Forwarded To My Future

by Foenix2phorks

Complete. Bella is resigned to living a boring and unfulfilling life until she's old enough to graduate. But that was before fate stepped in. Looking up from her lunch tray, she sees four perfectly sculpted, pale faces - plus a bronze-haired, green eyed boy known for his gentility. He's not like the other boys in Forks. Can he help make her life a little more interesting? AU.

7. Danger Zone

Chapter 7- Danger Zone

January 27, 2005

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"Multiple fission occurs in many unicellular organisms. Some single-cell parasites, such as the Blastocystis Hominis, can produce multiple 'daughter' Blastocystis... This is the parasite in its natural state before the process has begun," Mr. Banner drones in front of the classroom.

I cover up a large yawn with my hand. It's been a long, exhausting day and I got very little sleep last night. Cellular fission isn't the most exciting subject to learn about, but Mr. Banner is really making it seem as dull as possible. However, luckily for me, I've been through this lesson before. Back home in Phoenix, I took AP Biology and we learned all about this months ago. Nothing Mr. Banner is showing us is new to me. So I mimic the rest of the class, occasionally jotting down notes on my paper to make it seem like I'm paying close attention. But of course I'm not.

Mr. Banner's thumb clicks the button in his hand and the next image is projected on the screen. "And this is the parasite using a higher magnification." He says this as if the increased magnification makes the picture more interesting. But to everyone else in the room, it still looks like a glob of orange-stained gunk on a slide.

This is torture. Couldn't he at least throw something slightly original in there that I don't already know about? Something that would pique the interest of the entire class? Pretty soon my mind will shut down in an attempt to save what brain cells I have left.

My thoughts drift to other things while Mr. Banner flicks through the boring slide show. Questions concerning Edward and the incident near the Olympic National Park come to mind.

How did he become lost? Did he go for a hike, become disoriented, and couldn't find his way out? Or was he so distraught over his mother's passing that he didn't know what he was doing? Maybe even intentionally trying to hurt himself?

This last thought worries me.

I pause in my conjecturing and sneak a peek at the boy sitting inches away. Edward is busily writing something down in his spiral notebook. Every so often, his eyes flick up to examine the screen before darting back down. Curious, I glance at the paper and am immediately surprised. He's not only writing notes in his perfectly formed handwriting, he is also making a quick sketch of each slide our teacher is showing us. They aren't precisely identical, but they are good enough to impress me.

Right now, watching him like this, it's hard to believe that he once almost died out in the middle of nowhere.

But how much of that is even true? Edward didn't confirm anything to me other than he had been suffering before the incident took place, and that he had become lost in the forest. He didn't say much more than that. Mike was the one to claim that he would have died if it hadn't been for Charlie.

And how did Charlie come to play a role in this in the first place? Was there a search and rescue going on and Charlie just happened to be the one to find him?

My head reluctantly swings back towards the front, a tiny frown on my face. I have so many questions, but I don't think it would be right to ask for answers. The only person who could reliably answer them would be Edward, and I'm not brave or rude enough to bring it up again. It has to be a sore subject for him to openly discuss.

I guess Charlie could tell me his side of the story, but then he would wonder why I was suddenly asking questions about Edward Masen. And I don't want to have to explain to my father that my lab partner occasionally puts me into a trance and that I'm curious about him. I'd much rather deal with the lingering, unanswered questions concerning Edward's experience than have to live through something like that.

"Blastocystis Hominis takes anywhere from 4 to 6 days to finish the fission process," the teacher informs us. He pauses for several seconds, clicks the button in his hand, then lethargically states, "But we happen to be incredibly fortunate to have slides showing the entire event. A picture was taken every half hour until the parasite had reproduced itself. However, it sometimes takes until day 2 of the process before any visible changes occur."

Ugh...

The muted lighting in the room is causing my eyelids to feel heavy. And Mr. Banner's voice is the equivalent to a cup of chamomile tea.

I prop my elbow on the table and lean my face into the palm of my hand. It feels nice. I bet it would feel even better if I shut my eyes for a few seconds...

And it does.

I'm enjoying the sensation of complete darkness. The longer my eyelids stay shut, the more relief I feel. I'm sure just a minute or two more of this will be fine.

Besides, I still have one more class today. A little rest now will help me deal with gym later...

The teacher's colorless voice gradually evaporates...

My breathing slows down and my body relaxes...

...

Something shakes me by my shoulder, jarring me awake in the middle of class. Jerking up in my chair, I scan the room to see if anyone had been watching me. Mr. Banner is still standing in the front by his desk, engrossed in his side show and unaware that I had passed out for no telling how long. I'm grateful to see that he did not notice.

So, if it wasn't the teacher that woke me up, what did?

Warily, my head slowly turns to the boy to my left, praying that I would find him just as oblivious to my nap time session as our teacher. Instead I detect a hint of a smirk on his face as he writes in his notebook. A few moments later, he briefly makes eye contact, and the smile broadens until it causes the corners of his eyes to wrinkle.

Dammit!

He would be the one to catch me asleep, wouldn't he? Am I doomed to continually humiliate myself in front of Edward? What did I do to deserve this? Did I piss off a voodoo priest in a past life? Am I cursed?

I halt in my self-loathing for a moment, musing over my last question. Being cursed would explain my tendency to trip and fall over my own two feet. I would much rather use that as an excuse than explaining that I was just born permanently clumsy.

At the end of class, I keep my head cast downwards as I scoop up my books. I find a part of myself hoping that Edward will run off to his next class without acknowledging me or bringing up what happened. But then another part of me - a worrisomely large part - doesn't want him to do that.

And I am afraid to think of what that may mean...

"It's nice to see that you woke up refreshed," a smokey voice whispers nearby. Shyly, I look up to see Edward leaning his back against the table as he quietly speaks to me, his eyes dancing and probably enjoying the sight of my blushing face.

