I followed him all day through other people's eyes, barely aware of my own surroundings.
Not McKayla Newton's eyes, because I couldn't stand any more of her offensive fantasies, and not Jeremy Stanley's, because his resentment toward Beau was irritating. Allen Weber was a good choice when his eyes were available. He was kind—his head was an easy place to be. And then sometimes it was the teachers who provided the best view.
I was surprised, watching Beau stumble through the day—tripping over cracks in the sidewalk, stray books, and, most often, his own feet—that the people I eavesdropped on thought of him as clumsy.
I considered that. It was true that he often had trouble staying upright. I remembered his stumbling into the desk that first day, sliding around on the ice before the accident, staggering against the low lip of the doorframe yesterday. How odd—they were right. He was clumsy.
I didn't know why this was so funny to me, but I laughed out loud as I walked from American History to English and several people shot me wary glances, then looked away quickly from my exposed teeth. How had I never noticed this before? Perhaps because there was something very graceful about him in stillness, the way he held his head, the arch of his neck...
There was nothing graceful about him now. Mrs. Varner watched as he caught the toe of his boot on the carpet and literally fell into his chair.
I laughed again.
The time moved with incredible sluggishness while I waited for my chance to see him with my own eyes. Finally, the bell rang. I strode quickly to the cafeteria to secure my spot. I was one of the first in the room. I chose a table that was usually empty, and was sure to remain that way with me seated here.
When my family entered and saw me sitting alone in a new place, they were not surprised. Archie must have warned them.
Royal stalked past me without a glance.
Idiot.
Royal and I had never had an easy relationship—I'd offended him the very first time he'd heard me speak, and it was downhill from that point on—but it seemed as though he was even more ill-tempered than usual the last few days. I sighed. Royal made everything about himself.
Jessamine gave me half a smile as she walked by.
Good luck, she thought doubtfully.
Eleanor rolled her eyes and shook her head.
Lost her mind, poor girl.
Archie was beaming, his teeth shining too brightly.
Can I talk to Beau now?
"Keep out of it," I said under my breath.
His face fell, and then brightened again.
Fine. Be stubborn. It's only a matter of time.
I sighed again.
Don't forget about today's Biology lab, he reminded me.
I nodded. It irked me that Mrs. Banner had made these plans. I'd wasted so many hours in Biology, sitting next to him while pretending to ignore him; it was painfully ironic to me that I would miss that hour with him today.
While I waited for Beau to arrive, I followed him in the eyes of the freshman who was walking behind Jeremy on her way to the cafeteria. Jeremy was babbling about the upcoming dance, but Beau said nothing in response. Not that Jeremy gave him much of a chance.
The moment Beau walked through the door, his eyes flashed to the table where my siblings sat. He stared for a moment, and then his forehead crumpled and his eyes dropped to the floor. He hadn't noticed me here.
He looked so... sad. I felt a powerful urge to get up and go to his side, to comfort him somehow, only I didn't know what he would find comforting. Jeremy continued to jabber about the dance. Was Beau upset that he was going to miss it? That didn't seem likely.
But if that were true... I wished I could offer his that option. Impossible. The physical proximity required by a dance would be too dangerous.
He bought a drink for his lunch and nothing else. Was that right? Didn't he need more nutrition? I'd never paid much attention to a human's diet before.
Humans were quite exasperatingly fragile! There were a million different things to worry about.
"Edythe Cullen is staring at you again," I heard Jeremy say. "I wonder why she's sitting alone today."
I was grateful to Jeremy—though he was even more resentful now—because Beau's head snapped up and his eyes searched until they met mine.
There was no trace of sadness in his face now. I let myself hope that he'd felt unhappy because he'd thought I'd left school early, and that hope made me smile.
I motioned with my finger for him to join me. He looked so startled by this that I wanted to tease him again. So I winked, and his mouth fell open.
"Does she mean you?" Jeremy asked rudely.
"Um, maybe she needs help with her Biology homework," he said in a low, uncertain voice. "I guess I should go see what she wants."
This was almost another yes.
He stumbled twice on his way to my table, though there was nothing in his way but perfectly even linoleum. Seriously, how had I missed this? I'd been paying more attention to his silent thoughts, I supposed. What else had I not seen?
He was almost to my new table. I tried to prepare myself. Keep it honest, keep it light, I chanted silently.
He stopped behind the chair across from me, hesitating. I inhaled deeply, through my nose this time rather than my mouth.
Feel the burn, I thought dryly.
"Won't you sit with me today?" I asked him.
He pulled the chair out and sat, staring at me the whole while. He seemed nervous. I waited for him to speak.
It took a moment, but finally he said, "This is, uh, different."
"Well..." I hesitated. "I decided as long as I was going to hell, I might as well do it thoroughly."
What had made me say that? I supposed it was honest, at least. And perhaps he'd hear the unsubtle warning my words implied. Maybe he would realize that he should get up and walk away as quickly as possible.
He didn't get up. He stared at me, waiting, as if I'd left my sentence unfinished.
"You know I don't understand what you mean, right?" he asked when I didn't continue.
That was a relief. I smiled. "I'm counting on it."
