BPOV
I head home after the park a bit dazed, having trouble processing what our conversation was even about. I think I just made a friend?
It's hard to remember the content of the rest of our conversation. I think we talked about this town, being new, where to go. I asked about clothes. So much normalcy followed such confounding statements.
She spoke in riddles that don't really make sense. How do some people just refuse to give answers like that?
Later that night, I'm stirring a soup I made, wondering if Charlie will make an appearance. Usually he calls, leaves a note, but I don't know his Saturday plans. It's clear he's gone in the mornings to fish, presumably with others. Do they spend their days together? What are his friends like?
I realize there's so much about my father I don't know. About him and my mother. I'm not even sure where they met, why they fell in love. Why she left. So much was never said, and now it feels too late.
The aloneness that sometimes washes over me hits again. I really wish I could just be my age. Have 17-year-old concerns and worries. Like college. It's something I need to spend more time thinking about. I know what I like but I don't really know how to get there. And in terms of money? Mom really had nothing to give me, especially after. I could talk to Charlie, but I don't want to assume anything – whether it's something he's thought about for me or not.
I realize that I should probably have a job.
Something to add to the to-do list.
I sit down at the kitchen table with my bowl and a slice of bread just as Charlie walks in with a hard sided cooler and a fishing rod.
"Bells!" He shouts, surprised to see me? Maybe a bit drunk.
I laugh, "Hey! What do you have there?" I nod to his cooler.
"Oh, we had a good day out there, Bells. Real good day. I've got dinners for the next week." He smiles at me.
I see the traces of the young man he once was. A boyishness that comes out when he's like this, relaxed and happy.
"Well let's pop it in the freezer. Thanks!" I make a mental note to look up fish recipes.
"What do ya got there?" He points to my dinner with his rod. "Any leftovers?"
"Sure, on the stove. It's squash."
He grimaces but puts his stuff down and places the fish in the freezer before washing his hands and peaking in the soup pot. Grabbing himself a bowl, he sits down beside me and breaks off half of my bread.
"Thanks," he gruffs. "I'm starved."
We sit in companionable silence for a bit, as I scroll through my phone and he works on his meal.
"So, what'd you get up to today?" he asks.
"Oh," I put my phone down. "Well, I gave myself a bit of a tour before heading down to First Beach. I hung out there for a bit watching the tides. Then I met up with Alice Cullen?" I look up to catch his expression.
He seems impressed. "Great kids," he comments.
"Ya? We just hung out for a bit and then I headed home." I shrug.
There's a silence again as we both finish eating. But the curiosity nags at me.
"You know the Cullens?" I ask.
"Mmph. When they first moved here," he wipes his mouth with a napkin, "people gave them hell. I say we're lucky to have a doctor like that in a place like this. Does wonders for our community. And those kids – not a lick of trouble from them. I was nervous at first too – you know, five adopted teens. But nothing, which is more than I can say for some of the kids whose parents and grandparents all grew up here."
It's the longest I've ever heard him speak. I'm dying to keep him going.
"What did people say about them?" I probe.
"Oh, you know, the usual. Suspicious of their motives. Were they hiding from the law? Why do they all dress all fancy? Do they think they're better than us? You know." I don't really know, but I can guess. So, they had a hard time fitting in.
"They keep to themselves at school," I offer.
"Oh ya?" he asks, not really paying attention. The newspaper has caught his eye, as he skims through stories.
I let it drop. Grabbing our bowls, I get up to do the dishes.
That night I dream about him, not the water. We're back in biology together, sitting side by side. I keep sneaking glances, obsessed with the strength of his arms and hands. I wonder what it would feel like to be held by them.
When I wake up, it's not clear to me which parts are dreamt, and which parts are memory. His leg bouncing under the table, anxiously waiting a bell. His strong grip on the edge of the desk. The shadowy cast of his eyes. His sharp jaw. He's so handsome I could cry.
These half dreams, half memories play at night all week. I begin to anticipate going to bed, getting ready hours earlier than I need to, eager to see him.