"I only closed my eyes for a minute," I lamely declare, holding my head up high with faux confidence. However, even I am aware of how unconvincing I sound.

"Well, that was certainly a very long minute," he teases with a lopsided smile, straightening back to his full height.

I anxiously look around at the other students as they leave the room. "Did, uh...anyone else see me?" I softly ask him.

Tilting his head to think for a moment, he then shakes his head. "I don't believe so," he replies.

I let out a breath of air, relieved by the news. Thank goodness for small wonders. My little afternoon nap could have been witnessed by an entire roomful of people instead of just Edward. And having him aware of it is bad enough.

"Hmm... I guess it could have been worse," I mumble. Nervously moving a strand of hair from my forehead, I awkwardly say, "Well, uh...thanks for reviving me."

He puffs out a quick laugh at my self-depreciating joke. "Oh, but the pleasure was all mine," he smoothly quips. Grabbing his books from the table, he begins to slowly back away towards the door, still watching my face as he does so. "Well... I suppose I'll see you on the morrow," he adds as he leaves.

My brows knit together. A strange, haunting sensation flows through me that feels similar to touching a doorknob and then being stung by static electricity. I've never felt anything like it before.

A moment later, I try to shake off the feeling before Edward notices anything amiss. "Umm...yeah. See ya tomorrow, Edward," I falteringly call out.

After he's gone, I eventually exit the classroom and begin walking towards the gymnasium. Once I'm outside, I pull the hood of my jacket over my head. It's lightly sprinkling, the air chilly and misty as the sporadic raindrops wet the sidewalk. Here in Forks, folks call this a nice day.

I'm halfway to the gym when someone pops up beside me. I look to my right and find Mike appearing a little less irritated than he was at lunch.

"Hey," he says soon after joining me, sounding as though he hadn't done anything wrong today.

"Hello, Mike," I reply in monotone without looking at him.

My unusual behavior alerts the normally unobservant Mike that all is not well with me. He turns to study my face, probably taking note of the stubborn set of my eyes as I walk to class.

"What's wrong with you?" he perplexedly questions.

"What's wrong with me?" I incredulously repeat. "Shouldn't you be asking yourself that question?"

Mike scratches his head, dumbly staring at me. "Huh?"

With an annoyed sigh, I stomp over to where the roof of the gymnasium hangs over the sidewalk, taking shelter from the rain and waiting for him to follow. Normally I don't like confrontation. In most circumstances, if someone annoys me or makes me feel uncomfortable, I try to ignore it. But, after what happened today in the lunchroom, I know that I have to say something.

After Mike joins me, I take a gulp of air and confront him. "I'm referring to the stunt you pulled earlier. Why would you bring up something like that in front of everyone? Don't you think Edward has been through enough as it is?"

I know that I'm being vague concerning what I'm upset over, but Mike appears to instantly understand. His eyebrows furrow and his mouth puckers out into a pout, as though he is hurt by my irritated attitude. "What? All I did was tell the truth," he crossly mumbles in defense.

Looking at him askance, I try to remain calm. "I seriously doubt you have all the facts," I evenly retort.

"I know the important ones," he claims with rising agitation. He then begins to count off each supposed fact on his fingers. "Masen went into the woods unprepared and without telling anyone. He got lost and couldn't even call for help because he forgot to take a cellphone. Then he was found passed out and hypothermic the next day by Chief Swan. He's lucky that he made it out of there alive and in one piece. He was in the hospital for days afterwards." Then he adds in a defiant voice, "And I heard all of this from one of the nurses that worked on him after your dad drove him to the ER, so I know it's gotta be true."

I briefly close my eyes, feeling a rush of frustration at his ignorance. Reopening them, I look at him and steadily reply, "Even if what you say is true, that doesn't give you the right to rub it in his face."

He shakes his head, denying my accusation. "I wasn't trying to 'rub it in his face'. I just thought that you had a right to know about it. Everyone else in town does."

"Well, I don't think that it should be up to you to make that decision. If Edward wanted to let me know about it, he would tell me."

"That's my point, Bella - if I hadn't said anything, you would have never known."

"If that's how he wants it, then we should respect it," I immediately counter. Hugging my books to my chest, I tap my foot on the sidewalk as I try to think of a way to explain that what he did was wrong.

"Let's reverse this scenario," I eventually continue. "How would you like it if something horrible happened to you and the entire school found out about it? And then, months later when you have maybe gotten over it a little, some guy in your class brings it up again - opening up old wounds and reporting it as though it was something to laugh at. How would you feel?"

I can tell that Mike doesn't want to answer my question. He remains silent for an uncomfortably long time before he says anything. "I guess I wouldn't like it," he grudgingly replies, eyes downcast.

"Exactly," I curtly nod. "He has feelings just like everyone else, Mike. It wouldn't hurt for you to remember that if and when he sits with us again."

His head snaps up, eyes sharp and furious. "He won't," he growls.

"And why not?" I stiffly ask.

"Because a Cullen doesn't belong at our table," he replies. "Never has, never will."

One of my brows arch upwards, only slightly surprised by his attitude. "Good thing he's a Masen then, huh?" I unwaveringly respond.

"You know what I mean!" he huffs with an eye roll. "He's lived with them since last summer. He's one of them now - like it or not. The Cullens keep to themselves, and that arrangement works just fine with me. They're too weird to be around. Once, I had Algebra II with Jasper and he creeped the hell out of most of the class. He would sit there in his chair and stare at the front of the room with the same facial expression every single day! It never changed! He wouldn't laugh. Wouldn't look sad, upset, angry, or happy. It was just a plain, blank face all of the time! It's like he's a robot with no emotions at all."

"Well, I can confirm to you that Edward does have emotions, so that should be one less thing for you to worry about," I shoot back, rolling my eyes.

