Chapter 7 - The Stranger

Bella

No one goes to the meadow anymore except for me. At least, that's what I used to believe.

Going to the meadow was once a Swan family tradition. Dad and Mom found it accidentally during the early days of their courtship. And once I was born, they took me there, too. It became our special, secret place. It was where the family could unwind and create memories - and we definitely made a lot of those. Mom would pack a huge picnic lunch whenever we would go, Dad would stuff himself with food and end up snoozing on the blanket laid out on the grass, and I played and strung flower stems together to create crowns for my parents' heads. It was a magic place to my young eyes, where fairies danced and leprechauns roamed whenever there were no humans around to disturb them.

We all looked forward to those weekly visits. Only rain and severe weather could keep us away. But Dad refused to set foot in the meadow after Mom passed, which meant I couldn't go either since it was roughly three miles outside of town. It took years before I was old enough to venture out there on my own - without his knowledge, of course. It's just been me going to the place ever since.

So, you can imagine my surprise when I made the familiar trek through the woods and found Edward Cullen in my meadow.

It was the music I noticed first. I had been hiking the trail when I heard guitars, keyboards, and voices belting out a song. The only music normally heard in that area is the chirping of birds. So, hearing pop/rock in the middle of the forest isn't exactly typical.

A few steps later, I saw him.

Edward was sitting underneath the branches of a tree, eyes closed and body perfectly still. No movements combined with the palest skin imaginable had me I wondering if he was dead at first. Without warning, he jumped to his feet and sent a glare in my direction - like I was the one invading his territory. It was an expression similar to the one he gives to everyone at school who dares approach him. I'm sure he expected me to run off with my tail tucked between my legs, giving up the only spot around here that feels anything like home.

Nope. Think again, buddy. You're either going to share this space with me, or...or...something. I'll think of a decent way to threaten you later if necessary.

"Uh, excuse me," I began, my throat raspy from rattling nerves. Gradually, I decided to stand up a little straighter to show him that his little glares didn't scare me - though they did make my heart pump a bit faster. "Sorry to disturb you, but I came here to read today. Do you mind if I sit here for a while? I won't bother you."

He stared at me with gleaming, unblinking eyes. Then, he did the unexpected. He nodded his head.

He agreed!

I almost didn't believe it. But I went ahead and sat down anyway before he could change his mind.

I dug through my bag and brought out a book. Although I had my heart set on finishing it that day, I found myself paying closer attention to the words playing in the air than the words written in front of me. I think I stared at one page ten minutes straight before I realized I was doing very little reading. It had been ages since I last heard any music besides stupid TV commercial jingles. I couldn't help but drink it in like water.

Song after song came on. Some were quiet and relaxing, almost to the point of putting me into a trance. Others made me want to tap my feet to the fast-paced rhythm. So badly, I wanted to ask Edward the questions which raced through my brain. Things like:

Who sang that song?

When did it get released?

And, how in the heck did you find my meadow? You haven't even lived here a week yet!

But every time I peeked up from my book to ask, I found him grimacing down at the grass in front of himself - looking like he just ate something spoiled and he was fighting to keep it down. He obviously did not want to play twenty questions with me, so I wisely kept my big mouth shut and just listened quietly to the music. When I got up to leave and head home, our gazes crossed briefly. Neither one of us chose to say anything.

Edward was the silent, sullen new kid once again the next day at school. He never once looked my way or acknowledged what had occurred the day before. This didn't bother me. I had expected it. If one of my classmates had a run-in with me outside of school, none of them would want to broadcast it to the world either.

My weekend was nothing special. On Saturday, I volunteered at the library like I always do. I watched Ms. Linda eat a bowl of her husband's homemade chili for lunch, and then watched her chew up a handful of Tums to fight the heartburn which immediately followed. That was the highlight of my weekend. After that day, I went home to spend time with my dad. Cue the boredom. Since he was off work on Sunday, we were stuck in the same house together with little to do for entertainment. He worked on a crossword puzzle in the living room. I stayed in the kitchen and pretended to study for a big test coming soon. Although I would have rather spent time at the meadow since it was so beautiful outside, I couldn't risk leaving and have Charles finding out where I sometimes go during my spare time. Sure, my bedroom is nice and all, but I don't want to be grounded up there for the next five years.

