Chapter 5- All Apologies

January 26, 2005

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After Edward gave me the cold shoulder, I try to shrug off his indifference as I wander to first period English. It's easily my favorite class even though I've read every book on our reading list. Here I can allow my mind to lose itself in the immortal words of some of the world's greatest writers and put aside all of my problems for a little while.

I'm sure at some point later on today I will be back to analyzing my run-in with Edward. At first I'll blame him for being a callous snob that believes that he is too good for interacting with someone as lowly as me. But then I'll remind myself that he has not always been like that. Before I basically told him that he overreacted yesterday in the parking lot, he appeared perfectly polite and kind. This will be right around the time when my guilty conscience will kick in. Then, I will be forced to eat my way through a carton of Chunky Monkey ice cream up in my room.

However, I'm saving that fun little emotional rollercoaster ride for after school when I'm alone at the house. I'm aware of the fact that wallowing in guilt and shame isn't a healthy activity for someone struggling with a mild case of depression, but at least it will give me something to do other than being homesick. I bet Dr. Freud couldn't argue with that logic.

I'm only a few steps away from my English class when I hear a loud, unfamiliar voice shouting from somewhere behind me. By reflex, I swivel my body around and see a dusty blonde-haired boy waving his arms around to catch someone's attention. The boy's hair is in that long, shaggy style often favored by skateboard enthusiasts who say "Dude" and "Bro" every other sentence. I suspect that if it wasn't currently 38 degrees outside that he would be wearing flip-flops and cargo shorts.

"There you are!" he excitedly cries out as he dodges the other students on the sidewalk.

I scan my immediate surroundings, expecting to find someone clearly waiting to speak with this boy. Since I know that I've never seen him before, I think that there's no way he would be talking to me...

Seconds later, the boy steps right up to me and aims an enthusiastic grin my way. Now that he's closer, I notice that there's a bandaid taped right above his left eyebrow, plus a few scratches down his cheek and neck.

"You sure are a hard girl to find, Bella," he good-naturedly points out. "I've been looking for you all morning!"

I'm not a good liar. Usually, all you need to do is monitor my facial expressions and you'll know right away what I'm thinking. Mom did always say that my face is like an open book. So, while this complete stranger speaks to me as if he knows me, I'm sure I have a "who in the hell are you?" expression written all over my face.

Yet, this boy doesn't appear to pick up on my confusion. Without giving me the opportunity to ask him anything, he takes a gulp of air and crams a whole dialogue's worth of words into one exhaled breath. "I just can't believe it. It was like, Vroom! Screech! Kaboom! Eek! And I was like, Whoa...that was intense! Dad said that I was grounded for a week, which majorly sucks. Mom thinks that I should offer to pay for what I messed up, and I agree with her. But Uncle Bill's a lawyer and he told me not to offer to do that 'cause that would be like opening the floodgates to future lawsuits. But I don't care. It was my fault and I gotta face up to it. You gotta know that I didn't mean it. I'm really, really sorry. Forgive me?"

I'm almost used to how some of the kids around here speak at supersonic speeds. Heck, Jessica could probably set a new Guinness World Record if the company sent someone to monitor her for the day. However, when you throw in a stranger that's babbling nonsensically at me, it makes understanding what's going on a bit more challenging.

"Oh, well... Thanks for the apology," I haltingly begin, twisting my mouth as I speak. "That's very nice of you. But...umm, who are you exactly?"

His smile widens and he yelps out the sort of laugh that would give Woody the Woodpecker a migraine. "I'm Tyler Crowley," he announces. His name doesn't ring any bells inside of my head until he adds, "I hit your truck yesterday."

Suddenly, his rambling makes a little more sense. My mouth morphs into a large O shape as everything comes together. "Oh," I softly mumble. "I think I saw you being loaded onto the ambulance yesterday. Are you OK?"

"I am now. I had a few cuts and bruises that banged me up, but nothing too bad," he admits as he casually tosses a clump of hair out of his eyes. "My van's totalled, though."

"Sorry to hear that," I say with a wince.

"Yeah, it sure does suck," he agrees without sounding all that troubled. "But I'll get something new once the insurance company is done with the investigation. Then all I'll need to do is wait til Dad says I'm not grounded anymore, and I can get a new car."

"Well, at least you have something to look forward to once your sentence is over with," I add dryly.

Tyler laughs much louder than what my lame attempt at humor warrants. "You're right about that," he chuckles. "And speaking of cars and all- how badly did I damage your truck? I know my van smacked right into it."

I wave off his concern. "That truck is nearly indestructible. The only damage it had was a broken taillight and a few tiny scrapes. It's nothing."

