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 Beau knew the drill, and what to expect from his day. Mike came to sit with him in English, and walked with him to the next class, with Chess Club Eric glaring all the while.

People didn't look at him quite as much as they had yesterday. Beau sat with a big group at lunch that included Mike, Eric, Jessica, and several other people from class. It was nice they tried to make him feel welcome here. He began to feel like he was treading water instead of drowning in it.

But it was worse because he was tired; he had struggled to sleep with the wind echoing around the house. It was worse because Mr. Varner called on him in Trigonometry and he had the wrong answer. And it was worse because Edward Cullen wasn't in school at all.

All morning he dreaded going to lunch. Beau was sure he'd be on the receiving end of more bizarre glares, more hate-filled tension. Part of him wanted to confront Edward and demand to know what his problem was. While lying sleepless in bed, Beau even imagined what he would say, how he would puff out his chest and suddenly, for the first time in his life, become an intimidating presence. But he knew it wouldn't do any good. He wanted to blend in here. Fighting with a classmate would just get him into trouble, and he didn't want to embarrass Charlie.

Yet when he walked into the cafeteria with Jessica—trying to keep his eyes from darting around and failing entirely—Beau saw that the four siblings of sorts were sitting together at the same table, and Edward was not with them.

Mike intercepted them and steered the way to his table. Jessica seemed elated to stand between the two boys, and her friends quickly joined their group. Beau tried to listen to their easy chatter, but he was uncomfortable while he anticipated Edward's arrival. Beau hoped Edward would decide to ignore his existence and prove his suspicions false. But he didn't come, and as time passed, Beau grew more and more tense.

Beau walked to Biology with more confidence when, by the end of lunch, he still hadn't showed. Mike, who was taking on the qualities of a golden retriever, walked faithfully by his side to class.

When they arrived, Edward Cullen wasn't there yet. Beau exhaled and went to his seat. Mike followed, still discussing an upcoming trip to the beach. Beau nodded politely. In a town like this, where everyone lived in close quarters, diplomacy was essential. Beau had a feeling Mike only befriended him for his novelty rather than for a real friendship. But Mike was popular and that alone could provide a certain . . . protection. It was in his best interest, Beau decided, to play nice.

Edward never showed up to Biology. Beau couldn't get rid of the nagging suspicion that he was the reason for the absence. It was ridiculous, and egotistical, to think that he could affect anyone that strongly. And yet he couldn't stop worrying that it was true.

When the day finally ended, Beau hurried to the parking lot, trying to banish these thoughts from his mind. He planned to hit the Thriftway for groceries, after discovering last night that scrambled eggs and bacon were the only things Charlie knew how to make. Beau used to cook all the time at home, and in an odd way, he was happy to take this responsibility again. It made him feel needed here.

As Beau fired up the engine, he saw the Cullens and Hales getting into their car, which was the shiny new Volvo. Of course. Expensive car, expensive clothes, and yet, they still weren't well-liked in Forks. They looked at the noisy truck as it passed, just like everyone else. Beau kept his eyes forward and felt relief when he was off the school grounds.

The Thriftway was not far from the school, just a few streets south, off the highway. It was nice to be inside the supermarket; it felt normal. The store was big enough inside that he couldn't hear the tapping of the rain on the roof. He pushed the cart up and down the aisles aimlessly, trying to kill time.

After he started dinner, Beau set up the fluorescent lamp he'd bought for his succulents, then gave them a tiny dose of water. The plants looked peaky, but he was confident the lamp would coax some growth out of them. He was from the desert, and seemed to be settling in; his succulents would inevitably do the same.

At the thought of the desert, he realized he had yet to check his e-mail. There were three messages waiting in his inbox.

Beau,

Write me as soon as you get in. Tell me how your flight was. Is it raining? I miss you already. I can't find my pink blouse. Do you know where I put it? Phil says hi. We'll be in Florida by the end of next week.

Mom

Beau sighed and moved onto the next one. It was sent eight hours after the first.

Why haven't you e-mailed me yet? What are you waiting for?

The last was from this morning.

Beaufort,

If I haven't heard from you by 5:30 p.m. today I'm calling Charlie.

Beau glanced at the clock. He still had an hour, but Renée was well known for jumping the gun.

Mom,

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

Beau

He 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; we're reading the same books as last semester. I met some nice kids who sit with me at lunch.

Your blouse is at the dry cleaners - you were supposed to pick it up on Friday.

