Getting up that morning took effort. My bed was warm and while the weather was warmer than it had been, it was still brisk enough in my room that I was more interested in pulling the pillow over my head and calling in sick than I was in setting a toe out of bed. But, I had never skipped a day in my life, and I wasn't about to start now. With all the cheer of a death row inmate, I found a thick full length skirt that was slit to the knee, simple comfortable cotton top over which I put a dark blue hoodie, pulled on a pair of fingerless gloves with the pullover mittens, slipped into my usual heavy coat, and grabbed my bag, stuffing a banana into my mouth as I hopped out the door. To say I was in a foul mood was like saying the weather was wet; it didn't really convey the full meaning and relevance of the thing. So, when I pulled into the parking lot heading for my usual spot and found a silver Volvo parked next to it, I was again rethinking my entire get-out-of-bed plan.

Edward was lying on the hood of his car, his torso propped against the windshield, his legs crossed at the ankle. He had one hand tucked behind his head and one hand splayed high on his stomach. He wore a long dark coat, an expensive almost velvet looking wine red scarf that bunched at his neck and looped across his chest, a white shirt that was loose under the scarf but hugs his ribs closely, a pair of sleight gray slacks, a pair of dark fitted gloves, and black pair of rather worn combat boots. He looked utterly relaxed, a smile quirking at the corners of his mouth. I had to squeak the brakes to stop the truck in time and not run into the field just beyond the lot.

I got out of the truck, which I was glad to have parked with my door away from him. I needed a moment to collect myself upon exiting. I was not going to let him do this to me again, be all attractive and compelling and then brush me off for my own good. I was tired of these games.

I was about to turn, prepared to actually face him, when I found that he was leaning against my truck beside me. Somehow, in the space between me parking the truck and opening the door, he had crossed all the way around my truck and stayed so still, I hadn't noticed him until that moment. And notice him I did.

"Holy crow!" I exclaimed, stepping back. I caught my ankle upon the concrete wheel stop of the parking space next to mine and was going down. Perfect. Just perfect, but, instead of finding myself crumpled upon my book bag, textbook corners jabbing me every which way, I realized that I was held carefully in an arched position, a surprisingly warm hand pressed again the back of my neck, another at my waist.

"My apologies," he said, his smooth voice still somehow rough and sincere. "I wished not to take any liberties with you, but I gathered that you would rather not fall."

He lifted me carefully back to my feet, then stepped back, looking somewhat embarrassed.

"I am sorry," he said, so earnest, I felt my defenses begin to melt before I jammed them back in place.

"I didn't mean to surprise you," he said, contrite.

I glowered at him, "Yes you did. If you didn't want to surprise me, you wouldn't have. You did that on purpose."

Oddly, he smiled, "I did, didn't I?"

"What do you want?" I asked, pulling my hood down and resettling the cloth where his hand had touched me.

"I want to talk to you," he said plainly, "to ask you something."

"Why?" I asked.

He smiled, and it was really hard to hold onto my dislike for the guy.

"So that you might answer," he said. I sighed.

"Seriously, Edward," I said, glancing about so I wouldn't be swept away in his eyes or anything. "I don't understand you. Why won't you leave me alone?"

He looked taken aback, almost sad. It was impossible not to immediately feel guilty that I had put that expression on his face. It was a look that Mike might wear, or Eric. His expression left little room for doubt; the idea of leaving me alone was surprisingly painful to him, more so than I think he really understood until that moment. I felt something tender bloom inside me.

"Is that what you want?" he asked quietly, "for me to leave you alone?"

"I…" I said, suddenly unsure myself. I thought about it.

"I want you to make up your mind," I said finally. "This talking to me when it is convenient to you yet spurning me the rest of the time thing doesn't work for me."

"Nor should it," he agreed. "I was confused before. I didn't think…"

Something pinched in his face, a sort of nervous discomfort. He was nervous?!

He huffed out an anxious chuckle, "I did not believe it would be so hard to finally talk to you. I was… unsure before."

He suddenly spoke quickly, in a rush, as though now that his thoughts were flowing, they could be stopped.

"I was harsh with you before," he said, "and for good reason. I stayed away from you because I wanted to be near to you, to talk with you and socialize and be… close."

I shivered, though it had nothing to do with the weather.

"But I didn't believe that could be possible," he went on. "I didn't think it would be wise even if it was. You… you are not someone that I could stand hurting, and while 'spurning' you caused us both a measure of distress, it was nothing to what might befall you if you were a more prominent part of my life."

I nodded, almost listlessly, "I know."

He came up sort, "Pardon?"

"I knew you were afraid," I said. "You were trying to stay away from me because you were afraid of what might happen to you."

He shook his head, "I was afraid… of what might happen to you."