"But I told you how weird he is!" he exclaims in disbelief. "Except for one time at the beginning of the school year, he has always stayed far away from us. The only times he hasn't sat at his family's table are when he comes to school by himself. And on those days, he made sure to stay clear from almost everyone. He would go sit at the table furthest away - usually to sit with Ben Cheney." Mike pauses, his face contorting into a deep frown while his voice drops to a suspicious grumble. "Then today, out of the blue, we wants to sit with us again... I'm telling you - he's gotta be up to something."

I ignore the last part of what he says for now, too intrigued by the name he casually mentioned to tell him that he's being ridiculous. "Who's Ben?" I ask.

"You know him," Mike replies. "You two take Trig together. Thick glasses, dark hair, about your same height. He likes to sit with the band geeks at lunch."

Straining my brain, I recall someone matching that description who gave me a timid "hi" on my first day at school. That's all I can come up with at the moment.

After my question is answered, I go back to the main topic at hand.

"Well, that only goes to show you that maybe Edward isn't as different as you think," I firmly reply. "He sits with people besides his family, he has feelings - just like you or me, and he wants to try hanging out with us next weekend. I'm sure Jessica and Angela will be OK with it if he were to sit with us again."

Who am I kidding? Jessica would be more than OK with that. She would probably interpret it as a sign that he will be proposing soon.

"And that's another thing I don't like," Mike says, his light blue eyes squinting suspiciously. "I know for a fact that Jessica has invited him to do stuff with us almost every single day for the past four months. He has turned her down each time. And now, suddenly, he wants to do something with us? Don't you find that kinda weird?"

I bark out a scoffing laugh. "I don't understand you. A few days ago, you said that he was weird for keeping to himself. Now he's trying to be friendly, and you still criticize him. What does he have to do to make you happy?"

Mike incoherently mumbles under his breath. Then, louder, he musingly replies, "I just don't trust him. He's too...something. Like-" He abruptly snaps his mouth shut, a determined gleam in his eyes. A few seconds later, he says, "I think we should go to PA without him. We can make up an excuse and tell Edward that we decided not to go."

I numbly stare back at him, too tired to argue anymore. Whatever it was that made him dislike Edward so much obviously isn't going to be disappearing anytime soon.

"You know what, Mike?" I flatly reply. "Maybe I shouldn't go either. I think I'll just stay at home." Before he can respond, I pass around him and enter the gym.

"Hey! Wait!" he wails, dodging students and running up from behind me. I keep my focus centered on the girls' locker room, ignoring him as much as possible. "Don't be like that! You can't back out now!" he continues to plead once he catches up.

"Sure I can," I respond.

"But you already promised Jess and Angela that you'd go!"

"They'll understand once I explain to them why I canceled," I reply with a side glance.

This bit of news stuns him. His eyes bulge out as a frightening realization gradually dawns on him. If he uninvites Edward, I will back out of the trip and inform Angela and Jessica exactly why I changed my mind. And if Jessica finds out that Edward isn't going to the movies with us next weekend just because of Mike's stupid prejudice, I have no doubt that she will kill him.

And I think that Mike knows this, too.

"Fine, you win! He can come, alright?" he anxiously concedes.

Reluctantly, I turn around. Mike looks scared out of his mind, just like the kids in a Freddy Krueger movie after he enters their dreams. I've never seen Jessica in a bad mood, but she must be pretty terrifying if a boy that stands almost six feet tall appears panicked at the mere thought of angering a girl whose curly hairstyle makes up a quarter of her height.

I wait several seconds before I respond, mulling everything over before I make a decision.

"OK," I reply. I turn away from him, intending to head into the locker room to change when he calls my name. Pausing, I glance behind my shoulder and wait to hear what he has to say.

"Just don't tell Jessica or Angela," he begs in a low voice, nervously looking around to ensure that no one is listening in. "The last time I pissed Jessica off, she threatened to slash my tires - and that was just because I said that Mean Girls was the dumbest movie ever."

Slowly I nod my head up and down, silently confirming his request. Then, without another word, I leave to change into my gym clothes.

Five minutes later, I line up with my classmates on the gym floor and Coach Clapp orders us split up into two teams for a game of handball. As usual, Mike is my teammate, and he seems to have completely forgotten about our prior disagreement. While we take up position against the opposing team, he smilingly boasts of his ability to set up a dome tent during a rain shower in under three minutes.

At least Mike is somewhat back to normal...

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Once school let's out for the day, I head home and dump my things upon the kitchen table. I quickly finish my Spanish homework, but Trig becomes a bit of a challenge once I reach problem number five on the worksheet. I struggle with it for fifteen minutes before I find the solution.

I'm almost done with my work when I check the clock on the wall. It's nearly five. Charlie will be home soon. And I haven't thought at all about dinner.

I hop up from the table and explore the pantry until I find a package of pasta and the ingredients for making a decent sauce.

Spaghetti it is then.

The kitchen soon fills with the aroma of oregano and simmering tomato sauce. While I'm carefully chopping up the onions, the phone rings a few feet away. I rush over to the sink, running my fingers under the faucet for a second, and quickly dry my hands against my jeans before I answer.

"Yes! You're home!" cheers the unmistakable voice of Jessica. "You're not doing anything important, are you?"

I open my mouth, intending to say that I'm in the middle of making dinner, but she gives me only three nanoseconds to answer before she interprets my lack of a response as proof of my inactivity.

