tinkling voice. I feel the smile take over my face, feel my heart kick up a few beats. Her body language is a little contradictory – sitting as far from me as she can while still facing me with her upper body. And even with her copper curls soaked with water, she looks absolutely flawless, the new color to her cheeks just adding to the angelic air around her. But her eyes... those beautiful eyes are focused, locked in on my every move.

"Hey, Edythe." I wave with my pencil, sitting up a little straighter. "I guess the rain snuck up on you, too?"

"It did, yeah. How uh... ho-how was your weekend?"

"I pretty well did exactly what you saw on Saturday. Lounged around, played my bass, and avoided studying for my English exam until the absolute last second. You know, like a moron."

"Yeah, a lot of students suffered through that one. It was Wuthering Heights, right?" She glances to the side, as if pulling the memory from deep inside her skull. "'He shall never know I love him: and that, not because he's handsome, but because he's more myself than I am.' I loved that book when I was younger." She crosses her arms, looking a little proud that she was able to recite what I can only assume is a quote direct from the novel.

"Well, I suppose someone has to like it. I had a hard time getting past the first couple chapters. Did your class go over it too? I haven't seen you in the other Junior classes." Edythe blinks, looking at me with a flat affect.

"Well, it'd be quite strange for a Senior to be in Junior classes, don't you think?"

"Oh! I-I'm sorry, I didn't..." I stammer, hands making wild gestures at my chest. "I just thought. You know, same Bio class and all... that we were the same grade."

"I'm just thankful you didn't mistake me for a Freshman." She giggles, holding her hand to her lips. I see them move, see a flash of pearly white, but hear nothing. "I understand the assumption. My nephews and niece are all Juniors. No, I'm the soul Senior." I nod, doing some mental calculations. So she's, at the youngest, 17... and the others are around 16? Maybe? That's almost nothing. But they don't at all look those ages.

"All right!" Dr. Molina's booming voice makes us both snap to the front of the room. "Onion root tip cells! Your job is to identify what phase of mitosis the cells are in. The first pair to guess them all correctly will win The Golden Onion." She pulls a spray-painted onion from the box on his desk, holding it like an Olympic medal.

"Golden onion rings." I state, looking at Edythe. She closes her eyes and shakes her head, hand at her forehead. But she's smiling! That's a win in my book. "Ladies first, partner?" I push the microscope her way with a wink. She looks at me, her crooked smile almost cheeky as she takes the instrument from my hands. "What?"

"Nothing, nothing." She switches the lenses around until she gets the magnification just right and leans back. "It's prophase. Can I get a second opinion, Doctor Swan?" She chuckles softly, sliding the instrument over to me.

"But of course, Doctor Cullen." A snort catches in my nose and I shake my head. "That doesn't have the same affect." I reach for the microscope, my fingers barely tracing over her knuckles. The shock of ice-cold that rips through my hand tears a gasp from my lungs. The snow's been gone for almost an hour, she's been inside this whole time. I take the microscope and only half-look into it, spotting her hiding her hands inside her hoodie. Definitely something weird going on. Definitely.

"Prophase," I agree, filling in the sheet. I switch the slides and check it, needing to up the zoom. "Pretty sure this one's anaphase. Second opinion?"

"Gotta use teamwork," she says with a small smirk. It becomes a back-and-forth until we're completely done, the slides in proper order and the paper completely filled with the combination of my chicken scratch and her near calligraphy. But I can't help but notice how she keeps moving her hand from mine, avoiding contact all together. I guess I'm not the only one who noticed the temperature difference after all.

Dr. Molina comes and collects our paper quickly, congratulating us on being the first done – and based on my glance around the room, it'll be a while before the experiment ends – giving us the a-okay to do whatever until everyone catches up. I glance at Edythe, her composition notebook already out, eyes locked in on the lines and the movement of her pen. So careful, precise, delicate. I content myself my iPod and sketchbook until my gut twists. I double-take, a lump forming in my throat.

"Hey, did you get contacts?"

"What?" She faces me, brows furrowed.

"Contacts. Your eyes, they're completely different. Almost..."

"O-oh! Uh, well," she shrugs, shifting so her face isn't square with mine. "It's uh... the fluorescent lights. I-I'm allergic to contacts." Her face scrunches, the statement ending like a question. But I'm not stupid. Lighting doesn't make black turn red. She is most definitely lying, but judging by her body language – hard fists, stiff posture – it wouldn't be right of me to dig further. But I can't deny it anymore. There is something terribly wrong with Edythe Cullen. Something she isn't at all good at hiding.

And damnit, I want to figure it out.

"It's too bad about the snow, don't you think? I know Emmaline was planning a full-scale ambush of the other students after class." Edythe says nonchalantly, her tone light but wavering. It's annoying, wanting to talk to someone, but wanting to avoid small talk as much as possible. I swallow and shrug, biting the bullet.

"I guess so. I mean, I won't lose any sleep over it, but it would have been nice to see it some more before it up and vanished on us." I continue my drawing, biting my lip and squinting at the smudging the side of my hand created. Hate it when that happens.