For some reason, when I reveal the truck's damage, Tyler's lips curl into a huge, excited grin. "OK, so here's what we'll do... I'll get my brother to drop me off at your house this afternoon to fix the light. Then, tomorrow I'll stop by the auto supply store, buy some paint to match the truck, and get rid of all those scratches. But, if I can't find a color to match, I'll need to-"

"Hold on, Tyler," I interrupt with a raised hand. "There's no need for any of that. My Dad already fixed the taillight."

Tyler's smiling face droops down into a slight frown. "Your dad already fixed it?" he asks.

"Yeah. Last night."

At this revelation, he stands silent with a pensive, contemplative expression overtaking his face. It takes him several seconds before he speaks again. "But the scratches are still there, right?"

"Yes," I cautiously drag out. "But that doesn't really matter. A few more scratches on the bumper doesn't hurt that truck one bit. I think it gives it character. Don't worry about it."

"But I promised to make it up to you, Bella," he explains with a growing grin. "I damaged your truck and almost hit you, too. You gotta let me do something for you."

I draw in a calming breath before I respond. I don't like anyone feeling as though they are in my debt. "No. Really, it's fine. You don't owe me anything. We can just pretend that none of that happened yesterday if that makes you feel better. OK?"

"Your truck may not need to be repaired, but I still need to make it up to you!" he exclaims. "I'll tell ya what we're gonna do. I'll come up with a few ideas and bounce them off ya later today. That sound good?"

Strenuously, I shake my head back and forth, trying to control my rising frustration. "No, that's not necessary. You don't-"

"I've got study hall for second period, so I'll have loads of time to figure something out!" he interrupts, ignoring me completely. He throws out one last smile before he waves goodbye. "I guess I'll catch ya later!" he says as he turns to saunter away.

"But, Tyler!" I hiss, trying to stop him from expending any energy worrying about me.

He promptly pauses twenty feet away, as if he finally heard me. Whipping around, he adds musingly, "Ya know, I really don't know you all that well... I think that maybe you should come up with an idea or two yourself. Think of something for me to do, and I'll do it! And don't be shy!"

"I don't need to think of anything for you to do because you don't-" I say through gritted teeth.

"Write them down and bring it to me later! We can compare notes!" he chimes in without a care in the world.

And, with that, he continues on his way to the math building, leaving me frustrated and annoyed on the sidewalk.

Rolling my eyes with a huff, I retreat inside to the sanctuary of my English class, ready to sit back and find comfort within whatever story the teacher has assigned for classroom study for today. I take a seat at my usual desk, drop my books down in front of me, and take a moment to shut my eyes and breathe in deeply before class begins. At least in this room there's no cold, indifferent boy to rudely shut me out after he went through the hassle of helping me yesterday. Nor is there a plainly idiotic, oblivious boy that doesn't understand that I do not need any compensation for a few scratches on a vehicle that already has dozens of imperfections.

Here, in this classroom, I can finally escape the headaches of my life and just relax...

"Psst! Hey, Bella?" whispers Mike's voice from the chair next to mine. "You seemed to like my stories so much yesterday that I remembered another one. It's about the time my mom forgot about the bread in the toaster and the house's smoke alarm went off. Everyone in my family thought that the house was about to burn down! I was the only one to realize what was going on! Rushing through the thick plumes of smoke, I made it to the kitchen, unplugged the toaster from the wall, and chucked it outside until our house was clear again. Because of me, we didn't even need to call the fire department."

I slump into my seat and bestow Mike a pitifully weak smile. That's the most I can give him after the morning I've had. "That's...unbelievable."

A satisfied smirk appears on his face, apparently interpreting my unenthusiastic response as encouragement. "And guess what?" he eagerly adds. "I've got even more stories for you to hear later on at lunch today! Isn't that awesome?"

This is when I figure out that relaxation and Forks will never mix. In Forks you are either extremely bored or extremely miserable. And today, it seems, miserable is being served.

"Fantastic," I mutter under my breath.

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When lunchtime rolls around, I seat myself beside Jessica and try extra hard to include Angela in our conversation. I soon learn that Angela is one of the most refreshingly considerate people I have ever met. She actually listens and pays attention when someone is speaking, doesn't mindlessly chatter just so she can hear her own voice, and doesn't spit when she talks. Heck, I would have enjoyed talking to her even if she did have a problem with excess saliva. Genuinely nice people are too hard to come by.

Several minutes into the lunch hour, while Jessica is filling our table in on some juicy morsel of gossip that means absolutely nothing to me, Edward strolls into the cafeteria with his sister, Alice. Without drawing attention to myself, I watch him, noting that there's a distinct frown etched onto his face as they wait in line for their food. He definitely doesn't seem any more congenial than he was this morning. Seeing him still in a disagreeable mood, I can't imagine how much worse it will be once we're in Biology together. Will he glare at me during class just because he is stuck sitting next to me? Will he openly roll his eyes and tsk at everything I do since I irritate him now? Or will he purposely ignore me, pretending as though I never existed?