I'm thankful when Monday rolls around again and we can resume our regular routine. Charles heads back to the police station to save the town from murderers, rapists, drug dealers... and rock musicians, apparently. As for myself, I'm getting ready for school. I'm going to wear a lightweight, white shirt today since it's supposed to be warm. I ditch the pajamas and dig through my clothes in search of a clean bra. Although there's a few dark colored ones in the drawers, I need my white one today.

I can't find it anywhere.

I rush over to my laundry basket to check if it's in with the dirty clothes. I don't see it in there either. Guess I've lost it. Or, it accidentally got mixed in with my Dad's laundry. Either way you look at it, I'm out of time and out of a bra.

With a huff, I stomp over to my closet and trade the white shirt for a blue one.

Despite my troubles while getting ready this morning, my mood improves once I step outside of the house. The sunny weather that began Saturday continues to spread joy far and wide. It's one of those rare, gorgeous days where the sun shines down on the citizens of Forks and warms up our dim spirits. The bike ride to school is actually nice for once. There's no puddles or mud for me to splash through.

Right before first period English is set to begin, the classroom buzzes with news. Edward didn't show up to school today. He isn't in the cafeteria at noon either. I overhear rumors that he's been sent back to the psychiatric hospital in Tacoma for medical treatment. But these are the same people who said there's a crazy religious cult living in my dad's basement and he's their self-proclaimed Messiah. So, unless I see for myself that Edward's being carted away in a straitjacket, I'll reserve judgement concerning him and his whereabouts till then.

At three o'clock, school lets out for the day. I push open the exit doors and step out into a colorless world. The bright sunlight from this morning is nowhere in sight. It's being filtered through layers of gray clouds that are about as cheerful as a depressed undertaker. I frown at the tragedy and go to unlock my bike from the rack.

"Hey, Swan," a grating voice says out of the blue.

My frown dips lower on my face, almost pulling a few facial muscles in the process.

Why God? Why must you keep allowing Rory to torture me? Can't you do something to stop her from talking to me every damn day? Like, smiting her with a lightning bolt? Or, at least sending a plague of pimples to keep her out of school for a few days? Come on. I thought you were supposed to be all powerful.

Rory smirks when I make eye contact with her. "How's it going? Spend any time with your new boyfriend over the weekend?"

I huff out a sigh. "First of all, Todd isn't my boyfriend. We're just going to the dance together. And, no, I haven't seen him lately."

Rory's eyes do a hard roll in their sockets. "For Christ's sakes. I'm not dumb. I already knew you're not together. I was just messing with you." She pauses to adjust her stance, thrusting her hip to the side and crossing her arms over her chest. "So... you really are planning on going to the dance, huh? I would have thought you'd have realized your mistake by now and backed out."

"Why would I do that?"

"Get real. Isn't it obvious? It's because you're going to end up ruining Todd's reputation, Einstein." Rory waves a hand up and down in my direction. "I mean...look at yourself. You're a disaster. Clothes. Hair. Face. Everything. You look like a virgin from 1952. What are you gonna wear that night? Saddle shoes and a poodle skirt?"

Although I view Rory with the same affection as I would a raging case of herpes, I admit she isn't wrong this time. I'm not the coolest or most fashionable person around here. And I too have worried that being seen with me will damage Todd's social standing. But, I'm not about to give Rory the satisfaction of knowing that I agree with her to a certain point.

"Thanks for the concern," I deadpan. "But I think I can handle the responsibility of dressing myself decently for one night. And I'm not going to embarrass Todd."

She cackles a laugh. "Sure. Keep tellin' yourself that. Though, for Todd's sake, I hope you're ri-ght," she ends in a mocking, sing-song voice.