It was hard to ignore the thoughts screaming at me from behind his back—and I wanted to change the subject anyway.
"I think your friends are upset that I've stolen you."
This did not appear to concern him. "They'll survive."
"I may not give you back, though." I didn't even know if I was trying to tease him again, or just being honest now. Being near him jumbled all my thoughts.
Beau swallowed loudly.
I laughed at his expression. "You look worried." It really shouldn't be funny. He should worry.
"No." I knew this must be a lie; his voice broke, betraying his fraud. "But surprised, yes. What's all this about?"
"I told you," I reminded him. "I'm tired of trying to stay away from you. So I'm giving up." I held my smile in place with a bit of effort. This wasn't working at all—trying to be honest and casual at the same time.
"Giving up?" he repeated, baffled.
"Yes—giving up trying to be good." And, apparently, giving up trying to be casual. "I'm just going to do what I want now, and let the chips fall where they may." That was honest enough. Let him see my selfishness. Let that warn him, too.
"You lost me again."
I was selfish enough to be glad that this was the case. "I always say too much when I'm talking to you—that's one of the problems." A rather insignificant problem, compared to the rest.
"Don't worry," he reassured me. "I don't understand anything you say."
Good. Then he'd stay. "Like I said—I'm counting on that."
"So, in plain English, are we friends now?"
I pondered that for a second. "Friends...," I repeated. I didn't like the sound of that. It wasn't... enough.
"Or not," he mumbled, looking embarrassed.
Did he think I didn't like him that much?
I smiled. "Well, we can try, I suppose. But I'm warning you again that I'm not a good friend for you to have."
I waited for his response, torn in two—wishing he would finally hear and understand, thinking I might die if he did. How melodramatic.
His heart beat faster. "You say that a lot."
"I do, because you're not listening," I said, too intense again. "I'm still waiting for you to hear me. If you're smart, you'll avoid me."
I could only guess at the pain I would feel when he understood enough to make the right choice.
His eyes tightened. "I thought we'd already come to the conclusion that I'm an idiot. Or absurd, or whatever."
I wasn't exactly sure what he meant, but I smiled in apology, guessing that I must have accidentally offended him. "I did apologize—for the second one, at least. Will you forgive me for the first? I spoke without thinking."
"Yeah, of course. You don't have to apologize to me."
I sighed. "Don't I?"
He looked down, staring intently at the lemonade bottle in his hands.
The old curiosity tormented me.
"What are you thinking?" I asked. It was an immense relief to say the words out loud at last. I couldn't remember how it felt to need oxygen in my lungs, but I wondered if the relief of inhaling had been a little like this.
He met my gaze, and his breathing sped while his cheeks flushed faint pink. I inhaled, tasting that in the air.
"I'm wondering what you are."
I held the smile on my face, locking my features, while panic twisted through my body.
Of course he was wondering that. He had a bright mind. I couldn't hope for him to be oblivious to something so obvious.
"Are you having any luck with that?" I asked as nonchalantly as I could manage.
His cheeks turned brighter red, and he said nothing. I could feel the warmth of his blush.
I would try my persuasive tone. It worked well on normal humans.
I smiled encouragingly. "Won't you tell me?"
He shook his head. "Too embarrassing."
Ugh. Not knowing was worse than anything else. Why would his speculations embarrass him?
"That's really frustrating."
My complaint sparked something in him. His eyes flashed and his words flowed more swiftly than usual.
"Really?" He raised his eyebrows. "Like... someone refusing to tell you what she's thinking, even if all the while she's making cryptic little comments designed to keep you up at night wondering what she could possibly mean... Frustrating like that?"
I frowned at him, upset to realize that he was right. I wasn't being fair. He couldn't know the loyalties and limitations that tied my tongue, but that didn't change the disparity as he saw it.
He went on. "Or is it frustrating like, say, she's done a bunch of other strange things—for example, saving your life under impossible circumstances one day, then treating you like a pariah the next—and she never explained any of that, either, even after she promised? Frustrating like that?"
It was the longest speech I'd ever heard him make, and it gave me a new quality for my list.
"You're really not over that yet?"
"Not quite yet."
"Would another apology help?"
"An explanation would be better."
He was completely justified in his irritation, of course.
I stared at Beau, wondering how I could possibly do anything right by him, until the silent shouting in McKayla Newton's head distracted me. She was so irate, so immaturely vulgar, that it made me chuckle again.
"What?" he demanded.
"Your girlfriend thinks I'm being mean to you—she's debating whether or not to come break up our fight." I would love to see her try. I laughed again.
"I don't have a girlfriend," he said in an icy voice. "And you're trying to change the subject."
I very much enjoyed the way he disowned her with one indifferent sentence.
"You might not think of her that way, but it's how she thinks of you."
"There's no way that's true."
"It is. I told you, most people are very easy to read."
"Except me."
"Yes. Except for you." Did he have to be the exception to everything? "I wonder why that is?"
I stared into his eyes, trying again.
He looked away, then opened his lemonade and took a quick drink, his eyes on the table.
"Aren't you hungry?" I asked.
"No." He eyed the empty space between us. "You?"
