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.

22. The Lost Art Of Keeping A Secret

Chapter 22- The Lost Art Of Keeping A Secret

March 7, 2005

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Seated in the rocking chair by my window, I watch the morning sun as it begins to tint the night sky into a coral pink. It's truly a beautiful sight. Ordinarily, you wouldn't find me wanting to watch the sun rise - I prefer milking my sleeping hours for all they're worth. But sleep is almost impossible when you have numerous questions popping up off and on all night long. I would sleep for awhile, abruptly wake up with a new mystery to ponder over, and lie there unmoving as I tried to work things out in my head. However, no amount of speculating ever helped. Nothing made sense. So, I would eventually fall back asleep and the cycle would repeat itself.

Even the dawn of a new day doesn't bring relief from the relentless curiosity. As I sit here rocking back and forth, the unanswered questions keep on coming...

Why are the Quileutes wary of the Cullens? What is it about the family that makes them a threat? The only thing I've seen so far about the family that's frightening is Alice's addiction to clothes shopping.

But, if the family truly is dangerous, why hasn't the tribe warned the people of Forks? Warning some people but not all doesn't sound fair. Or logical for that matter.

If Carlisle is Edward's godfather, does that mean he was in Chicago when Edward was a baby? Was Carlisle an adult in 1901-1902? So how old would that make him?

On second thought, maybe I'm wrong about Carlisle being Edward's godparent. The only person who has ever said anything about that was Jessica - and she hasn't always been the most reliable source for information. She sincerely believes that the school's art teacher has a secret side job as a stripper just because the woman is a little busty up top and her first name is Candy.

If Edward is 104 years old, why does he go to high school? Wouldn't he rather do something more fun and in keeping with his advanced age? Like shuffleboard? Or bingo?

And how did Edward even register for school? Someone would have had to show Ms. Cope his birth certificate before he could enroll.

Did they even have birth certificates in 1901?

But if he isn't incredibly old, how is he still a teenager? Did he travel through the decades in a jalopy/time machine hybrid, à la Back To The Future? Was he frozen in carbonite like Han Solo, locked away for a few dozen years, then Carlisle found and defrosted him? Or, am I completely wrong on both counts and I've just watched too many sci-fi flicks in my life?

I spent a majority of the evening before huddled in front of my ancient computer, searching for clues on the Cullens. And, after many hours of research, I learned only one thing - the Cullens must be the most reclusive family alive. I typed in each of their names on Google but couldn't come up with much of anything. Carlisle Cullen works for the hospital. Each of the Cullen children are named as honor roll students at Forks high. Esme Cullen was listed as a contributor to a local charity. That's it. I could find nothing else on them. No photographs, no newspaper articles, and no indication that they ever lived or worked anywhere else before their move to Forks.

Putting their names into the genealogical database did no good either. Since I don't know where they originate, I couldn't definitively say if any of the search results related to them or not. I found many Alice Cullens all over the United States through the decades, however, none of them lived with any Carlisles, Esmes, or Emmetts. There were a few Rosalie Hales, but no Jasper Hales were listed with them.

My last idea was to look up their highly unusual characteristics and see if I could find any clues as to who or what they might be, but I came up empty-handed there too. Typing in golden eyes gave me links to James Bond films. A yellow eyes search brought up websites which described medical conditions, like jaundice. And typing in beautiful pale people who don't age just showed famous Hollywood actresses who are considered pale by California standards, but they aren't even close to having the alabaster skin tone the Cullens possess.

Once the time neared ten o'clock, I decided to give up the search for the night and began getting ready for bed. I wearily shuffled to the bathroom sink and snatched up my toothbrush. As I brushed my teeth, I indifferently studied my reflection in the mirror. My eyelids drooped, hinting at both my mental and physical exhaustion. I turned my head to the right and noticed that my skin had very little color, appearing as if I would be fainting at any moment. But when I pivoted my face to the left, I caught sight of something more alarming.

A bruise.

A bruise with streaks of blue and indigo. Located at the conjunction where my neck meets the hinge of my jaw, its size was small and round. I touched it without thinking and flinched at the slight sting of pain.

Without warning, my mind flashed back to the night before. Dark, cruel eyes. Cold, sinister sneer. A stranger's thumb sinking deeply into the skin of my neck...

I violently moved my head and forth, shaking the unpleasant memories loose. Dwelling on a few minutes of terror would not help me in the long run. If I allow myself to slip into a depressed funk, I'll never be able to find out the truth about Edward, I reminded myself.

Even though it was small and barely noticeable considering the odd place it's located, I had a bad feeling that not everyone would think that the bruise wasn't a big deal. If Charlie were to catch sight of it, he might be tempted to hop into his car, drive back to Port Angeles, and strangle that guy before he can be sent to Texas for prosecution. And having the bruise seen tomorrow at school would not be good either. What if someone were to hear about the attack, see my injury, and then put two and two together? It would become the talk of the school. And I would never live it down.

I carefully spread my long hair around my shoulders, taking care to place clumps of it in front of my ears. I then moved my head from side to side to check the effect I had created. As long as I keep my hair down, I decided, no one will ever know that there's a bruise hidden underneath.

I went to bed afterwards and had a night of fitful sleep. It was sometime after five in the morning when I crawled out of bed and came to sit in my rocking chair. That's where I have been ever since. Its gentle movements are comforting at a time when I need it the most. It even helps to put me to sleep again.

By the time my alarm clocks beeps an hour or so later, the sun is above the horizon and shines brightly into my room. I stretch my arms over my head and wander deliriously to my nightstand to turn the noise off.

After a short shower, I walk to the kitchen and find Charlie standing by the sink, rinsing out his favorite coffee mug. My hand shoots up to check that my hair is safely concealing the bruise on my jaw.

It is.

Charlie puts his cup away, rotates in place, and notices me standing near the kitchen table. "Morning," he greets, observing me with a watchful eye. After my unusual behavior at the dinner table last night, he evidently believes that I am on the brink of having a breakdown of some sort. And sadly, he's probably right. I am either a budding detective who has stumbled upon a trove of hidden secrets, or I belong in a padded room somewhere. His guess is as good as mine.

I glance down at the floor to escape his scrutiny. "Good morning," I answer in a quiet murmur.

"Feeling OK?"

"I'm fine."

There is a pause before he speaks again. "You know, you can stay home today if you want to."

My face jerks up to look him in the eye. Taking a sick day is the very last thing I want. "I need to go to school," I reply in a louder voice. What I really mean is, I need to see Edward. But this will do just as well.