At school, things continues much as it did the week before, with the exception that everyone has sort of stopped paying attention to me. It's a relief to walk between classes unnoticed. I feel myself become more friendly with some of the other girls. We chat at lunch, between classes. I try to just let myself feel like I'm one of them. Apparently, there's a dance coming up that everyone's excited about. Winter Formal. Jessica and Angela ask if I want to join them to go dress shopping in Port Angeles on the weekend and I accept, seeing an opportunity at the very least to finally do some proper winter clothes shopping.
On Saturday, Jessica picks me up in a slightly rusted beige Toyota Corolla with Angela already in the front seat. Something about this feels so youthful, driving out of town with a car full of girls. The radio is playing pop songs. They're laughing up front about something Mike said this week. I feel both part of this and outside of it. I keep feeling myself drift up and out of the car. It's a struggle to stay present, to stay involved.
I want to try. I want to be young like this.
"…And fucking Tyler kept staring at my tits, right Bella?" Jess is mid story and asks for me to confirm.
"Oh, ya what a perv," I contribute. Catching up, I remember gym class this week and volleyball drama. Jess complains about the guys staring, but she's also in the changeroom debating which shirt is tighter, shows more cleavage. I like that she wants attention, but man is it annoying to have to play along.
"Ya, a perv! As if he even has a chance. It's not like we're 12 anymore, you know?"
"Maybe you should give it another go, Jess. We're older now, maybe things would be different." Angela suggests.
"No fucking way! He was groping my barely-there chest 4 years ago and I'm sure he's only gotten worse."
Angela laughs. I know I'm missing some context here, but I don't ask. Don't really care. I thought she liked Mike?
"Bella, any guys caught your eye yet?" Jessica looks in the rear-view mirror to ask and watch me.
My mind briefly drifts to Edward, but that's not real.
"As if." I scoff. "Definitely no one in that school."
They both laugh.
Definitely someone who used to be there though.
I look out the window, letting my mind drift for the rest of the drive. I hear them continuing on, about boys and other girls and teachers and parents and siblings. It's all a jumble of names I don't know, half-spoken stories that don't make sense.
I think back to what Alice said last weekend, about Edward coming back. If he's in town, why isn't he in school? I wonder if I'm allowed to text her. I wonder if I'm allowed to ask. Are we friends, truly?
This week with her had been interesting. She smiles at me like we share a secret and I guess we do. A few times she would connect pinkies with me in the hallway without looking and on her way somewhere else. It shocked me at first – the coldness of her skin, the physical contact with her, the smiles it comes with. I don't think anyone else ever sees. She's so subtle in her affection for me. I don't know where it comes from, but I begin to sort of crave it.
I wonder what she's up to today. Maybe I should've invited her? But I didn't want to be presumptuous. It's so clear to me that there are lines drawn in the sand, histories I don't know about. Why doesn't Alice hang out with Jess and Angela?
A text, surely, wouldn't hurt. Just to say hi.
I take out my phone and type: No cliffs today.
She replies almost instantly: or last night. It's weird and brief, but I guess it's how we talk now. So much is unsaid, but we're speaking the same language. She knows my dreams have changed.
What about you? I ask, wondering if she's been having dreams or visions or whatever. We talked about that last week, this eery sense we both get that our minds know more than we can conceive.
Nothing yet, but soon.
It's hard to get specifics out of her. But I can relate to how that sense of waiting is foreboding. I wonder how it makes her feel, to be in a constant state of anticipation.
Does it feel like hell? I ask.
Always does, even when it's good.
I feel like I know what she means.
EPOV
I know it's wrong, but I need to never be surprised by her again. At all times, I need to see her coming. As soon as I'm back in town, I go straight to her house. No use beating around the bush. If I'm coming back, and trying, and testing, and seeing, it's time to get myself acclimatized.
As soon as I turn the corner down her street, even with the car windows rolled up, I'm assaulted by her scent. How is it she's got entire streets dedicated to her already? She's been here, what, two weeks? The air around her already knows her, claims her. Hums with the knowledge of her presence. Adores her.
I slow the car down and drive by slowly, not trusting myself to get out of the car. I keep the doors locked. I keep my eyes forward. I inhale like the air is toxic. Maybe it is.