I frowned, trying not to feel flattered at the same time.

"Thanks," I said, "but I can take care of myself."

He grinned. He had startlingly white teeth.

"Very well," he said with obvious humor. "In the future, I'll leave all the vans to you…"

I scowled at him, "So what changed?"

"Changed?" he asked.

"You said that you didn't think that I could be a part of your life," I pointed out. "Yet, here you are."

He took a step closer. He stilled, almost as though he was holding his breath. I didn't breathe either.

"I'm tired of trying to stay away from you," he said, and there was a look in his dark eyes, a heat that made my knees weak and watery. "I didn't think it was possible that you… that you might… that I could matter to someone like you."

"Like me?" I demanded, affronted. "What does that mean?"

"Someone…" he said, as though searching for just the right word. "good. Someone who can truly see. Someone who cares about those around her, little though they deserve it. Someone who understands her value, even if she doesn't understand when others see it too. Someone who works hard for what she wants and is willing to sacrifice for those whom she loves. Someone who cares without shame or self consciousness. Someone who matters."

How… how did he do that? It was like… it was like he was seeing me. He wasn't like most people, just seeing what they thought they wanted to see. He was decent enough to actually look. But the way he phrased everything, the way he said it made me think.

"And you don't?" I asked as he stepped back so he wasn't quite so in my comfort zone.

"I do not what?" he asked back.

"Matter," I clarified.

He smiled, a bit bashfully.

"I have no illusions about what I am," he said, pointlessly knocking some dirt from his boot by tapping his toe on the asphalt.

"What are you?" I asked, leaning in.

He still smiled, "I am the worst person you have ever met."

I couldn't close my mouth. What did you say to something like that?

"Next Saturday," he said, his voice tapering off.

"Yes?" I asked.

"Do you really not want to go to the Spring Formal?" he asked.

"I don't dance," I said.

He shook his head, "That is not an answer to my question."

"I will be out of town," I said.

"In Seattle," he said, "as you said. Again, that is not an answer."

"Why?" I asked, feeling irritated.

"Because I would like to know," he said, "and because this information will inform my next question."

"I have no interest in going to the Spring Formal," I said dryly.

He considered, "Would you have any interest in going if I was your escort?"

I looked at him. Him, as he was, took my breath away. Him in a tux…..

Then, the thought of me, plain, secondhand, mediocre, standing beside him.

"No," I said.

Something crossed his face, a sort of frustration tinged with dismay.

"Why not?" he asked.

I opened my mouth to speak, but he suddenly waved a hand.

"Doesn't misunderstand me," he said firmly. "You are completely within your right to turn me down, and if you do not want to go with me, I accept that. But if you are just making up excuses out of fear… You have already called me out on being afraid. I would do you the respect of pointing it out to you as well, if that is the case."

I frowned. Was I afraid? Well, it was obvious to me that he was entirely out of my league. I wasn't good enough for the likes of him. I didn't want to have to face that.

"You're about to lie to me again," he said.

"What?" I almost snapped at him.

"I am getting better at recognizing it," he said almost smugly. "You are afraid, and what is more, you don't want to admit it, not even to yourself. That is just silly of you. You are an honest person, Bella Swan. You should be honest with yourself too."

"And you should start being honest with me too," I shot back.

He looked deeply into my eyes. I was glad I was still almost leaning against my truck. I needed the support.

"I haven't lied to you since that day in the hospital," he said. "I will never lie to you again."

"What happened that day?" I asked quickly, striking while the iron was hot.

He smiled, "I am not going to tell you that."

"Why not?" I implored him, trying not to sound like I was pouting.

"You won't understand," he said.

"I can understand," I said defensively. "Try me."

"No, I mean that you would not understand," he said. "You might think that I am crazy or lying or making fun of you or, even worse, you might believe me. I couldn't abide it if you turned from me like that, not when we have… a chance."

He dropped his eyes. Breaking from his gaze I realized that the parking lot was starting to fill with students. More than one were looking our way with considerate interest.

"I should get to class," I said, feeling like I was trying to run away in waist deep water. My legs didn't want to move.

"Very well," he said. "I'll save you a seat."

And then, he was off, and I was left in a whirl of confusion and mixed emotions.

"What's up with you, Just Bella?" asked Jessica, and I looked up from my Spanish book. I could barely remember any of the other classes.

"Huh?" I asked.

"Exactly!" she exclaimed in a stage whisper. "You have been completely out of it all morning."

I wasn't totally out of it. I remembered Mike meeting me after English and telling me that we were on for the beach trip on Saturday. I remembered that Eric still seemed upset, but walked with me until Mike caught up with me, so I figured we were on okay terms again. I vaguely recalled Jess saying hi to me in Trig, but I was distracted, so I didn't say anything.