"Are you sure?"

My head moves up and down. "Yes."

Charlie lets out a long sigh. "All right," he acknowledges. He moves to the kitchen table and picks up his police duty belt. "You want me to drive you to school?" he offers as he wraps the belt around his waist.

It's extremely difficult to restrain my cringe of horror. Has Charlie Swan forgotten what it's like to be a teenager? Being dropped off at school in a police cruiser is high school social suicide. It's a notch below showing up on your kid sister's hot pink tricycle.

"No thanks," I answer simply.

I watch Charlie suck in his gut a little as he buckles the duty belt. Once it is fastened, he glances up again. "OK. I'll see you this afternoon. Since Mark's back from his vacation, I should be home by around five o'clock."

I nod and mutter a goodbye as he leaves the kitchen. Soon afterwards, the sound of the front door clicking shut reverberates through the house. My body relaxes somewhat now that he is gone. Who would have thought that hiding a tiny bruise would be so stressful?

I wander over to the refrigerator and take a glimpse of what's inside. There's the basics for breakfast like milk, eggs, and sausage but I don't really have the time to cook anything. Leaving those items alone, I open a cabinet door and begin digging around. Eventually my hand finds what I am looking for. Pop-Tarts.

I try to pull at the box's "easy open" top but I guess the folks down at the factory decided to seal this particular package up extra tight. My fingernail picks at the tab but all I manage to accomplish is ripping some of the paper off from the cardboard - leaving the Pop-Tarts safely inside.

I toss the scrap of paper onto the counter and give the product's logo a dirty look. "Stupid Kellogg's. If they're going to use Super Glue on their products, they could at least warn us on the package somewhere. Or give us a box cutter," I grumble under my breath.

Letting my frustration run wild, I begin attacking the box. I dig and gouge with my fingers until I make a small hole at the top. Using that as leverage, I triumphantly yank the box open. Luckily, the foil wrapper inside is thin and easy to tear apart. I take a small nibble of my breakfast and chew contemplatively. It isn't bad. Though I do have to admit that this would probably taste better if I heated it up in the toaster. But still, it's pretty...

"I'm fairly confident that a blueberry Pop-Tart doesn't count as a serving of fruit," a voice purrs behind me.

"Eek!" I cry out in a subdued squeal. At the same time, my body flinches and my poor Pop-Tart falls onto the linoleum floor.

Spinning around, the first thing I see is Edward.

A shoulder leans against the doorframe while his hand is tucked inside of his pocket. My mouth gapes in a blend of shock and fascination as I study the boy who seemingly appeared out of nowhere. Ash gray, crew cut t-shirt. Dark black denim jeans. A pair of Adidas on his feet. Edward dresses like a teenage boy from 2005 even though he doesn't sound or really act like one.

Silent seconds pass by and the corners of Edward's mouth soon dips into a small frown. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you," he utters somberly as he moves out of the doorway.

My mouth remains ajar as I search for any sign that he isn't what he presents himself to be. His skin is smooth, supple, and has a hint of beige. His bronze hair is lustrous and in its usual chaotic state. His eyes are energetic and bright. And his body is tall, lean, and clearly in good shape. I see nothing to indicate advanced age. He appears to be a perfectly healthy teenage guy.

When he reaches the halfway point of the kitchen, Edward's hand lifts up from his side. A plain brown paper bag is wedged between his fingers. "Esme made enough muffins to feed an army this morning," he begins in a velvet-soft tone, "and we thought that it would be a shame to just throw them away. I thought that you might like some."

With his explanation complete, he stops a couple of feet away and stares back, evidently waiting for me to speak.

This is my opportunity, I realize. No one is home to listen in to what I need to say. It's just us. I can ask him whatever I want. But my mouth refuses to move. I can barely breathe, let alone form words. Is this what it feels like to have stage fright?

Edward carefully sets the paper bag on the table, his eyes on me the entire time. Ever so slowly, he moves away from the table and reaches out for me. I tremble involuntarily - my skin erupting in goosebumps - when his long fingers wrap around my hand. He feels warm. He feels real. Ghosts from the post-Victorian era or figments of overactive imaginations don't have a pulse. At least I don't think they do.

His thumb proceeds to move over my knuckles in the same comforting, circular pattern he did back when we were stuck at the police station the other night. But, it's admittedly difficult to enjoy having your hand held when you have a million questions and worrying hypothesises fighting for your attention. I could conceivably get some relief if I were to speak up, although I'm unsure of how to go about doing it. Should I just go straight to the point and confront him with what I have found?

Then again, do I really want to do that? What if everything I found last night is a gigantic coincidence? If I look hard enough, I might find a Charles Swan living with his daughter Isabella way back in 1910, too - and finding that on an old document doesn't necessarily make me a 104 year old. All of my so-called evidence is circumstantial at best. Do I really want to risk being wrong? What if I were to say, "Hey, Edward. I know that you were alive when Teddy Roosevelt lived in the White House," and then he stares back at me like I'm crazy?

"How are you? Are you all right?" asks Edward in a near whisper, the area around his eyes accented with concern.

It takes a moment for his question to pierce through my conflicted thoughts. I take my time to think it over. I haven't screamed or fainted into a heap... So, I guess that means I'm OK.

My head slowly nods up and down.

"Good. I'm glad," he croons, the sound as sweet as honey.

Still rubbing my knuckles, his other hand goes to rest where my neck joins my shoulder. Through my paralyzing stress, I detect his thumb brushing against my collarbone. A wave of heat passes through me. As if by magic, my stiff shoulders almost instantly loosen from their frozen position. My dry eyes flutter rapidly a few times in a row, and I vaguely notice that I must have gone too long without blinking. More surprising than that, however, my mind decides to reconnect to my mouth.

"And you?" I say in a rasp. I cough to clear my throat, and add, "Are you OK?"

Edward's thick eyelashes lower a little. "Not really. I think I've been away from you for too long."

My head cocks to the side. "What makes you say that?"

"Because I haven't slept well for two nights. I spent yesterday in a mild, depressive state. And, my only highlight was when I spoke to you on the phone. After that, I was useless."

My forehead crumples into a frown. "I don't believe you could ever be considered useless," I retort. Even in my current confused state, I know that is impossible.

For the first time since he materialized in my kitchen this morning, his lips turn up with a hint of a sad smile. "You'd be surprised."

