Chapter 4- Nobody Told Me There'd Be Days Like These

January 25, 2005

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I have been a student at Forks High for exactly one week.

Through no encouragement of my own, I somehow became the primary focus of attention here for those first two or three days. Nearly every student, it seemed, introduced themselves and tried to ask me a ton of questions. They then listened to my admittedly lackluster responses as if I were the most interesting thing that happened in Forks since the guy that runs the auto parts store claimed he saw bigfoot out near the Reservation last month.

And, on top of everything else, they stared at me. A lot.

By the end of the first school week, the unwanted attention that I drew had slowly slackened off. People began to stare at me a little less now that my arrival was no longer considered breaking news. Students said "hi" to me and smiled when they passed by, but they no longer accosted me like I was a celebrity. For the first time, I thought that maybe it wasn't as bad here as I had feared. I hoped that I could reattain the low profile I enjoyed back at my school in Phoenix, avoid the usual high school drama and bypass the unwanted attention, and eventually flee this place the second after Principal Greene hands me my diploma.

But now I see that I was delusional. Having a "low profile" here is impossible when your bad luck attracts speeding vans that threaten to mow you down in front of half of the student population.

Thanks to the accident this morning, everyone is back to barraging me with questions and uncomfortably staring at me again. Yes, they are shocked that an out-of-control van slid on some ice and crashed into my truck. Of course they are fascinated by the fact that I could have been smashed flatter than Wile E. Coyote in a Looney Tunes cartoon. Yet, what seems to rivet them the most is not the "why" or "how" the accident happened. No. It's the "who" that happened to be there with me that intrigues them.

Turns out that being rescued by a male member of the handsome but private Cullen family has only made me appear one hundred times more interesting to these people.

The most commonly asked question seems to be, "How did Edward become involved?" And my explanation that he just happened to be in the right place at the right time only seems to be adding more fuel to their insatiable curiosity. Much like Jessica earlier, no one seems to understand why he would have went out of his way to see me this morning. I know the reason, of course. He saw me nearly fall in the parking lot and he felt sorry for me. But there's no way I'm going to admit that to these people, so I only give them the bare bones explanation to placate them.

I have a feeling that if it had been someone else that helped me this morning the interest would be dramatically less. Take Eric Yorkie, for example. Don't misunderstand me. There's nothing wrong about Eric, per se. We usually sit at the same lunch table and we share a couple of classes together, so I've gotten to know him a little bit. From what I've seen, he seems like a good person. However, he's not exactly the most captivating person around here. He's the type of guy that would be sporting a pocket protector if they weren't already deemed "too nerdy" to wear at school. And his Dungeons & Dragons obsession isn't helping his reputation either.

But I would give nearly anything to be in his shoes today. At least he can eat his lunch in peace. Unlike Miss Popularity here.

I usually don't like confrontation. It's difficult for me to tell seemingly nice people that they are bothering me and that I just want to be left alone. So, when throngs of kids descended upon our lunch table while all I wanted to do was eat, I forced a smile and said nothing to discourage them. The same questions seemed to come up over and over again, making me wonder if it would be easier if I just climbed on top of the table and made an impromptu question & answer session since everyone was already in the room anyway. It would attract more attention, but at least I would get the task of dealing with three hundred and fifty curious students out of the way sooner.

Right around the time when I believed that my brain was on the verge of flatlining, Jessica volunteered to take over question answering duties, becoming my pseudo-spokesperson, in a way. Since she enjoys the limelight and doesn't mind constantly talking, she appeared to relish the job. Besides, talking about Edward to a captive audience was probably her wish come true.

In a surprising move, the other girl that usually sits at the table became an unexpected ally. Angela and I haven't spoken a whole lot since I've moved here. We both seem to be the reserved, quiet type that takes a while to feel comfortable around others. That's probably why we haven't interacted very much. So, when she began explaining to the hordes of students that I needed a break from their attention and that they should move on, she became my instant friend. I gave her a genuine smile and made a mental note to talk to her more often.

After Angela's intervention, I was able to relax and look around the room. I soon spotted the Cullens sitting across the lunchroom, all present at their table except for Edward. Three of them appeared normal. Well, as normal as you can describe three perfect human specimens. Yet, the fourth member was most definitely not happy today. Blonde bombshell Rosalie looked furious for some reason, her fury resembling some avenging goddess whose devotees had displeased her in some way. Her hardened eyes kept sweeping around the table, focusing individually upon her various family members as they spoke to her. I never saw her speak at all. After I watched Alice passionately waving her arms around as she spoke, Rosalie abruptly jumped up from the table and stormed out of the cafeteria. Her boyfriend and siblings remained seated for a couple of minutes longer before they followed after her. I was disappointed. I had been hoping all morning that Alice would find me and let me know if she had any word about how Edward was doing. Instead, she zipped away without so much as a glance in my direction.

