Hello again! Chapter two is here! Lemme know what you guys think so far :)

OPEN BOOK

The next day was better...and worse. It was better because it wasn't raining yet, though the clouds were dense and opaque. It was easier because I knew what to expect of my day.

Mike came to sit by me in English, and walked me to my next class, with Eric glaring at him all the while; that was flattering. I sat with a big group during the mid-day break that included Mike, Eric, Jessica, and several other people whose names and faces I now remembered. I began to feel like I was treading water, instead of drowning in it.

It was worse because I was tired; I still couldn't sleep with the wind echoing around the house.

It was miserable because Jess and Angela had begged me to play a game of volleyball, and the one time I didn't cringe out of the way of the ball, I hit Jess in the head with it.

And it was worse because Edward Cullen wasn't on campus at all. All morning I had been dreading my break, fearing his bizarre glares.

Part of me wanted to confront him and demand to know what his problem was, at least let me do something to piss you off before you start being a dick to me.

While I was lying sleepless in my bed, I even imagined what I would say. But I knew myself too well to think I would really have the balls to do it. I was utterly terrible when it came to confrontation, even with my quick temper.

But when I walked into the commissary with Jessica—trying to keep my eyes from sweeping the place for him, and failing entirely—I saw that his four siblings of sorts were sitting together at the same table, and he was not with them. Mike intercepted us and steered us his way. Jessica seemed elated by the attention, and her friends quickly joined us. But as I tried to listen to their easy chatter, I was terribly uncomfortable, waiting nervously for the moment he would arrive. I hoped that he would simply ignore me when he came, and prove my suspicions false. He didn't come, and as time passed I grew more and more tense.

I walked to Bio with more confidence when, by the end of lunch, he still hadn't shown. Mike, who was taking on the qualities of a golden retriever, walked faithfully by my side to class. I held my breath at the door, but Edward Cullen wasn't there, either. I exhaled and went to my seat.

Mike followed, talking about an upcoming bar crawl he was planning to show some of the new freshman and pledges around the town. He lingered by my desk until I pointedly looked at my watch. Then he smiled at me wistfully and went to sit by a girl with a massive starbucks cup, sunglasses on and a struggling ponytail. It looked like I was going to have to do something about Mike, and it wouldn't be easy. Handling neurotypicals made diplomacy essential. I had never been enormously tactful; I had managed to hurt a lot of feelings with blunt rejection in the past.

I was relieved that I had the lab table to myself, that Edward was absent. I told myself that repeatedly. But I couldn't get rid of the nagging suspicion that I was the reason he wasn't there. It was ridiculous, and egotistical, to think that I could affect anyone that strongly. I tried to remind myself of my therapist's helpful coping strategy, "Not everything is about you, Bella." It was impossible.

And yet I couldn't stop worrying that it was true. When the day was finally done, I booked it outside of my final Entomology class, pleased to find that I had successfully evaded my retriever friend for the moment. I walked swiftly out to the parking lot.

I got in my truck and dug through my bag to make sure I had what I needed. Last night I'd discovered that Kain couldn't cook much besides fried eggs and bacon. So I requested that I be assigned kitchen detail for the duration of my stay. He was willing enough to hand over the keys to the banquet hall. I also found out that he had no food in the house. So I had my shopping list and the cash from the jar in the cupboard labeled FOOD MONEY, and I was on my way to the Thriftway.

I gunned my deafening engine to life, ignoring the heads that turned in my direction, and backed carefully into a place in the line of cars that were waiting to exit the parking lot. As I waited, trying to pretend that the ear splitting rumble was coming from someone else's car, I saw the two Cullens and the Hale twins getting into their car. It was the shiny new Audi. Of course.

I hadn't noticed their clothes before—I'd been too mesmerized by their faces. Now that I looked, it was obvious that they were all dressed exceptionally well; simply, but in clothes that subtly hinted at designer origins. With their remarkable good looks, the style with which they carried themselves, they could have worn dishrags and pulled it off. It seemed excessive for them to have both looks and money. But as far as I could tell, capitalism worked that way most of the time. It didn't look as if it bought them any acceptance here. No, I didn't fully believe that. The isolation must be their desire; I couldn't imagine any door that wouldn't be opened by that degree of beauty. They looked at my noisy truck as I passed them, just like everyone else. I kept my eyes straight forward and was relieved when I finally was free of the school grounds.