"Good, cause there's like a zillion things that I need help with," she airily announces. "Can you believe it? After all this time, Edward is FINALLY taking the initiative to spend time with me! Just the other day I asked him if he wanted to go to eat at a Tex-Mex place next Saturday, but he said that he couldn't cause it just so happened to be the same day that his second wisdom tooth was going to be pulled. He had his first tooth pulled out over a month ago on the same day as the Winter Holiday Dance, so he couldn't go with me then either. I told him that it was insane that the dentist doesn't just go ahead and remove all four of them at once, but Edward said that the guy is using some new technique where he gets them out one at a time over a period of weeks... Edward must have decided to reschedule the appointment or something just so that he can go to PA with us... Isn't that sweet of him?" she finishes with a dreamy sigh.

"I guess so," I edgily respond. Something about that excuse he used doesn't sound plausible...

"And he even sat with us today!" she happily croons. "This is like...the best day ever! Everyone thought I was crazy for trying so hard with him, but look who's crazy now!" she triumphantly giggles. "I can't wait to see Rebecca Travis's face when I tell her how he asked me what time he should meet up with us. She's going to be sooo jealous! Did you know that she told me back in October that I was 'wasting my time' on Edward? Yeah, right! He just needed the time to get used to me first. I can practically guarantee you that he and I will be walking hand-in-hand before springtime!"

She is getting ahead of herself faster than I had anticipated. If I don't say anything, she'll be ordering their wedding invitations before the week is out.

I pull the phone closer to the stove so that I can stir the sauce as I try to gently bring her back down to planet Earth.

"That's nice, but maybe you shouldn't move too quickly, Jessica. He might just want to hang out at first - like friends? He may not be ready for what you have in mind quite yet," I gently hint.

Through the phone, she makes a startled, gasping noise that sounds eerily like a malfunctioning vacuum cleaner.

"You're right! I can't scare him off now when I'm so close!" she croaks. "I need to come up with a plan... So what do you think I should do? That night should I try to be relaxed about it all and only hint at how I feel? Like... maybe giving him lots more attention, complimenting his clothes and stuff? And maybe casually touching him when I can?"

I thought I had explained this to her before - I am not the person she should consult for dating advice. But her last statement doesn't sound like a good idea. I'm concerned that if she attempts her latter plan, she will go from innocently touching the top of his hand to full-on groping him. And I doubt he's ready for that if he's been giving her lame dental appointment excuses as the reason why he can't go out on a date.

"Why don't you just be yourself?" I suggest. "Act the same as you normally would around your friends."

Snorting in derision, she says, "But he's not just anyone, Bella. He might be the future father of my children. I have to make the best impression possible if I'm going to make it happen! If I don't make this opportunity count, he may never be able to do anything with me ever again! He's always so busy! When he doesn't have a doctor's appointment or charity work to do, his dad gives him tons of chores that - like - take all weekend to finish. Once, after I asked if he wanted to come to my house to watch The O.C. while my parents were gone for the night, he told me that he couldn't because he was supposed to paint the whole outside of his family's house by the end of the weekend. And guess what? It rained almost the whole time! Can you imagine painting a house in the rain!?"

Honestly, no I can't.

But I choose to keep my mouth shut.

"I don't see how Edward puts up with it!" she continues on. "I bet his brothers and sisters don't work half as hard as he does. One time I asked him why he works so much, and he said that helping Dr. Cullen is his 'moral obligation' since the man took him into his home. But I was like, 'He's your godfather, Edward! Taking care of his godchild is Dr. Cullen's job. That's what he signed up for when he agreed to do it in the first place! You shouldn't have to feel like you need to do so much for him.' But Edward insists that he should do his part to keep the household running. He's so selfless..."

Dr. Cullen is Edward's godfather? Hmm... Something else I didn't know about him.

"Listen, Bella," she squeaks, interrupting my thoughts. "I gotta go. We can talk about this some more tomorrow, OK? Bye!" Then she immediately hangs up.

With a sigh, I set the phone down and turn off the stove. While I drain the pot of spaghetti noodles into a strainer, I hear the front door unlocking. I glance behind me and see Charlie shuffling into the kitchen moments later. His nose is pointed upwards like a hound dog as he sniffs the air.

"Cooking again?" he wonders aloud, sounding faintly surprised. "What is it this time?"

"Spaghetti," I answer.

I had assumed that be would be pleased by my response, but instead his head tilts to the side, appearing confused. "That's good," he hesitantly replies. "It's been a long time since I've had that. But how come it smells so much better now than when I make it? Did they change the recipe?" he asks in bewilderment.

I turn from my chore at the sink and face him. "Dad, what are you talking about? I thought that you only knew how to cook eggs and bacon."

"You're right," he freely admits. "But Spaghetti-Os are easy. You just crack open the can and heat it in the microwave. Even I can do that."

I sigh and sadly shake my head at my father. This is confirmation that Charlie has been living by himself for too long. Spaghetti-Os should only be ingested under extreme circumstances. Like, zombie apocalypses and natural disasters when you've run out of all of your other rations.

"Spaghetti should never be canned, Dad," I explain with an arched brow. "Mine smells better because I'm making real pasta."

His head slightly jerks back as though this information has blown him away. "With the long noodles and everything?" he questions in disbelief.

"Yep," I smile back.

Minutes later, he's happily slurping up strands of noodles while I eat my salad first. The salt shaker that I hid last night is back at the table. Yesterday, after dinner, we entered a lengthy negotiation process concerning the salt shaker's benefits vs its ability to kill him. Eventually we made a deal. The salt stays on the table as long as he uses it only sparingly - no more dumping it out by the spoonful. If he violates the terms of our agreement, I can ban it from the kitchen for a month.

It's dark outside once we finish eating. He wanders into the living room with a full belly, ready to zonk out in front of the TV to watch baseball, basketball, football, or whatever it is he plans on watching tonight. I stay in the kitchen for a while longer and complete my Trig homework. After that, my night is free. I can do what I want.

The only problem is that there isn't much for me to do.