Today felt like one of those never ending days that you occasionally experience. I can't wait until I can get out of here, go home, and try to unwind after having dealt with all of the craziness. So when Biology class is finally over, I'm relieved that I have only one class left before I can finally escape. As usual, Mike Newton offers to escort me to Gym. Although I've only known this boy for a week, it feels like I know absolutely everything there is to know about him. He's a very talkative type of guy that loves to share every teeny detail about his life to anyone willing to listen. And since I would rather listen to his stories than talk about myself, he pretty much keeps talking the entire time that we are together. Yes, I'll admit that his tales are not the most exciting. Actually, to tell the truth, they are usually downright boring. But he always seems so happy whenever he's telling me some humdrum anecdote that I couldn't possibly hurt his feelings by telling him that I have read IRS tax memos that were more entertaining. So, I usually keep my mouth shut, smile politely, and nod at him whenever he starts talking. Normally this strategy keeps him happy and makes him believe that I'm greatly intrigued by our conversation.

Yet I realized earlier that something is different about Mike today. Instead of his usual cheery and talkative disposition, he remained ruminatively silent for most of the day. Even during lunch when nearly every guy and girl bombarded me with questions, he never said a word. Because of that, when he begins talking to me as we walk to Gym, I'm a little surprised.

"Hey, Bella," he musingly draws out. I glance over at him as we walk and see that he seems hesitant, almost like he's unsure if he should be talking at all. "Did I ever tell you about the time that a young couple came into the store one day to buy new hiking boots and that they almost made a terrible mistake?"

"I don't think so," I reply as I shake my head.

Mike clears his throat and a small smile appears on his face, appearing a little more confident than before. "Good. You'll love this then... OK. So, this couple goes and tries to buy their normal shoe size before they head out to hike the North Ridge Trail, right? Well, thank goodness that I was working that morning and caught their mistake, because otherwise there's no telling what would have happened to them. Can you believe they didn't know that you should always buy your hiking boots a half of a size larger than usual so your foot will have room to swell? I mean, they would have developed blisters and become stranded out in the middle of nowhere if I hadn't said anything."

I politely smile. Then nod. "Oh. Well, that's... great that you helped them out like that," I haltingly say.

He gauges my reaction for a few seconds before a huge grin lightens up his face, evidently confusing my politeness with enthusiasm. My smile and nod tactic works a little too well on him, I guess. He's practically strutting alongside me now.

"Yeah. They sure were grateful to me that day," he boasts. "You could even say that I may have saved their lives."

"Uhh..." I nervously hum. I'm not sure how I should respond. Are blisters really that dangerous?

"Because not everyone has the courage to let a customer know when they're wrong," he insists with feeling. "But I'm not like most people. I've worked at the sporting goods store for long enough now where I think it's my job to share my knowledge with the less well informed. When I see someone about to do something wrong, I speak up."

"That's good, Mike," I nod. Then I smile. I'm trying to alternate between the two so he doesn't catch on.

He allows a few, brief moments of silence to pass by before he speaks again. "You know, that's not the only time I saved someone, Bella," he continues as we enter the gym.

"Really?"

"Sure!" he eagerly blurts out. "You see, I was out making a delivery to Mr. Conover's house when I parked my car in between his house and the house next door. I remember hearing a weird crying sound when I first stepped out of the car, but I didn't think much of it at the time. It wasn't until I was about to leave did I decide to investigate." He and I stop walking once we're standing in front of the girl's locker room. Then he continues on. "So I start wandering around the area, straining my ears to figure out where that crazy noise was coming from. You'll never guess what I found."

He's standing here keenly staring at me, like he really expects me to guess. I want to tell him that playing the Guessing Game feels the same to me as being thrown a surprise party. And there's almost nothing on earth that I despise more than surprises.

But I choose to keep this trait about myself quiet for now. I slap on a fake smile as I answer him. "Gee, Mike. I have no idea."

He leans in a little, his grin settling into a satisfied smirk before he reveals the answer. By the way his icy blue eyes are excitedly sparking, I almost suspect he's about to tell me that E.T. had been hiding in the bushes, or that he found a wormhole to an alternate universe.

So, when he shares the real answer, I'm admittedly a tad bit disappointed...

"A cat!" he excitedly divulges with one eyebrow smugly cocked up. "Up in a tree. It had been stuck up there all morning. I later found out that it belonged to one of the people that lived across the street. You may have heard of them before... The Woodsons."

I blink a few times as my brain skims through the list of people that I know that live here. Since I've only been here for a week, my mental tally lasts for around five seconds before I start frowning. When Mike finally notices that I'm not saying anything, he goes ahead and tells me who these people are. "You know. The mayor and his wife?" he clarifies.

"Oh," I say as I uneasily purse out my lips.