This thought only serves to increase my determination to stop worrying about his mood swings. If that's how he wants to be around me, then fine. I can do the same. He'll soon see that I can ignore him just as thoroughly as he can ignore me if that's what he wants. I don't care if he will be sitting only a foot away from me in less than one hour's time. In my mind, he will be miles away.

At least, that's what I keep telling myself. It remains to be seen how I will really behave.

While I am preoccupying myself with my inner thoughts, I hear a chair scrape against the linoleum and Mike plops down onto the seat next to mine. Before I can even say a "hello", he's already off to the races, eager to describe perilous hikes through light foggy mists and recalling a risky incident where he was forced to consume an unheated tin can of pinto beans after a drizzling rain prevented a camp fire from being constructed.

As soon as he has exhausted his supply of adventurous topics, he broaches a new subject that I have mixed feelings about. Namely, his belief that I should take advantage of the various outdoor activities Forks has to offer.

"So if you go fishing, I would suggest starting out at a pond or lake before tackling streams or the ocean," recommends Mike in between bites of his sandwich. "And if you find a lake that's stocked regularly, you're practically guaranteed to catch something worth keeping."

"Well," I begin hesitantly. "I've went a few times with Charlie when I was a kid, but it's not my thing. He's the fisherman in the family - not me."

"You just haven't used the right equipment," he insists with unwavering confidence. "I've got just the right fishing pole in our garage that would be perfect for you. It's pink!"

Without being able to control myself, my entire body cringes. I'm one of those people that can't stand when companies color their product a Pepto Bismol pink to make it appear more feminine. Do they really believe that some delicate female will suddenly want to purchase a flame thrower just because it's hot pink and features pretty flowers on the stock?

But no matter what it looks like, I do not want or need a fishing pole. Fishing is dull. You sit around for hours, hoping for something to bite your stupid lure, yet rarely does that ever happen. Oftentimes, whenever I thought I had something on my fishing line, Charlie would discover that it was only a tree branch that was caught on my hook. Sometimes it was garbage, like a rotting shoe. Meanwhile, he was like a machine, catching fish after fish out of the water as though it was the simplest thing in the world to do. All I ever got after putting in all those hours was a nasty sunburn and a sore butt from sitting in a plastic boat seat all day.

Additionally, my lack of balance always seemed to come into play during our fishing trips. It was a rare day when I didn't accidentally fall into whatever body of water we were fishing from, soaked to the bone and subjected to the humiliation of overhearing the amused chuckles and snickers of neighboring fishermen as I trudged back to shore.

Because of these things, I have no lingering desire to touch any piece of fishing equipment ever again.

"No thanks," I tell Mike with a slight grimace. "I don't like fishing. I prefer the comforts of civilization as opposed to fraternizing with Mother Nature." It's safer for the both of us if we live separate lives. I hurt myself whenever I venture farther than ten feet into the forest. And, knowing my luck, if I did try to go outdoors, I would accidentally fall and land on some critically endangered animal and forever harm that species' chances of survival. I'm doing my part to preserve the environment by staying as far away from it as possible.

"But your pole even comes with it's own container that can carry all of the crickets and earthworms you could possibly need. And, if you cut the worms in half, you'll get twice the bait!" Mike reveals cheerfully. "As long as you don't squeeze the worms while you're cutting them up, only a little of their guts leak out."

The French fry that I was holding between my fingers suddenly resembles one of those squirming earthworms that he was describing. With rising disgust, I resignedly allow the fry to fall back to my tray.

"I mean it, Mike," I reply while heaving out a sigh. "I don't like to visit my food's habitat before I eat it. I prefer to let my dad do all of the fishing."

He barks out a laugh. "That reminds me of something that happened in the store last spring. A guy comes in right after we opened up shop for the day, asking for directions to that lake out near the sawmill. Mom told the guy-"

"Hey, Bella!" cuts in a voice from across our table. I turn to find an eager-faced Tyler as he drops down onto an empty seat. "I came up with a few ideas this morning just like I promised. How many did you think of?"

Briefly, I shut my eyes and take in a breath of air to combat my frustration.. "Tyler, I said that you don't need to do anything for me," I patiently remind him as I reopen my eyes. "You came out of the accident in worse shape than I did. My truck was barely damaged while your van was destroyed. I'm completely unharmed while you were the one that was injured. You should be more concerned with your own welfare. I am one hundred percent fine. I swear. So, please, don't worry about me anymore. There's nothing that I need. OK?"

"I think you should hear me out before you decide on anything," Tyler insists, much to my annoyance. "I've got some great ideas that I know you'll love once you hear 'em!" He broadly smiles and yanks out a crumpled sheet of paper from his pants pocket.