I shake my head at him, not liking how he can put himself down like that. "So you came by just to feed me?" I press, searching for the real reason why he would show up here so early.

He chuckles and rocks his face back and forth. "No. Really I came by to see if you would like a ride to school today."

Guilt crawls its way back inside and takes up permanent residency. Here he goes again being kind and overly considerate while I have done the exact opposite. I spent most of yesterday greedily searching for dirt on his life and family. Then when I couldn't find anything else, all I could focus on was how I would confront him so I could pry out even more. But what I never considered is that what I was doing was an invasion of privacy. If Edward has something to hide - well - if he wanted me to know the truth, he would tell me. I am no better morally than the other busybodies in this tiny, nosy town who spend their days gossiping about you behind your back. In fact, I am much worse. At least they aren't hypocrites like I am apparently.

"You shouldn't go out of your way for me," I lament, my eyes drawing down to the kitchen floor.

"But I'm not."

His hand slowly travels up from my neck and cradles my face. My skin underneath his palm blushes so fiercely that it feels like a fire has been set. But I don't believe fire has ever felt so good.

His eyes roam across my face, lingering on each of my features. My eyebrows. My nose. My mouth and chin. Soon my breathing turns heavy. No one has ever touched me like this. No one has ever looked at me like this - with a hunger that consumes us both.

Edward's eyelids abruptly snap shut, temporarily cutting our connection off. Slowly, he exhales through his nose. When those eyes reopen, they appear slightly more composed than before.

"Don't you know? I want to do things for you," he breathes out, his thumb stroking up and down my cheek. "I would do anything."

His words ignite a chain reaction within me. Every ounce of unease and confusion within me evaporates in its wake. All that remains is a new perspective which helps me to see something that I should have long before.

Wherever or whenever Edward may come from and whatever he may be, he is still the same person that I fell hard for in the last few weeks. He is the guy that sat across the kitchen table and had me smiling every afternoon. He is the boy who has charmed and discombobulated me countless times. I would be crazy to ignore all of those things just because he likely has a few wild secrets to hide.

And honestly, so what if he hasn't shared absolutely everything with me yet? It's not like I have revealed every skeleton hiding in my closet. Actually, there are a few things that I don't ever plan on disclosing. Like, the time I fell asleep during a packed flight and experienced a vivid nightmare. I then produced a blood-curdling scream in the midst of that nightmare which caused two hundred frightened airline passengers to believe that the plane was going down. That shameful secret will die with me.

Maybe one day Edward will be comfortable enough to tell me more. And if he just so happens to announce that he is a 104 year old living inside the body of a young man and that he needs to drink prune juice every morning to keep his skin from wrinkling, I won't freak out. Because in the end, it doesn't really matter how or why he arrived in Forks. As long as he is here, I can handle everything else.

So I lean into his palm and stop worrying about the details. He cares for me. I care for him. Right now, all we should do is relish this moment together.

And I do enjoy it - until something else occurs to me.

Edward always seems to say just the right things and touches me in just the right ways to make my head spin. He obviously knows what he is doing because...well, just look at him. Even girls a hundred years ago wouldn't have been immune to that strikingly handsome face. As for me, I am walking into this situation almost blind. The closest I have had to a boyfriend before now was back in third grade when Caleb Turner left a note on my desk asking if I would be his girlfriend. Since little Caleb had the habit of exploring his nasal cavity with his finger in the middle of class, I politely passed.

Everything I have with Edward is new, exciting, and intimidating. If anyone needs to do some confessing this morning, it's me. He deserves to know before we go any further that I am woefully inexperienced. Hell, before Edward held my hand the other day, the only person who ever did anything close to that was my mother. How humiliating is that?

"I'm-" I falter nervously. My eyes slam shut in the hopes that my confession will be easier to admit if I don't look at him. "I'm not used to this. I don't know what I'm doing."

"Neither do I," he says without delay, still caressing my cheek.

My eyes flap back open and I stare skeptically at him. "Really?"

A few rumbling chuckles shake his chest. "I haven't a clue. You bring it out of me."

I'm not sure what it is that emboldens me. Maybe it's his self-deprecating candor. Or maybe it's his small, boyish smile that has me hooked. Whatever it is, my usual shyness gets shoved to the side. The need to touch him overwhelms me. Both of my hands come up and fist themselves into the fabric of his gray t-shirt.

"You bring it out of me, too," I disclose in a breathy whisper.

The black onyx pupils of his eyes dilate, suddenly surrounded by only a thin ring of forest green. His heart hammers through his t-shirt and strikes against my fist. I gradually come to understand that I am doing this to him. Me. Bella Swan - the girl who just last week would have rolled her eyes in disbelief if someone had said that Edward Masen had any interest in her.

"I don't think that I made a very good friend for you. I wanted to be near you far more often than a mere friend should crave," he recounts, his attention wandering around my face once again.

"I don't think I was either," I agree. Before I can second guess myself on the wisdom of sharing anything else, I'm already talking. "You've been more than a friend to me for a while now."

His eyes dart back up from my mouth and he looks back wordlessly for several beats. "Is that so?"

The heavy weight of his stare has me self-conscious. Now he knows that I have been crushing on him for weeks. I nod once or twice in order to answer his question, but my face moves to the side and away from his penetrating gaze.

Edward's hand travels to my chin and encourages me to come back and stop hiding. Our eyes converge and hold. A thermonuclear device could detonate nearby and I doubt we could look away. If Edward has the ability to hypnotize me, then I believe that I may have the same affect on him.

Little by little, his upper torso bends forward and his gaze becomes heavy-lidded. I don't need to be told why. My hands tug at the front of his shirt, prodding him to move faster.

"I think...that we have a lot of catching up to do," he hums, scarcely moving his lips.

"I agree completely," I murmur, my eyes fluttering closed.

A moment later, his lips brush against mine and progressively increase their pressure. They move effortlessly, as though we have done this a thousand times before. I may not know what I am doing, but it sure seems like my body does. With his every gesture, I respond in kind. The instant his hands tenderly cup each side of my face, my arms wrap themselves around his neck and brings us closer. His touch, his taste, his spicy scent sends my head into a swoon. I hold on to him tighter, relying on his sense of balance to keep me from collapsing to the floor. And when I feel his tongue sweep over my lip, my mouth parts open and welcomes him in.

I don't know how long we stay like this - although I do know that it is not nearly as long as I would like.