"Well," he energetically goes on, unperturbed by my lack of interest. "I'm standing there, staring up at this cat caught in a tree, and say to myself, 'Mister Prissypants has been stuck up there for hours. He might starve to death. If I don't get him down, no one else will.' Not even a second later after that, I start climbing up that tree, not caring about the risks and determined to save that poor cat. Sure, he scratched me a little when I made a grab for him, but I ignored the pain and pressed on until we were both back on solid ground."

Mike then cockily places his hands upon his hips as he recalls the glorious rescue, assuming the stance that Superman usually strikes right after he saves Lois Lane from some supervillain.

"Wow. That's just...wow," I awkwardly compliment while I shuffle my feet around.

"I thought you'd like that story, but that's not all," he proudly grins. "The Mayor was so grateful for my service that he even gave me a key."

I can't hide my surprise. My eyebrows shoot up until they almost hit my scalp. "He gave you a key to the city?" I incredulously ask.

Mike laughs a little and shakes his head. "Naw. It was better than that! The key was to his house. I'm in charge of feeding Mister Prissypants whenever the Mayor and his wife are out of town." For a few moments, his attention drifts off into outerspace, probably reliving harrowing exploits of cleaning out cat litter boxes and gathering up coughed up hairballs from Mayor Woodson's couch.

I take a huge step backwards, preparing to distance myself from Mike until I can find an explanation for his bizarre behavior. "That's just great, Mike. But just look at the time! I need to go change now," I quickly rush out before I escape into the girl's locker room to get into into my P.E. clothes.

A few minutes later, I'm back out on the gym floor and Coach Clapp orders us to find a partner for badminton. And, as usual, Mike quickly offers to be my teammate. Normally I don't mind having him as a partner. He's good at most of the stupid sporting games that Coach Clapp forces us to play- unlike me. No matter what the game, I'm terrible at it. Sometimes I wonder if Mike would be better off partnered up with a corpse. At least a corpse wouldn't accidentally injure herself, her partner, the opposing team, and innocent bystanders.

Today, however, having him three feet away for a whole round of badminton is making me tense. During the game, while I'm busy trying not to trip or hit anyone with my racquet, I keep catching him staring at me instead of concentrating on the game. And whenever he sees that I've caught him, an odd, absent-minded smile stretches across his face. During brief pauses in the game, he manages to whisper more stories of his ordinary accomplishments to me while we wait. It's not until we're resting on the bleachers that I begin to understand what's going on.

"I think I should start waiting for you in the mornings," he tells me while we watch the other students play.

Whipping my head around to face him, I cautiously study him before I respond. He's sitting there tapping his foot against the seat in front of him, not quite looking me in the eye. "Why?" I ask.

"Because it's dangerous for a girl to be alone so early in the morning," he responds.

I snort out a scoffing laugh. "What do you mean by that, Mike? Do you think that the Forks school parking lot is rife with murders and thieves?" Forks doesn't have criminals. It only has parking violators. That's probably why Charlie hasn't needed to pull out his service revolver in almost five years.

"No, but I think that it wouldn't hurt for you to be safer. Take this morning, for example. You were almost hit while getting out of your truck." A strange, bitter look flashes across his face while his icy blue eyes appear to erupt in flames. "If I had been there, I could have gotten you safely to class long before that van came along," he darkly mutters.

"That's ridiculous," I say as I roll my eyes. "There's no way you could have predicted what happened. Besides, if I had been five minutes late, I could avoided the entire accident myself. Anyway, I came out all right in the end, didn't I? Edward helped me out, so don't worry about it."

Mike's face deepens into a scornful glower the moment after I say Edward's name, but his voice remains composed. "But wouldn't you have felt better knowing that I was right beside you this morning? That I was the one there to...you know, get you out of danger."

"That's really not necessary," I firmly remark as I tilt my head at him. "How often do you think random motor vehicles will try to target me, Mike? Today was just a freak accident. It's not like this happens to me all of the time."

He edgily shrugs his shoulders. "I don't know. I just think that you would be more comfortable if you let me help you out more often."

Without really thinking, my palm lands on his hand and I try to explain to him that I'm capable of taking care of myself. "It's sweet that you care about my safety and all, but I promise you that I don't need a babysitter. I'm perfectly fine on my own," I say with a wan smile.

Before I spoke, Mike had looked down in the dumps. Now, however, his eyes are shining and that weird smile is creeping back on his face.

"You think I'm sweet?" he buoyantly asks while gazing, dreamy-eyed, back at me.

As I sit and watch his unexpected change in mood, it suddenly dawns on me that Mike's strange behavior has a rational explanation after all.

His sudden need to relate all of his "heroic" good deeds to me the very same day that Edward Masen happens to carry me away from danger...

The strange, uncomfortable way Mike has been staring at me today...

His insistence that he should hang around me more often to "help" me...

The way he instantly cheered up when I said that he was sweet...

Uh oh.