Without dignifying her comment with a response, I turn my back on Rory and the head games she's playing. The first thing I do once I make it home is grab a meat mallet out of the kitchen drawer. I take out my frustrations on a pack of pork chops, beating them as hard as I can. Tenderizing meat can be therapeutic sometimes - especially when you imagine each chop wears the face of a certain redheaded spawn of Satan.

An hour later, the pork chops are almost done cooking when the phone rings.

"Hello?" I answer.

"It's me," my dad says. "Tom can't make it to the station tonight, so I'm going to work a double shift."

"What about dinner?"

"Don't worry about me. Someone at the diner will be running something over soon."

I say nothing as I absorb what he said. My dad will be working tonight. He'll be gone until almost dawn tomorrow. That means I'll have to eat dinner here all alone.

For the first time in hours, I crack a smile. Finally, some good news.

"Oh," I say in return, trying to sound remorseful but probably failing miserably. "Then I guess I'll just freeze what I made for you tonight. You can have those pork chops tomorrow instead."

He grunts his approval. "That sounds fine. Well, I've got to go, Isabella. There's some reports I've been meaning to work on..."

"Sure. See ya in the morning."

I hang up the phone and scramble to fix my plate. As I scarf down my food, I plan out my night. I need a dress for the dance, and Forks has only one women's clothing store in town. Frannie's. Since it's my only option at the moment, I'd better get over there and check out what they carry. Maybe I'll get lucky and they'll have a secret stash of dresses hiding somewhere that were manufactured sometime this decade.

Evening has begun to set in by the time I make it across town. There isn't much to Downtown Forks. It consists of city hall, a handful of small businesses, and a laundromat. That's about it. I lock up my bike around a telephone pole and glance over at Frannie's window display. There's a large variety of flowery hats that haven't been worn since the Allies invaded the beaches of Normandy. Plus, the panty hose on display only reaches mid-calf.

Not a good omen so far.

I push open the door to the clothing store. A tiny, jingling bell announces my entrance. A lady who looks to be around a hundred and five runs the cash register.

That's bad omen number two.

"Hello. Can I help you?" she asks.

"Um. I'd just like to browse, please."

"All right. Go on ahead, honey. But if you need any help, just holler and I'll be right there."

"OK. Thanks."

For the next twenty minutes, I wander around the store and examine what Frannie's has to offer. I see nothing I would want to wear outside of a coffin. I'm on the last rack that contains dresses when the lady cozies up by my side.

"That's a nice choice," she says in reference to what's in my hand. "You have a good eye."

I conceal my opinion and try to smile. The dress I'm holding looks like a glorified burlap sack. I don't want to hurt her feelings and tell her how the sight of it almost brought back up the pork chop I ate earlier.

"That's kind of you to say," I reply diplomatically. "But I don't think it's really my style. Do you have anything else I could look at? Like, in the back maybe?"

She shakes her gray head. "Oh, no. Most of our stock's out here. There's just extras of what you've already seen stored in the stockroom."

My smile weakens. I had a feeling that's what she was going to say. "I understand. Well...thanks for helping me." I hang the dress back up and proceed to walk away.

"Hold on, honey," the lady calls out. I stop and she reappears in front of me. "What exactly are you looking for?"

I nibble on my lip as I try to find a way to explain my predicament without revealing the existence of the dance. "I need a dress...for a special occasion. I have to look as nice as possible."

"Ah." She nods knowingly. "You have a young man, and you want to knock his socks off. Is that right?"

"Sort of," I drawl out, mouth twisting to the side. It's more like I don't want Todd to regret being seen with me. But, what she said works as a decent explanation too.

"How soon do you need it?" the lady continues.

"Around early May."

The old woman squints her eyes, thin lips pursing out. "Hmm. Then I think I can help find something for you."

"But I've already looked at everything..."

The old lady chuckles. "You looked through the racks, I'll give you that. But I have something else you might be interested in that you haven't seen. I'll show you." She shuffles over to the entrance door, deadbolts it, and flips the sign from Open to Closed. She shrugs her shoulders and smiles "It's about closing time anyway," she explains.