Forks has no nightlife. There's nothing fun or interesting to do here. No museums to explore. No malls with bookstores to peruse. No bowling alleys. No arcades. No place for a teenager to hang out unless you count the Thriftway parking lot after the store is closed. And I don't.

I eventually decide on nestling with a good book that I've read a dozen times while I stretch out on the couch downstairs. Charlie's watching TV while sitting in his beat up recliner that he's owned for almost as long as I've been alive. I know that this has to be true because when I was dusting last week, I saw the imprint of the back of his body permanently indented into the chair. I doubt anyone else in the world could comfortably sit there now.

I'm on the fifth page of my novel when the channel he's watching switches from sports programming to a documentary on the history of some boxer. Disinterested as usual in anything sports related, I dart my eyes back down to my book and read a few pages more.

Soon, however, I find my attention being drawn back to the TV screen as they show photo after photo of the boxer during his life and career. Most of the photos are what you would normally expect to see in a picture from over a hundred years ago. Warm sepia tones, the photos faded around the edges. Strange, old-fashioned hairstyles on the men. Long flowing dresses on the women that looked like it would be torture to wear. Faces were normally expressionless as they awkwardly stood in front of the camera.

I slowly become intrigued by the historical aspect of the man and his career. His name was John L. Sullivan and he is considered to be the first official heavyweight champion in boxing. And apparently he fought with and without boxing gloves, which surprised me because I did not know that there had ever been professional bare knuckle boxing.

They flash his portrait every so often. He's sporting a large mustache that ends in a point - just like a villian from a silent movie who twirls his mustaches as he plots to kidnap some heroine. I guess that was the style back then. Whenever they show the guy standing in group photographs, I spot several men wearing similar facial hair.

But it's the boxing stance he uses in front of the camera that seems the most alien to me. The position he takes is different from what I've seen from modern day boxers. His left arm is stiffly held out while his hand is tightened into a fist. His other arm remains near his chest. It doesn't seem to be the most comfortable position to be in, or even that great of a defensive stance. But I soon notice that he isn't the only guy to utilize the unusual practice. The documentary shows photos of Sullivan's opponents through his career, all in the same stiff position.

Sometime towards the end, I realize that my book lay in my lap untouched for more than an hour. I watched a movie about sports tonight. And I found it kind of interesting.

Something must be wrong with me, I immediately conclude. I should go to bed.

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February 5, 2005

It's the day of our group trip to Port Angeles and I'm standing in front of my closet, trying to pick out something to wear. Jessica is scheduled to pick me up at five o'clock. It's already 4:45 and I am still in my gray sweatpants and a faded t-shirt that possess more holes than a wedge of Swiss cheese.

I eventually throw on some blue jeans and chocolate-brown sweater. My warmest jacket I wear as well. Then I fumble my way down the stairs and scribble a note to Charlie since he's out of the house right now - reminding him where I will be and that there are sandwiches in the fridge.

During the past week, one of us had to cancel going to the movies. Eric's fun D&D convention turned out to be not so great once his mom discovered that he had sneaked off to Seattle instead of staying at a friend's house. He was grounded for two weeks.

Meanwhile, Edward stayed true to his word, never lapsing back to the "cold one" from the day after the accident. When we passed each other in between classes, he always smiled and called out a polite hello. Also, he continued to sit with us at lunch nearly every day. Out of six days, he only sat with his family twice. Jessica was thrilled. Beyond thrilled really. Mike wasn't, but at least he never said anything about it. Mike chose to ignore Edward, never speaking to or even acknowledging his presence.

This wasn't as nice as having them forgiving and forgetting their past differences, but it was better than what it was before.

Tyler remained a thorn in my side, sliding up alongside me and bombarding me with more ridiculous ways to "make my life easier". I learned that arguing with him is futile, it only tires you because he really isn't listening to you when he's off in his own little world. My current strategy is to wait it out. He's bound to run out of lame-brain ideas eventually. As long as I give him a firm " no" every so often, I should make it through this difficult time without waking up one day to find him cleaning my room or doing Charlie's laundry.

While I'm straightening up the living room, Jessica honks her car's horn a couple of minutes before five. I rush out of the house and find her beaming face in the driver's seat.

"How do I look?" she excitedly asks while I buckle my seatbelt.

I glance at her clothes, noting that they are - you know - just clothes. She has on a pair of beige pants and a fuzzy purple sweater. They look fine to me.

"You look good," I say, hoping she'll accept it as a compliment.

She doesn't.

"Good?" she irritably snaps. "I need more than that! I need details, Bella. Do I look gorgeous? Hot? Ugly? I need more of a description than just 'good'. Good isn't good enough tonight!"

I heave out a sigh. I'm not "good" at critiquing clothes...

"You look...really good?" I tentatively state, wincing my face.

She disappointedly stares back for fifteen seconds, probably just now realizing that I am clueless about nearly all the stereotypical girlie things like clothes, boys, and hair accessories. She would probably be better off if she just asked a Magic 8 Ball if she looked OK. At any rate, it would be more accurate than I could ever hope to be.

"If that's all that you can say, then I must look like a cow," she declares a few moments later. She's examining herself in the rearview mirror, her lips turned down into a frown as she adjusts her sweater. "I gotta go back home and change."

Oh, god, no... I know her type. If she swings by her house now, she'll try on every item in her closet until she finds the "perfect" outfit. We won't make it to Port Angeles until the movie is almost over if she does that. And I kinda have my heart set on getting out of Forks for a few hours...

Determinedly, I rummage through my brain for adjectives that will make her happy and allow us to continue on our way.

"No, Jess," I fumble in desperation. "You can't do that because you look... fantastic. Beautiful even. That purple sweater really brings out your eyes." I've heard people use this phrase on TV. I figure that it has to be a good thing to say to someone...

In response, she animatedly grins. "It's from that department store in PA. I bought it on sale! It's great, right?!"