I don't have much experience in dealing with boys that like me as more than a friend. Back in Phoenix, I was always the acquaintance of the beautiful girl that the guys were chasing after. My role usually involved giving sage advice to clueless boys to help them attain the girl of their dreams. I had no problem not being the object of their desire. Once you read a few classic English romantic novels that feature mature, handsome men that would gladly do anything to please their ladyloves, the idea of dating a mere teenage boy that thinks burping the alphabet backwards is a fantastic way to impress the ladies makes you a little hesitant to go down that rocky road.

So having Mike showing signs of a crush towards me is a little worrisome. I like him. He's a good guy. But he's a friend. Nothing more. And I'm not sure how to relay that fact to him without hurting his feelings.

I anxiously start chewing my bottom lip as he waits for me to answer him. I wonder if bolting from my seat and shimmying out of the girl's locker room window would give him a clue about how I feel about him?

But of course I don't do anything like that. He deserves to be treated with respect. Besides, I'm not coordinated enough to pull something like that off anyway without breaking one of my bones.

"Sure," I falteringly tell him. "You're a good friend." I really hope that he hears that "friend" word and memorizes it.

However, my subtle hint seems to bypass his brain completely. A big goofy grin is on his face now. It's as if he interpreted what I said and changed it to mean something else entirely. Like, "I keep a picture of you inside my locker and drool over it between classes."

I have a sinking feeling that letting Mike down gently will be one of the hardest things I ever do.

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After Jessica drops me off at home when school lets out, I carefully scoot across the yard and peek at my truck as I walk to the front door. Charlie had it towed home earlier so he can work on the broken taillight after his shift ends. Sure he could have driven it home, but he reminded me that not having fully functional lights on a vehicle is against the law. And having the town's police chief break the law would probably result in a front page exposé in the Forks Gazette. I believe him. Forks is the only town on Earth that would even notice something so minor. They would probably devote an editorial piece if he were to accidentally wear mismatched socks under his slacks.

I pluck the key that's hidden in the eaves, throw the front door open, and toss my coat on the hook on the wall. There are a few homework assignments for me to get through before I do anything more traumatic today. I know that my trig homework always gives me the most difficulty, so I want to finish that headache before dealing with a much larger problem.

Thirty minutes later, I'm standing in the kitchen staring forlornly at the phone in my hand. The cheery yellow cabinets and flowery curtains above the sink are not helping my sour mood. Charlie doesn't usually give me direct orders. He's pretty laid back for a father that's in law enforcement. But he made an exception for today. He thinks that my mom needs to know about the accident that occurred a few hours earlier. My assertion that she doesn't need to know about it since I wasn't injured was immediately rejected.

Mom and Charlie divorced around fifteen years ago after being married for a very short time. But even Charlie knows how the woman will react when I give her the news. It will be full-on panic mode. That's probably why he wants me to do it. He's never been able to handle her anxiety attacks. I, on the other hand, could probably carve out a career in explaining how to handle someone like her. I could even publish an instructional booklet. I would call it something like "How To Calm A Frantic Mother In Twelve Steps Or Less".

I breathe in deeply a few times to steady my nerves, and then dial the number with the Florida area code. It rings three times before someone answers.

"Hello," chimes a voice on the other line.

I smile despite the gnawing sensation in my stomach. Mom's voice never fails to cheer me up. She's always so happy and joyful. Her perpetually effervescent mood rubs off on nearly everyone she meets.

"Hi, Mom," I say.

"Oh, baby! I'm so glad you called! You'll never guess what I saw last night before Phil and I went to bed," she breathlessly exclaims.

Hearing the words "Phil" and "bed" make me wary. I like my stepfather just fine, but not enough to listen to Mom describing any bedroom adventures. I hoped that she would understand that. There's just some things that Mothers and Daughters should never share.

Before I can remind her of my "don't ask, don't tell" policy regarding her love life, she explains herself. "I was moving the pillows off of the bed and piling them up on the floor, because you know how much I dislike having more than a couple of pillows when you're trying to sleep. They always get in your way when you try to turn over, and they usually make my neck hurt if I have a stack of pillows underneath my head. And, they're so lumpy here. I really don't understand why this place insists on having plain feather pillows when goose down are more comfortable. Did you know that this hotel even charges extra for a little sewing kit? One of the buttons on my favorite dress popped off right before I was leaving the room, so I called down to the front desk and was told that the kit was three dollars. Can you believe it?"

Mom suddenly stops talking. A few seconds of silence go by. The only way I know that she's still there is because I can hear her breathing into the telephone.

"Honey? What was I talking about?" she confusedly questions.

It's normal for Mom to become distracted when she's telling a story. Having so many thoughts fly through your brain at the same time must be tough.

"You saw something last night when you were about to go to sleep," I patiently remind her.