I open my mouth to reiterate that this is unnecessary, but he begins yapping before I can say even one word. "Keep in mind that these aren't set in stone. If you don't like something, speak up and I'll change whatever you want," he airily says. With his attention shifting to the piece of paper in his hands, he theatrically clears his throat, and he begins to read from his list.

"First idea," he happily recites. "I've noticed that you don't use a backpack. It must be a pain to tote your things all over the campus. So my idea is to carry your books for you. I'll meet you at each of your classes and all you gotta do is hand over your things to me! What do ya think about that?"

From beside me, I hear Mike derisively snort out his disapproval. I glance over at him and see that he's glaring at Tyler as though he can't stand the clueless boy. As for Jessica, her elbows are on the table while she rests her chin in the palm of her hand, happily listening in to the conversation as if it was the most riveting thing that she's witnessed all day.

I shake my head and return my attention back to Tyler. "No, Tyler. You are not doing that," I firmly respond. "I'm capable of carrying my own things."

He shrugs his shoulders, not bothered in the least by my rejection. "OK. I see that you don't like that one. No biggie. I've got more! How about I park your truck in the mornings and retrieve it in the afternoon? That would save you a couple minutes of time every day."

My forehead scrunches together as I try to interpret what he means. "You want to be my valet?" I incredulously ask.

He uncertainly tilts his head to the side and tries to think for a moment before he speaks. "If that's what you want to call it. Well, then, sure!"

I have a strong feeling that having a teenage boy be my personal valet would only attract more attention around here - something I definitely do not need. Besides, having Tyler drive my truck would not sit well with me. I may not know this boy, but I am aware that he just crashed his van yesterday due to speeding. I shuddered at the thought of what chaos he could unleash upon the school if he was behind the wheel of my truck. That thing is almost as impenetrable as a tank.

"No," I flat out respond.

Undaunted by my refusal, he peers down at the paper and scratches his head as he reads. "All right. We'll go to the next one."

"No, Tyler. Just...no!" I snap, my patience now long gone. "I appreciate the effort you put into thinking about this, but I can promise that it's a waste of time. I don't need any help. At all."

He presses his lips together and quietly observes me. I stare back at him resolutely, hoping to demonstrate how serious I am about this.

"OK," he gradually drawls, finally sounding like he's giving up. "I get it. You're one of those girls that likes to do stuff on their own. That's cool. So, I think maybe I should do the rougher chores that a girl wouldn't ordinarily do. I'm thinking that I'll stop by and do the yard work around your house on a day when it's not raining. How about that?"

My hands clamp down on my lunch tray, squeezing the hardened plastic to keep myself from leaping across the table and choking him to death. There's so much stupid floating around that brain of his that I'm not sure how he's able to function at all.

"Goodbye, Tyler," I grumble as I rise from my seat, grabbing my lunch tray as I leave. Since the lunch hour is almost over, I decide that sitting alone in Biology class for ten minutes sounds a lot nicer than hearing his nonsense for one more second. I back away from the table and speed up my pace to escape Tyler before he tries to tag along.

I'm halfway to the area where we return our lunch trays when I trip over my own feet. My Coke can flies off the tray and drops to the cafeteria floor, creating a loud clanking noise that attracts the attention of several nearby students. Annoyed at myself, I roll my eyes and bend over to pick it back up. Once it's on my tray again, I continue on the garbage cans and dump all of my trash into one of them.

When I swing back around, there's Mike standing right in front of me, uncomfortably close with his mouth set in a smirk. "Tyler getting on your nerves?"

Uneasy by his close proximity, I slip by him and try to create more distance between us before I answer him. "A little," I admit. We begin walking side-by-side towards the cafeteria doors. "Tyler seems to be under the delusion that he owes me for ramming my truck yesterday. I've told him multiple times today to not worry about it, but he won't listen."

Mike chuckles and shakes his head. "Yeah, some people can't take a hint. I was about to tell him to go sit somewhere else."

"He means well," I say in Tyler's defense. "I think..."

Mike snorts a laugh as we enter the classroom. "I didn't think he'd ever shut up! Why hasn't someone told him that it's better to listen for once than run your mouth all day long?"

Arching my brow, I hesitantly look back at Mike, taking my time as I think of a nice way of responding. I pull out my desk chair and take a seat while he stands next to my table. "I think that some people are so desperate for attention that they don't realize that they might be dominating the conversation," I gently explain. "And then, when someone else is speaking, they tune everything out as they try to come up with something else to talk about. They don't realize how much they're missing out on by not just stopping and really paying attention."

Mike suddenly laughs, forcing my brows to knit together. I didn't think what I said was funny at all...

"I just remembered something that happened to me a couple of weeks back!" he chuckles with a wide smile. "You're going to love this!"

