4. Cowardice and Curiosity

I spend most of Sunday night at the lake, sitting on the shore and staring at the clouds gathering above me. Alice and Jasper join me and we talk for a few hours, unmoving, letting the night around us unspool until pale early dawn light replaces it. When we see the first flakes swirling to Earth, Alice laughs delightedly; she's as fond of snowball fights as humans are. Jasper just smiles, conscious of her improving mood.

We talk a little more about the recent oddities that have been re-shaping our life, like Alice's inability to perceive my future, but don't really get anywhere. When the time comes, we meet Rosalie and Emmett by the car; high school beckons.

By the time we get to the parking lot, a few inches of snow have already accumulated on the ground. As we get out, I briefly scan the vicinity; my singer hasn't arrived yet. Over the night, my confidence has slowly evaporated and now I'm unsure I made the right choice; maybe I shouldn't be here.

"Relax, sister," Emmet thunders. "Either you kill him or you don't, it's not that big of a deal. Might as well get it over with…"

"Your own mistakes certainly don't seem to weigh on your conscience."

"Eternity is a long time to spend it ruing past mistakes. You should really learn to lighten up." He shrugs.

I scoff and shake my head; he's right, but following his advice does not come easy to me, I think just before something soft and almost as cold as I am hits me square in the back. I turn around to face my attacker and see Alice, giggling and getting ready to use Jasper as a human shield. I craft my own snowball and throw it at her, but they are prepared and Jasper swats it away easily. Rosalie and Emmet, cheering and whooping like the kids we pretend to be on a daily basis, pelt them with more projectiles; some of them get through their guard and drench their clothes and hair in white powder. They return fire with joyful abandon and soon we are all half covered in the stuff.

As we take a break and huddle near our car, I vaguely notice the boy's truck make an entrance, his engine rumbling the loudest. After parking, he talks to Jeff, briefly, and walks toward the school, smiling. His scent didn't reach me, but I wonder why he looked happy. Probably because of the snow; it really affects humans, and I have to admit even members of my kind are not immune to its charms. I also realize that Alice started the whole thing to help me forget about my worries and unwind a little. It seems to have worked. Sitting next to him in French will be a trial, but at least the rest of the day should be fairly easy. I've been testing my resolve for years… I hope all that pays off.

The morning periods inch by as boringly as ever, but a little tension starts to build up again. At lunch I walk into the cafeteria chatting with my siblings; Jasper and Rosalie are trying to dissuade me from joining my French class. Alice's skills are still on the fritz, but she maintains I won't kill anybody today. The shadow that blocked her view of the future any farther hasn't budged, however. The boy is already there, lining up for food with Jeff and a small girl I don't remember noticing before. The girl's thoughts betray some kind of confusion, maybe about something they were discussing; the boy's mind is as impenetrable to my special talent as ever.

"Lynn, why risk it?" Jasper suddenly intones, while we sit at our table, referring to the French class. It's a sequel to a previous conversation.

"Jasper…." I tell him, noticing he seems to be enjoying this sudden reversal; the mighty, arrogant Lynn is not as invulnerable as she thought she was, I suppose.

"You might be right." I end up saying. Maybe he has a point. Resisting that aroma's allure won't be easy if we sit next to each other and any mistake would have dire repercussions.

"We talked about this… She can't skip French the rest of the year. It would look weird and it might affect her chances of graduating on schedule. She should just give it her best shot, and see how it pans out."

"Emmett. I like it here." Rosalie replies. "And we are almost out of high school hell… I don't want to leave." The world revolves around her beauty, as we all know.

I pay little attention to them and focus on the boy instead. He's laughing about something and Jeff's mind gives off a little annoyance toward him, like he said something wrong. For an instant, I almost feel like I should help him, protect him from the unkind thoughts in his friend's mind, but then I realize they're just joking around about minor stuff. I stare at the boy, still trying, unsuccessfully, to unlock the barrier shielding his psyche. He doesn't seem bothered by his friend's jibes.

"Brandon, man, Lynn Cullen is staring at you." Mike whispers in his ear, unaware that I can still hear him as clearly as if we were standing next to each other.