"No, I'm not hungry," I said. I was definitely not that.
He stared down, his lips pursed. I waited.
"Can you do me a favor?" he asked, suddenly meeting my gaze again.
What would he want from me? Would he ask for the truth that I wasn't allowed to tell him—the truth I didn't want him to ever, ever know?
"That depends on what you want."
"It's not much," he promised.
I waited, curiosity flaring excruciatingly, as usual.
"Could you warn me beforehand," he said slowly, staring at the lemonade bottle, tracing its lip with his littlest finger, "the next time you decide to ignore me? For my own good, or whatever. Just so I'm prepared."
He wanted a warning? Then being ignored by me must be a bad thing. I smiled.
"That sounds fair," I agreed.
"Thanks," he said, looking up. His face was so relieved that I wanted to laugh with my own relief.
"Then can I have one in return?" I asked hopefully.
"Sure," he allowed.
"Tell me one of your theories."
He flushed. "No way."
"You promised me a favor," I argued.
"And you've broken promises before," he argued back.
He had me there.
"Just one theory—I won't laugh."
"Yes, you will." He seemed very sure of that, though I couldn't imagine anything that would be funny about it.
I gave persuasion another try. I stared deep into his eyes—an easy thing to do with eyes so deep—and whispered, "Please?"
He blinked, and his face went totally blank.
Well, that wasn't exactly the reaction I'd been going for.
"Um... what?" he asked a second later. He looked disoriented. Was something wrong with him?
I tried again.
"One little theory," I pleaded in my soft, non-scary voice, holding his gaze in mine. "Please?"
To my surprise and satisfaction, it finally worked.
"Well, er, bitten by a radioactive spider?"
Comic books? No wonder he thought I would laugh.
"That's not very creative," I chided him, trying to hide my fresh relief.
"Sorry, that's all I've got," he said, offended.
This relieved me even more. I was able to tease him again.
"You're not even close."
"No spiders?"
"No spiders."
"No radioactivity?"
"None at all."
"Huh," he sighed.
"Kryptonite doesn't bother me, either," I said quickly—before he could ask about bites—and then I had to chuckle, because he thought I was a superhero.
"You're not supposed to laugh, remember?"
I pressed my lips together.
"I'll figure it out eventually," he promised.
And when he did, he would run.
"I wish you wouldn't try," I said, all teasing gone.
"How can I not wonder? I mean... you're impossible."
I owed him honesty. Still, I tried to smile, to make my words sound less threatening. "But what if I'm not a superhero? What if I'm the villain?"
His eyes widened by a fraction and his lips fell slightly apart. "Oh," he said. And then, after another second, "Oh, okay."
He'd finally heard me.
"What exactly does okay mean" I asked, working to conceal my agony.
"You're dangerous?" he guessed. His breathing hiked, and his heart raced.
I couldn't answer him. Was this my last moment with him? Would he run now? Could I be allowed to tell him that I loved him before he left? Or would that frighten him more?
"Dangerous, but not the villain," he whispered, shaking his head, no fear evident in his clear eyes. "No, I don't believe that."
"You're wrong," I breathed.
Of course I was bad. Wasn't I rejoicing now, finding he thought better of me than I deserved? If I were a good person, I would have stayed away from him.
I stretched my hand across the table, reaching for the lid to his lemonade bottle as an excuse. He did not flinch away from my suddenly closer hand. He really was not afraid of me. Not yet.
I spun the lid like a top, watching it instead of him. My thoughts were in a snarl.
Run, Beau, run. I couldn't make myself say the words out loud.
He jumped to his feet. Just as I started to worry that he'd somehow heard my silent warning, he said, "We're going to be late."
"I'm not going to class today."
"Why not?"
Because I don't want to kill you. "It's healthy to ditch class now and then."
To be precise, it was healthier for the humans if the vampires ditched on days when human blood would be spilled. Mrs. Banner was blood typing today. Archie had already ditched his morning class.
"Oh, well, I guess... I should go?" he said. This didn't surprise me. He was responsible—he always did the right thing.
He was my opposite.
"I'll see you later, then," I said, trying for casual again, staring down at the whirling lid. Please save yourself. Please never leave me.
He hesitated, and I hoped for a moment that he would stay with me after all. But the bell rang and he hurried away.
I waited until he was gone, and then I put the lid in my pocket—a souvenir of this most consequential conversation—and walked through the rain to my car.
I put on my favorite calming CD—the same one I'd listened to that first day—but I wasn't hearing Debussy's notes for long. Other notes were running through my head, a fragment of a tune that pleased and intrigued me. I turned down the stereo and listened to the music in my head, playing with the fragment until it evolved into a fuller harmony. Automatically, my fingers moved in the air over imaginary piano keys.
The new composition was really coming along when my attention was caught by a wave of mental anguish.
Is he going to pass out? What do I do? McKayla panicked.
A hundred yards away, McKayla Newton was lowering Beau's limp body to the sidewalk. He slumped unresponsively against the wet concrete, his eyes closed, his skin chalky as a corpse.
I nearly took the door off the car.
"Beau?" I shouted.
There was no change in his lifeless face when I yelled his name.