When his lips pull away, we gasp like whales coming up for air after a deep sea dive. Edward's forehead comes to rest against my own, his fingers idly playing with a few strands of my hair. His eyes are just above mine, filled with something that I could only describe as adoration.

Everything is perfect now. It's like I am dreaming all of this up. It would make more sense. Only in a fantasy world would any of this take place. But, if this is only a dream, I hope to never wake up.

"Are you sure you're real?" I whisper.

Edward moves his head a few inches back and examines my face. A slow, crooked grin develops. "I was going to ask you the very same thing," teases the boy who may have been a contemporary of my great great grandfather.

My lips curve upwards. "Liar."

Edward's hand tucks a clump of hair behind my ear and his grin softens along with his voice. "Never."

Although I could go on smiling up at him like an idiot forever, I know that school awaits us. I turn to glance at the clock hanging on the wall. We have about fifteen minutes before the tardy bell rings. I don't need Ms. Cope calling Charlie today to inform him that I didn't show up to class today after all.

"Bella?" blurts Edward in a sudden intake of breath.

My head whips back around to find him staring wide-eyed at the side of my neck. I had anticipated that Charlie would be upset if he saw what lay beneath my hair, but I neglected to account that Edward might react the same way.

He carefully pivots my head until the bruise is directly in his line of sight. Through my right eye, I witness the tightening of his sculpted jawline.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he urges, his voice pained as he lightly traces over the bruise.

"It's just a tiny bruise. I get them all the time," I explain, trying to minimize the damage.

He blinks a couple of times. Then, before I can understand what is happening, he draws me into a hug. I lay upon the area directly above his heart while his face rests on the top of my head.

"Does it hurt?" he whispers.

I shake my head into his chest. "No. I didn't notice it until I was brushing my teeth last night. It's nothing."

"Don't blow this off."

My eyebrows scrunch down a little. "I'm not. I'm telling you the truth."

"Bella," he exhales in an exasperated kind of way. But he doesn't let go.

I allow myself to relax into him, yet my mind runs at full throttle. He and I will soon be at school, surrounded by roughly three hundred and fifty gossip-thirsty students. If Edward were to casually let slip to just one person of his involvement in the incident in Port Angeles, everyone would know by the end of the day. Even if he made no mention of me being the girl who was attacked, it would be likely just a matter of time before someone were to connect the dots.

"I need to ask something from you," I say, backing my face away from his chest.

"Anything."

"Please don't mention what happened Saturday night to anyone."

His eyes become deeper, allowing me to peer into his soul. "I would never do that to you."

I smile faintly up at him. "I know. I just wanted to make sure." Before I can take comfort in his promise, another worrying thought strikes. "What about your brothers and sisters? Do they know?"

"Well, yes, they do know. But I promise that they would never tell anyone. You can trust them. Besides, they won't be at school for a couple of days anyway. They're out of town visiting family friends."

My forehead furrows. It's true that the Cullens aren't likely to go spread the story around. They barely even make eye contact with the other students. However, what I do not understand is why they would leave Forks without Edward.

"Why didn't you go with them?"

His mouth tilts lopsidedly. "Do you really think I would miss out on seeing you just so I could avoid going to school?"

My brow arches at him. "That's what most normal people would do."

He puffs out a small laugh, his eyes brightening playfully. "Well there's the problem. I'm anything but normal."

I grin up at him. Truer words have never been spoken.

"I know," I reply amusedly.

We're beginning to get drawn back into one another when the logical part of my brain starts yelling about school for the second time in the last five minutes. I frown at the clock and sigh. "We're going to be late for school if we don't hurry."

Edward's mouth lowers into almost a pout, tempting me to pull his face back down to my level and pick right back up where we left off a couple of minutes ago. "I suppose you're right," he agrees without enthusiasm.

We separate and I dispose of my fallen Pop-Tart in the trash. I peek inside the paper bag Edward brought along with him and am greeted with the mouthwatering aroma of freshly baked muffins. This will be a far more enjoyable breakfast than what I had been planning to eat.

Thank you, Esme. Even if you are an alien here to take over our planet, you deserve praise for your superior baking skills.

I snatch up a bottle of water along with the paper bag before we hit the door. The two of us jog to his car and speed off like bank robbers fleeing from a heist. Edward guns it, going well over the speed limit. Meanwhile, I dig into the bag and pick a muffin at random. I take a large bite and chew. I don't know what kind this is, but I do taste plenty of sugar and a hint of heaven itself. But it still isn't as delicious as Edward.

"This is good," I comment after I swallow a mouthful.

He smiles a little but doesn't look away from the road. "I hoped you would think so. I had quite a few myself before I left the house. Esme will be pleased to hear that you liked them."

I'm on the verge of taking another bite when I am reminded of something. The hand holding the muffin lowers a few inches and I stare at him. "Edward? How did you get into my house?"

His brows crash together and he glances over at me. "What?"

"You know. This morning. I didn't hear you knock."

Blinking confusedly a few times, a lightbulb appears to flick on behind his eyes. His light laughter soon fills the car. "Is this your way of politely inquiring if I broke into your house, Bella?"

"Maybe..." I trail off, my mouth twisting. I was more so wondering if his time machine has a teleportation function, but I don't think he is ready to talk about that quite yet.

Still wearing a smirk, he answers my question. "Your father was walking out the front door when I drove up. After I spoke with him, he told me to go on into the house. No picking of locks was required," jokes Edward, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

"Ha, ha," I mock before I shove a piece of my breakfast into my mouth. I may be playing it cool, but I am actually profoundly relieved. At least he can't sneak inside of my house like a ghost anytime he pleases.

I go back to eating and he focuses on driving again. Watching him covertly, I marvel at how laid back he is while maneuvering the car down the streets of Forks. One of his elbows rests on the car door. The window on his side is cracked, allowing the sun-warmed air to blow his hair around. He isn't constantly worried about hitting someone like I am when I drive. He looks like he was born behind the wheel of an automobile.

Unexpectedly, something from Saturday afternoon pops into my head. We were in that museum in Port Angeles and were examining the old photos on the wall when he said:

"I'm something of an expert in identifying vintage automobiles - mainly pre-World War I vehicles."

I almost choke.

Grabbing my bottled water, I chug it down until the blockage in my throat clears. I guess Edward wasn't exaggerating when he said that. He probably saw all of those antique cars right after they drove off the factory floor.

Not long after I swallow the last morsel of my breakfast, Edward parks near the school entrance. I notice that we have around five minutes until the bell rings. My fingers reach for the car door handle but he stops me before they make contact.