Charlie 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 e-mail every five minutes. Relax, breathe. I love you.

Beau

He decided to reread Wuthering Heights for something to do. By the time Charlie came home, he was taking the potatoes out and putting the steak in to broil.

"Hey, Dad."

"Hey, bud," Charlie said as he hung up the gun belt and stepped out of his boots.

Charlie kept his gun at the ready, but as far as Beau knew, he never had any reason to fire it while on the job. When Beau visited as a child, his father would always remove the bullets as soon as he walked in the door. Beau guessed Charlie thought he was old enough now not to shoot himself by accident, and not depressed enough to shoot himself on purpose.

Not yet, at least. Beau and his mother had kept Charlie in the dark about the incident last year.

"What's for dinner?" he asked warily. Renée was an imaginative cook and her experiments weren't always edible. Beau was surprised, and sad, that he seemed to remember that far back.

"Steak and potatoes."

His father looked relieved and busied himself setting the table. When that was done, he drifted to the living room until dinner was ready. The two Swans sat together quietly as they ate. Beau thought they were starting to be more like roommates than father and son. It was an easier transition than he anticipated.

"This is great, Beau."

"Thanks."

"So, how did you like school? Have you made any friends?"

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

"That must be Mike Newton. Nice kid—nice family. His dad owns the sporting goods store just outside of town. He makes a good living off all the backpackers who come through here."

Sporting goods. Beau thought about the equipment he left behind in Phoenix. He left his glove, his cleats . . . everything. All of it would need to be replaced if he wanted to join the team here. It was January; the baseball season was still a couple months away. Beau wasn't sure if he was ready to play again. His right hand twinged at the thought.

"Do you know the Cullen family?" It was the first question he could think of that didn't go back to baseball.

"Dr. Cullen's family? Sure. Dr. Cullen's a great man."

"They . . . the kids . . . are a little different. They don't seem to fit in very well at school."

This comment seemed to anger Charlie. "People in this town . . . Dr. Cullen is a brilliant surgeon who could probably work anywhere in the world and make ten times what he does here. Forks is lucky to have him. He's an asset to the community. Those kids are very mature, I've never had any trouble from them, which is more than I can say for some of your classmates."

"What do people—"

"Oh, this and that, unfriendliness or something," the chief shrugged. "They stick together the way a family should—camping trips every other weekend . . . they're newcomers and people have to talk, I suppose."

It was the longest speech he'd ever heard Charlie make. He must feel very strongly about whatever people were saying.

"They seemed nice enough to me. I just noticed they kept to themselves. They're all very attractive."

He nearly spit out the word nice, but Charlie didn't seem to notice. "You should see the doctor. 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."

The two lapsed back into silence as they finished eating. Beau washed the dishes by hand—no dishwasher—and went upstairs to do his math homework.

The night was finally quiet. He fell asleep and slept soundly for the first time.

The rest of his week was uneventful. Beau counted a small victory when he forced himself to walk into the boys' locker room, to no adverse effects. But he kept his eyes cast down as he changed into the gym uniform; he knew better now.

By Friday he was able to recognize, if not name, almost all the students at Forks High.

Edward Cullen didn't come back to school.

Beau would watch the lunchroom door every day. Once the rest of the Cullens entered the cafeteria without their youngest brother, he could relax and join in the lunchtime conversation. Mostly it centered around the trip to La Push that Mike was putting together. Beau was invited, and agreed to go, more out of politeness than real desire. Beaches should be hot and dry.

By Friday, he was perfectly comfortable entering Biology, no longer worried that Edward would be there. For all he knew, the guy had dropped out, and that wasn't Beau's problem. Maybe Dr. Cullen sent him to a boarding school for kids with behavioral problems.

Beau tried not to think about Edward, but he couldn't totally suppress the worry that he was responsible for his continued absence, ridiculous as it seemed.

His first weekend in Forks passed without incident. Charlie, unused to spending time in the usually empty house, spent most of the weekend at the station. Beau cleaned, got ahead on homework, and wrote his mother more bogusly cheerful e-mails. He drove to the town library on Saturday, but it was so poorly stocked that he didn't bother to get a card. He would have to visit Olympia or Seattle soon and find a good bookstore. Beau wondered idly what kind of gas mileage the truck got and shuddered at the thought. The rain stayed soft over the weekend, quiet, so he was able to sleep well.