The Thriftway was not far from Campus, just a few streets south, off the highway. It was nice to be inside the supermarket; it felt normal, and I fell into the pattern of the familiar task gladly. The store was big enough inside that I couldn't hear the tapping of the rain on the roof to remind me where I was.

I also grabbed myself a bottle of Moscato, I could have a little wine, as a treat.

When I got home, I unloaded all the groceries, stuffing them in wherever I could find an open space. I hoped Kain wouldn't mind. I wrapped potatoes in foil and stuck them in the oven to bake, covered a steak in marinade and balanced it on top of a carton of eggs in the fridge. When I was finished with that, I carried my bag to my room. Before starting my classwork, I changed into a pair of dry sweats, pulled a comb through my frizzy curls, rolling them into a plump bun , and checked my email for the first time. I had three messages.

"Bella,

Write to me as soon as you get finished with your first day. Is it raining? I miss you already. I'm almost finished packing for that vacation with your Dad to Cancun, but I can't find my pink blouse. Do you remember where that went? Dad says hi.

Mom."

I sighed and went to the next. It was sent eight hours after the first.

"Bella,

Why haven't you emailed me yet? What are you waiting for?

Mom."

The last was from this morning.

"Isabella, If I haven't heard from you by 5:30 p.m. today I'm calling Kain."

Not even a sign off on that one, and the subject was blank. I checked the clock. I still had an hour, but my mom was well known for jumping the gun.

Mom,

Calm down. I'm writing right now. Don't do anything rash.

Bella.

I sent that, and began again.

Mom,

Everything is great. Of course it's raining. I was waiting for something to write about. School isn't bad, just a little repetitive. I met some nice kids who sit by me on breaks. Your blouse is at the dry cleaners—you were supposed to pick it up Friday. Kain bought me a truck, can you believe it? I love it. It's old, but really sturdy, which is good, you know, for me. I miss you, too. I'll write again soon, but I'm not going to check my email every five minutes. Relax, breathe. I love you.

Bella.

I had decided to read Wuthering Heights again for the fun of it, and that's what I was doing when Kain came home. I'd lost track of the time, and I hurried downstairs to take the potatoes out and put the steak in to broil.

"Bella?" my brother called out when he heard me in the hall. Who else? I thought to myself.

"Hey, Bro, welcome home."

"Awh! Thanks." He hung up his tan duster jacket and stepped out of his boots as I bustled about the kitchen.

"What's for dinner?" he asked warily. My mother was an imaginative cook, and her experiments weren't always edible. I was surprised that he assumed I'd let her continue to cook after he'd left.

"Steak and potatoes," I answered, and he looked relieved. He seemed to feel awkward standing in the kitchen doing nothing; he padded into the living room to get on facebook and turn on Netflix while I worked. We were both more comfortable that way. I made a salad while the steaks cooked, and set the table. I called him in when dinner was ready, and he sniffed appreciatively as he walked into the room.

"Smells good, Boo."

"Thanks." We ate in silence for a few minutes. It wasn't uncomfortable. Neither of us was bothered by the quiet. In some ways, we were well suited for living together.

"So…, how did you like school? Have you made any friends?" he asked as he was taking seconds.

"Well, I have a few classes with a girl named Jessica. I sit with her friends on break. And there's this boy, Mike, who's very friendly. Everybody seems pretty nice." With one outstanding exception.

"That must be Mike Newton. He's a bit of a playboy, but he's nice enough from what I've heard. His Pops owns the sporting goods store just outside of town. He makes a good living off all the backpackers who come through here."

"Do you know the Cullen family?" I asked hesitantly.

"Dr. Cullen's family? Oh god yea, they are HARD. TO. MISS. Dr. Cullen's a really good doctor, and a total DILF." I gave him an exasperated look, following it with a hard 'Bruh'. He looked back at me with wide eyes and a huff.

"What!? He is!"

"If I hear you call anyone "Daddy" I swear to god I will throw you out the window."

He laughed at that, grinning evilly at me but getting another bite. I sat for a moment before I continued.