My whole body went colder than ice. This was like a confirmation of every ludicrous scenario I'd imagined. The very moment he was out of my sight...
I was aware of McKayla's aggravated surprise as I sifted furiously through her thoughts. She was only thinking of her anger toward me, so I didn't know what was wrong with Beau. If she'd done something to harm him, I would annihilate her. Not even the tiniest fragment of her body would ever be recovered.
"What's wrong—is he hurt?" I demanded, trying to focus her thoughts. It was maddening to have to walk at a human pace. I should not have called attention to my approach.
Then I could hear his heart beating and his even breath. As I watched, he squeezed his eyes more tightly shut. That eased some of my panic.
I saw a flicker of memories in McKayla's head, a splash of images from the Biology room. Beau's head on our table, his fair skin turning green. Drops of red against the white cards.
Blood typing.
I stopped where I was, holding my breath. His scent was one thing, his flowing blood was another altogether.
"I think he fainted," McKayla said, anxious and resentful at the same time. "I don't know what happened. He didn't even stick his finger."
Relief washed through me, and I breathed again, tasting the air. Ah, I could smell the tiny bleed of McKayla Newton's puncture wound. Once, that might have appealed to me.
I knelt beside him while McKayla hovered next to me, furious at my intervention.
"Beau. Can you hear me?"
"No," he moaned.
The relief was so exquisite that I laughed. He wasn't in danger.
"I was trying to help him to the nurse," McKayla said. "But he wouldn't go any farther."
"I'll take him. You can go back to class," I said dismissively.
McKayla's teeth clenched together. "What? No, I'm supposed to..."
I wasn't going to stand around arguing with the girl.
Thrilled and terrified, half-grateful to and half-aggrieved by the predicament that made touching him a necessity, I gently lifted Beau from the sidewalk and held him upright, touching only his rain jacket and jeans, keeping as much distance between our bodies as possible. I was striding forward in the same movement, in a hurry to have him safe—farther away from me, in other words.
His eyes popped open, astonished.
"I'm good, I swear," he pleaded in a weak voice—embarrassed again, I guessed from his expression. He didn't like to show weakness. But his body was so limp I doubted he would be able to stand on his own, let alone walk.
I ignored McKayla's shouted protest behind us.
"You look simply awful," I told him, unable to stop grinning, because there was nothing wrong with him but a light head and a weak stomach.
"Just put me back on the sidewalk," he said. His lips were white. "I'll be fine in a few minutes."
"So you faint at the sight of blood?" A twisted kind of irony.
He closed his eyes and pressed his lips together.
"And not even your own blood," I added, my grin widening.
"I have a weak vasovagal system," he muttered. "It's just a neurally mediated syncope."
All I could do was laugh.
We arrived at the front office. The door was propped open an inch, and I kicked it out of my way.
Mr. Cope jumped, startled. "Oh my," he gasped as he examined the ashen boy in my arms.
"He's having a neurally mediated syncope," I explained jokingly.
Mr. Cope hurried to get the door to the nurse's office. Beau's eyes were open again, watching him. I heard the elderly nurse's internal astonishment as I laid the boy carefully on the one shabby bed. As soon as Beau was out of my arms, I put the width of the room between us. My body was too excited, too eager, my muscles tense and the venom flowing. He was so warm and fragrant.
"Should I call nine-one-one?" Mr Cope gasped.
"It's just a fainting spell," Beau muttered.
"They're blood typing in Biology," I reassured Mr. Hammond.
He nodded, understanding now. "There's always one."
I stifled a laugh. Trust Beau to be that one.
"Just lie down for a minute, son," Mr. Hammond said. "It'll pass."
"I know," Beau said.
"Does this happen a lot?" the nurse asked.
"I have a weak vasovagal system," Beau admitted. "Sometimes."
I tried to disguise my laughter as coughing.
This brought me to the nurse's attention. "You can go back to class now," he said.
I looked him straight in the eye and lied with perfect confidence. "I'm supposed to stay with him."
Hmm. I wonder... Oh well. Mr. Hammond nodded.
It worked just fine on the nurse. Why did Beau have to be so difficult?
"I'll get you some ice for your head," the nurse said, slightly uncomfortable from looking into my eyes—the way a human should be—and left the room.
"You were right," Beau moaned, closing his eyes.
What did he mean? I jumped to the worst conclusion: he'd accepted my warnings.
"I usually am," I said, trying to keep the amusement in my voice; it sounded sour now. "But about what in particular this time?"
"Ditching is healthy," he sighed.
Ah, relief again.
He was silent then. He just breathed slowly in and out. His lips were beginning to turn pink. His mouth was slightly out of balance, his upper lip just a little too full to match the lower. Staring at his mouth made me feel strange. Made me want to move closer to him, which was not a good idea.
"You scared me for a minute there," I said, trying to restart the conversation. The quiet was painful in an odd way, leaving me alone without his voice. "I thought that Newton girl had poisoned you."
"Hilarious," he responded.
"Honestly—I've seen corpses with better color." This was actually true. "I was concerned that I might have to avenge your death." And I would have.
"I bet McKayla's annoyed."