It was colder on Monday morning, but happily not raining. People greeted him in the parking lot as he passed. Beau didn't know all their names, but he waved back anyway and smiled. It was a strange sensation for him, a routine he wasn't sure he would get used to. Back in Phoenix, Beau got along with everyone without being close to anyone. Now he had people nearly following him around, like Mike, who was still clearly enjoying the social capital by association. Beau only let him because the association worked both ways.

All in all, Beau was feeling a lot more comfortable than he expected that morning. As he and Mike walked out of English, the air was full of swirling bits of white. People began to shout excitedly to one another. The wind bit at their cheeks and noses.

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

"Ew." Snow. There went his good day.

"Don't you like snow?"

"No. That means it's too cold for rain. Besides, I thought it was supposed to come down in flakes—you know, each one unique and all that. These just look like Q-tips."

Mike was incredulous. "Dude, haven't you ever seen snow fall before?"

"Sure, on television."

A snowball sailed past Beau and nailed Mike squarely in the head. Beau excused himself and continued onto his next class, irritated by the shift in weather. The snow promised a snarly commute home and shoveling the driveway, both of which he wasn't looking forward to doing. When lunch rolled around, he glanced toward that table in the corner out of habit, then froze where he stood.

There were five people at the table.

Jessica tugged on his arm. "Hello? Beau? What do you want?"

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

Beau was still staring across the cafeteria, rooted in one spot. Then he recovered and shook his head.

"Nothing, I'll just get a soda today."

The other two raised their eyebrows. In the short time since he arrived, Beau never skipped lunch because it hit him later in Gym, when he needed the calories the most. Clapp had been delighted at his energy in the past few days. It was almost funny—no matter how much he tried to hide, people still noticed him.

Once the group was seated, Beau decided to permit himself a furtive glance at the Cullen family's table. If he was glaring, Beau would skip Biology, like the coward he knew himself to be.

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 the students.

Aside from the laughter and playfulness, there was something different, but Beau couldn't quite pinpoint what that difference was. He examined Edward the most carefully. His skin was less pale—flushed from the snow fight maybe—and the circles under his eyes were much less noticeable today. But there was something more, and he couldn't put his finger on it. Beau pondered, staring, trying to isolate the change.

"Beau, what are you staring at?"

At that precise moment, Edward's eyes flashed over to meet his. Beau was sure, in the instant their eyes met, that he didn't look harsh or unfriendly as he had the last time. He looked merely curious again, unsatisfied in some way.

"Edward Cullen is staring at you," Jessica giggled, her hand lingering on his arm.

Beau allowed her hand stay there for the moment. He was slightly ashamed to let himself pass as straight in this manner, but his self-preservation instincts were working overtime. Let Jessica have her little crush—it would never go anywhere.

"He doesn't look angry, does he?"

"No, should he?"

Beau shrugged. "I don't think he likes me."

"The Cullens don't like anybody . . . well, they don't notice anybody enough to like them. But he's still staring at you."

"Let's change the subject," he muttered, turning to Mike, who was in the middle of discussing an after school snowball fight extravaganza.

Beau kept his eyes on his soda for the rest of lunch. He decided to honor the bargain he made with himself. Since Edward didn't look angry, he would go to Biology as planned.

Beau was relieved to see an empty table when he stepped into the classroom. Mr. Banner was distributing one microscope and box of slides to each desk. Class didn't start for a few minutes, so the room buzzed with conversation. Beau kept his eyes away from the door and doodled on the cover of his notebook.

He heard very clearly when the neighboring chair moved, but his eyes stayed focused on the pattern he was drawing. Eighteen months, eighteen months, eighteen months . . .

"Hello," said a quiet, musical voice.

Beau looked up. Edward Cullen was sitting as far away as the desk allowed, but his chair was angled toward Beau today. 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 Beau Swan."

"H-how do you know my name?"

Edward laughed a soft, enchanting laugh. "Oh, I think everyone knows your name. The whole town's been waiting for you to arrive."

"No . . . " Beau fumbled with this train of thought. "I meant, why did you call me Beau?"

"Do you prefer Beaufort?"

"No, I like Beau," he said stupidly. "But I think Charlie—I mean my dad—must call me Beaufort behind my back—because that's what everyone here seems to know me as."

"Oh."

Beau turned away, mortified. He spent days rehearsing this moment, and true to form, he had failed miserably. He turned his attention to the lab instructions. The slides in the box were out of order. Working as partners, they had to separate the slides of onion root tip cells into the phases of mitosis represented, then label them accordingly. No books allowed. In twenty minutes, Mr. Banner would be coming around to see who had it right.