"They… the kids… are a little different. They don't seem to fit in very well at school." I looked up at him again.

Kain surprised me by looking angry. "People in this town," he muttered. "They really are a chill family, the doc and his wife do charity events and fundraisers for LGBTQ Youth, and he's been fighting for the hospital to provide gender confirmation surgery and therapy. A lot of the kids in the youth group I work with go to him because he makes them feel safe." He almost growled. "And their kids are super polite and quiet, I've met the bigger one, Emmet, at a couple parties and he's a really good dude, helps me and the other guys keep an eye on girls drinks so nobody tries anything stupid. Just because they're newcomers, n' pretty, people have to talk." He must feel strongly about whatever people were saying, and I can imagine it wasn't great in this pretty conservative town, I backpedaled.

"They seemed nice enough to me. I just noticed they kept to themselves. They're all very attractive," I added, trying to be more complimentary.

"Seriously, you should see the doctor," Kain said, laughing. "It's a good thing he's happily married. A lot of the nurses at the hospital have a hard time concentrating on their work with him around. Hell, I would have trouble concentrating just glancing at the man." He put on a dreamy expression and I kicked him under the table.

"Go to horny jail, Nasty." We lapsed back into silence as we finished eating. He cleared the table while I started on the dishes. He went back to the TV, and after I finished washing the dishes by hand—no dishwasher—I went to my room unwillingly to work on my math homework. I could feel a tradition in the making.

That night it was finally quiet. My comfy little reclining reading chair beside my desk was still far too inviting. I pulled my laptop out and got into some joggers and a ratty t-shirt, and finally grabbed the moscato and a glass from the kitchen.

As I worked on my different classwork and readings, I lost count of how many glasses I'd had-I was a massive lightweight, so when I leaned back to stretch and realized how tipsy I was-I snickered with a grimace.

"Whoopsie."

I settled though, happily buzzed but still pretty awake. I bit my lip as a thought crossed my mind, opening a new tab on my web browser. I tapped in Facebook's URL, scrolling the page. I wasn't on Facebook much, besides scrolling for the memes and fighting racist long distance relatives. But tonight I was looking for something specific.

I went to the search bar and looked up the name "Edward Cullen". Maybe he'd vague-posted about me or something, maybe I could get some insight as to why he was away from class...As I was not friends with him, though, all I could really see was photos.

There weren't many, and I was disappointed. A couple of his family, one or two selfies with his adoptive sister, Alice, some staged looking photos of them all in graduation gowns from high school. I frowned unhappily, a reminder of how pretty he was but nothing else didn't help me at all. I briefly glanced at the "add friend" button, but laughed out loud to myself less than a moment later. As if I had the guts, as if he'd friend me.

I scrolled back up, clicking around his profile to see if there was anything of use to me. And I paused when I saw he'd linked his Spotify to his Facebook account. He must not have realized it was public. I bit my lip and clicked on his Spotify, pulling up his profile to find out if I could see what he was listening to. My jaw fell open.

I felt like you could tell a lot about a person by what they listened to. However, his music taste was even more frenetic than mine, and enormous.

I scrolled through his different playlists and followed artists, most of it wasn't even in english. I looked to his profile picture, a slightly blurry photo of his face. It looked like he'd simply zoomed in on a family photo for it, in fact I think he had.

I finally sighed, rolling my eyes at myself, my failed attempt at cyber-stalking did seem pretty juvenile, but he'd started it with his attitude. I slapped my laptop shut and set it up to charge, returning the half empty bottle and my empty glass to the kitchen, and finally went to bed.

I fell asleep quickly, exhausted. The rest of the week was uneventful. I got used to the routine of my classes. By Friday I was able to recognize, if not name, almost all the students in my classes. On break, Angela and Jess finally decided self preservation was more important than making me "feel included" in the game, I played goalkeeper and referee, and happily stayed out of their way. Edward Cullen didn't come back to campus.

Every day, I watched anxiously for the Cullens, Every class, every corner, on the walk to the commissary. If Jess or Angela noticed my agitation, they didn't mention it. Eventually I would relax into the frenetic group chat and conversation, typically it centered around a bar crawl in two weeks that Mike was putting together. I was invited, and I had agreed to go, more out of politeness and to hang with Jess, Angela and Becca than a desire to binge drink.