"Oh! That's right. Thank you, baby. Well, I was moving the extra pillows when I noticed something dark on the bed. At first I thought it was one of Phil's wristwatches that sometimes comes apart, so I crawled on the bed to get a closer look. And that's when it moved!" she screeches into the phone. "Oh, it was terrible, Bella! I practically jumped off that bed to get away from that thing. But then it started to fly around the room! It just flapped around our bedroom like it thought it owned the place. It was one of those... Oh, no... I forgot what they're called. You know, don't you, baby? Those things that fly?"

"A bird?"

"No. It was a bug. They're brown and disgusting. And they have those long antenna things?"

Her description could represent around a million different insect species, but I quickly realize what she probably is referring to. "A cockroach?"

"Yes!" she shrieks. "That's it! And it was gigantic! I swear, it looked more like a bat than just a bug, Bella. It was horrible. So I called the front desk to notify them that they had a humongous animal flying around because I assumed that they would send someone to capture it or something. Well... Do you know what they told me? They said that it was normal for this area to have an occasional insect get into a building, so I should just hit it with a newspaper and flush it down the toilet! And this is a nice hotel, too!" Mom sounds truly outraged. I'm not really surprised. I was usually the one that took care of any spiders or other creepy crawlies that got into the house. She definitely isn't equipped to handle a cockroach all on her own.

"Did you get Phil to get rid of it?" I ask her.

"Yes, but not until later. He was doing his usual nighttime workout routine down at the hotel's gym. I had to hide in the bathroom until he came back."

"Sorry, Mom," I sigh.

"It really wasn't so bad in the bathroom, though. I soaked in the bathtub for awhile until Phil killed it for me," she replies in a lighter mood. "So... How are things with you, baby? Anything new to tell me?"

My fingers nervously twirl a strand of hair as I prepare to tell her about my day. "Oh... Nothing much. We're learning about plant reproduction and mitosis in biology. We had sloppy joes for lunch yesterday. My truck was damaged a tiny bit during an accident in the parking lot. And I've made a few friends at school, too. There's Jessica, and Angela, and-"

"Isabella Marie Swan," my mom emphasizes, utilizing my full name to reenforce her parental authority. "What did you say about an accident?"

I had been hoping if I buried it among my other news that she wouldn't notice. Normally she would be too distracted by the news that I had already become friendly with a few people to concentrate on anything else. Obviously, she was sharper than usual today.

With a sigh, I give Mom an edited version of the morning's events, reminding her every five seconds or so that I was indeed alive and well. Regardless of my insistence, she does exactly what I didn't want her to do. And that's panic.

"I'm coming there tonight!" she declares in between her gasping breaths.

"No, you are not," I calmly tell her. "I'm fine. I'm not hurt at all. Besides, the airports up here are basically shut down. There's ice everywhere."

"Then you're moving back to Phoenix as soon as the ice melts. I'll be waiting for you at the house, and I'll tell Phil that I'll visit him on the weekends," she decides without thinking of the consequences.

Strangely, she's making it sound as though Phil and I are sharing custody of her and fighting over visitation rights. But I already know that Mom doesn't belong with me anymore. Her life is with her husband. As tempting as it may sound to be in the Valley Of The Sun once again, I can't forget why I moved in with Charlie in the first place. And that's to give Mom her life back.

"Mom," I moan. "You can't. Aren't they having that banquet for baseball players' wives Friday morning? And Phil needs your support during practice. Even more so the closer baseball season starts back up. You have to stay with him."

"But baby! You could have been killed! If you had been standing just a few feet away or if that van had come in at a different angle, you would have been hit!" she panics. I can hear her faintly sniffing, her tears obvious to me even though we are separated by thousands of miles.

"But none of that happened. Edward and I had enough time to get out of the way before the van hit, so there's really no reason for you to worry. Accidents happen sometimes. And yes I'm lucky that I didn't get hurt. But, please remember that accidents aren't limited to just Forks, Mom. I could have just as easily been hit by a car in Phoenix. So try to calm down and relax. I'm safe and sound at Charlie's house now."

I hear one more sniff from her, then only deafening silence for about ten seconds. I suddenly become nervous as to why she is no longer talking. Mom's hysteric episodes usually last for around fifteen minutes. More if it is a particularly traumatic event like her daughter possibly almost dying. So, the fact that she has gone abruptly quiet and not bawling makes make wonder if she passed out from shock.

"Edward?" she eventually repeats. "Who's that?"

My jaw drops down nearly to my chest. I hadn't planned on mentioning any details of the accident. I had only wanted Mom to know that a van had hit my truck right after I got to school. Having Edward involved in my narrative would only make the story sound more complicated. And complicated things usually only serve to confuse Mom. I purposely left out the whole "Edward whisked me away from danger" in order to save both time and frustration.

And maybe also because I didn't want Mom to get the wrong idea...

"Umm... He's just a boy that I know," I reluctantly explain.

"A boy? Like a teenage boy?" she presses, sounding oddly excited.