I follow her lead across the store. She opens a door in the back and tries waving me through. Instead of doing as she encourages, I stop walking completely and stare into the darkened stockroom.

"I thought you said there wasn't any new dresses back here?" I say, knitting my brow.

"There isn't," the lady confirms. "What I want to show you is in my office."

She flips on the light switch to the stockroom and leads me to a room not much better than a closet. There's just enough room for a desk, one filing cabinet, and a couple of chairs. I sit in one chair, the lady takes the other. She pulls out a drawer and comes out with what looks to be a thick magazine. She smiles as she slides it across the desk. "This is one of the clothing catalogs we order our stock from. There's all kinds of nice things in there. Look through it and see if anything catches your eye."

I stare at it in complete awe. On the catalog's cover are stylish women, ones with flawless makeup and chic clothing. I suddenly realize that I WON'T have to show up to the dance in an outfit so ugly that it would give everyone there a nice belly laugh at my expense. It feels like I've just been handed the key to all of my impossible dreams.

I glance up at her with watery eyes. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet. There's about a hundred pages you'll have to flip through before you even reach the dress section. Better be careful. I don't want you to get any paper cuts."

I laugh at her little joke and turn back to the catalog. There's a wide variety to choose from within its pages, from conservative clothes for the modern business woman to bold designs you might see on a runway. I ignore the dresses with too much sequins or the ones which cost an arm and a leg. I also pass over the ones that reveal more skin than I'm comfortable with exposing.

Then, I find the perfect dress.

It's a soft lilac, with thin shoulder straps and fitted bodice. The flared, taffeta skirt flows down to the model's kneecaps, a few layers of ruffles adding a bit of femininity. It's simple and sophisticated.

I love it.

"I'd like this one, please," I say out loud, pointing at the object of my desire.

The old woman puts on her eyeglasses and peers down at the catalog. "Oh, yes. That is a lovely dress," she agrees.

She and I work on figuring out what size to order, filling out the form, and then I pay what I owe. Forty-eight dollars and change. It's a little more expensive than what I had been planning to spend, but I couldn't see myself wearing any other dress once I laid eyes on it.

We're walking out of the store when she explains what will happen next. "I'll be ordering a few things for the store later this week," she says. "I'll stick your dress order in there with everything else when I do."

"OK. So, how long will it take for the clothes to be delivered?"

Her forehead wrinkles further as she thinks. "It depends on how busy the warehouse is at the time. Though, I can tell you it's usually around three to six weeks." She takes a moment to lock up the store's door behind us. "Would you like for me to send your dress on over to your house once it gets here?"

The very idea of that dress coming into contact with my father terrifies me. If he was home at the time of delivery, he might get curious and investigate what's inside the package. And if he saw a beautiful dress which looked like something a girl would wear to the prom, he'd immediately know something was up. My plan is to sneak it to my room while he's at work. He works a lot, so that shouldn't be a problem.

"No thanks," I blurt out. "It's kind of a surprise. I don't want to risk anyone seeing it yet. I'd rather come by here every so often and check on it myself. Is that OK?"

"Sure it is," the lady confirms. "The Chief's daughter is always welcome to come visit us."

I blink my shock at her offhand comment. "How did you know who I was?"

"You've got your father's eyes, honey."

I frown a little at that observation. "Yeah. Guess I do." I shake it off and try slapping a smile back on. "Well, anyway, thanks for helping me out tonight...Frannie?"

The old lady titters into her hand. "Oh, Lord, child. Do you think I own this place?"

"Don't you?" I had assumed since she had an office, that meant she owned the store.

"No. My name's Lucille. Frannie is my mother. She owns the place."

"Is your mother?" I repeat, my eyebrows shooting up to my scalp. Her mom is still alive? If Lucille is old, Frannie must be ancient.

"Yes, siree. Mother opened this store in '35. She's retired now but still comes to check on things a few times a week. I run the day to day operations."

"Oh," I breathe out.