By Friday I was perfectly comfortable entering my Biology class and campus, no longer worried that Edward would be there. For all I knew, he had dropped out of school. I tried not to think about him, but I couldn't totally suppress the worry that I was responsible for his continued absence, ridiculous as it seemed. He didn't show up to our bio lecture, and when I did spot his siblings, they were never with him.

My first weekend passed without incident. Kain, unused to spending time in the usually empty house, went out most of the weekend. I cleaned the house, got ahead on my homework, scrolled facebook and twitter mindlessly, and wrote my mom a more bogusly cheerful email.

I did drive to the university library Saturday, and while the selection was massive and the stacks were a fantastic place to hide, there wasn't a ton in terms of fiction. I decided to try to go to Seattle or Olympia soon to find a decent bookstore.

I wondered idly what kind of gas mileage the truck got… and shuddered at the thought. The rain stayed soft over the weekend, quiet, so I was able to sleep well. The guy at the coffee cart greeted me in the parking lot Monday morning, I didn't remember his name, but I waved back and smiled and made conversation as he made my drink.

It was colder this morning, but happily not raining. In English, Mike took his accustomed seat by my side. We had a moodle quiz on Wuthering Heights. It was straightforward, very easy. All in all, I was feeling a lot more comfortable than I had thought I would feel by this point. The lecture that followed was vaguely interesting, discussing the symbolism of Cathy and Heathcliff. I was in a good mood as we packed up at the end of class, Mike chattering happily, me nodding politely, at least until we stepped outside of the building.

The air was full of swirling bits of white. I could hear people shouting excitedly to each other. The wind bit at my cheeks, my nose.

"Wow," Mike said. "It's snowing."

I looked at the little cotton fluffs that were building up along the sidewalk and swirling erratically past my face.

"Ew." Snow. There went my good day. He looked surprised.

"Don't you like snow?"

"No. That means it's too cold for rain." I really didn't like the cold, chilly was one thing, something a warm sweater and a cute scarf would fix. But cold in the Pacific NorthWest, cold, that was something else entirely. I grimaced and-not caring how dorky I would look- zipped my parka up to my neck and dug my hand in the chest pocket where I had stashed a thin, simple beanie and mittens just for emergencies, getting them on as quickly as possible. Mike looked at me in shock for a moment, then laughed, the look on my face must betray my trauma.

And then a big, squishy ball of dripping snow smacked into the back of his head. We both turned to see where it came from. I had my suspicions about Eric, who was walking away, his back toward us—in the wrong direction for his next class. Mike apparently had the same notion. He bent over and began scraping together a pile of the white mush.

"I'll see you at lunch, okay?" I kept walking as I spoke. "Once people start throwing wet stuff, I go inside."

He glanced back at me, laughing again at my disgusted wave at the ground, clomping off in my boots. Of all the days to go with the black tights and sweater dress look. At least I was wearing my combat boots, I thought with a shudder at the idea of being stuck in this in just sneakers. Throughout the morning, everyone chattered excitedly about the snow; apparently it was the first snowfall of the year. I kept my mouth shut. Sure, it was drier than rain—until it melted in your socks. I walked alertly to the cafeteria with Jessica after our History lecture. Mush balls were flying everywhere. I kept a binder in my hands, ready to use it as a shield if necessary. Jessica thought I was hilarious, but something in my expression kept her from lobbing a snowball at me herself.

Mike caught up to us as we walked into the commissary, laughing, with ice melting the spikes in his hair. He and Jessica were talking animatedly about the snow fight as we decided which line looked appetizing. I glanced around the room for a particular head of red hair out of habit. And then I froze where I stood. My eyes zeroed in on a circular table of five people.

The Cullens had returned.

All of them.

Jess tugged my arm.

"Hello? Bella? What do you want?" I looked down; my ears were hot. I had no reason to feel self-conscious, I reminded myself. I hadn't done anything wrong.

"What's with Bella?" Mike asked Jessica.

"Nothing," I answered. "I'll just get a soda today." I caught up to the end of the line.

"Aren't you hungry?" Jessica asked, an odd little frown on her face.