"Hold on. Let me do that for you," he requests with big, pleading eyes.

My head rocks back in forth in disbelief but I grant his request nevertheless. I guess you can take the boy out of 1910, but you can't take the 1910 out of the boy.

Once I am out of the car, he slams the door shut and swivels around until we're facing one another. There are no clouds in the blue sky to bother us today. The unfiltered sunlight bounces off the dark copper of Edward's hair, making me wish I had a camera to document this rare but spectacular sight.

"Ready?" he asks, both brows rising.

I take another moment to admire him and then glance at the school. My stomach quivers nervously as my teeth pull in my bottom lip. Now that we are here, facing everyone after what happened the other night is beginning to feel like an ordeal that I should have prepared for more thoroughly. I kind of wish that I had taken Charlie up on his offer of letting me have a sick day. But I guess that would just be holding off on the inevitable. I'll be required to come back here eventually whether I want to or not.

But, am I ready for this?

That is an excellent question.

I rotate away from the school and my eyes meet Edward once again. He waits patiently in the same spot as before, not pushing me for an answer. In fact, he appears willing to stay here for as long as I need.

I release the piercing grip on my lip. Yes, today might be difficult to get through, but I'm not quite alone. I have no doubt that if I were to find that I can't handle being here, all it would take is one word and Edward would whisk me back home. But I don't think it will get to that today. Just knowing that he is nearby will soothe my nerves.

Ignoring the unrelenting stares of the students around us, I move to Edward's side. I juggle my school books around until I'm holding them all with only one hand, then I press them into my chest to make it less likely they will fall. Now with a free arm, I scoop up his hand and look up at his slightly puzzled face.

"I am now," I answer.

A smile which mirrors my own illuminates his face. We walk towards the school, barely paying attention to our surroundings. If we are being monitored by anyone - which, to be honest, is highly likely considering where we live - we pay them no mind.

"Do you need to stop by your locker?" wonders Edward once we draw closer to my first class.

"No."

We are among the last people still roaming around when we make it to my English classroom. I let go of his hand and peek inside. Around twenty of our classmates are watching us, their heads turned awkwardly so they won't risk missing anything. I huff a sigh of annoyance. Don't they have anything better to do than stare at two people trying to say goodbye?

Oh. That's right. Nope. They don't.

The bell warning that we have two minutes remaining sounds. I turn my back on our audience and focus on Edward.

"I'll be right around the corner. In Mr. Jefferson's class," he says in a low voice.

My head bobs up and down. "I know."

"If you need anything, you can come to me."

"OK."

"Just knock on Mr. Jefferson's door and say that you saw someone trying to break into my car. He won't question you too closely and I'll leave right away."

I chew my lips to hold in my laugh. "Don't you have a car alarm that would tell you that?"

"Yes. But Mr. Jefferson doesn't know that, does he?"

"I'll be fine," I reassure him.

Edward nods and absentmindedly smooths down his hair. "Will you wait here for me? After class?"

"Yes," I answer. My fingers itch to tug him closer, but I fight the urge before it lands us in trouble. I doubt my teacher would appreciate Edward and me making out in the classroom doorway. That would probably be a fire hazard.

"You better get going before you're late," I say, somehow already missing him.

"I won't be. I have a whole minute to make it in time."

My eyes roll when I smile. "Edward. Go."

He steps backwards in preparation to leave and his manner reverts back to seriousness. "I'll be back in one hour," he reminds me. As I move into the classroom, I peek over my shoulder to watch him take off in the direction of his U.S. Government class.

Reluctantly leaving the doorway, I scan the area as I head towards my desk. Most of the faces around the classroom are curiously observing me as I pass by. A few, like Eric and a girl who borrowed a pen from me last week, are faintly smiling. Yet there is one face that temporarily stops me in my tracks.

Frosty blue, glaring eyes. Blonde eyebrows smashed together. Widely flaring nostrils.

Crap.

Mike is pissed.

I had forgotten that Edward and I made him angry the other day. I've kind of had my head filled with other things that do not involve Mike or childish bullying tactics that backfired. When he tried to keep Edward from coming with us to La Push, I refused to get inside of his SUV and instead chose to travel with Edward. Mike immediately stomped off and hasn't said a word to me since.

I quietly slide into my seat and pretend that I need to organize my things, hoping that he won't try to start anything if he sees that I am busy. But Mike chooses to go ahead and start something anyway.

"So, the rumors are true? You're with Masen now?" he emphasizes in a grumble.

My eyes dart over to his scowling face. His arms have crossed in front of himself as he stares angrily at me.

I keep my own facial expression flat and seemingly unaffected, however I am actually very irritated.

"That's really no one's business but my own, Mike," I answer in a clipped tone.

He shifts back into his chair and snorts. "I can't believe this. I thought you were smarter than the other girls around here, Bella."

"And what does that mean exactly?"

The bell rings but our teacher hasn't put in an appearance yet. Mike takes a look around and notices that a few of our classmates are trying to listen in to our conversation. He turns his body in his chair and leans forward to put less distance between us.

"It means that you bought into his bullshit just like they did," he hisses at a quieter volume. "So what was it about Masen that got you in the end? Was it the Cullen wealth? Their fancy mansion? The outrageous sports cars they insist on driving around? Or, was it just having access to the Cullens themselves that convinced you to give him a shot? Ever since you sat with them the other day, the school hasn't stopped talking about it. Your popularity has gone through the roof."

I have always tried to be nice to Mike - even when I probably shouldn't have. He has acted like a jerk on more than one occasion. But this is going too far.

"Since you are obviously upset right now, I will try to ignore the fact that you would say something so insulting about me," I snap back.

"Sure. That's what you're great at - ignoring things. That's all you've done lately is ignore me. But let me ask you something, Bella. Who was the guy that has been there for you since day one? Me. Who was the guy that you hung out with every day? Me. Who was the guy you would always act like you wanted to talk to? Me. We were doing just fine up until we started letting Masen sit at our lunch table. Then everything changed. I knew having him there was a bad idea," he ends, curling his lip.

The frown on my face slackens somewhat. He still doesn't get it. He appears to be living under the delusion that he and I were meant to be an item. But that would have never happened. Even if Edward and I had never crossed paths, Mike would not have made it past the friend zone. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but he leaves me no choice.

"Mike, I'm sorry if you misinterpreted what we were, but the fact remains that you and I have never been anything more than friends."

He stares back unmoving for several uncomfortable seconds. "Friends," he repeats in monotone.