I give a tight-lipped smile and nod my head. As long as she gets this car moving out of town, she can describe the entire shopping trip.

Minutes later, we pull up in front of Angela's two-story house. Tonka Trucks, plastic baseball bats, and bicycles are strewn across the front yard. Jessica taps on the car's horn as soon as she parks at the curb. When no one makes an appearance at the front door, she forcefully smacks down on the horn, its sound sharp and deafening. An elderly lady with a bouffant hairdo next door peeks out her living room window, giving us a disapproving scowl for disturbing her peace.

But there's still no sign of Angela.

Jessica and I walk up to the house and she impatiently bangs on the front door. A dark-haired little boy wearing Batman PJ bottoms with no shirt opens the door. He doesn't look much over six years old. Clutched at his chest is a Nerf gun, loaded with its harmless "ammo". On the boy's head is a tiny pair of Fruit Of The Loom underwear that he wears as if it were a hat.

And he's looking at Jessica and me as if we are the strange ones.

His Kool-Aid stained mouth is parted open while he dazedly stares at us in the same unnerving way that many small children seem to instinctively know how to do - with wide, unblinking eyes that make you feel as though he will be murmuring "redrum" at any moment.

"Where's your sister?" asks Jessica, sounding unconcerned by the unusual situation. I guess she has spent so much time at Angela's house that she is now immune to seeing a boy with cotton briefs on his head.

The boy places his index finger at his lips, silently shushing us with suddenly solemn eyes. He takes a look behind him, then checks his left and right before he answers. "She's with Mommy," he whispers.

"Well, go tell her that it's time to go," Jessica replies, using her normal speaking voice.

Irked by her loud tone, the boy flashes his eyes at her. "Shh!" he hisses. "He'll hear you!"

"Who?" I softly ask.

He stares back seriously and whispers, "Josh."

Jessica breathes out an annoyed sigh and passes around the boy. "We don't have time for this, Isaac," she huffs. She walks into the foyer and takes a peek into the living room, noting that no one is there. "Is she upstairs?" she asks, heading towards the staircase.

He nods his head up and down. "Yeah, but you don't wanna go up there. Mommy's stick in bed," he replies, his voice still low.

She stops in her tracks, appearing confused by his statement. "Stick? What does that mean?" she questions with furrowed brows.

"You know... Stick," Isaac emphasizes. "Her skin's hot and she 'fwowed up."

A light bulb turns on inside of my head. I realize now what he's trying to say.

"His mom's sick," I sympathetically announce.

Jessica takes a comically gigantic step backwards, distancing herself from the stairs and from the possibility of catching whatever illness Mrs. Weber has contracted. She remains quiet for several seconds before she digs into her purse and pulls out a small Snickers candy bar. Bending down in front of Isaac, she tries to sweetly smile at him but it looks more like she's constipated.

Dangling the chocolate bar in front of his face like bait, she saccharinely chirps, "If you go upstairs and bring your sister down here, I'll give you this whole thing."

His little face lights up and he snatches it from her fingers before she can blink. "OK!" he energetically agrees as he zooms up the staircase.

With a satisfied smirk, Jessica rises up from her crouched position and snorts a laugh. "Kids are so predictable. You pull out the candy and they'd do anything you ask them to. I could've told the brat to bring me Mrs. Weber's wallet and he would have done it! Can you believe how dumb that is? It's like their brains don't-" Her boasts are shut off by a barrage of Nerf bullets hitting the back of her head, thumping into her scalp and making her scream.

Jumping up from his hiding spot behind the living room's curtains is another boy who looks identical to Isaac, except this little guy has a metal pot on his head and is pointing his Nerf gun at Jessica.

"Stop it you little creep!" Jessica errupts in anger while she uses a couch cushion as a shield.

"I can't! I saw you talking with my enemy, so that makes you my enemy too!" the boy giggles.

"I'm not your enemy! All I did was ask Isaac where your sister is!" she screeches.

He stops firing and seems to contemplate what she said. "Do you surrender?" he asks playfully.

"Josh!" reproachfully admonishes Angela while she navigates down the stairs. "Stop that right now. What have we told you about shooting at guests?"

Josh's mouth puckers out, trembling and remorseful in record time. I see that Angela is great at inciting guilt trips when the occasion called for it.

"That I shouldn't do it," he replies dejectedly.

Angela moves into the room, shaking her head at him in disappointment. "And yet here you are doing it. You know better than that. Go to your room right now and stand in time out until I say."

At this harsh punishment, his eyes become teary, but he does not argue. Now sluggishly dragging his gun behind him, he sadly climbs the stairs and drops the pot from his head onto the wood floor.

Throwing her couch cushion shield down, Jessica says, "OK, Ang. You ready to go now?"

"Sorry, but I can't," Angela answers chagrined. "Dad is speaking at a religious conference in Olympia tonight and Mom has a pretty nasty stomach bug. I'm going to have to stay at home tonight and watch the twins."

"No way!" Jessica snaps. "Can't she handle the rug rats for a few hours on her own? Just turn the TV to the Disney channel and they'll stay in one place. She can come and look in on them every now and then."

Angela sadly shakes her head. "She's been stuck in bed all day. She's weak. There's no way that she can watch the twins tonight by herself," Angela informs her.

"Noooo," Jessica pathetically groans, her head slumped back. "Call a babysitter or something! You have to come!"

"I tried all of our usual sitters but no one is available on such short notice," Angela admits. She kindly smiles at Jessica, then adds, "You guys go on ahead and have a good time. I'll be fine."

"Are you sure?" I ask her.

"Yeah," she confirms with a nod. "Even if I decided to go with you guys, I would spend the whole night worrying about what's going on here."

"But you're gonna miss out on so much! History is being made tonight!" Jessica whines, hinting at the soon-to-be presence of a certain boy.