"Actually, I feel a little sick," I said, my eyes still on the floor. I waited for them to get their food, noticing Jessica got an extra side and piece of veggie pizza, and three drinks, I only noticed because she broke her typical routine. I tried to keep my mind on anything but the coil of anxiety deep in my stomach as I followed them to a table.

I sat down as nonchalantly as possible, cracked open my can a little too loudly, and sipped my soda, my stomach churning.

Twice Mike asked, with unnecessary concern, how I was feeling. I told him it was nothing, but I was wondering if I should play it up and escape to the nurse's office for the next hour. Ridiculous. I shouldn't have to run away. I decided to permit myself one glance at the Cullen family's table. If he was glaring at me, I would skip Bio like the coward I was. I kept my head down and glanced up under my lashes.

None of them were looking this way. I lifted my head a little. They were laughing. Edward, Jasper, and Emmett all had their hair entirely saturated with melting snow. Alice and Rosalie were leaning away as Emmett shook his dripping hair toward them. They were enjoying the snowy day, just like everyone else—only they looked more like a scene from a movie than the rest of us.

But, aside from the laughter and playfulness, there was something different, and I couldn't quite pinpoint what that difference was. I examined Edward the most carefully. His skin was less pale, I decided—flushed from the snow fight maybe—the circles under his eyes much less noticeable. But there was something more. I pondered, staring, trying to isolate the change.

"Bella, what are you staring at?" Jessica intruded, her eyes following my stare. At that precise moment, his eyes flashed over to meet mine. I dropped my head, I was sure, though, in the instant our eyes met, that he didn't look harsh or unfriendly as he had the last time I'd seen him. He looked merely curious again, unsatisfied in some way.

"Edward Cullen is staring at you," Jessica giggled in my ear.

"He doesn't look angry, does he?" I couldn't help asking.

"No," she said, sounding confused by my question. "Should he be?"

"I don't think he likes me," I confided. I still felt queasy. I put my head down on my arm. She still looked concerned, but took another bite of her first piece of the pizza, chewing and huffing.

"The Cullens don't like anybody… well, they don't notice anybody enough to like them. But he's still staring at you." she glanced back up at him, staring at him back in what looked to be an intimidating way, narrowing her eyes and then looking back down at me, the intimidation gone. I was in awe, I didn't think I'd have the balls to stare him down like that. My respect for the girl beside me spiked, but I was still bright red.

"Stop fuckin' looking at him," I hissed. She snickered, but she looked away. I raised my head enough to make sure that she did, urging her. Mike interrupted us then—he was planning an epic battle of the blizzard in the parking lot after class and wanted us to join. Jessica agreed enthusiastically. The way she looked at Mike left little doubt that she would be up for anything he suggested. I kept silent. I would have to hide in the gym until the parking lot cleared. For the rest of the lunch hour I very carefully kept my eyes at my own table. But I was starting to relax, he didn't seem upset today...My stomach was suddenly a little less tight, and I realized I regretted not getting anything to eat. I glanced at the extra food on Jessica's tray with a little remorse. She seemed to catch that, perking.

"Oh, hey, are you still not hungry or could you help me finish off this tray? I hate wasting food and my eyes were totally bigger than my stomach today.." I perked.

"Oh, no if you were hungry you should try-" but a little gurgle in my stomach betrayed me. I glared at it quickly and she snorted, giggling again and pushing one of her drinks and the side at me. It suddenly hit me that she'd gotten those extra things because she knew this would happen and wanted me to eat something. I was touched, but now even more embarrassed than before. I sheepishly opened the drink and tugged the side to me, blushing.

"..Thanks Jess…" I decided to honor the bargain I'd made with myself. Since he didn't look angry, I would go to Biology. My stomach did frightened little flips at the thought of sitting next to him again. I didn't really want to walk to class with Mike as usual—he seemed to be a popular target for the snowball snipers—but when we went to the door, everyone besides me groaned in unison.