Fury pulsed through me, but I contained it quickly. His concern was surely just pity. He was kind. That was all.
"She absolutely loathes me," I told him, cheered by that idea.
"You don't know that."
"You should have seen her face—it was obvious." It was probably true that reading her face would have given me enough information to make that particular deduction. All this practice with Beau was sharpening my skill.
"How did you even see us? I thought you were ditching." His face looked better—the green undertone had vanished from his translucent skin.
"I was in my car, listening to a CD."
His mouth twitched, like my very ordinary answer had surprised his somehow.
He opened his eyes again when Mr. Hammond returned with an ice pack.
"Here you go, son," the nurse said as he laid it across Beau's forehead. "You're looking better."
"I think I'm okay," Beau said, and he sat up while pulling the ice pack away. Of course. He didn't like to be taken care of.
Mr. Hammond's wrinkled hands fluttered toward the boy, as if he were going to push him back down, but just then Mr. Cope opened the door to the office and leaned in. With his appearance came the smell of fresh blood, just a whiff.
Invisible in the office behind his, McKayla Newton was still very angry, wishing the heavy girl she dragged now was the boy who was in here with me.
"We've got another one," Mr. Cope said.
Beau quickly jumped down from the cot, eager to be out of the spotlight.
"Here," he said, handing the compress back to Mr. Hammond. "I don't need this."
McKayla grunted as she half-shoved Leann Stephens through the door. Blood was still dripping down the hand Leann held to her face, trickling toward her wrist.
"Oh no." This was my cue to leave—and Beau's, too, it seemed. "Go out to the office, Beau."
He stared up at me, surprised.
"Trust me—go."
He whirled and caught the door before it swung shut, rushing through to the office. I followed a few inches behind him.
He turned to look at me, still unsure.
"You actually listened to me." That was a first.
His nose wrinkled. "I smelled the blood."
I stared at him in blank surprise. "People can't smell blood."
"I can—that's what makes me sick. It smells like rust... and salt."
My face froze, still staring.
Was he really even human? He looked human. He felt soft as a human. He smelled human—well, better actually. He acted human... sort of. But he didn't think like a human, or respond like one.
What other option was there, though?
"What?" he demanded.
"It's nothing."
McKayla Newton interrupted us then, entering the room with resentful, violent thoughts.
"Thanks so much for your help, Edythe," she said in a sickly sweet tone. "I don't know what Beau here would have done without you."
"Don't mention it." I smiled.
"You look better," she said to him rudely.
My hand twitched, wanting to teach her some manners. I would have to watch myself, or I would end up actually killing this obnoxious girl.
"Just keep your hand in your pocket," he said. For one wild second, I thought he was talking to me.
"It's not bleeding anymore," she answered sullenly. "Are you coming to class?"
"No thanks. I'd just have to turn around and come back."
That was very good. I'd thought I was going to have to miss this whole hour with him, and now I got extra time instead. A gift I obviously did not deserve.
"Yeah, I guess...," McKayla mumbled. "So are you going this weekend? To the beach?"
What was this? They had plans. Anger froze me in place. It was a group trip, though. McKayla was sorting through the other invitees in her head, counting places. It wasn't just the two of them. That didn't help my fury. I leaned motionlessly against the counter, controlling my response.
"Sure, I said I was in," he promised her.
So he'd said yes to her, too. The jealousy burned, more painful than thirst.
"We're meeting at my parents' store, at ten." And Cullen's NOT invited.
"I'll be there," he said.
"I'll see you in Gym, then."
"Yeah, see you," he replied.
She shuffled off to her class, her thoughts full of ire. What does he see in that freak? Sure, she's gorgeous. But she's too... too perfect. I bet her mom experiments with plastic surgery on all of them. That's why they're all so white and pretty. It's not natural. And she's sort of... scary-looking. Sometimes, when she stares at me, I'd swear she's thinking about killing me. Freak.
McKayla wasn't entirely unperceptive.
"Ugh, gym," Beau repeated quietly. A groan.
I looked at him and saw that he was unhappy about something again. I wasn't sure why, but it was clear that he didn't want to go to his next class with McKayla, and I was all for that plan.
I went to his side and bent close to his face, feeling the warmth of his skin radiating out to my lips. I didn't dare breathe.
"I can take care of that," I murmured. "Go sit down and look pale."
He did as I asked, sitting in one of the folding chairs and leaning his head back against the wall, while behind me, Mr. Cope came out of the back room and went to his desk. With his eyes closed, Beau looked as if he'd passed out again. His full color hadn't come back yet.
I turned to the receptionist. Hopefully, Beau was paying attention to this, I thought sardonically. This was how a human was supposed to respond.
"Mr. Cope?" I asked, using my persuasive voice again.
His heart skipped a beat. Get ahold of yourself! "Yes?"
That was interesting. When Steve Cope's pulse quickened, it was because he found me physically attractive, not because he was frightened. I was used to that around human males, those who'd grown somewhat acclimatized to my kind through continued exposure... yet I hadn't considered that explanation for Beau's racing heart.
I liked that thought, perhaps too much. I smiled my careful, human-soothing smile, and Mr. Cope's breathing got louder.