Surprised, he turns toward me and meets my unwavering gaze. Easily embarrassed, he quickly looks down, his cheeks flushing red with blood. My throat aches at the memory of its scent, but fascination is winning out; he seems so shy, and weaker than the other humans. I wonder how someone so easily breakable, so brittle, can survive at all. And he's so quiet. He hardly talks even to other humans. He's a walking, talking enigma; I won't have any peace of mind until I solve it.

"Mike, is she still looking?" He asks the blond guy, too timid to check for himself.

"Yeah, for sure. Dude, maybe she likes you." It's the Asian guy now, Eric, joining the conversation. His suggestion I might like the boy is way off base of course, and I chuckle under my breath. What a thought….

The boy leans toward his friends and my ears prick; he's going to say something he doesn't want the girls to hear; it might be interesting.

"Yeah, right, and I'm the president of the United States. Guys, let's be honest, our leagues are so far apart I'm not sure I could find hers with a telescope. And last week she seemed really mad at me."

He noticed my weird behavior and my anger then, I muse to myself, and yet he doesn't seem scared, just confused, possibly even curious, like me.

"Nevertheless," Jeff tells him, also mired in befuddlement, "she's still looking at you. She doesn't appear angry. Maybe you'll get a chance to talk to her this time." Lynn, the ice queen, interested in our geeky new soccer player? That can't be right…. He silently adds in his mind.

"I doubt it." The boy mumbles in response, looking depressed now, almost forlorn. He seems disappointed. Does that mean he wants to chat with me, despite last week's events? I guess I'm not as scary as I used to be these days. If Emmett finds out, I'll never, ever hear the end of it… and yet… I feel strangely pleased.

When he heads off to class with the annoying airhead, Jessica, and the quiet Angela, Jasper turns to me.

"Sis, what have you decided? If you think you can't handle it…."

Emmett harrumphs; he's trying to remind us that he's already stated anything important on this topic. I shake my head; sometimes I wish I could be as accepting of our fate as he is.

"Jasper," Alice squeaks, a little peeved, "you're sounding smug now. Don't forget what your sister is going through."

He looks contrite, but a hint of smugness remains; he's enjoying this whole thing immensely; he's not the one we all look at with worry now.

I think of Carlisle and his concern for Brandon's father. Maybe Jasper is right, maybe I shouldn't chance it. His proximity will put my resolve to the sternest test. But then I think of the boy, and his mysterious mind, of the riddle that his thoughts and behavior represent, and of the spikes embedded in the walls of my brain demanding that I find out more about him. My thirst won't be easy to control, under normal circumstances, but I am willing to endure it. I want to understand him better so badly now… My mind is made up; I will go to class and try to suss out why he's so different from the other humans; my curiosity won't be denied today. I will face my problems head on as I always do instead of hiding like a coward.

I stand up, grab my bag and head to class.

"Stop worrying about me. I'll be fine." Rosalie looks skeptical, but she doesn't utter a single word. The others shrug and Alice briefly squeezes my arm as we head out; her mind tells me she still doesn't foresee any issues for today, but she seems confused by something. I will talk to her about it later.

As I enter the class, I notice the boy is already at his desk, drawing abstract noodles on the inside cover of his textbook. When I pull out my chair I make sure it scrapes loudly against the floor, letting him know I'm here. His doodling, like his heart, skips a beat, but he doesn't look up. He must be thinking I might still be mad at him. I have to do my best to correct the awful impression I made on him the other day. If we will sit together the rest of the term, we need to be on good terms.

"Hello." I say, modulating my voice for softness and a little charm, something easy to do for all of us. His liquid green eyes meet mines, wide open and surprised, at first, and later a little dazed. How strange. He must have really been rattled by my behavior, and yet he didn't talk much about it to his friends; they were all surprised when he told them about his worries in the cafeteria. I try to maintain a warm, friendly expression, while still holding my breath, as I realize he might remain speechless a little longer.

"My name is Lynn Cullen." I continue, now a little worried about his protracted silence. I briefly scan his mind, instinctively looking for an answer to the latest mystery, but as usual I only meet silence.