It was raining, washing all traces of the snow away in clear, icy ribbons down the side of the walkway. I pulled my hood up, secretly pleased. I would be free to go straight home after Gym. Mike kept up a string of complaints on the way to the science building. Once inside the classroom, I saw with relief that my table was still empty. Mr. Banner was walking around the room, distributing one microscope and box of slides to each table. Class didn't start for a few minutes, and the room buzzed with conversation. I kept my eyes away from the door, doodling idly on the cover of my notebook. I heard very clearly when the chair next to me moved, but my eyes stayed carefully focused on the pattern I was drawing.

"Hello," said a quiet, musical voice. I looked up, stunned that he was speaking to me. He was sitting as far away from me as the table allowed, but his chair was angled toward me. His hair was dripping wet, disheveled—even so, he looked like he'd just finished shooting a commercial for hair gel. His dazzling face was friendly, open, a slight smile on his flawless lips. But his eyes were careful.

"My name is Edward Cullen," he continued.

"I didn't have a chance to introduce myself last week. You must be Bella Swan." My mind was spinning with confusion. Had I made up the whole thing? He was perfectly polite now. I had to speak; he was waiting. But I couldn't think of anything conventional to say.

"Uh...hi? how do you know my name?" I stammered. He laughed a soft, enchanting laugh.

"Oh, I think everyone knows your name. Your older brother is well known at the frat parties on campus, he talks about you quite frequently." I grimaced. I knew it was something like that.

"No," I persisted stupidly. "I meant, why did you call me Bella?" He seemed confused.

"Do you prefer Isabella?"

"No, I like Bella," I shook my head- "But I think Kain must call me Isabella behind my back—that's what everyone here seems to know me as," I tried to explain, but it was already dying on my lips as I realized he could have heard it from one of the other students at some point.

"Oh." He let it drop. I looked away awkwardly, unnerved. Thankfully, Prof. Banner started class at that moment. I tried to concentrate as he explained the lab we would be doing today. The slides in the box were out of order. Working as lab partners, we had to separate the slides of different human tissues, and label them accordingly. The reading we were assigned talked about the mitosis of human cells and nondisjunction events and how each one could lead to a different chromosomal abnormality, with a few essay questions attached due at midnight tonight. In twenty minutes, he would close the online portion and we would be moving on to the lecture.

"Get started," he commanded.

"Ladies first, partner?" Edward asked. I looked up to see him smiling a crooked smile so beautiful that I could only stare at him like an idiot. I had been avoiding making eye contact, either looking between his eyebrows or at his eerily straight nose, but my eyes snapped to his now. I felt a bizarre shiver from the crown of my head downward, and he seemed to stiffen, held the eye contact a moment longer, and then dropped his gaze."Or I could start, if you wish." The smile faded.

"No," I jerked to life, flushing. "I'll go ahead." I shook off the electricity that was still making the hair on my arms stand up, and refocused to my task. This lab was terribly simple for a Junior level course, and I wondered if the professor was trying to set the curve. I knew what I was looking for. It should be easy.

I snapped the first slide into place under the microscope and adjusted it quickly to the 40X objective. I studied the slide briefly. My assessment was confident. "Connective."

"Do you mind if I look?" he asked as I began to remove the slide. His hand caught mine, to stop me, as he asked. His fingers were ice cold, like he'd been holding them in a snowdrift before class. But that wasn't why I jerked my hand away so quickly. When he touched me, it stung my hand as if an electric current had passed through us. So much stronger than it had when our eyes had met previously. For a second I thought I was being melodramatic, but after a moment, I genuinely felt my fingers tingling where we'd made contact, like I'd applied a menthol paste to the area. My eyes once again met his of their own accord, and I could swear that his eyes had darkened.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, pulling his hand back immediately. However, he continued to reach for the microscope. I watched him, still staggered, as he examined the slide for an even shorter time than I had. "Prophase," he agreed. He swiftly switched out the first slide for the second, and then glanced at it cursorily.

"Epithelial," he murmured, typing it as he spoke. I kept my voice indifferent.

"May I?" He looked surprised for a moment, before he slowly smirked and pushed the microscope to me. I looked through the eyepiece eagerly, only to be disappointed. Dang it, he was right. "Slide three?" I held out my hand without looking at him. He handed it to me; it seemed like he was being careful not to touch my skin again. I took the most fleeting look I could manage.