Smiling broadly, Angela places her hand on Jessica's shoulder. "And you can tell me all about it Monday. I'm sure your description of what went on tonight will sound even better than actually being there."

Jessica petulantly huffs and crosses her arms across her chest. "OK. But I still think your mom can handle your brothers tonight. It's just for a little while..."

"I promise I'll come next time," Angela replies using a comforting, motherly tone.

Five minutes later, Jessica is at the wheel of her car, angrily describing how difficult it was to extract Josh's Nerf bullets from her hair and how she will have a nanny for her future children with the bronze-haired boy of her fantasies.

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"He's not coming," she gloomily declares.

We're standing in front of the movie theater, waiting for Mike and Edward to show up. We have only been here for a few minutes, but she has already assumed the worse.

"It's not even the time to meet yet," I reassure. "I'm sure he'll get here soon."

Shaking her bushy curls, she says, "I just have a gut feeling that he decided to back out and didn't tell me."

"He wouldn't do that," I defend. "He asked me yesterday if we were still on for 6:30."

Jessica stopped morosely staring towards the parking lot and whirled around to look at me. "He did? Tell me everything!" she trills in delight.

"There isn't much to say. He asked, and I said 'yeah'. That's it."

Although I don't think there's much to interpret from that very brief conversation, Jessica spends two minutes dissecting it at every angle - wanting to know how he looked when he asked and if he made any head or hand gestures that could help in telling her how determined he is to be here tonight.

"I'm telling you, Bella," she airily concludes. "If he shows up tonight, it will be the start of everything! First time we're practically alone together. First time we can talk as long as we want. And maybe even first kiss!"

"I thought that you decided not to push him too hard tonight?" I recall with concern.

Giggling, she waves her hand dismissively. "If things go my way, I won't have to do anything to encourage him. It'll be all him, if you know what I mean!"

While she's gushing over the possibility of this actually happening, I see a dark figure in the distance walking down the sidewalk. Although this person is still very far away, I somehow know that it's Edward. Maybe it's the way that he's moving that tips me off - long, confident strides with his hands shoved inside of his pockets. As he comes near us, I watch as the street lamps' light strikes his hair and makes it almost glow. He's wearing all black, it seems. Black leather jacket and black jeans that look as if they were molded to his frame.

As I silently admire him, he catches me watching. A smile forms on my face an instant later and I wave a small "hello" at him. His answering smile makes my stomach twist and flip, which hurts a little but at the same time I kind of like how it makes me feel.

I'm seriously messed up.

"You came!" Jessica giddily yells at his approach.

He stops in front of us, shrugs his shoulders, and relaxedly replies, "Of course."

"And right on time, too," Jessica says while glancing at her watch. "Mike must be, like, crawling from Forks or something. He'd better not make us late!"

I try to keep from sighing at her impatience. "The movie doesn't start until seven. He's got plenty of time to get here," I remind her.

The three of us stand quietly for a few seconds. Then Edward begins looking all around, as if he's searching for something. "Where's Angela?" he questions. "Wasn't she coming with you two?"

Twisting my mouth to the side, I glumly report, "Her dad's out of town and her mom's sick, so she stayed home to help take care of her little brothers."

Edward grimaces a little. "That's too bad."

Jessica shakes her head with a hand at her hip, not even attempting to hide her annoyance at what happened earlier. "Yeah. I told her that the hellions would be fine with just their mom watching them, but she insisted that she needed to stay home. I swear, she thinks she's their mother by the way she acts sometimes," she sharply complains, rolling her eyes.

Edward's back stiffens, his posture no longer in that calm, relaxed state as it had been moments before. He woodenly stares at her for several moments, his jaw slightly clenched. "I think she did the right thing," he replies evenly. "She must love them very much to willingly give up her free time."

Jessica's hardened, irritated expression morphs into something like alarm as she realizes that Edward isn't agreeing with her current attitude. Like switching to a different mask, her scowl is replaced by a faltering, unsure smile. "That's exactly what I was thinking, too. She's just so nice to them that she forgets her own needs," Jessica croons up at him, her mood suddenly sympathetic and kind.

Edward looks at her blank-faced for a few beats, his expression unfathomable. Then, closing his eyes, he heaves out a deep sigh. It's the sort of sigh you reserve for truly irritating situations - ones that test the limits of your sanity. I've done a lot of those lately - usually whenever I see Tyler's dopey face heading in my direction.

But seeing Edward looking like that while Jessica swoons may be the funniest thing that I have ever seen.

I want to laugh out loud but I manage to restrain myself, my only problem is that it's much harder to control my smile. I'm sucking my lips inside of my mouth, desperately trying to hide it from them.

Edward's eyes reopen and soon land on me. Slowly, the corner of his lips rise into a lopsided, devilish smirk. "Something wrong with your mouth, Bella?" he pointedly asks, causing Jessica to curiously snap her head my way.

They're both watching me now, though Edward seems especially amused at putting me on the spot like this. What am I supposed to say? That it's hilarious that Jessica is so obsessed with him that she believes she needs to agree to everything he thinks and says? That sure would make for an awkward night...

"Oh, I'm just thirsty, I guess," I claim nervously, chewing my lips.

Jessica shrugs and turns away to search for Mike's SUV. But Edward is still watching me, his hands stuck casually in his black jeans pockets. Seeing him seem so entertained by what he just put me through really ticks me off. My eyes narrow at him, letting him know that what he did wasn't funny.

But he doesn't appear bothered at all. He's grinning. And it's kind of beautiful. His teeth are perfectly straight and white - the kind you might see in a Crest toothpaste commercial.

It's suddenly becoming hard to concentrate.

Stupid boy with his dazzling smile that makes me almost forget that I'm mad at him...

"Finally! Did you push your car all the way from home, Mike?" shouts Jessica towards the boy in question.