Mom instantly becomes interested in any conversation if I say one of three things: Marriage, Pregnancy, and Boy. Saying Marriage and Pregnancy will result in an hour's long serious discussion on how you should wait until you are in your thirties before even thinking about getting married or having children. Having married right out of high school herself and immediately having a baby, she wants me to avoid all of the hardships that she and Charlie went through. She's a firm believer in having a career before a family. She eventually became an elementary school teacher, a career that she is proud of. It's on hold right now, of course, while she travels with Phil. But I know that she will never give up her job entirely. I'm certain that she'll resume teaching again once Phil finds a permanent position on a team.

The word Boy, however, will trigger an opposite reaction within Mom. She becomes excitable and bubbly as she waits for me to explain why I would say such a word. Although she is vocally against young marriage, she is an ardent supporter of dating and "playing the field". And since I've never so much as hinted of any interest in either one, she sometimes wonders aloud if I am planning on entering a convent after graduation.

"Yes. A teenage boy," I admit.

A piercing shriek cuts through the phone as I hold it away from my ear. I was abysmally stupid for letting it slip that a boy had been involved today, but at least I was prepared for her reaction this time.

"Ooooh! I just knew that you weren't telling me everything in those emails! Now, who is this boy and tell me what he looks like," she giddily orders.

My eyes wearily snap shut as I groan. Only she would suddenly ignore the dangerous aspects of the accident just because a boy was somehow involved...

"Mom. You are making a bigger deal out of this than it really is. He just happened to be standing near me when the van came by, and then he pulled me out of the way. That's it. End of story."

"Really? Well that's even better!" she cheerily insists. "He was keeping his eye on you. That's so cute! Have you gone out with him yet?"

"No. That's... not how it is at all," I stammer.

But Mom is in her own little world now. A world where she believes that her daughter has finally decided to follow in her footsteps when it comes to the dating world.

"Oh... I see. You don't want to limit yourself to just one guy right now. Well, I agree, baby. You're so young. You go and experience as much as you can while you're in high school. So, is there anyone else you're interested in? Do you date one at a time or is it more casual than that? Like, one boy at lunch and another for dinner?"

My face blushed a fire red at her insinuation. I was about to explain to her that her daughter has no one in her life right now, let alone a whole horde of boys fighting for her attention. But I was saved from that headache by Charlie walking through the door.

"Oh, Mom! Dad's home now, so I need to get off and start thinking about dinner. I'll have to talk to you again later," I rapidly tell her before we hang up.

I slump down into my seat for minute or two, feeling the weight if the world on me. Talking to Mom sometimes feels more exhausting than an hour of gym class.

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Charlie repaired the truck's broken rear light before nightfall, and together we drive over to the Forks Diner to eat instead of having a home cooked meal. I don't mind cooking. Actually, I can truthfully admit that I enjoy it. But after the day I've had, it's nice to let someone else do all of the work. And the thought of letting Charlie make a meal is terrifying. The only foods he can cook are bacon, scrambled eggs, and anything that comes from the TV dinner section at the Thriftway down the road. So, eating out is really the only other option we have.

I vaguely remember the diner from my childhood, but it's been a long time since I stepped foot inside of the place. As we pull into a parking spot, I notice that it's smaller than I remembered. The outside of the building needs a new coat of paint, too. And it probably wouldn't hurt if they replaced the flickering bulb of their sign.

The inside of the diner doesn't give me any confidence in their ability to prepare a meal. The floors are scuffed up, as if no one has bothered to give the place a good scrubbing since they had the grand opening back in the sixties. The stools at the counter are worn and stained with decades worth of patrons' food spillages. I direct Charlie to a booth in the back that seems to be the most sanitary- its seats aren't ripped and there's no chewing gum stuck in the ash tray.

I spy a little on the other customers as we wait for someone to come and give us the menu. Everyone is choking down their food as if they haven't eaten anything for days. Squinting my eyes, I see lots of red meat under oceans of brown gravy. Vegetables here appear to be either deep fried or absent altogether. This does not bode well for my stomach.

A waitress strolls up, keeping me from doing any further surveillance. Her face has a scattering of wrinkles around her eyes and forehead, hinting at her advanced age despite the low cut shirt she's wearing under the apron. But it's her hairstyle that is the most noticeable. It's a cross between a mullet and a beehive. I've never seen anything quite like it before. It's almost as though she's been trapped in about 1985 and hasn't been notified that people no longer wear acid washed jeans or sweatbands around our foreheads.

"Hi ya, Charlie!" she grins at him before turning her attention to me. "I'm gonna guess that this here's that daughter you always talk about."

He nods. "Yes, it is."

I politely smile back. "Bella."

"Well, it's nice to meet ya, Bella," she says. "I hear that you live here now. Is that true?"

"Yes. I've been living with Dad for a week now."