"Nervous." I passed him the microscope before he could ask for it. He took a swift peek, and then marked it down as well. We were finished before anyone else was close, I was now quietly filling in the essay questions, my fingers brushing quickly across the keys of my mac, figuring he was too as he didn't say anything.

Describing the reactions of different muscle tissues responding to nondisjunction events during mitotic cell division and what different rates of cell division in different tissues and organs would mean in terms of damage to that organ. I held back a snicker, wondering who the prof was trying to weed out.

I could see Mike and his partner comparing two slides again and again, and another group had their book open under the table. Which left me with nothing to do but try to not look at him… unsuccessfully. I glanced up, and he was staring at me, that same inexplicable look of frustration and...hunger, in his eyes. Suddenly I identified that subtle difference in his face.

"Did you get contacts?" I blurted out unthinkingly. He seemed puzzled by my unexpected question.

"No."

"Oh," I mumbled. "I thought there was something different about your eyes." He shrugged, and looked away.

In fact, I was sure there was something different. I vividly remembered the flat black color of his eyes the last time he'd glared at me—the color was striking against the background of his pale skin and his auburn hair.

Today, his eyes were a completely different color: a strange ocher, darker than butterscotch, but with the same golden tone. I didn't understand how that could be, unless he was lying for some reason about the contacts. The darkness from before had also faded, and I wondered if the light was playing tricks on me. Maybe all this time indoors was making me crazy in the literal sense of the word. I looked down.

His hands were clenched into hard fists again. What was this guy's deal? I did a vague assessment, he must be one of those "High Horse" types, I mean, with all that money, and what must be a gaggle of fangirls, he was probably full of himself. I was on edge now, curling in on myself.

"So, what's your major?" His voice was trying to be casual.

"I'm double majoring, Biology and Chemistry." I mumbled, not looking at him, trying to remain guarded, but also not rude.

"What are you hoping to do?"

"I want to be a Forensic Pathologist."

"Really? Pathology? Why that course?" I was used to this line of questioning, and my ready answer came out without a thought.

"I don't relate well with the living." I said dryly, glancing his way.

He looked startled for a moment, before an odd smile tugged at his lips. He rubbed at his jaw and mouth a moment, trying to hide it and scrub it off of his face. We were quiet again, and I once again became engrossed in my essay, it was better to answer these types but not initiate.

"It's too bad about the snow, isn't it?" Edward asked. I had the feeling that he was forcing himself to make small talk with me. Paranoia swept over me again. It was like he had heard my conversation with Jessica at lunch and was trying to prove me wrong.

"Not really," I answered honestly, making a face. I was still trying to dislodge the stupid feeling of suspicion, and I couldn't concentrate.

"You don't like the cold." It wasn't a question.

"Or the sloppy."

"Washington must be a difficult place for you to live," he mused.

"You have no idea," I muttered darkly. He looked fascinated by what I said, for some reason I couldn't imagine. His face was such a distraction that I tried not to look at it any more than courtesy absolutely demanded.

"Why did you come here, then?" No one had asked me that—not straight out like he did, demanding.

"Well, money honestly," I sighed "Nebraska was expensive with housing and food costs, my parents were threatening to dig into their retirement to help me out. Since my older brother lives out here and WSU was going to offer me a ton of grants and scholarship money if I transferred, as well as take most of my credits, I couldn't just let them throw away money. Things could be worse."

"Why didn't you stay with them? Go to CSU LA?" I couldn't fathom his interest, but he continued to stare at me with penetrating eyes, as if my dull life's story was somehow vitally important. Again I had the vague feeling this was going to be a trick.

"...They really wanted to retire to Florida, and travel, but my mom is stubborn, she didn't want me to change schools or "give up on my dreams.", but with the money running dry and my dad getting too old to keep up at the firehouse like he used to…" I trailed off, thinking about the raised voices and desperate reassurances. All the times my parents had forgone something, a trip, a new car, a better home, just to keep their youngest in school.

"And your mother sent you here so that they could keep their retirement." He said it as an assumption again, not a question. My chin raised a fraction.

"No, she did not send me here. I sent myself." His eyebrows knit together.

"I don't understand," he admitted, and he seemed unnecessarily frustrated by that fact. I sighed. Why was I explaining this to him? He continued to stare at me with obvious curiosity.