"I'm sorry I didn't have time to introduce myself last week." I add, hoping I will finally get some kind of reply.

No, that didn't seem to help. He is even shier than I thought. But we are forced to sit at the same desk and I'm sure we will have to interact at some point… I need to try and help him relax a little, so I can finally learn more about him.

"You're Brandon Swan, right? The whole town had been waiting for you."

Maybe an easy topic like his notoriety will jog something loose.

"Ah, yes, right; I imagined something like that."

Well, that's a start. At least he finally uttered a few words, but they don't really tell me much about the workings of his mind.

Mrs. Morrison enters the room and calls us to order. He turns to her, maybe thankful for the interruption, but my frustration has only increased. I want to ask him many questions, now that he finally looks like he will talk to me, but I will have to wait for an opportunity.

"Before we begin with our lesson, I have to tell you this is a fateful day…. Not quite the day of the Revolution but still…." Mrs. Morrison's gaze roves the room, trying to identify any student not paying attention to her.

"You've been studying French for almost four years now. It's time for a real challenge. Your assignment, for the rest of this semester, will involve reading a full novel in French and writing a short report about it. You already have a list of the questions you'll have to answer. We will discuss them in class in the near future."

She opens a box and extracts several paperbacks, stacking them up on her desk.

I pick up my book first and then go back to my desk, where I wait for Brandon to emerge from the subsequent literary scrum. When he does, he's holding the thickest book from the pile. More maddening questions crowd my mind…. He notices my bewilderment.

"Can I see it?" I ask him, uncertain, biting my lip.

"Sure."

I scowl. Does this boy ever behave in a predictable manner? All his classmates only went for the thinnest possible book. This one is twice as thick as any of them. Something in my surprise seems to affect him, eliciting a reaction.

"Something wrong? You don't like it?" He says, half laughing, even though what he said isn't really funny… Yet, shyness aside he sounds perfectly at ease, untroubled.

"No, it's not that. But this book is hundreds of pages. It's twice as long as any other book on the list we could choose from…"

He shrugs, but he's eager to correctly explain his reasons now. Good, that's all I was hoping for.

"I don't care how long a book is. I just care about whether it's good or not. This one is pretty famous and I'd always wanted to read it. Since I will enjoy myself, length is not an issue. In fact, the longer the better."

I have to say there is something oddly endearing about this boy who actually likes to read. I wish I could tell him I've been an avid reader myself for almost a century and the impossibility of such a revelation saddens me. And I'm still dissatisfied.

"All of our classmates have chosen the shortest possible texts they could find. Reading is not as popular as it used to be, but it's not just that…. This is supposed to be work, to them."

I peer at him, carefully observing his reaction. What will he say now?

"Oh well, I'm always untrendy. I always find a way to look like a weirdo. None of that comes as a surprise to me."

He says all that matter-of-factly, like somebody might mention the weather forecast for the next day or something everybody knows, like the fact that the sun rises in the East.

The air burns in my throat when I'm forced to breathe to talk, but I will not falter; my will is still bound by iron shackles despite the overwhelming richness of his blood's aroma.

Mrs. Morrison's handout is so easy my tasks are completed within minutes. The boy focuses on his paper, and he's soon done as well, well before any of his other classmates. He must be intelligent for a human; somehow that doesn't surprise me. His liquid eyes, much more permeable than his mind, had hinted as much. He frowns slightly when he notices I'm staring at him again.

The teacher notices us and comes to check our papers. She seems happy with our work, but troubled by something. Eventually, she addresses me, looking a little grumpy.

"Lynn, did you help our new student out?"

"No, Mrs. Morrison. Not at all."

"Did you study this material before, Brandon?" Her inquisitive stare turns to him.

"We used a different text, but yes, I did. I was in an advanced program in Phoenix."

Yes, he really is smart. Interesting.

"Okay, I'm glad you're partners then. If my students were all like you, my job would be a lot easier."