Lucille tips her gray head towards the store window. "See that? Mother insists that she should be the only one to design the window display." Her nose wrinkles at the sight of pillbox hats and old-fashioned cotton dresses. "It's god awful, isn't it? I keep telling her women nowadays want more of a variety to choose from, but she's stuck in her ways. She won't even allow us to sell blue jeans because she thinks they're too low class. One of these days I'm gonna have to go over her stubborn ol' head and order some modern stuff to jazz this place up again."

That sounds great. Maybe Lucille can get the store updated from 1935 to at least 1975. Platforms and bell-bottoms would sadly be an improvement.

I smile and wish her a goodnight, promising I'll return in around three weeks time. My bike is right where I last left it. It takes only a second for me to undo the padlock and pedal off into the night.

The trip back home goes as expected - until I'm almost at the halfway point. First, I hear a distinct thump, thump, thump against the asphalt. Then, my bike's front wheel begins wobbling from side to side. It's suddenly impossible for me to steer straight. I move to the side of the road and yank out the kickstand. Squatting down, I poke around with my fingers to check for damage. And I find it.

My front tire tube popped.

Heaving out a sigh, I take a look at my surroundings. This area of town is mostly warehouses and empty lots. The few businesses along this route are closed for the night. I don't see any pay phones either. Looks like I'll be walking home this evening.

Great.

Walking alongside my bike, I push it down the road. The landscape rolls uphill and downhill. Gradually, I come to accept that there's no way I can push the bike all the way home. It's too tiring. I lead the bike to a clump of overgrown bushes near the abandoned gas station and hide it within the leafy branches. I'll call Dad when I get home and say I was on my way to the grocery store when the tire blew. He can pick it up for me after his shift is over.

Taking off again on foot, my chilled hands slip inside my shirt sleeves in an effort to keep them warm. I make sure to stay in the median so I don't accidentally get run over, though only occasionally does a vehicle drive by. The street lamps in this area of town are widely spaced, their feeble light barely making a dent in the darkness. The moon assists me by shining a few extra beams across my path, but it still doesn't feel adequate. I pass a mechanics shop and a TV repair place, both with their lights switched off.

When riding my bike, I never noticed how quiet it can get around here. The silence almost hurts my ears, but that's probably because I'm straining to hear something within this overwhelming silence. The only sound I do detect is the crunch of gravel underneath my feet. It leaves me with a feeling of vulnerability I don't like.

I've never felt more alone.

Shaking off the paranoia, I continue on with my journey and distract myself with a more positive thought. There's a pack of Jell-O Pudding Pops in the freezer that has my name on it. It will make a nice reward once I'm home. I'll definitely deserve the treat after burning off so many calories...

"Nice night, isn't it?" comments a seemingly disembodied voice.

I jump about a foot high into the air.

Spinning around, I spy a figure emerging from the wooded lot I'm passing by. As he moves out from the shadows, the moonlight strikes him. His skin almost glows. Sandy hair hangs long and loose, well below his shoulder blades. Instead of a shirt, he wears a black leather vest, one which exposes his arms and a large portion of his upper chest. He looks like a member of the Hell's Angels - but, evidently, one without a motorcycle.

I swallow the hard lump that's formed in my throat. "It's nice enough, I guess."

The guy's black boots are strangely quiet against the gravel as he walks. Coming to a stop at the edge of the road, he pauses to deeply inhale the cool, night air. His eyelids flutter into the back of his head. When he reopens his eyes, a slow smile spreads across his face. "Hello. Has anyone ever told you how good you smell?"

I hesitate before answering. Although he sounds friendly enough, I can't help but feel there's something off about him.

"N-no," I stutter. "Can't say that anyone has...especially when they're standing more than ten feet away from me." The stranger throws his head back and laughs. I clear my throat. "Well...I better get going." I turn on my heels to walk away, silently hoping he won't follow.

The man appears at my side before I even take one step.

My heart almost leaps out of my chest. I put my hand on the spot to try to keep it confined. "How in the heck did you get over here so fast?" I gasp.

He hooks his thumbs in his belt loops and puffs out his chest. "I'm great at running," he answers. Then his smile transitions from friendly to wicked in an eye blink. "Wanna see what else I'm great at?"