"They were constantly worrying about me taking on student loans, my mom was losing sleep over how quickly the money they had set aside for my college fund was vanishing. They were even putting off their retirement to try and make money for me...I felt terrible. They should be able to enjoy themselves, not worry themselves sick over me. So I did a lot of looking around and...transferred to WSU." My voice was glum by the time I finished.

"But now you're unhappy," he pointed out.

"And?" I challenged.

"That doesn't seem fair." He shrugged, but his eyes were still intense. I laughed without humor.

"Hasn't anyone ever told you? Life isn't fair, or cheap."

"I believe I have heard that somewhere before," he agreed dryly.

"So that's it," I insisted, wondering why he was still staring at me that way. His gaze became appraising.

"You put on a good show," he said slowly. "But I'd be willing to bet that there's a little more to it, you're struggling with this move more than you let anyone see." I grimaced at him, resisting the impulse to stick out my tongue like a five-year-old, and looked away.

"Am I wrong?" I tried to ignore him.

"I didn't think so," he murmured smugly.

"Why does it matter to you?" I asked, irritated. I didn't want to tell him anything he could hurt me with, I recognized this feeling, like when I was in middle school and kids would suddenly talk to me, just to make fun of me. The distinct suspicion was a trap, but I didn't know in what way. I kept my eyes away, watching the professor start his lecture on mitotic cell division.

"That's a very good question," he muttered, so quietly that I wondered if he was talking to himself. However, after a few seconds of silence, I decided that was the only answer I was going to get. I sighed, scowling at the blackboard.

"Am I annoying you?" he asked. He sounded amused. I glanced at him without thinking… and told the truth again.

"Not exactly. I'm more annoyed at myself. My face is so easy to read—my mother always calls me her open book." I frowned.

"On the contrary, I find you very difficult to read." Despite everything that I'd said and he'd guessed, he sounded like he meant it.

"You must be a terrible reader then," I replied.

"Not usually." He smiled widely, flashing a set of perfect, ultrawhite teeth. Professor Banner called the class to order, shushing us with a scowl, and I turned with relief to listen. I was in disbelief that I'd just explained my life story to this bizarre, beautiful, and rude boy who may or may not despise me.

He'd seemed engrossed in our conversation, but now I could see, from the corner of my eye, that he was leaning away from me again, his hands gripping the edge of the table with unmistakable tension.

I tried to appear attentive as Professor Banner illustrated, with transparencies on the overhead projector, what I had seen without difficulty through the microscope. But my thoughts were unmanageable. When class finally ended, Edward rushed as swiftly and as gracefully from the room as he had last Monday. And, like last Monday, I stared after him in amazement. Mike skipped quickly to my side and picked up my books for me. I imagined him with a wagging tail.

"That was awful," he groaned. "They all looked exactly the same. You're lucky you had Cullen for a partner."

"I didn't have any trouble with it, what did you get hung up on?" Judging by his expression, I'd misread the moment and trampled his masculinity a bit, oops. He took a moment, and I wiggled my necklace chain against my collar.

"Cullen seemed friendly enough today," he commented as we shrugged into our raincoats. He didn't seem pleased about it. I tried to sound indifferent. "I wonder what was with him last Monday."

I couldn't concentrate on Mike's chatter as we walked to the Rec center, watching him and my other friends play volleyball again today, helping them keep score and call fouls. The rain was just a mist as I walked to the parking lot, but I was happier when I was in the dry cab.

I got the heater running, for once not caring about the mind-numbing roar of the engine. I unzipped my jacket, put the hood down, and fluffed my damp hair out so the heater could dry it on the way home. I looked around me to make sure it was clear. That's when I noticed the still, white figure.

Edward Cullen was leaning against the front door of the Audi, three cars down from me, and staring intently in my direction. I swiftly looked away and threw the truck into reverse, almost hitting a rusty Toyota Corolla in my haste. Lucky for the Toyota, I stomped on the brake in time. It was just the sort of car that my truck would make scrap metal of. I took a deep breath, still looking out the other side of my car, and cautiously pulled out again, with greater success. I stared straight ahead as I passed the Audi, but from a peripheral peek, I would swear I saw him laughing.

Oh Mike, the simping begins.

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