Five minutes later, the class begins to fill up with students, yet he continues on with his tale. I have been trying to listen closely, but I still have no idea where he's going with this story. It started out easy to understand - it had something to do with a customer at his family's store. But, Mike got side tracked for a while when he stopped to explain the subtle differences between various brands of hiking boots. I can barely tell the difference between a sandal and a flip-flop, so I feel a little overwhelmed by all of the detail he's putting into this conversation.

Out of my peripheral vision, I spot a head of luminous bronze-hair appear in the doorway. Instantly, I flick my eyes away, unwilling to see what expression may be on his face now. If Edward wants to frown at me for the next hour, that's fine by me. But that doesn't mean that I should be expected to watch his mood swings in real time. I'd rather just speculate than know for sure.

"So I told the guy," a voice drones besides me. Jerking in place by the unexpected sound, I realize that Mike has went on speaking while my mind drifted elsewhere. After a moment of guilt passes, I give my head a quick shake to clear my thoughts and try to refocus back on his story.

"...'you should go with these Pathway Mid Calf Waterproof Hiking Boots instead. Not only are they waterproof, but they are comfortable as a sneaker and look great.' Well, the guy just looks at me like I'm crazy or something. So, I'm like, 'What, dude?' And he's like, 'I'm not shucking out $200 bucks on a pair of shoes that I only need for the weekend.'"

Mike rolls his eyes at the memory and shakes his head before he goes on. "So, I said, 'Trust me, pal, they're worth every penny. They'll save your feet from blisters and bunions.' Well, get this! He looks at me, straight faced, and says, 'Is there at least a coupon I can use?'"

Mike slaps his hand down on the table and loudly snorts, eyeing me all the while. "Can you believe it? A coupon! What a cheapskate!" he guffaws, practically urging me to burst out laughing right along with him.

I'm not sure what I should do or say. Maybe it was because I wasn't paying as close of attention as I should have, but I didn't hear anything funny enough to laugh at. So, I decide to utilize my go-to strategy whenever I am met with uncertain social situations such as this. I give him a small smile and nod.

While his chuckling tapers off, he wipes away the tears in his eyes from laughing so hard. Mike's eyes dart away from my face for split second before returning with a pleased grin. "Well, I guess I should go sit down now. See ya later, Bella."

Later... As in, I will be hearing more stories after biology class. And probably during gym, too...

Without being able to stop myself, I let out a sigh. "Yeah. Later," I tiredly murmur.

Before he walks to his seat across the room, his mouth morphs into that same weird smile he kept giving me yesterday - the one where if he were a cartoon character, he would have little hearts swirling around his head while his tongue hangs out.

Wearily shutting my eyes, I quietly wonder what the proper etiquette is on rejecting someone without having to say the actual words, "I don't like you as more than a friend." They should make greeting cards that do it for you. I'm sure they would make a fortune.

I hear an annoying thudding noise coming from my left and my head involuntarily turns in that direction. To my disbelief, I notice Edward silently staring at me while he taps his pencil against our shared tabletop. Once he sees that I'm aware of him, he turns his entire body to look at me more easily. "That was a quite enthralling conversation," he remarks musingly. "Perhaps next time he'll regale you with tales of how the FedEx man came by the store twice last week. Or, if you're very lucky, he'll explain why he was put in charge of the mud boot display as opposed to just the rain jackets."

My eyes squint irritably back at him. Here's the boy that shut me out this morning. The one that couldn't take a few moments of his precious time in order to talk to me like a normal person. And he's criticizing Mike for being dull?

"Don't you think you're being a bit harsh? At least he was attempting to make conversation. As I recall, there are some people that go to this school that feel that speaking to me is too much of a hassle," I say in retort.

Ha... Take that.

I expect Edward to give me the cold shoulder again since I'm speaking up for myself. Or at least frown for having the gall to call him out for his earlier behavior.

But he surprises me when his mouth curls up into a tiny, chastised smile instead - the kind you might give if you've been caught doing something wrong and you know that it's no use trying to deny it.

The cold, indifferent Edward is gone.

It takes him a moment to respond. He drops his pencil on his notebook and clasps his fingers together. "I try to abide by the adage - 'Better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to speak and remove all doubt'," he explains. His eyes appear to dance mischievously for a few beats before he pauses, leans in close, and conspiratorially whispers, "And, well, I suppose we both know which option our dear friend Mike chooses to go with."

I want to smile. But, then again, I don't want to reward Edward for ignoring me one second and cracking jokes the next. Although I'm glad that his mood has evidently swung back to "nice" mode, I'm not ready to forget about how he behaved just a few hours ago.

Somehow I manage to keep my mouth in a semi-neutral position. "If that's the philosophy that you live by, then why are you talking to me now? Aren't you 'removing all doubt' yourself?"

He backs away again and leans casually against his chair. "Oh, well, I can explain that. You see, I was a Boy Scout long ago. We were required to do a good turn daily. I think saving your sanity counts towards that quota. What if a meteor were to fall on us during class? You wouldn't want your last conversation to be about boots and coupons, do you?"