"You first, partner?" Edward asked. Beau looked up to see him smiling a crooked smile so beautiful that he could only stare back like an idiot.

"Or I could start, if you wish." The smile faded; he was obviously wondering if Beau was mentally competent. At this point in time, he was not.

"No, I'll go ahead."

Beau was showing off. He had already done this lab and knew what to look for. It should be easy.

"Prophase."

"Do you mind if I look?" Edward asked as Beau began to remove the slide. Their hands touched briefly and Beau jerked back. The other boy's fingers were ice-cold, like he'd been holding them in a snowdrift before class. But Beau withdrew for a different reason; when they touched, it was as if an electric current passed between them.

"I'm sorry," Edward muttered, pulling his hand back. However, he continued to reach for the microscope, then quickly identified the next slide. They went back and forth like this for a few minutes before Beau spoke again. He finally recognized what struck him in the cafeteria.

"Did you get contacts?"

Edward seemed puzzled by the question. "No."

He and Beau were finished before everyone else. Mike and his partner sat comparing two slides, looking confused. Another group had their book open under the table. That left Beau with nothing to do but try to not look at his own lab partner . . . unsuccessfully. He glanced up and saw Edward was staring at him with that same inexplicable look of frustration in his eyes.

Those eyes were a flat black color the last time he'd glared at Beau. He remembered because the color was striking against Edward's pale skin and auburn hair. Today, his eyes were a completely different color: a strange ocher, darker than butterscotch, but with the same golden tone.

Beau didn't understand how that could be, unless he was lying for some reason about the contacts. Or maybe Forks was truly making crazy. It wasn't far out of the realm of possibility.

"So, Edward, didn't you think Beaufort should get a chance with the microscope?" Mr. Banner asked as he made his rotation toward the pair.

"Beau," Edward corrected automatically. "Actually, he identified three of the five."

That piqued Mr. Banner's interest. "Have you done this lab before?"

"We did it with whitefish blastula back home."

"Were you in an advanced placement program in Phoenix?"

"I was," Beau said, with a touch of pride. He refused to be a rocks-for-jocks type of science student, and studied hard for that placement, working around weekly practices, games, and his household responsibilities.

"I see," Mr. Banner said, appearing to consider something for a moment. "Your academic and athletic reputations precede you. Well done."

Beau stiffened, but the teacher went on, talking almost to himself now.

"I made some calls. Sounds like you have a great arm. Coach Clapp and I run the baseball team; let me know if you'd like to try out."

"Sure," Beau managed to say. He let his gaze drop to the desk as Mr. Banner went hunting for a new victim.

His right hand was twitching. Beau reached for his cap but remembered it was tucked into the sleeve of his jacket across the room.

"It's too bad about the snow, isn't it?"

Beau was startled; he had nearly forgotten Edward was there. It was a perfectly innocent question, but somehow, it felt like the other boy was forcing himself to make small talk.

Paranoia washed over Beau. It was as if Edward heard his conversation with Jessica at lunch and was trying to prove them both wrong.

"Not really."

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

"Or the wet."

"Forks must be a difficult place for you to live," Edward mused.

"You have no idea."

"Why did you come here, then?"

No one had asked him that—not straight out like he did. Demanding. It seemed like the first genuine question he'd been asked in Forks.

"It's complicated."

"I think I can keep up." Edward pressed.

Beau paused for a long moment, and then made the mistake of meeting his gaze. The dark gold eyes confused him, and he answered without thinking.

"My mother got remarried." It was the first thing that popped into his head.

"That doesn't sound so complex," Edward disagreed, but he was suddenly sympathetic. "When did that happen?"

"Last September."

His voice sounded sad, even to his own ears. But the wedding itself had been a nice day for all three of them. The moment Beau's passport arrived, Phil rented a car, then drove them straight to Tijuana, where they held the ceremony right on the beach. Beau was both Phil's best man and Renée's man of honor. He knew they were desperate for something good to happen, something other than broken bones and sleepless nights.

Beau had slipped away after the ceremony to give them a moment, removed his shoes, then ran straight into the cool, blue water. It was there that he came up with the idea to move to Forks.

"And you don't like him," Edward surmised, his tone still kind.

"No, Phil is fine. Too young, maybe, but nice enough."