It feels like hours, but seconds later I'm at the corner, turning left and away.
I think about her in her house, in her room. I wonder what she does when she's alone. I think about her scent. Her throat. My hands tighten on the wheel and my mouth fills with venom. No.
I think about her dad, a sweet sad man who's fond of Carlisle. I think about Bella's eyes. Wide and trusting and warm and powerful. I think about her hair. What it would be like to touch. I wonder what she thinks about, what she wants.
This calms me down. I decide I'll need to make this a habit, this de-sensitizing. I need to be able to live here, in this town, with my family. And even though it doesn't make sense, I need to know her. It's the only way, I've rationed. I need to know who she is. I need to know why this is happening to me.
I can hear them all talking before I enter the house. Emmett is being a prick, teasing Rose about being mad at Alice. I wonder what I've missed in the week I've been away.
They're two fucking peas in a pod, obsessed with that simple human girl. Might as well both leave and give us some peace.
That's Rose.
"It's not like that, Rose. Honestly. It's for safety, I swear." Alice tries to reason with her.
"Sure as hell doesn't look like safety to me, Alice." She sneers. I wonder what that means.
"I actually think she's quite tasty looking." Emmett keeps trying to ramp Rose up.
"I swear to God, Em." Rose chastises.
I get Rose, I do. She doesn't like this chaos, this precipice of change, this unknown factor. She likes stability. Usually Alice and I offer that, with our gifts. We ensure the future. We eliminate risk. We take away fear.
But I guess this time, it's both of us pursuing this unknown future. We both want to know more about this simple human girl. I wonder what's in it for Alice. I should have spoken to her more while I was gone. Maybe it was my absence that drove her interest.
I walk up the steps to the front door, and they all stop talking, knowing I'm here.
Carlisle is in his office, and I head there first. I sit down without a word to anyone.
"You're back." He says simply.
"Yes."
"And?"
"I overreacted. I think. I need to know more." I say, suddenly unsure of how to summarize the week of mental Olympics I've just committed.
He nods, while looking at me carefully.
"How will you proceed?"
"I can't be in the school." I say with confidence, clarity. I know it won't work, being that close to her so quickly. "So, I, uh, need to advance my graduation, take early testing, get admission somewhere. Maybe something online? I just can't be there."
He nods. "Easy."
"And I'll hang out mostly here, doing my own studies. Try to keep away. She should leave in 16 months, anyways. College, presumably."
There's a silence as we skirt around the unspoken. The bloodlust. The unspeakable. I hear him wondering about it. Wondering how I will handle it. Thinking about the times Emmett didn't. The decade I left because I wanted to see.
"I'm still working on that part." I add, "I think I can get it under control. Like you have."
He thinks about his own challenges, his own failures. But after centuries, he got there. I wonder if I ever will.
"You had Esme scared to death. You should go see her next."
I get up and leave his office as I hunt down the rest of my family.
For the next week, I am Bella Swan's shadow. I'm at her house when she wakes up, makes breakfast and eats it alone, drives to school in a stoic, zombie state. I see through other people's minds what she's like at school. Alternatively zoning out and trying to fit in. She hides her discomfort well. She looks tired.
I wonder why that is. Why she struggles to do this effortlessly.
Trying to make sense of her is difficult. I'm constantly probing Alice's mind, trying to see her futures. I need to know what happens next, but everything keeps shifting so quickly.
It must be driving her crazy, too. There's too much uncertainty around Bella. Why?
Alice sees me sometimes, notices me watching. Stalker. She aims at me.
I whisper back, "It's not stalking, it's observation."
I see her smile from my car across the lot as she gets into her own car.
Shouldn't you be at home, genius? Let me do the school patrol.
That's the rumor we've leaked around town. I've been scouted by an Ivy, started college early. It's not much of a stretch, seeing as I already have a few PhDs and a medical degree. For a standard 17-year-old, I guess I would be considered a genius. That's what studying for nearly a century gets you.
But suddenly, none of those academic pursuits could even hold a candle to this new seed that needled its way into my brain. Her her her.
Bella Bella Bella.