This time, there's no use in stopping the smile that appears. I wouldn't have been able to hide it anyway.

"I guess you do have a point," I agree right as the bell rings. The small smile on his own face transforms into a sparking-eyed grin.

I reluctantly swivel my body to face the front of the room, disappointed that I couldn't question him about his strange, spastic mood swings as I would have liked. Mr. Banner is one of those teachers that demands your attention right away or you risk having additional homework trust at you as punishment for daydreaming and doodling on your notebook paper. So I try to push away my curiosity for now.

But today the teacher is not diving into our biology textbook or showing us slides of cell reproduction as soon as the bell finishes clanging. At the moment, he's wandering the area around his desk, scratching his head as he lifts up papers and digs through drawers.

Everyone else in the room begins quietly chatting with their neighbor or lab partner. I decide that it's now or never. If I want answers, I need to do it now while Mr. Banner is otherwise occupied.

Turning back to face Edward, I catch his attention and he mirrors my position. "Since you can suddenly talk again," I begin in a lowered voice, "I was wondering if I could ask you a quick question?"

He tips his head in acknowledgement, a hint of a smile still on his lips. "Certainly. Go ahead."

"Why were you acting that way this morning? Was it because of how I treated you yesterday?"

His smile disappears completely.

"No. You didn't do anything wrong, Bella," he confesses in a somber tone. "I've been sorting through some-" He stops speaking for a second, as though he's struggling to find the right word. Then, he ends his sentence by saying, "personal problems."

I play what he says through my head a few times, trying to understand how his personal problems could cause him to go from warm and friendly to aloof robot. But nothing that I come up with sounds plausible. I decide to nudge him to give me more information. "Personal problems?" I repeat.

Edward nods his head. "Uh hmm." And then he adds nothing more.

Gee, thanks. That explains everything...

I was hoping that he would make this easier for me. But I guess I'll need to be more specific in my line of questioning if I want answers.

"What kind, if you don't mind me asking?" I press.

His expression becomes uncertain and he briefly avoids eye contact. When he meets my eyes again, he seems reluctant to speak but does so anyway. "The kind where I was concerned that I would be a bad influence on you."

This leaves me more confused than ever. Edward? A bad influence?

I try to recall everything that I have learned about Edward Masen so far, wondering how on earth he could be considered a bad influence. From what I have seen and heard, he holds doors open for our teachers, is considered worthy enough to have Jessica as his fan club's president, carries clumsy girls away from out of control vans, and possibly has a multiple personality disorder. Other than the last one, he sounds pretty tame to me.

In a way, his excuse sounds like the "it's not you, it's me" that you often hear from bad break up stories. When someone says that, it really means, "I don't like you. So, yeah. This break up is definitely your fault."

My mouth drops into a frown as realization strikes. "So, what you're saying is, is that you don't want to be friends with me," I muse aloud.

His eyes widen slightly, seemingly alarmed by my conclusion. "No, I'm not saying that," he rushes out.

My brow incredulously rises up. I may not be the smartest person alive, but I know when something doesn't sound right.

A corner of his mouth lifts, sheepishly smiling back at me. "OK, I was thinking that before, but it wasn't because of anything you said or did. It's more to do with me. I wasn't sure if it would be prudent to drag you into my problems, so I thought it would be best if we limited our interactions."

Prudent...

Who outside of a retirement home says "prudent" anymore? Even I would never use that word in my everyday life, and I'm the freak that prefers to read classic literature where the characters say "forsooth" and "anon" every few sentences.

But I shouldn't be focusing on his advanced vocabulary skills right now. Something he said doesn't make sense at all...

"Really?" I skeptically remark. "And what made you believe that I would be close enough to be dragged into anything with you?" Just because we might talk every now and then at school doesn't mean that we're teaming up to rob banks...

Edward's mouth falls open a little while his eyes take on the panicked look of someone who just found out that their term paper is due today instead of next week as they had previously believed.

"Oh, um... Well. It's was more of a precaution than a belief," he stammers, anxiously running his fingers through his hair.

I study him for a few beats before I begin to nod my head. "I see," I trail off.

If what he's saying is true, he claims that he was trying to push me away in order to protect me from himself. But what could he be protecting me from? Based on what Mike and Alice told me last week, Edward doesn't have much of a social life to speak of outside of school. He keeps mostly to himself. So, I seriously doubt he's involved in anything illegal. Besides, this is Forks. No criminal in their right mind would set up shop here. The most illicit item the residents of Forks purchase are firecrackers that they secretly blow up in their backyards during the Fourth Of July holiday- despite the city ordinance against them.