"Yes. And I hope that we still can be."

As soon as that leaves my mouth, his glare blazes more intense than before. Then, without another word, he drags his desk as far away from me as he possibly can. With his face pointed straight ahead, he never so much as glances my way. In his world, I no longer exist.

I emit a tired sigh and flip open my English textbook. Evidently Mike isn't ready to forgive me for committing the sin of being with Edward.

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I try to pay attention to the English lesson for the next hour, but my daydreams of the kitchen incident from this morning proves to be a distraction. Though, the bright side of having my mind otherwise pleasantly occupied is that I don't have time to worry about anything else - like Mike, the events from Saturday night, or mysteries that have yet to be fully explained.

When the bell rings at the end of class, my no longer just "kinda" boyfriend is back by my side roughly thirty seconds later. During the walk to my next class, I quietly summarize Mike's temper tantrum. Edward just narrows his eyes a bit and says that he isn't surprised at all by the outburst.

When second period ends, he's back to be my escort to third period Trig. We are very aware that this is creating talk amongst the student population, but Edward promises that their interest will soon wane.

"Once they have visual proof that two people are officially together, most of the gossips around here get bored fairly quickly," he explains, gently holding my hand as we walk. "I give it two more days, and then they won't care what we do."

Our feet halt at the math building and we linger off to the side of the entrance. "And you think walking to our classes together makes it official enough to them?" I ask inquisitively.

Edward sucks in a cheek, as though to mull over my words. "You're right," he says in slow drawl. "Perhaps that isn't enough to convince them. Do you think we should help make their findings indisputable?"

My forehead puckers - wondering what he's getting at - when a devilish glint in his eyes sparks. He lifts our joined hands high and teasingly pecks the top of my fingers with a kiss. Straight away, my eyes glaze over like a holiday ham.

"There," he simpers mischievously. "That should do it."

I have no idea if anyone saw that. My tunnel vision will not allow me to look away from his face. "You just gave them more to yap about," I murmur in a daze.

"I'm sorry."

"No you're not," I counter. He can't possibly be sorry for what he just did because even I don't regret it. All I did during my first two classes was sigh over the realization that I now have full access to Edward's lips and how badly I want to revisit them. But that little kiss on my hand was like giving a person dying of thirst only a small drop of water even though there's a whole canteen full nearby. And I need more than a drop. Unfortunately for me, that chaste peck will have to last until we get out of school this afternoon.

Edward's mouth purses slightly. "While it's true that I am not sorry for what I did, I am greatly sorry for what they may say about it. I know how much you hate it when they focus all of their attention on you." His thumb begins stroking the back of my hand. "Will you forgive me?" he asks with those smirking green eyes.

I moisten my bottom lip and audibly swallow. "I guess you can make it up to me later," I respond, looking up through my lashes.

That wipes away the cocky smile on his face. His eyes grow large as they flick down to my mouth and back up again. A low moan then vibrates his throat. "This day isn't going by nearly as fast as I would like," he admits in a pained whimper.

I should gloat at how my newfound power of seduction can reduce him into a needy mess. But I can't. I am just as desperate to get out of here as he is apparently. Too bad the janitor keeps the maintenance closet locked.

The impending sound of the bell forces us to break away and head in opposite directions. I walk into Trig with my head in the clouds and on weak knees made of pure jello. What if Mr. Varner calls for me to give an answer to one of his impossible math problems and I am still like this? I hope I don't shout out something dumb. Like, Edward's name. Or the fact that his lips tasted like dark chocolate this morning...

"Hello! Earth to Bella," shouts a voice into my ear.

"Huh?" I grunt.

I scan my surroundings and discover that despite my internal monologue, my legs ran on autopilot and guided me safely to my desk - which is good. However, I also discover that Jessica is sitting here watching me with keen eyes - which is bad.

Her mouth spreads into a broad smile. "I've been talking to you for a while and all you've done is sit there mumbling to yourself," she reveals.

"Oh. Sorry," I squirm. "I must have been lost in my thoughts."

Jessica drags her chair over and leans her elbow on my desk, her chin resting in her hand. "Yeah. I noticed," she smiles, her gaze never leaving my face. "So...anything new to share since I last saw you?"

If she only knew how much has happened to me in the past two days, she would have enough material to gossip over for the rest of her life.

I gnaw the inside of my mouth and try to look away. "Not too much."

She bursts out into giggles and shakes her head. "God, Bella! You are - like - the worst at lying." The corners of my mouth lowers grumpily but she keeps on going. "I saw you and Edward just now. He looked like he would be hauling you off somewhere private at any second. And you looked ready to attack him with your face. I even said 'hey' when I passed by but neither one of you heard me. It was like you guys were in another dimension and couldn't see anyone else. You two have obviously gone from 'slow' to 'full speed ahead' with this thing. So, cough it up, Bella. He kissed you, right?"

In wide-eyed panic, I shake my head back and forth. At the same time, my lips suck themselves inside of my mouth - as if to hide the evidence from this morning.

Jessica holds her belly and she laughs harder. Her heads even tilts a few degrees like she feels sorry for me. "Wow. You really need lessons on how to be more convincing when you lie," she chortles. Once her laughter dies down, she scoots closer. "Come on," she whines. "I'm curious. You know if I were dating someone, I would tell you how it was. I don't need to know everything. Just give me a few scraps. Or just crumbs even! Whatever you choose to tell me won't leave this room. I swear!" She then crosses her heart like it's a solemn oath.

I have trouble believing that she can keep anything private. It is in her nature to spread everything that she hears to half of the county. Although I am hesitant to give her a detailed analysis of what has been going on, I have to admit that her question isn't as invasive as it could have been. And, frankly, if today is a foreshadowing of things to come, Jessica will likely catch a glimpse of Edward and me glued together soon anyway. What's the use of hiding it?

My arms wrap around myself like a blanket. Then my head nods up and down nervously.

"Yes! I knew it!" she trills, her balled up fists shaking with excitement. "So what was it like?"

What is it like kissing a boy with bronzed-hair, teasing smile, and who likely possesses more secrets than Area 51 - a possibility which now no longer bothers me very much?

"It was...mind altering," I confess.

She settles her chin back into her hand and gazes back with starry eyes. "Whoa," she exhales. "He must have Frenched you good then."

My face mimics a chameleon's and changes into roughly three shades of red. I guess I'm not ready for that type of in-depth girl talk. Although, I do inwardly agree that what she said is completely true.