"Beau has Gym next hour, and I don't think he feels well enough. Actually, I was thinking I should drive him home. Do you think you could excuse him from class?" I stared into his depthless eyes, enjoying the havoc that this wreaked on his thought processes. Was it possible that Beau...?
Mr. Cope had to swallow loudly before he answered. "Do you need to be excused, too, Edythe?"
"No, I have Mr. Goff. He won't mind."
I wasn't paying much attention to him now. I was exploring this new possibility.
Hmm. I would have liked to believe that Beau found me attractive like other humans did, but when did Beau ever have the same reactions as other humans? I shouldn't get my hopes up.
"Okay, it's all taken care of. You feel better, Beau."
Beau nodded weakly—overacting a bit.
"Can you walk, or do you want me to help you again?" I asked, amused by his poor theatrics. I knew he would want to walk—he wouldn't want to be weak.
"I'll walk," he said.
Right again.
He got up, hesitating for a moment as if to check his balance. I held the door for him, and we walked out into the rain.
I watched him as he lifted his face to the light rain with his eyes closed, a slight smile on his lips. What was he thinking? Something about this action seemed off, and I quickly realized why the posture looked unfamiliar to me. Normal humans wouldn't raise their faces to the drizzle that way.
"Thanks for that," he said, smiling at me now. "It's almost worth getting sick to miss Gym."
I stared across the campus, wondering how to prolong my time with him. "Anytime," I said.
"So are you going? This Saturday, the beach trip?" He sounded hopeful.
Ah, his hope eased the sting of my jealousy. He wanted me with him, not McKayla Newton. And I wanted to say yes. But there were many things to consider. For one, the sun would be shining this Saturday.
"Where are you all going?" I tried to keep my voice nonchalant, as if the answer didn't matter much. McKayla had said beach, though. Not much chance of avoiding sunlight there. Eleanor would be irritated if I canceled our plans, but that wouldn't stop me if there was any way to spend the time with him.
"Down to La Push, to First Beach."
It was impossible, then.
I managed my disappointment, then glanced down at him, smiling wryly. "I really don't think I was invited."
He sighed, already resigned. "I just invited you."
"Let's you and I not antagonize poor McKayla any more this week. We don't want her to snap." I thought about snapping poor McKayla myself, and enjoyed the mental picture intensely.
"Fine, whatever," he said, dismissive again. I smiled.
And then he started to walk away from me.
Without thinking about my action, I automatically reached out and caught him by the back of his rain jacket. He jerked to a stop.
"Where are you going?" I was upset—almost angry that he was leaving. I hadn't had enough time with him.
He didn't answer. Something about my hasty action had clearly bothered him.
"Beau?" I asked again.
"Uh, what?"
"I asked where you were going."
"Home. Or am I not?" he asked, clearly baffled as to why this should upset me.
"Didn't you hear me promise to take you safely home? Do you think I'm going to let you drive in your condition?" I knew he wouldn't like that—my implication of weakness on his part. But I needed to practice for the Seattle trip—to see if I could handle his proximity in an enclosed space. This was a much shorter journey.
"What condition?" he demanded.
"I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you have a weak vasovagal system."
"I think I'll survive," he said as he attempted to take another step toward his truck.
I didn't let go of his jacket.
He stopped and looked down at me. "Okay, why don't you tell me what you want me to do?"
I smiled. "Very sensible. You are going to get into my car, and I am going to drive you home."
"I have two issues with that. One, it's not necessary, and two, what about my truck?"
"One, necessary is a subjective word, and two, I'll have Archie drop it off after school." I pulled him back toward my car carefully. Apparently, walking forward was challenging enough for him. "Are you going to put up a fuss?"
"Is there any point in resisting?"
"It warms my cold heart to see you learning so quickly. This way."
I let go and led us to my car.
I got in on my side and started the car. He sat in the passenger seat and shivered. The rain had soaked through his thick hair, darkening it to near-black.
I knew he was perfectly capable of driving himself home. But I craved his time in a way that I'd never really wanted anything else before. Not immediate and demanding like thirst, this was something different, a different kind of want, and different kind of pain.
Was my behavior entirely offside? I thought I was teasing, that I was acting like the average besotted teenage girl, but what if I'd gotten it wrong? Did he feel coerced? I realized he had every reason to.
I didn't know how to do this. How to court his as a normal, human, modern woman in the year two thousand and five. As a human, I'd only learned the customs of my time. Thanks to my strange gift, I knew quite well how people thought now, what they did, how they acted, but when I tried to act casual and modern it seemed all wrong. Probably because I wasn't normal or modern or human. And it wasn't as if I'd learned anything usable from my family. None of them had had anything near a normal courtship, even excepting the two other qualifications.
Royal and Eleanor had been the cliché, the classic love-at-first-sight story. There had never been a moment when either one had questioned what they were to each other. In the first second Royal saw Eleanor, he'd been drawn to the innocence and honesty that had evaded him in life, and he wanted her. In the first second that Eleanor saw Royal, she saw a god whom she had worshiped without cease ever since. There had never been an awkward first conversation full of doubt, never a fingernail-biting moment of waiting for a yes or no.