"Isn't that nice?" she remarks with her hand over her heart. "Around here we always appreciate new folks that move to town. So, how do you like it so far?"

Nice but nameless waitress lady is staring at me expectantly, like she's thinking there's no way that anybody could ever hate this place. But I do. I really, really do.

However, I hate to make anyone feel bad. Especially since the man that works for this town is sitting right across from me.

"It's like a dream come true," I faintly smile back. I neglect to inform her that the dream was actually a vivid nightmare. But at least I told her the truth.

Nameless waitress lady beams back at me, probably thrilled to believe that anyone besides her could like this place. "Well, welcome to Forks, hon. I betcha we'll see each other all the time now. Your dad comes in here to eat at least twice a week."

She hands us each a menu and I flip it open. After having examined the disgustingly unhealthy food choices the other customers were happily scarfing down, I had hoped to find something a little more appetizing on the menu. But the choices are few and far between. Everything is either fried, wrapped in multiple strips of meat, or had the phrase "cheese curd" somewhere in the description that I was unwilling to experiment with.

Charlie tells her that he wants The Special without even looking at his menu, which must be his usual choice for his dinner. Nameless waitress lady starts to impatiently tap her foot as she watches me scan through the menu. I soon realize after my third perusal that I need help. I snap the menu shut. "Do you serve a salad or anything like that?"

She proudly grins. "Sure we do, sweetie. We can swap out the side of French fries from the Olympic Burger and let you have our side salad instead." Since this is the closest to a decent meal they have, I hand her my menu and agree to her suggestion.

While we wait, Charlie starts asking about how my day went. At first, I arch my brow at him disbelievingly. He knows how my day started out. He chuckles a little and admits that his question should have been worded differently.

Remembering that I never had any updates about the accident or how Edward was doing, I decide to ask Charlie since he probably was kept up to date with what went on.

"Dad? Did you ever hear anything else about the accident? Like, umm, if everyone is OK or not?"

He nods before answering. "From what I gathered, the driver made it out with only a few injuries. I met with the boy and his parents at the hospital. He admits that he was speeding when he pulled into the school parking lot and hit a patch of ice. He's lucky that he was wearing a seatbelt when he crashed because he would have most likely hurt himself more seriously. I'm sure, though, that he'll be well enough to go back to school tomorrow."

Charlie ends his tale without so much as a hint of Edward's fate. My fingernails apprehensively tap upon our table as I try to think of a less direct way of asking about him. I don't want Charlie to think I'm in some teenage romance like Mom assumed earlier. But I soon realize that it's best to just ask Charlie a straightforward question. If you try to sneakily extract information from him, his police instincts kick in and he immediately looks at you as though you are a suspect.

"What about Edward?" I ask.

He locks eyes with me while his mustache starts doing a nervous jig. Then, he leans back in the booth and takes his sweet time in answering.

"I never saw him today," Charlie reveals guardedly. "But I did speak with his father down at the hospital. Doctor Cullen said that his injuries weren't severe. Only a small bump on the back of his head. He wasn't at the hospital long at all."

"Oh... Well, that's good," I say as casually as I can.

He continues to closely observe me, saying nothing yet making me feel a little jittery. It almost feels like I have a spotlight shining on my face while Charlie readies himself to interrogate me.

"So you and this Edward know each other," he says in a strained voice. I can hear it in his tone that he's already assuming too much.

I keep my voice sounding nonchalant. That's my only defense. "Not really. I've only spoken with him a couple of times."

His facial expression remains unconvinced. "Hmph."

I'm saved from further scrutiny by the delivery of our dinner. Nameless waitress lady passes out the plates with a gleaming smile while I try hide the shock at seeing exactly what my father eats on a regular basis.

A steak the size of my head, bacon-wrapped deep fried corn fritters, and macaroni dripping with Velveeta cheese sauce. The one somewhat healthy vegetable on his dinner plate, his baked potato, is loaded down with a stick of butter, bacon bits, more cheese, and a mountain of sour cream. The only healthy item on his plate is the sprig of parsley that adorns it.

To top that off, he snatches the salt shaker and begins dumping it all over his food. I stare back at him in horror. The man isn't even forty yet. He's young and has a long life ahead of him. But I'm not sure how he's still alive if this is how he has been feeding himself for the past fifteen years. His heart probably resembles a lump of lard now.

As for my own food, I crinkle my nose a little while I poke the lettuce of my salad with a fork. It's supposed to be a side salad, and I guess they decided to call it that since you definitely want to put it to the side and ignore its existence completely. The lettuce is wilted and covered in some weird house dressing. I give it a sniff and pick up the scent of mayo and pickles. The tomatoes look OK, they actually seem kind of edible. So I wipe off the dressing eat only them.