Mr. Varner calls for everyone's attention while my blushing skin returns to its normal hue. This stops Jessica before she can quiz me on anything else, thank goodness.

When Edward joins us as we travel to Fourth period Spanish an hour later, I am almost proud of Jessica for not peppering him with a bunch of embarrassing questions. But that might be because she is simply saving them up for me to answer later. All she asks him is if we've picked "our song" yet, what is the likelihood of the two of us joining her and her so far nonexistent boyfriend on a double date sometime in the future, and if we prefer Edwella or Belward as our supercouple nickname. Judging by the grimace he is giving me, I'm going to guess that Edward does not care for either one.

When lunchtime finally rolls around, the three of us head to the table where Angela sits and Edward seats himself in the chair by me. I'm about to take a bite of my hamburger when I see Mike exiting the lunch line. After our argument, I am not sure how to be around him. Either I can try to get along with him for the sake of keeping the peace, or I purposely ignore him until he apologizes.

But Mike does not allow me to utilize either option. He stomps away and arrives at a table on the opposite side of the cafeteria - the one that everyone at school refers to as Jock HQ. It is mainly comprised of football players and, occasionally, one of their girlfriends if the girl in question can stand listening to an hour of them explaining why they lost every single game last season.

"Wha-?" squawks Jessica as she observes him dropping his lunch tray upon the faraway table. "What's Mike doing over there for? He always sits with us."

I silently shrug as though I have no idea why he would stay away. Edward's stare turns cold as it zeros in on Mike. I'm not sure why. I doubt he is upset at missing out on all of Mike's camping stories. Maybe he's just ticked that since Jessica won't have Mike to chitchat with today, she will be talking our ears off now.

Ben Cheney strolls up not long afterwards and distracts us from worrying over Mike. Angela encourages him to take the empty chair beside her and they jump directly into a conversation. Ben recounts some old Chuck Norris movie he watched over the weekend while Angela listens rapturously, alternating between twirling the end of her ponytail around her finger and laughing into her hand.

Jessica watches them with a comically gaping mouth. Evidently, her web of gossip had not yet caught wind of this burgeoning relationship. She also has probably never observed Angela get all girly and giggly before. I know I haven't. And she definitely has never seen Ben talk so casually around a member of the opposite sex. Before today, he would usually take cover at a table in the far corner of the lunchroom and avoid direct eye contact.

"What's going on?" interrupts Jessica, her eyes moving back and forth between the two people chatting.

Angela tears her gaze away from the bespectacled boy next to her. "Um... Ben came over because we have some things we need to talk about. You don't mind, do you?"

"No. You guys go right on ahead. I guess..." Jessica trails off, furrowing her forehead confusedly.

Ben takes a moment to peek at Jessica and then clears his throat. "Yeah. I guess we'd better start figuring things out now before it's too late, huh?"

"At least we have a few days," replies Angela before she scoops up a forkful of spaghetti and slurps it down.

He scratches the side of his neck and fidgets in his seat. "W-well... Uh. Maybe we should at least decide on what time to meet up."

The loose strands of hair which frame Angela's face whip around as she nods her head up and down. Once she finishes swallowing her food, she says, "Yeah. You're right."

Ben bows his face down to his tray - as if he is having a conversation with his chicken nuggets instead of an actual person. "I know it starts at seven," he comments hesitantly. "But, I was thinking that if I picked you up at six, we could grab something to eat first?"

He is met with only prolonged silence.

His head tentatively raises a few inches until his gaze crosses with Angela's. A shy smile on her face is being aimed in his direction. "We could do that," she answers.

"Yeah?" he asks more animatedly than before, his dark eyes shining through his thick prescription glasses.

"Well, sure. We gotta eat anyway, right?"

"Wait!" cuts in Jessica, throwing up her hand to butt into their conversation again. "Are you two planning to have a friendly snack together before doing some homework? Or, are you guys - like - dating or something?" She gives Edward and me the side-eye for a few beats. "Though, sometimes that turns out to mean the same thing, doesn't it?" she ends pointedly, arching her brow.

I shove in a tater tot and frown at her. How dare she call us out like that in front of everyone.

Glancing over at Edward, I expect to find him just as irritated as I am. Instead he's sipping from a bottle of lemonade and attempting to conceal a smile. He catches me looking and tosses a subtle wink.

I go ahead and frown at him too. The one time he and I could combine forces and be mad at Jessica as a team, he has to go and think that what she said was funny. I'll never completely understand him.

Angela peeks at Ben and then pushes her glasses up her nose. "We're going to the dance together," she clarifies.

With eyes expanding, the lines on Jessica's forehead become more noticeable as it lifts higher. "This Saturday's dance?" she stresses. "But I thought you said that you weren't going."

"I changed my mind," Angela shrugs.

That's all it takes to push Jessica into hyperactive mode. Her mouth starts moving at a million miles an hour, describing how much better the dance will be now that Angela will be there, too. She plasters on her sad puppy-dog eyes and tries to beg me to go as well, but I squash her hopes by reminding her that I will be in Seattle that day. I would much rather deal with a numb butt because of a three hour long car ride than fall on it while dancing in front of the students and staff of Forks High. Plus, I'll have Edward for company during the trip. Seattle wins hands down. It's a no brainer, really.

Once Jessica realizes that there is no chance she can sway me away from Seattle, she starts yammering about dance themes, DJs, and the many other headaches of being on the dance committee.

"I've been putting off getting my dress," she shares in between mouthfuls of her salad. "I have a few ideas on what I want it to look like now though. Have you gotten yours yet, Ang?"

"No. Not yet."

"Ooh!" she squeaks, her lips forming an O shape. "Let's go pick out our dresses together! We can carpool."

Squinting reflectively, Angela takes a few seconds to think. "OK... So, when would we go?"

"How about tonight?"

"Sure," Angela agrees. "That should be OK."

"Great," chirps Jessica. A frown unexplainably appears and jerks down the corners of her mouth. "But we'll have to do everything by eight o'clock, though."

"Why?"

Jessica exhales noisily and stabs her food with a fork. "Because of my mom. She's gone crazy or whatever. She said until she hears that the police have rounded up the criminals hanging around Port Angeles, that I can't be there past eight. I've tried telling her that she can't expect me to be stuck in Forks for the rest of my life just because one bad thing happened there."

I swear my heart stops for a moment when I hear her say that last sentence.