"Why didn't you stay with them?"

He couldn't fathom the interest, but Edward continued to stare with penetrating eyes, as if this information was somehow vitally important.

"Phil travels a lot. He plays baseball for a living," Beau explained, his lips quirking at the memory of those so-called games. Even at a high school level, Beau knew he was a better player, but Phil enjoyed his profession nonetheless. "Minor league. He moves around quite a bit."

"So I wouldn't have heard of him."

"Nope," he chuckled, surprised this peculiar boy managed to pry a laugh out of him. "Anyway, she stayed with me while he was gone, but I could tell she missed him. So I thought I could move here instead."

The truth was that these things happened concurrently. While Phil was traveling with his team, Beau's own team turned on him, and things got ugly from there. Despite his misgivings on Phil, the man had flown home immediately to comfort Renée after the incident, earning Beau's sincere respect and appreciation. Everything sort of fell into place after that.

"But now you're unhappy."

"And?"

"That doesn't seem fair." He shrugged, but his eyes were still intense.

Beau laughed again without humor. Someone who looked like that should have nothing to say about fairness. "Hasn't anyone ever told you? Life isn't fair."

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

"So that's all," Beau insisted, wondering why he was still staring.

Edward appeared to be studying him. "You put on a good show, but I'd be willing to bet that you're angry. That you're suffering more than you let anyone see."

The fear Beau felt on the first day returned with a vengeance. Did Edward know something? Did he suspect the truth, and hoped to tease it out of him? Well, that wasn't going to happen, not if Beau could help it.

"Why does it matter to you?"

"That's a very good question," he murmured. However, after a few seconds of silence, it looked like that was the only answer Beau was going to get.

Beau scowled at the blackboard. So much for a worry-free afternoon. Now he had to deal with the fact his cover might be blown.

"Am I annoying you?" Edward asked, amused.

"Kind of," Beau snapped back. But seconds later he was backpedaling, suddenly ashamed of his rudeness. "I'm sorry, it's just . . . did I do something to you the other day? You seemed really upset when I came to class. I want . . . I want to clear the air between us."

"You didn't do anything," Edward said quietly. "I'm very sorry if I gave you that impression."

Mr. Banner called the class to order then, and Beau faced the board to listen. He was in disbelief that he'd just explained his dreary life to this bizarre, beautiful boy who may or may not despise him. He'd seemed engrossed in the conversation, but now Edward was leaning away again, his hands gripping the edge of the table with unmistakable tension. What was that about?

Beau tried to pay attention as Mr. Banner illustrated the lab with transparencies on the overhead projector. But his thoughts were unmanageable. When the bell finally rang, Edward rushed as swiftly and as gracefully from the room as he had last Monday. And, like last Monday, Beau could only stare after him in amazement.

"Man, that was awful," Mike groaned. "Banner likes to torment us—didn't all the slides look the same? You're so lucky you had Cullen for a partner."

Beau shrugged. "I didn't have a problem with it."

"Cullen seemed friendlier today."

"I wonder what was with him last Monday," he said, as the Mariners cap twisted in his hands.

Mike, true to form, didn't notice his discontent, and launched into his predictions for the upcoming Super Bowl. A few of the guys were organizing a betting pool, so Beau threw his name on the list, determined to keep mind off Edward Cullen.

But this effort didn't last. Usually Beau enjoyed gym, but today, his mind drifted elsewhere. Last week, the guy went total Mr. Hyde. Today he was Dr. Jekyll. If it wasn't an anti-gay thing, if it wasn't a Beau-specific thing, then had what angered Edward so much?

The rain was just a mist as he walked to the parking lot, but Beau was happier once inside the dry cab. He got the heater running, for once not caring about the mind-numbing roar of the engine.

He looked around to make sure it was clear. That's when he noticed the still, white figure. Edward Cullen was leaning against the front door of the Volvo, three cars down, and staring intently at Big Red.

Beau swiftly looked away, threw the truck into reverse, and almost hit a rusty Toyota Corolla in his haste to escape. Lucky for the Toyota, Beau stomped on the brake in time. It was just the sort of car that the truck would make scrap metal of.

He took a deep breath, still looking out to the other side of the car, and cautiously pulled out again, this time with greater success. He stared straight ahead when passing the Volvo, but from a peripheral glance, he swore Edward was laughing.

A/N: Anyone have a picture of Beau in their head? Mine's Noah Centineo :) Thanks for reading!