My hamburger is disappointing, too. The meat oozes out spoonfuls of grease as I lightly press my finger down on it. I'm afraid to know how much fat is hiding in there. I'm not usually so health conscious. I love eating pizza and fries as much as the next girl, but I just know that if I eat this I will be having my stomach pumped down at the ER tonight.

I pry the hunk of meat from the bun and let it drop to my plate. My dinner consists of some bread, a few globs of cheese that had glued themselves to the bun, five tomato slices, and the croutons from my salad.

I swear to myself that I will never, ever step inside of this place. And I add that Charlie will be on a strict diet from now on. I will be cooking his meals. No more diner food for him.

I have more than a decade's worth of built-up cholesterol and sodium to remove from his system.

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As I lay in bed that night, I found it impossible to sleep. Something kept persistently creeping back into my thoughts- namely my guilty conscience. It slowly dawned upon me that I owed Edward an apology. Plus, a thank you. I wasn't exactly as appreciative of what he did as I should have been yesterday. Regardless if that van was a danger to myself or not, I should have shown him at least a little gratitude for watching out for me.

Now that it's morning, I'm rushing around in order to get to school earlier than normal. I want to catch Edward before classes begin. If I hurt his feelings, I would rather fix it as soon as possible instead of waiting until I'm seated next to him in Biology. Having an entire classroom full of nosey students listening in to our conversation would not be an ideal place to apologize.

After a quick breakfast of toast and juice, I crank up the truck and slam down on the accelerator. I don't have to worry about speeding. This truck couldn't outrun a Vespa. If the speedometer creeps above forty-five, the truck will cough like an asthmatic, so I keep it at a reasonable speed most of time.

As I drive, I'm happy to see that all of the ice from yesterday has melted away. The temperature is above freezing, too. Of course, the sun is still hidden behind a curtain of gray clouds, but at least it's better than it was yesterday morning.

I'm among the very first of the students at school when I pull into the parking lot. Scanning my surroundings, I see that Edward's distinctive shiny, silver car is absent. I hop out of the truck and walk towards the main entrance of the school grounds. Taking a position just past the front office, I patiently wait for him to arrive.

As time goes by, the sidewalks begin to fill with students as they head to class. A few try to stop to chitchat, but I make up the excuse that I'm waiting to talk to the Principal and they hastily zip away.

After around ten minutes of waiting, I see Edward and I am taken aback by what I see. His hair is in complete disarray, not that perfectly orchestrated chaotic hairstyle he usually has. There are dark circles under his eyes, too. Dispiritedly, he lumbers down the sidewalk, looking so out of it that he doesn't appear to notice me until only a few feet separate us.

To keep him from passing by, I step in front of him and take a deep breath before I say anything. "Hey," I call out. "Umm... Can I talk to you?"

His eyes zero in on mine and we silently regard one another for a brief time. A strange look flashes across his features right before he breaks our gaze. I see his lean body shift to his right, as though he is preparing to leave.

"I need to get to class," he softly utters while avoiding looking my way.

I pivot my own body slightly in order to keep him from easily escaping before I can apologize. Edward's eyes reluctantly flick back and land on me, appearing uncertain and wary.

"It will just take a minute. It's about yesterday," I explain. "I had time to think about it later and I realized that I may have brushed it off without much thought." Feeling my stomach nervously quivering, I gulp down a breath of cool air before I go on. "I mean... I rethought what you said after the accident. You were right to do what you did. I got it into my head that I would have been fine where I was, but I was wrong. I want to apologize."

His eyes linger on my face for a few beats after I finish speaking. "It was nothing," he says in a quiet yet firm voice.

My guilt mounts up by the second. Jessica was right. I really made this boy believe that he overreacted.

I am a terrible, terrible person...

My head begins to shake back and forth. "No, I disagree. You tried to help me and I downplayed it. So, I just wanted to say..." I give him a legitimate smile. "Thank you."

I stand and wait for his response. I had assumed that since he had always seemed to be a nice guy, that he would smile back and say that I was forgiven. Or maybe he would tease me by saying that it was all in a good day's work - something like Spider-Man might say.

But instead his face stays seemingly indifferent. "You don't need to thank me. Anyone would have done the same." His tone is colder than this winter's morning air.

I stand here stunned, barely able to blink as I analyze the changes in him. The kind, sympathetic boy from the day before is nowhere to be found in this aloof person in front of me.

"I need to go," he adds abruptly.

Edward swiftly passes around me without another word. Without being able to help it, I turn around and watch as he walks away. Seconds later, he disappears from my sight completely. My feet are locked in place, unable to believe what just happened.

At least I learned a valuable lesson today.

Edward Masen doesn't accept apologies. At least, not from me, he doesn't.

He obviously does not care for my company anymore. And it would be best if I avoid him at all costs from now on.

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A/N- Gasp!

Next Chapter- Bella meets a new face at school - much to her frustration. More inept flirting by Mike. And another apology, but not from Bella.

Thanks for reading! :-)