"Forks must be a tough place for you to live, Arizona." Her use of the girls' stupid nickname pulls the hair on my neck up. Don't flinch. Keep it rolling. Because the more she says, the more you learn. The more she reveals, the stranger she gets. But the fact she has never been around when someone called me that is... chilling.

"It's new, but I'm adjusting. More hoodies, more flannels, less tank tops. Difficult, but not impossible, you know?"

"Why did you come here, then?" Her voice is even, but not without an undertone of annoyance, though I don't think at me. It's like she feels she should already know the answer. For a split second, the buzzing rips through my skull. I squeeze my eyes shut until it vanishes.

"That's a little personal, don't you think?" I raise an eyebrow. "Besides, I haven't even told my other friends about it."

"Maybe talking to me will help you talk to them? C'mon, try me. I can keep up," she presses, leaning a little closer. I pause for a moment, and make the mistake of meeting his gaze. Her eyes, bright and strange, pull at my heartstrings. I can't stop myself.

"My father got remarried last September. I like her. She doesn't mind my more... feminine hobbies like Pops does, but she travels a lot — Minor League Ballplayer. Pops didn't enjoy staying behind with me, so I came up here to live with my mom. That's about it, really." She blinks a moment, taking it all in. Then she smiles, leaning her head into her palm.

"That doesn't sound so complex," she shrugs. "Though it seems unfair to me that you'd come up here instead of him choosing to stay with you. That's an enormous sacrifice for a kid, Beau. Especially since it makes you unhappy."

"Well, life isn't exactly fair. And he couldn't stop me if he wanted to. I'm 18, I could have run off to Ohio and poor old Rene wouldn't be able to drag me back."

"Ezra's from Ohio. I don't think you'd like it there. Nothing but corn and lima beans." Her eyes shift from frustrated to appraising. Like I'm a museum display. "You put on a good show," she drawls. "But I'd be willing to bet that you're suffering more than you let anyone see." I frown, looking away. She's just like dad, leaving me feeling as naked and vulnerable as an infant. "Am I wrong?"

I try to ignore her, adding details to the forming drawing – a bat.

"I didn't think so," she says softly.

"You're a very curious person, you know that?" I rake my hair from my eyes, giving her a quick look over. "You now know more about me than I about you. You gonna return that favor, Edythe?"

"That's an excellent question," she says so quietly that I figure she is talking to herself. However, after a few seconds of silence, I realize that's the only answer I'm going to get.

I let out a huff and go back to my drawing, shaking my head.

"Am I annoying you?" she asks meekly.

"It isn't you. You read me like dad used to, his uh... little open book." I mimic his tone with a roll of my eyes. "It's uncomfortable, knowing someone can see through me like glass." Her face falls, eyes drooping.

"On the contrary, I find you very difficult to read." Despite the past five minutes entailing me spilling about why I came to Forks, and her accurately guessing just how much being here is hard on me, she sounds sincere.

"Really now?" I shake my head, laying my chin in my hands. "I find that hard to believe, but if you like the challenge, I'm glad to provide." She grins, briefly exposing her garishly white teeth. My stomach churns at the slight red tint on her canines. Before I can look any closer, her mouth is closed.

"Challenge accepted, then."

Dr. Molina calls the class to order then and I turn to listen, forcing Edythe completely out of my mind. I can't believe I told all that to her, I haven't even admitted to my friends exactly why I moved to Forks. But she seemed so engrossed, like everything that came from my mouth was precious. She hasn't even moved back to the wall. I could reach out and touch her, if I wanted. Wrap my arm around her shoulders and pull her close. Strangely... refreshing, this growth.

When the bell finally rings, Edythe stands and smiles down at me. "See you tomorrow, Beau!"

"See you, Edythe."

She skips from the room, much slower than last week, smiling over her shoulder at me before vanishing from sight. Michelle approaches with her head low. I have a feeling things didn't go easy for her team.

"That was awful! They all looked exactly the same. You're lucky you had Cullen for a partner." She gripes as we leave the room. I glower down at her, wondering why she simply assumed I'd use Edythe's brain. What, I don't have one of my own? Fucking rude.

"I didn't have any trouble with it," I say, lowering my voice beyond what is a typical conversation tone just to hammer the point in. With a slight wince, Michelle's eyes flick around as she struggles to change the subject. She falls on Edythe.

"W-well... uh... Cullen seemed friendly enough today," Her voice is strained. Doesn't she have other things on her mind besides Edythe? "Something must have been bothering her last week." I tune Michelle out as we get into the routine of putting on our raincoats and heading out to the gym.

Michelle is on my volleyball team that day, helping me cover the one corner the other side seems hellbent on hitting. Overall, the game is typical, with only minor bruising on each of us when we finally get into it. But it passes in a muddy blur, I'm in The Thing in a blink.

I turn the heat on low and pull my hood down, letting my hair out from its gym class ponytail to dry a bit. When I look out to make sure it was clear, I notice a few cars down from me that Edythe Cullen is leaning against her Volvo, staring at me — well, at the truck from that distance. I shake my head and shift it in reverse, letting a rust bucket Corolla pass behind me.

I can feel her eyes on me as I leave the parking lot, thankful for the change in behavior, but still curious on the small things. Her eyes. Her skin. Things that just... aren't adding up for me. Not in ways that make sense. She can't be what I think she is, can she?