I take another deep breath. I want to speak to him. My throat burns and I have to tense my muscles for a few seconds to deny my basest instincts and stay in control. I have an idea… Humans often use polite chit-chat about irrelevant topics like the weather to establish a friendly rapport. Let's try it on for size.

"So, Brandon, what do you think of our constant rain?"

He looks a little stunned. Did I say something too banal? Did I sound too eager?

"I hate the rain, but love the scenery."

I can't help laughing out loud. He hates rain and yet he ended up in Forks. I catch a stray thought from a shocked classmate behind us.

Lynn Cullen laughing? And a beautiful, heartfelt laugh at that…. When has that ever happened before?

I almost gasp; the unknown kid's right. I rarely laugh, and never quite so… carefree, for lack of a better word. My siblings sometimes complain I'm too serious, like the old, grumpy hag I would be by now if I were still human. But my desire to figure out the boy is still in the driver's seat.

"You hate the rain… So why would you come to the wettest town in North America?" Let's see if he can dodge this question…

"It's a long story… I doubt you'd find it interesting."

Well, he's certainly trying to, but I won't be denied.

"Actually, I would really like to know."

Nothing but the truth there. I'll probably seem nosy, and so what? I could have done a lot worse to him. And, strangely, the more we talk the more comfortable he seems to feel; usually with humans the opposite happens. They're always attracted to us at first, but if they get too close parts of their brain sense the inherent danger and causes them a discomfort they don't consciously comprehend.

"I would really like to understand you." I plead with him when he hesitates. I might be rude now, but, hey, I'm cute, I can get away with it.

"Well, my father lives here…." He starts, and then decides to use a different approach.

"My mother got remarried, for one thing."

Like many other humans, he comes from a broken home. That's too bad. His childhood must have been difficult.

"So you don't like the guy?" Many humans have issues with foster parents, and I hope my statements will help the conversation along.

"No, he's great actually. And he makes my mother happy."

I don't get it, and my chagrin must be evident; he looks at me in a strange way…

"So, she wanted you out of the way then? Shipped you out here so she could enjoy her life?" That must be another reasonable assumption. After all, even parents still want to enjoy their life.

It's his turn to laugh.

"Not at all. You could say I exiled myself…"

"Really…" I always thought of myself as very perceptive, and yet I can't read him at all, and he keeps throwing curve balls at me. Is he really even human? He appears to be. I realize I probably always relied on my special talent a lot more than I thought.

"My mother is great, and she wanted me to stay with them. Her new husband has no problems with me. He even bought me my electric guitar. It's a cheap one but it comes in handy."

"He bought you a guitar?" I feel pressure between my eyebrows as my frown intensifies, betraying my surprise. And I learned something new… He's smart, and he's musical. It's like adding details to a painting, one brush stroke at a time. Funny, in a hundred years I'd never really had to do this, not with my gift. It's fascinating.

"Yeah. Well, he was being a little selfish too. You see, an electric is supposed to be loud right? But if you don't plug it in, or use headphones, it's extremely quiet. The same cannot be said of my classical. Anyways, I'm very grateful to him."

"But if you like him, why did you leave?" Damn it, will he ever give me the kind of answer I would expect from a normal person?

"He's one of the coaches for a minor league baseball team, and so he travels a lot. My mom stayed home with me, but I know she wasn't happy."

"So you left. That's very generous of you…" He wanted to make his mom happy; that's understandable but still very nice of him.

"Hmmm, maybe…" He mutters.

"You don't think so?" What kind of surprise does he have in store for me now? I realize his eyes look lightly glazed at times; what does that mean?

"The truth is, I needed a change. I love my mother, but she's always been a bit of a space cadet. The last few years I've had to take care of her, doing her online banking, cooking our meals, fixing her computer, or teaching her how to use it, reminding her that bills needed to be paid, stuff like that. My father is a lot more independent."

I see. He really had to grow up fast then. That's why he seems a little more mature than most kids. I still need to know something.

"So you are relieved, in a way?" I feel like I'm snooping now, but I can't help it.

"Yes, you could say that. Living with my dad is almost starting to feel like a holiday in comparison… Besides…" He stops and stares into space,

"Besides….. what?" Will this relentless curiosity ever abate? It's almost as bothersome as the thirst.