To me, his explanation for being standoffish this morning sounds a lot like what his sister was trying to tell me. She said that he ostracizes himself- at school and home. And that he needs to interact with people more than he currently does. He probably suffers from some form of depression. After all, he did become an orphan. I'm sure losing your parents would mentally traumatize most people at least a little bit. Maybe he tries to remain distant in order to keep from being hurt again. It would explain a few things. As soon as he feels like he's getting too close to someone, his defenses go up and he tries to back off. Like making excuses that he is a possible threat to my well-being, for example.

That can't be a pleasant way to live your life.

Coming to a decision, I straighten up in my chair and meet his gaze again. "Are you currently on the FBI's most wanted list?" I ask in a steady voice.

His forehead bewilderingly furrows. "No," he slowly answers.

"Have you gone on any cross country killing sprees?" I continue on, almost sounding blasé.

Finally catching on to my dry attempt at humor, Edward smiles a little. "Can't say that I have," he replies in a lighter tone.

I pretend that I am seriously evaluating his responses. Tilting my head as I study him, I ask, "Do you sell narcotics from the backseat of your car?"

He leans back in his chair and slightly squints his eyes, as though he needs to really think about the question. "No..." he eventually replies. Then, he offhandedly adds, "Well, at least not recently, I haven't."

"Funny," I deadpan, rolling my eyes at his joke.

Once his face resumes its normal expression, I go on. "In light of what you've told me so far, Edward, I think you should let me decide what's best for me from now on instead of taking it upon yourself to choose how I want to live my life. You may have saved my life, but it doesn't mean that you reserve the right to run it."

He stares back intensely, his green eyes almost appearing to burn in their sockets as he muses over what I said. After a few seconds, his face relaxes. "I suppose you're right. I'm sorry."

So far, so good. But what I want to ask next makes me nervous. I'm not sure why. His gaze is still fixed on me, waiting for me to say something, I'm sure. I avert my eyes down for a few beats to avoid his staring. Once I feel more confident, I lift my head, looking at him directly. "So... Friends?" I apprehensively suggest. Edward's forehead creases slightly while he thinks, his expression giving nothing away. It's up to him if he wants to accept my olive branch.

"Yes. Friends," he agrees haltingly, as if he's testing the way it sounds. Gradually, a smile creeps across his face. Bright and captivating, it's the type that would stop traffic in Times Square if he chose to unleash it upon unsuspecting bystanders. I'm positive if I wasn't currently occupied in making certain that he's being sincere, I would probably be blushing fire engine red. But, lucky for me, I control myself long enough to keep it together. Then, once I can see nothing to indicate that he will be reverting back to Robo-Edward, I smile back.

As Mr. Banner calls for class to begin, I twist away from Edward and face towards the front. My eyes briefly catch sight of a set of icy blue eyes from a couple of rows away, seemingly locked on me. Mike's face is the same as it was at lunch when Tyler demanded my attention, hard and irritated.

A puff of air escapes my lungs as a wave of frustration sweeps through me. I make things better with one person while simultaneously making another person jealous.

Why can't my life be easy?

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After school, I stop by the Thriftway to pick up a few things. If I want Charlie to start eating healthier, I will need to distract him from his usual fare. I'm thinking fish will work tonight since it has the added benefit of being something he caught personally. His caveman instincts will not let him complain. At least not tonight. I'm sure once he realizes that his days of consuming heaping portions of greasy meat with a side of salt is long gone, he will try to rebel.

By the time he arrives home, the scent of baked trout has permeated the house. He tromps into the kitchen and he inhales the aroma coming from the oven. Throwing off his jacket onto the back of one of the kitchen chairs, he says, "Whatcha cooking tonight? It smells good."

"I decided to use some of those fish fillets you put up in the freezer," I comment while I pull out the baking pan. "It seemed a shame to let them go to waste after you went through the trouble of catching and cleaning them. They looked like they would make a nice dinner."

Subtly praise his fishing prowess - Check.

Underneath his mustache, I can see a small smile on his face. It may not seem like it, but I can tell that he is very pleased by the compliment. "Well, that sounds like a plan. I'll go wash up," he remarks, rolling up his shirt sleeves.

Caveman ego boosted - Check.

After he's finished at the sink, he takes a seat in his normal chair. I grab each of us a plate and place one in front of him. Next, I set a platter of baked trout in the middle of the table, flanked by a bowl of pasta salad and steamed asparagus. A basket of rolls, fresh from the oven, I place nearby.

Charlie takes a long look at all of the food before him. After a few moments of quiet rumination, he lifts his head. "Wow, Bells. Do you usually go all out for dinner on a Wednesday night? Or is today some holiday I wasn't aware of?"

Overwhelm his senses so he doesn't notice anything missing from the table - Double Check.

I turn away to duck my head into the refrigerator before I answer him. If he sees my face, he'll know I'm up to something...