My skin threatens to peel off and crawl away from my body.

What a creep.

I thrust my chin up in a show of strength. Without bothering to give a reply, I step around him and continue on my way.

"You don't need to be shy," he says once he's caught up with me again. "I know attraction when I see it. Flushed cheeks. Heaving breaths..."

I cringe at his assumption. "It's from the cold air and the fact I've been walking for the past fifteen minutes. Attraction has nothing to do with it," I inform him.

This keeps him quiet for several steps.

"So, what's a girl like you doing out on the streets all alone?" he asks.

"I'm not alone," I lie.

He chuckles at that. "Really? You sure?"

"Yes. My friends are just around the corner. They're waiting for me. We're... going to hang out at the diner."

"How nice," he says, his voice coated with sugary-sweetness. "But I think you'd have a much better time tonight if you come with me instead."

"I'll have to pass."

"Why?"

"My friends wouldn't like it if I ditched them," I answer.

"Maybe. But what about me?"

My brows lower in confusion at the direction his question has taken. "What about you? I don't even know you."

The guy blocks my path and grabs me by the elbow. The smile on his face twitches. "Well, I'll tell you a little secret about myself then. I don't like being ditched either."

I try to wrestle my arm away, but his grip is too tight. "Let go," I demand.

"Come now," the stranger coos. Cold fingertips glide across my jaw and continue until they reach the base of my neck. "Don't get upset. I just want to take you someplace private so we can...talk."

My head rocks from side to side, knocking his hand from my throat. "No! I wouldn't go anywhere with you. Let me go."

His fingers burrow into the flesh of my arm, to a point where I wince in pain. Black snake eyes bore into mine. "Watch it," he warns. "You're ruining the fun. All you-"

The whine of an engine silences him from further comment. The sound is loud and growling, moving closer and closer by the second. His frigid eyes flick away from my face and narrows on a rapidly approaching vehicle. I'm no great judge of speed, but even I can tell it's driving incredibly fast - much higher than the forty mile per hour speed limit signs posted along this road. It covers the distance between where my bike broke down to where I now stand in practically no time at all. The vehicle abruptly slams on its brakes and screams to a halt in the middle of the road. Almost in one fluid motion, the car door swings open and the driver emerges. I squint through the blinding power of the headlights and just barely make out a tall, lanky figure and eyes harder than steel.

Then, the unthinkable happens.

Edward Cullen stalks up to us, seizes the stranger by the wrist, and rips his hand away from my elbow. At the same time, he wedges himself in between the guy and me.

"Back off," Edward grumbles through his teeth.

There's a distinct chill in the air as the two of them engage in a stare down. The guy's face is almost as furious as Edward's until he eventually cracks a smile.

"Hello there. This is your turf, I presume?" the stranger asks.

Edward's jaw clenches for a long moment, the muscles of his neck straining. "I suppose you could say that," he responds.

The guy nods. "Sorry for stepping on your toes then." He glances over at me, his tongue sliding over his top lip. "But, seeing as how I've already done all the hard work tonight, I propose a compromise which should make us both happy." The stranger tips his head in my direction. "How about we share this sweet young thing? I'm sure there's enough to go around. After all, I've already caught her."

I flinch as though someone punched me in the gut, the impact causing me to stumble backwards several more feet. There's been horrible accounts in newspapers where someone was passed around and abused by multiple perpetrators. I never expected something like that could happen here. Not in Forks.

No, no, no, no...

Edward's eyes blaze through the darkness, lighting his entire face on fire. "This girl is off limits," he snarls.

The stranger's brows lift upwards. "Off limits?" He cocks his head to the side and takes another look my direction, viewing me as though I'm no better than an animal at a petting zoo. "And why is that?"

"Her family is well known around here," Edward replies. "If something were to happen to her, there would be a large scale search. Perhaps even national attention."

"Ah. I see." The guy's lips slide back to a smirk. "Sorry, little lady," he quips, eyebrows wagging up and down in my direction, "but your friend here says it's a no-go."