Mike walks up from behind Edward and glares at her. "I'm five minutes late. Big deal!" he grumpily counters back. He then heads towards me, his face erupting into a beaming grin, making me uncomfortable by his obvious infatuation. "Bella!" he cheers.

"Hi," I respond, trying to smile back.

"You'll never guess what happened at the store this morning, Bella!" he laughingly recounts. He continues walking on towards the ticket booth, making me feel obligated to follow him. "You remember how I told you that you should never wear cotton clothing when you're out hiking the trail? Well, get this! A guy came in wearing a plain white cotton undershirt, a wool pullover, and a windbreaker jacket. I told the guy that if he goes hiking with that undershirt on all of his sweat will absorb into the fabric like a sponge! The dude didn't believe me. I had to pull up the info on our website before he realized that I was right."

"That's...nice that you kept him from making a mistake," I carefully respond once his story is done.

"Yeah," he gloats. "Clothes are real important." He pauses, searchingly smiles down at me, and looks at my chest. "You look great tonight. The brown of your sweater really brings out your eyes," he announces.

Hmm... That's funny. I used that same line on Jessica today.

"Uh. Thanks," I mutter back.

Jessica and Edward stroll up to us and as a group we try to figure out what we should see.

Mike tips his head towards the movie poster. "There's two new movies out."

"I wanna see that one!" exclaims Jessica, indicating one of those lovey-dovey romantic comedies that have little plot but they do usually have lots of scenes with shirtless men and gratuitous cuddling.

Edward warily studies the poster, seeming uncharacteristically anxious. "What's it about?" he guardedly asks.

Jessica purposely licks her lips and turns to answer his question. "It's about a woman who hires a male escort to pretend to be her boyfriend for her sister's wedding. You know, it's got that whole 'there's this really hot guy that's out of my league but he falls in love with me anyway' kind of vibe that I absolutely love," she breathily hints, batting her eyes and dreamily ogling up at Edward as though she has been recently injected with a cocktail of sedatives.

I guess instead of being "calm and casual" with Edward until he is ready for a relationship, she decided to skip to the "crazed, obsessed stalker" stage...

His Adam's apple apprehensively bobs up and down, alarmed by the turn of events. "I'd like to watch the other one," he rapidly fires back.

Flabbergasted by his choice, she confusedly tears her eyes away from his face to look at the other movie poster. "What? That one?" she confirms while pointing at the wall. "The one about the evil monster that lives in closets, hunts people down, and murders them?"

"Yes," he quickly declares with worried eyes.

I watch him as this is going on and realize that his previous avoidance of our lunch table was likely more than just because of Mike's hostility. It's because of her as well. No wonder he would rather watch the monster movie. That romantic comedy is probably scarier if you take in the fact that he will have a lust-filled teenage girl sitting next to him that plans on reenacting what she sees with him. And he doesn't look like he's willing to go along with that plan. I can't let the guy that possibly saved my life go through something like that. After all, I owe him one.

"Me, too," I chime in moments later. I usually avoid horror films as a rule, but I'm willing to make an exception tonight.

Edward and I catch each other's eye, silently communicating with one another. He knows what I'm doing. And I know that he's grateful.

"Great! I didn't want to watch that Rom-Com, anyway," Mike gleefully announces from beside me. He moves and leans in, closing the distance between us until I can smell the tuna fish he must have recently eaten on his breath. He has never been so close to me before, and I don't like it. It feels invasive, making it difficult for me to relax. But he doesn't appear to notice how I am feeling. There's a smile on his face that has turned cocky and simpering, so unlike the friendly grins he used to share with me.

With his mouth inches away from my ear, he slightly lowers his voice. "And if we get scared, we can find a way to distract ourselves from the movie," he adds, his tone dripping with innuendo.

Now I'm terrified, and it doesn't have anything to do with what we watch tonight.

My teeth are attacking my bottom lip, trying to keep from screaming and fleeing in panic. With deliberate care, I slowly step back away from Mike, hoping that he will take the hint that I don't like the smothering.

Edward is running his hand through his hair like crazy, his eyes alternating between looking at Mike and me. "On second thought, maybe Jessica's choice would be better," he announces to the group.

Mike's head snaps in Edward's direction, locking onto his face and narrowing his eyes. It's the first time I've seen Mike pay any attention to Edward all week.

Jessica smiles widely, pleased that Edward inexplicably changed his mind. "That's OK, Edward. We'll watch the horror movie tonight, and you and I can watch my movie next time!" she elatedly offers.

A dark, nauseated expression flashes across his face for a split second. I don't think Edward is planning to go along with that idea.

The four of us walk up to the booth to buy our tickets. Mike is in front of me as he asks the girl behind the counter for a ticket for one. He drags out his wallet from his pants, opening a compartment that has a few folded dollar bills, business cards, and one shiny, aluminum wrapped item with the word Trojan printed on the front. When our eyes meet, he gives another simpering smile.

Inside of my mind, I picture a metallic robot frantically waving his arms around while screaming something like, "Danger! Danger Bella Swan!"

I take another giant step backwards, accidentally bumping into Jessica in my haste to put distance between the two of us. Mike is upping his strategy with me it seems, just like Jessica is doing with Edward. I tried to keep her from doing anything too crazy to him - like asking what type of underwear he has on.

But, what about Mike? Was there anyone there to remind him that this is a friendly group outing?

So when it is time for me to buy my ticket and walk inside of the movie theater, I do it with the same enthusiasm I would hold if I were being led to the gallows at dawn. Tonight isn't turning out to be the fun, relaxed evening away from Forks that I had envisioned.

This will be Hell.

However, based on the look on Edward's face right now, at least I'll have company.

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A/N-

Next Chapter- Awkward situations. Roaming hands. An ingenious escape. And one question gets an answer.

Thanks for reading! :-)