"Oh... This isn't much at all, Dad. I like to cook," I manage to casually state. I pull out the last item from the middle shelf and set it on the table. It's a simple banana pudding that I decided to whip up at the last minute. I figure if he does start to catch on to my plan, I'll shove this under his nose. That should distract him for a while.

We dig into our dinner soon afterwards. He's making little happy grunts in the back of his throat, a sure sign that he's enjoying the meal so far. Though, once his fork touches the trout, I notice that his eyes are roaming the table in search of something.

"Where's the salt?" he eventually asks.

Damn...

"The fish is already seasoned," I slyly respond without answering his question. "There's even a hint of lemon."

"But it needs more salt." It almost sounds like he's pouting.

I catch his eye with an accusing look. "How do you know?" I point out. "You haven't tried it yet."

"I like to sprinkle a little more on my food. It makes it easier to digest."

"Oh. Like last night at the diner when you poured enough salt on your steak to induce a heart attack?" I scornfully counter.

"It wasn't that much," he mutters under his breath.

"Yes it was," I say in disbelief. "You don't even realize it, do you? If you keep eating like that, you are going to be on the receiving end of a defibrillator before you hit forty-five."

Before he can contradict me, the phone rings across the room. Charlie tries to get up, but I tell him to relax and let me answer it. I toss my napkin onto the table and hop up from my chair.

"Hello," I say into the receiver.

"Hey, I hope ya know I didn't mean it like that!" croaks a male's voice on the other end.

My face scrunches together, confused by the nonsensical statement. "Excuse me?"

"Angela said that I might have offended you. She said that I sounded sexist! But I didn't mean to, Bella!" the vaguely familiar voice goes on. "I respect women. I would never do anything with a girl if she didn't want to do it too! I SWEAR I'm not a sexist! Guys that try to force themselves on a girl deserve to be in jail."

Ugh. Now I recognize that voice.

Tyler.

"I think you might be misunderstanding the meaning of the word she used," I wearily breathe out. "May I ask how you got this number?"

Yes. Please tell me who I need to kill tomorrow.

He cackles into the phone. "You live at Chief Swan's house. Everyone in town has your phone number!"

Right. Charlie's the guy everyone calls if they have an emergency.

They often say that being related to law enforcement is a sacrifice. You don't see them as much as you'd like. Their job comes as their priority.

And I guess having the village idiot have access to my home number is yet another sacrifice that I must bear.

"OK," I cautiously agree. "So why are you calling here? Do you have an emergency to report?"

"No. I just wanted to tell you that I can do the girlie chores too," Tyler chirps. "I can wash dishes and sweep the floor. And sometimes Mom even let's me use the oven. I can do whatever you want."

"Listen to me," I nearly growl. "I said no to you this morning. I said no to you this afternoon. So it should come as no surprise that I'm going to say no to you now. So please stop with this madness. I'm not going to change my mind. OK?"

Tyler lapses into a few seconds of silence before he responds. "Then how about I let you handle the kitchen chores while I tackle the vacuuming?"

"I'm hanging up now," I grumble, finally fed up with him. I'm about to slam the phone down when another thought hits me. I place the receiver back at my ear and snarlingly add, "And don't call here again unless you have an actual emergency!"

Then I hang up.

Walking to my chair, I fall back down into my seat and try to eat again. I hear a throat clear across the table, and my eyes dart over to Charlie's face. His mustache is doing that twitching thing that hints at either uneasiness or a rising temper.

"What was that all about?" he probes.

"Nothing."

"Well, 'nothing' sounded like 'something' to me... Is there someone bothering you that I should know about?" He's using his "overly-protective" voice. The one that makes me worried that he will do something stupid (and possibly illegal) just because his daughter is being bugged to death at school.

Soon, images of Charlie holding a terrified Tyler hostage, tied up with a gag stuffed into his mouth, comes flooding into my thoughts.

I have to admit. It is a tempting scenario. The boy irritated me all day long.

But, of course, I can't let anything like that happen. Tyler's a moron. Not a criminal.

"It was just that boy I was in the accident with yesterday," I explain to Charlie, throwing in an eye roll for good measure. "He's harmless, Dad. Don't worry about it."

Charlie stares at me for a few beats longer than necessary - probably wishing he could give me a good, old-fashioned Dad speech. But, thankfully, he is just as uncomfortable with talks of boys and menstrual cycles as I am, so he keeps quiet for now. Instead, he starts shoving bites of trout into his mouth while he contemplatively chews.

There is one bright side to Tyler's phone call.

Charlie forgot all about the salt shaker.

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A/N- My life is hectic right now. To be completely honest, it pretty much sucks. So, sorry about the slow updates. Hopefully it won't be like this for long.

Next Chapter- Mike acts like a jackass - as usual. Edward starts behaving differently, to almost everyone's surprise. And one of Jessica's fantasies becomes reality (the G rated ones, not R).

Thanks for reading! :-)