My entire body shivers in disgust. I'm taking a long, scalding-hot shower the moment I get back home.

The guy ignores my reaction and instead extends his right hand for Edward to shake. "I'm James."

Edward glances at the outstretched hand but doesn't touch it. When his eyes dart back up, all I see is coldness staring back. "And I'm ready for you to leave," he replies. "Immediately. We don't want your kind stirring up trouble."

James raises exactly one eyebrow in question. "We?"

"My father and I...for example."

James huffs a laugh. "Oh. A father! Now, isn't that a wonderful stroke of luck for you. I haven't seen my father since the bastard created me."

Edward's unblinking gaze remains on James' face. He doesn't smile, nor does he acknowledge what was said. "As I was saying," he says carefully, "this is a small community. Safe and peaceful. My family - and the rest of the citizens of the Olympic Peninsula - prefer to keep it that way. We would appreciate it if you would move along elsewhere."

"Fair enough," James responds. His eyes land on me once again. "But before I go, would you do me a favor and direct me to one that you aren't so attached to?" The glare on Edward's face doubles in strength. James chuckles with delight. "All right, all right. I'll be on my way then."

James strolls off down the road, never once stopping to look behind him. We watch his retreating figure until the shadows overtake him. Gradually, Edward and I turn to look at one another. He stands tall and perfectly straight, the glare on his face now missing.

"Come with me," he says, lips barely moving.

I stare at him as though he just spoke in a foreign language. There's no way I heard him correctly. "What?" I yelp.

"I'm driving you home."

My head jerks back in surprise. He's talking AND offering me a ride in his car? The one that looks like something Bruce Wayne would cruise around in? There must be some mistake. Or, he views me as some lost puppy who wandered too far away from home, now making him feel obligated to step in and help.

"Oh...thanks," I hesitate. "But you really don't have to-"

As I'm offering him a way out of having to put up with me any more, he yanks open the passenger side door. "Get in," he insists, his face as expressive as stone.

I stand nearby, nervously tapping my shoe against the asphalt. Although the offer is tempting, I'm unsure of what I should do. I don't know anything about this boy other than he hates talking to people and possibly has an obsession with setting things on fire. And, getting into a car with a virtual stranger usually isn't recommended anyway. I've been in enough danger tonight, so maybe it would be best if I politely pass on the ride home.

Then I remind myself that Edward was the person who stopped his car and demanded James leave me alone. He didn't have to do that. He could have driven right on by and not done a thing to help. And only a few days ago, he and I sat together in my meadow - alone - for at least an hour. He never once made me feel unsafe.

So, Edward can't be as bad as everyone at school is saying.

Right?

With my upper teeth firmly embedded in my bottom lip, I walk up to his car and get inside. I guess I'd rather take my chances with Edward in the car than risk running into James again.

The door shuts as soon as my butt makes contact with the black leather seat. He walks around the front and arrives at the driver's side. The first thing he does before stepping foot inside of the car is touch a switch on the door. There's an electric hum as the window rolls down by itself. I watch in deep fascination. I've never seen power windows in operation before. Dad's car has the old-fashioned windows that you have to roll down by hand. Seeing a car that can do the work for you is like witnessing magic in action.

Once the window is halfway down, Edward slides into the driver's seat. He pops the car out of park and we take off. I play with the fingers on my lap as we pick up speed. My eyes sneakily flick to the left to see what he's doing. He stares straight ahead, hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. It's like he can barely tolerate having someone other than himself in his car.

"I only live about two miles away," I comment, suddenly more nervous than before. "Evergreen Lane. Ever heard of it?"

He nods his head once without looking away from the road.

I take it as a positive sign that he isn't complaining about the distance or demanding that I exit his vehicle posthaste. I relax in my seat but continue to watch him. Although I have a ton of questions I want to ask, I decide to start off with a simple one to see how he will react. "You weren't in school today," I point out. "Were you sick?"

It takes several silent seconds for him to respond. "My father is giving the school a doctor's excuse," he murmurs.