Archie and Jessamine's union had been even less normal. For all the twenty-eight years up to their first meeting, Archie had known he would love Jessamine. He'd seen years, decades, centuries, of their future lives together. And Jessamine, feeling all his emotions in that long-awaited moment, the purity and certainty and depth of his love, couldn't help but be overwhelmed. It must have felt like a tsunami to her.
Carine and Earnest had been slightly more typical than the others, I supposed. Earnest had already been in love with Carine—much to her shock—but not through any mystical, magical means. He'd met Carine as a boy and, drawn to her gentleness, wit, and otherworldly beauty, formed an attachment that had haunted him for the rest of his human years. Life had not been kind to Earnest, and so it was not surprising that this golden memory of an angelic woman had never been supplanted in his heart. After the burning torment of transformation, when he'd awakened to the face of his long-cherished dream, his affections were entirely her.
I'd been on hand to caution Carine about his unforeseen reaction. She'd expected that he would be shocked by his transformation, traumatized by the pain, horrified by what he'd become, much as I had been. She'd expected to have to explain and apologize, to soothe and to atone. She knew there was a good chance that he would have preferred death, that he would despise her for the choice made without his knowledge or consent. So the fact that he had been immediately prepared to join this life—not really the life, but to join her—was not something she was ready for.
She'd never seen herself as a possible object of romantic love before that moment. It seemed contrary to what she was—a vampire, a monster. The knowledge I gave her changed the way she looked at Earnest, the way she looked at herself.
More than that, it was very a powerful thing, choosing to save someone. It was not a decision any sane individual made lightly. When Carine chose me, she'd already felt a dozen binding emotions toward me before I'd even awakened to what was happening. Responsibility, anxiety, tenderness, pity, hope, compassion... there was a natural ownership to the act that I'd never experienced, only heard about through her thoughts and Royal's. She already felt like my mother before I knew her name. For me, it was effortless and instinctive to fall into my role as daughter. Love came easily—though I'd always attributed that more to who she was as a person than to her initiating my conversion.
So whether for these reasons, or whether it was because Carine and Earnest were simply meant to be... even with my gift to hear it all as it happened, I would never know. He loved her, and she quickly found she could return that love. It was a very short period of time before her surprise changed to wonder, to discovery, and to romance. So much happiness.
Just a few moments of easily overcome awkwardness, all smoothed out with the help of a little mind reading. Nothing so awkward as this. None of them had been clueless and floundering like me.
Not a full second had passed while these less complicated pairings passed through my mind; Beau was just closing his door. I quickly turned up the heater so he wouldn't be uncomfortable, and lowered the music to a background volume. I drove toward the exit, watching him from the corner of my eye.
Suddenly he looked at the stereo with interest, his sulky expression disappearing. "Is that 'Clair de Lune'?" he asked.
He knew the classics? "You're a fan of Debussy?"
He shrugged. "My mom plays a lot of classical stuff around the house—I only know my favorites."
"It's one of my favorites, too." I stared at the rain, considering that. I actually had something in common with the boy. I'd begun to think that we were opposites in every way.
"Well, imagine that. We actually have something in common."
He seemed more relaxed now, staring at the rain like me, with unseeing eyes. I used his momentary distraction to experiment with breathing.
I inhaled carefully through my nose.
Potent.
I clutched the steering wheel tightly. The rain made him smell better. I wouldn't have thought that was possible. My tongue tingled in anticipation of the taste.
The monster wasn't dead, I realized with disgust. Just biding her time.
I tried to swallow against the burn in my throat. It didn't help. This made me angry. I had so little time with the boy. Look at the lengths I'd already had to go to in order to secure an extra fifteen minutes. I took another breath and fought with my reaction. I had to be stronger than this.
What would I be doing if I weren't the villain of this story? I asked myself. How would I be using this valuable time?
I would be learning more about him.
"What's your mother like?" I asked.
Beau smiled. "She kind of looks like me—same eyes, same color hair—but she's short. She's an extrovert, and pretty brave. She's also slightly eccentric, a little irresponsible, and a very unpredictable cook. She was my best friend." His voice had turned melancholy. His forehead creased.
As I had noticed before, his tone sounded more like parent than child.
I stopped in front of his house, wondering too late if I was supposed to know where he lived. No, this wouldn't be suspicious in such a small town, with his father a public figure.
"How old are you, Beau?" He must be older than his peers. Perhaps he'd been late to start school, or been held back. That didn't seem likely, though, bright as he was.
"I'm seventeen," he answered.
"You don't seem seventeen."
He laughed.
"What?"
"My mom always says I was born thirty-five years old and that I get more middle-aged every year." he laughed again, and then sighed. "Well, someone has to be the adult."
This clarified things for me. It was easy to understand how the irresponsibility of the mother would result in the maturity of the son. He'd had to grow up early, to become the caretaker. That's why he didn't like being cared for—he felt it was his job.
"You don't seem much like a junior in high school, either," he said, pulling me from my reverie.
I frowned. For everything I perceived about him, he perceived too much in return. I changed the subject.
"Why did your mother marry Phil?"