"I was starting to feel like a third wheel…."

He looks at his feet now. He's ashamed of something…

"How much time can you really spend with a happy couple, assuming you are single? It was starting to feel rather unpleasant."

He looks so sad. I wish there was something I could do for him, or that I could remind him that at home I'm in a similar situation. The words that eventually issue from my lips weren't really thought out, more of a reflex.

"You know, you don't really sound like a teenager." Or even a human, at times, I'd like to say… But of course that would never be possible. How bizarre all this is.

"My mom always told me I'm an old soul. She believes in all kinds of silly superstitions and she claims I have died and been reborn any times. Some kind of seer told her that. Just a charlatan, I bet. She also calls me her 'middle-aged teenager' at times. She thinks it's funny, and true."

Yes, he really had to grow up fast. I wonder why he's not more resentful. It's not his fault their parents couldn't make it work but he's the one paying the price.

The bell rings and catches me by surprise; I didn't notice class was almost over; I was too wrapped up in his replies. I didn't know humans could be so riveting, but I remind myself it's probably just because I can't access his thoughts.

Putting his stuff away, he drops the worksheet. I grab it and look at it.

"La vie est un rêve. Life is a dream." Is he also a poet?

"It's a quote I like." No, but, as I learned earlier on, he likes to read…

Something in his expression shifts, sun glints on the tropical waters of his eyes.

"Hey, your contacts look pretty cool. What an amazing hue…"

"Contacts? Me?" What is he talking about? As if I could ever need those things…

"Well, your eyes were darker last week. Maybe you wore contacts then?"

I'm so stupid for a moment I'm tempted to kick myself, hard. He noticed my eyes are a much lighter color now. He doesn't know that's because I recently fed on the blood of animals, and he certainly doesn't need to. How novel… no other kid had ever noticed that; no one looks at us too closely. The strange boy, naturally, does, and he still doesn't seem to exhibit any of the usual signs of unease displayed by other mortals in our presence. Nevertheless, this is a mistake. He's too observant; I should have been more careful. I'll cover it up the best I can.

"Oh yeah, right. I did. I'm sorry, I have to go."

And with that, embarrassment for my faux pas propels me out of my seat and through the door, probably already nullifying all the effort I put into establishing a friendlier relationship with Brandon.

At least, away from that room I can breathe clean air untainted by his smell again, and yet I feel let down. Trying to quell the turmoil in my mind, I meet with Alice and we head together to our next class. She seems distracted, probably still worried about Jasper. When she relaxes, concerns for his behavior soothed by one of her visions, she starts on her own version of a third degree.

"So, Lynn, how did it go? I know nobody died…" She adds with a wink. "But how hard was it? I didn't foresee any issue but the temptation must have been strong…"

"Yes, it was." I reply carefully. "But it could have been worse…"

"What do you mean?" She looks clearly bewildered now.

"Well, I was able to have a chat with him. He's…. kind of interesting, I guess. I'd never met a human whose mind I couldn't read, of course, but there's more to it. He seems so different…"

"Really…?" Her surprise deepens the frown lines carving her beautiful face into unusual configurations. "Since when do you find humans worth more than a passing glance?"

We both chuckle a little.

"Yeah, you're right. I guess that after a whole century of sameness anything new was bound to pique my interest." And I want to learn much more about him yet…. But at what cost? If I were to lose control for just an instant the consequences could be dire.

Alice asks me a few more questions about him. By the time we meet the others at the parking lot, she's moved on to her favorite topic, fashion. When she hugs Jasper and whispers something in her ear I feel a sudden tug somewhere in my chest, as if my dead heart was trying to resurrect itself. What is happening to me? My siblings' displays of affection had never bothered me before.

We are soon in our car. I'm at the wheel as usual, and as we drive off I have one more look at the boy. I shiver, but I don't know if it's because of a memory of his alluring scent or the frustration I still feel at how suddenly our conversation came to an end. Maybe Carlisle is right; maybe I should have stayed away from here.