I nod my head in understanding. It must be nice to have a parent who works as a doctor. When you're running a fever, you can get a doctor's excuse without leaving the comfort of your bed.

Since Edward has been obliging so far, I hit him with a more important question. "So... there's something else I've been wondering," I begin. "Why did you stop to help me tonight? With James, I mean?"

Edward drives on as though he didn't hear the question. I'm at the point of giving up on getting a response when he finally speaks. "I didn't like the way he was looking at you. Something told me that he couldn't be trusted to behave himself." He pauses and adds, "I'm usually a good judge of character."

I frown at the memory of James' smirking face and frosty eyes. Before he even opened his mouth, I had the feeling he was dangerous. It's amazing Edward sensed the same thing while driving a hundred miles per hour down the road.

"I guess you are," I whisper in agreement.

As Edward slows down at a stop sign, I think back on the strange conversation the two of them had. Specifically, when James said something about this area being Edward's turf.

What could that mean?

Another question flies out of my mouth before I can stop it.

"Are you in a gang?" I blurt out. Edward half turns away from the road, one eye grazing my face. My cheeks heat up. What a dumb thing to ask him. Edward's wearing a polo shirt and loafers. I can't imagine there are a lot of rich boys out there who are willing to pledge themselves to a life of gang-related crime.

"I mean," I quickly correct myself, "when I first bumped into James, I thought he was in a gang of some sort. You know, like the Hell's Angels? And some of the stuff he said to you made it sound that way, too."

Edward goes back to devoting his full concentration towards the road ahead of us. He doesn't speak until we've made it safely past the stop sign. "I'm not in a gang," he says in a low tone. "I just prefer living in a place that isn't overrun with troublemakers."

I'm on the verge of asking for more details when he pops open the center console, revealing row after row of cassettes. He chooses one without looking and shoves it into the car's tape deck. Drums bang a steady beat. Next comes several instruments that I can't identify. Then, an emotional voice fills the car's interior.

Billie Jean is not my lover

She's just a girl who claims that I am the one

But the kid is not my son

She says I am the one, but the kid is not my son

My mouth falls open at what I'm hearing. The song is catchy. You could definitely dance along to the beat. But there's also a haunting quality to it, one where I know I'll still be thinking of it tonight while I'm trying to fall asleep.

"I've never heard anything like this before," I remark out loud. "Who sings it?"

For the first time since we entered his car, Edward swings his head around to stare at me straight in the eyes. There's a touch of disbelief written on his face, as though he can't believe I could be so stupid. "That's Michael Jackson - the most famous musician today. His music can be heard nearly everywhere you go. How could you not know that?"

My eyebrows immediately pinch together, white hot anger boiling inside of me. "I didn't know because I wasn't allowed to know!" I retort. "Are you unaware of who my father is?" My entire body twists away from him, turning around in my seat until only the objects outside of my window can witness my shame.

For the remainder of the ride, we say nothing else to one another.

By the time we reach my street, I'm wondering if I was wrong to snap at him like that. After all, it isn't his fault I'm so far behind the times it isn't even funny.

The car comes to a stop outside of my darkened house. I unbuckle my seatbelt and pivot my head back around to look at Edward. His eyes are aimed straight ahead, staring at a distant point through the windshield.

I clear my throat in hopes it will capture his attention.

It doesn't.

"Um. Thanks for the ride...and everything," I mumble awkwardly.

He nods his head once without looking at me. I frown in disappointment. I guess his interpretation of Friendly Edward is gone for the rest of the evening.

With my lame attempt at gratitude out of the way, I push the car door open and step into the black night. I hurry up the sidewalk, unlock the front door, and enter the quiet house.

I don't turn around when he drives away.

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A/N-

Songs used in this chapter- Billie Jean by Michael Jackson. I think it was the law during the '80s for radio stations to play this song at least ten times per day.

Next Chapter- We'll be leaving Bella and Edward momentarily (sorry) to experience the night through another set of eyes.

Thanks for reading! And bye bye 2020. We won't miss you. :-)