He hesitated a minute before answering. "My mom... she's very young for her age. I think Phil makes her feel even younger. Anyway, she's crazy about him." He shook his head indulgently.
"Do you approve?" I wondered.
He shrugged. "I want her to be happy... and he's who she wants."
The unselfishness of his comment would have shocked me except that it fit in all too well with what I'd learned of his character.
"That's very generous... I wonder."
"What?"
"Would she extend the same courtesy to you, do you think? No matter who your choice was?"
It was a foolish question, and I could not keep my voice casual while I asked it. How stupid to even consider someone approving of me for her son. How stupid to even think of Beau choosing me.
"I—I think so," he stuttered, reacting in some way to my gaze. Was it fear? I thought of Mr. Cope again. What were the other tells? Wide eyes could designate both emotions. The fluttering lashes, though, seemed to point away from fright. Beau's lips were parted...
He recovered. "But she's the adult, on paper at least. It's a little different."
I smiled wryly. "No one too scary, then."
"What do you mean by scary? Tattoos and facial piercings?" He grinned at me.
"That's one definition, I suppose." A very nonthreatening definition, to my mind.
"What's your definition?"
He always asked the wrong questions. Or exactly the right ones, maybe. The ones I didn't want to answer, at any rate.
"Do you think that I could be scary?" I asked his, trying to smile a little.
"It's kind of hard to imagine that."
I frowned.
He thought it through before answering me more seriously. "But I mean, I'm sure you could be, if you wanted to."
I smiled more easily. I did not think he was entirely telling the truth, but neither was he truly lying. He wasn't frightened enough to want to leave, at least. I wondered how he would feel if I told him he was having this discussion with a vampire, and then cringed internally at his imagined reaction.
"So are you going to tell me about your family? It's got to be a much more interesting story than mine."
A more frightening one, at least.
"What do you want to know?" I asked cautiously.
"The Cullens adopted you?"
"Yes."
He hesitated, then spoke in a small voice. "What happened to your parents?"
This wasn't so hard. I wasn't even having to lie to him. "They died many years ago."
"I'm sorry," he mumbled, clearly worried about having hurt me.
He was worried about me. Such a strange feeling, to see him care, even in this common way.
"I don't really remember them that clearly," I assured him. "Carine and Earnest have been my parents for a long time now."
"And you love them," he deduced.
I smiled. "Yes. I can't imagine two better people."
"You're very lucky."
"I know I it." In that one circumstance, the matter of parents, my luck could not be denied.
"And your brother and sister?"
If I let him push for too many details, I would have to lie. I glanced at the clock, disheartened that my time with him was up, but also relieved. The pain was severe, and I worried that the burn in my throat might suddenly flare up hot enough to control me.
"My brother and sister, and Jessamine and Royal for that matter, are going to be quite upset if they have to stand in the rain waiting for me."
"Oh, sorry, I guess you have to go."
He didn't move. He didn't want our time to be up, either.
The pain was not so bad, really, I thought. But I should be responsible.
"And you probably want your truck back before Chief Swan gets home and you have explain about your syncopal episode." I grinned at the memory of his embarrassment in my arms.
"I'm sure he's already heard. There are no secrets in Forks." He said the name of the town with distinct distaste.
I laughed at his words. No secrets, indeed. "Have fun at the beach." I glanced at the pouring rain, knowing it would not last, and wishing more strongly than usual that it could. "Good weather for sunbathing." Well, it would be by Saturday. He would enjoy that. And his happiness had become the most important thing. More important than my own.
"Won't I see you tomorrow?"
The worry in his tone pleased me, but also made me yearn to not have to disappoint him.
"No. Eleanor and I are starting the weekend early." I was angry at myself now for having made the plans. I could break them... but there was no such thing as too much hunting at this point, and my family was going to be concerned enough about my behavior without me revealing how obsessive I was turning. I still wasn't sure exactly what madness had possessed me last night. I really needed to find a way to control my impulses. Perhaps a little distance would help with that.
"What are you going to do?" he asked, sounding not at all happy with my revelation.
More pleasure, more pain.
"We're going to be hiking in the Goat Rocks Wilderness, just south of Rainier." Eleanor was eager for bear season.
"Oh, sounds fun," he said halfheartedly. His lack of enthusiasm pleased me again.
As I stared at him, I began to feel almost agonized at the thought of saying even a temporary goodbye. He was so soft, so vulnerable. It seemed foolhardy to let him out of my sight, where anything could happen to him. And yet, the worst things that could happen to him would result from being with me.
"Will you do something for me this weekend?" I asked seriously.
He nodded, though clearly mystified by my intensity.
Keep it light.
"Don't be offended, but you seem to be one of those people who just attract accidents like a magnet. Try not to fall into the ocean or get run over or anything, all right?"
I smiled ruefully at him, hoping he couldn't see the real sorrow in my eyes. How much I wished that he wasn't so much better off away from me, no matter what might happen to him there.
Run, Beau, run. I love you too much, for your good or mine.
"I'll see what I can do," he promised, jumping out into the rain and heading for the door.
I curled my hand around the key I'd just picked from his jacket pocket and inhaled his scent deeply as I drove away.