Jessica shoves in a bite from her fork and then proceeds to chew around her words. "I mean, they caught the guy, ya know? He isn't gonna get me. He's locked up. But Mom said that criminals are like cockroaches - if you see one, there's probably more hiding somewhere nearby."

I place my half-eaten hamburger on my tray and try to concentrate on appearing unfazed by where this new conversation is heading. But twiddling my fingers under the table does me no good.

"What happened?" asks Angela as she stirs her vanilla pudding cup.

Jessica's forehead shoots up until it hits her hairline. "What? You didn't hear? It was all over the news last night. Some girl in Port Angeles was out by herself on Saturday night and got dragged off by some loser. But the guy who did it was caught before he could really do anything." Blinking rapidly in excitement, she hunches forward to share more. "And, ohmygod, you won't believe this. That guy is wanted in - like - a bunch of other states for rape and even a murder. That is so creepy!"

My knee vibrates out of control. I didn't realize that the local news picked up on the story...

"I heard about that, too," pipes in Ben. "They showed his mugshot this morning. Looked like the cops did a number on his face before they 'cuffed him." He shakes his head and sets down his Sprite can. "Had a nasty black eye, busted nose, and bruises all over. I wouldn't be surprised if he tried to sue the city for police brutality - although I doubt he'd get anything for it considering what he's done."

My hand unconsciously reaches up to ensure that my hair hangs over the mark on my back jaw.

"I know, right!" bursts out Jessica. "I would not be surprised if, like, the national news hears about him being caught here and wants to do a story. Wouldn't that be awesome?! We could all go up there while they're filming and maybe have a chance at getting on camera!"

Something stealthily moves onto my lap and grasps my hand, rubbing soothing circles across my knuckles. My eyes flick over to Edward's face. He's feigning indifference to their conversation and continuing to eat using his left hand. No one would ever guess that he is working hard to keep me calm.

"I don't know if that would be a good idea, Jess," comments Angela while scrunching her nose.

"Why not?" she whines.

"Because it would look like you're trying to steal attention away from what happened."

"Na-uh! All I want is for us to be in the background. You know. Behind the reporter? We wouldn't even wave or anything. We'll be like...totally respectful."

"But you wouldn't know where to go," Angela points out. "You'd have to drive all over the place until you found them."

Jessica's enthusiasm deflates somewhat. Her shoulders droop and she pouts at Angela. "They can't be that hard to find. You see other people do it all the time. All we would need to do is go to the place where that guy was caught. You can bet that's one of the places where the big news crews will go."

Ben quickly finishes chewing and swallows down a mouthful of his food before he adds more to the topic at hand. "But the cops haven't said much of anything about what he did. They refuse to give out any information other than the basics. They wouldn't even say in what part of town it happened in. I think they said that they're trying to protect the identity of the victim."

Jessica's pout becomes more pronounced. She silently resumes eating her salad while most of the rest of us follow her example. But not me. My appetite is long gone.

While I am trying to resume normalcy, the brown curls on Jessica's head flop around as her face abruptly pops up from its downward position.

"Bella!" she shouts, a new smile yanking up her former frown. "You could help us! Since your Dad's a cop, I'd bet you anything that he knows some details. Will you ask him? All you gotta do is get him to tell you a couple of things. Like, where that guy was arrested... Ooh! And maybe where he kidnapped that girl. All the big networks would want a shot of where that took place, too."

I pretend that I need to take a drink while I hide my rising panic behind my cup of ice tea. As the seconds tick by, the pressure to say something increases. I can feel all of their eyes on me - which only serves to make my condition much worse. I don't know what to say to them. I'm no good at coming up with excuses off the cuff. Besides, all it would take is one good look at my face and they will know that I am lying.

My breathing escalates, forcing my lungs to work overtime. Yet, as though I am trapped in a paradox, it no longer feels like I am receiving enough air. The cafeteria begins to rotate around me. How can panic strangle you almost as effectively as a hand crushing a throat?

"Chief Swan never speaks about open cases," Edward intervenes, his hand remaining firmly wrapped around mine. "Especially ones of this magnitude. And he prefers to keep his home life separate from his job. I tried to get him to talk about when the tip jar was stolen from the diner last year, and he shut me down right away."

Jessica dramatically puffs out her cheeks as she exhales. "Well that sucks," she complains.

Her yammering mouth drifts back to the spring dance being held this weekend, finally appearing to drop the other subject. She starts ticking off on her fingers all of the girls she knows that have already secured their dresses and what they look like.

While she is occupied, my eyes clamp shut. Since the danger has passed, my heaving chest gradually returns to a calmer state. I was embarrassingly close to having to leave the table and escape outside.

"Hey Bella?" she calls out, interrupting my thoughts. "You wanna come to Port Angeles with Ang and me? I know you said that you're not coming to the dance, but you can help us pick out our dresses."

I writhe in my chair, shifting a leg to hold down my bouncing one. Returning to Port Angeles before that man can be extradited out of state never occurred to me before. But now that I'm thinking about it, I discover that I do not want to be in the same area as him. I want to remain far away. The farther I am, the less likely I will hear about him.

"I-I... don't think..." I stutter, biting down hard on my lip.

"Oh, come on! It'll be fun," entices Jessica in a shrill voice. "And we can have dinner afterwards."

I search out for Edward's face. Something passes between us. And before I know it, he's spouting out another lie.

"I'm afraid that Bella has already promised to help me tonight," he relaxedly improvises. "I've had trouble understanding Macbeth, so she has suggested that we watch a stage adaptation before our paper is due."

Jessica's mouth slants confusedly. "A stage adaptation? Where's it being performed? It's too early in the year for the PA community theater to host anything."

"I have acquired a copy the BBC version of the play," Edward quickly explains.

"Oh. They have that on DVD?" Jessica questions, her lips puckering with surprise. "If I had known that, I wouldn't have spent last week trying to decipher Act Two. I really don't understand Shakespeare's language. It's all alases, harks, thees, and thous. It doesn't make sense! Do you think the DVD will have English subtitles?"

During the time where Angela attempts to explain that subtitles would not help, Edward's eyes find me again. For my sole benefit, a tiny smile perks up the ends of his mouth.

He's good at keeping secrets. Just like I am.

My knee shakes one final time before it gives up. And I smile back.

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A/N- Were you hoping to get some answers? Well, it's coming. Soon. I promise.

Next Chapter- A trip to Seattle where Bella sneakily extracts information. And Edward suggests taking Bella somewhere special.

Thanks for reading! :-)