"This doesn't have anything to do with this rumor that has been floating around?" she asked.

"What rumor?" I asked, a little desperately.

"That you are going to the Spring Formal with Edward Cullen," she scoffed. "I already know that you aren't going, so it is just talk. Right?"

"I wasn't planning on it," I said flatly.

"Did he ask you?" she asked timidly.

I sighed, "No, he didn't."

It was technically true. He never had specifically asked me.

"Okay," she said. "Wait! Did you ask him?!"

"Why would I ask him?" I asked dismissively.

"Because," she said. "He's gorgeous. And it's girl's choice."

That was a good point. If I really wanted to, I could walk up to him and ask. He had made it clear that he wanted to. At least I think he did. He had more or less implied that he was asking me. But, why? I mean, he said enough for me to know that he actually paid attention to me, that he actually… wanted me? That didn't sound right at all. Could I really just ask him out? Could I do that even if I didn't know what he was going to say?

"I don't get it," said Jessica.

"What don't you get?" asked Angela, walking up next to me. She put an arm about my shoulders and pulled me to her as we walked for a moment. I was astounded by how much I felt like I needed the support. She just knew I could use it and gave me a little sideways hug and let me lean on her. It was very nice and I felt better immediately.

"I'm sorry," Jessica said. "I don't mean to sound like I'm nitpicking, but why don't you want to go to the dance? Do you just not like fun things?"

"I like fun things," I said a bit defensively. "I just don't like things like embarrassment and awkward flailing and public humiliation."

"What about boys in tuxes?" she asked. "Or seeing your friends all dolled up? Or slow dancing? Or maybe even a little kissing?"

"Bella isn't you, Jess," Angela said quietly. "She is allowed to like other things."

"I know," said Jessica, "I mean, I just… I don't understand."

"And we don't need to," said Angela, looking out of the corner of her eye at me. "We are on your side."

"Thanks Angie," I said, giving her one last squeeze before heading to the lunch line.

"So why the rumor?" asked Jess as we got our food and left the line.

"Which rumor?" I asked.

"The rumor that you are going to the dance with Edward," she said.

I found myself looking for Edward as I usually did. Since the accident, he had sat by himself only once. When I saw that he wasn't with his family, for a sickening moment I thought he had left school again. But then, he caught my eye, sitting alone as he once had, looking directly at me, a welcoming smile on his face. He gestured to the empty chairs about him, as though inviting me to choose. I had to stop for a moment to remember important things like I was in the middle of talking to Jess and that there were tables in my way, so if I had walked as I was about to, I would have bumped into them and such.

"Um," I said evasively. "No reason."

I started walking towards him.

"Where are you…?" she said. A moment before she was out of earshot, I heard a strangled squeak that was quickly cut off.

I walked up to the table, empty but for him. I looked at my own food.

"You're not eating?" I asked.

He smiled further, "No."

I sat down across from him, feeling somewhat noncommittal.

"You still have not forgiven me for being… a jerk," he said.

"Should I?" I asked with a huff.

"It would help," he said, "if we are going to be spending more time together that you not act like a jerk yourself. If you do not wish my company, you are welcome to sit somewhere else. If you do not begrudge me my former stupidity, then you should refrain from continuing to do so."

I couldn't help but snort a laugh at that.

"You were being stupid, huh?" I commented. After his eloquence, I suddenly felt quite the yokel.

"Very much so," he said. "Though for good reason."

"Which is?" I asked.

He grinned, "A vile thing such as I doesn't deserve good things."

I hated the idea of him being a bad person, the worse person.

"Why do you keep saying that?" I asked bitterly.

"Because it is true," he said, and there was no sarcasm in his voice, no self deprecation or belittlement. He believed that.

"I don't," I said. Then I remembered that I hadn't made my point aloud.

"Believe that," I added. "I don't believe that."

"It's still true," he said, "but it isn't worth dwelling upon."

I opened my mouth to argue, when suddenly Angela's words came back to me. I didn't need to understand to be on his side.

"Okay," I said, picking up an apple. "What should we talk about?"

He watched as I took a modest bite, trying not to be self-conscious.

"Anything," he said, his voice rather breathy and filled with a fervor that I was somehow familiar.

"Anything?" I asked.

"Anything at all," he said. "I want to know everything about you."

I tried successfully not to snort bits of apple.

"Because I know so much about you," I pointed out.

He tried to hide his smile.

"I want to know everything you are willing to tell me," he said.

"And," I began, "what if I am unwilling to tell you anything?"

He leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table, much as he did the day before with my truck's window, his hands under his chin, but this time he was engaged rather than disheartened, his eyes intent and unblinking. I was unnerved within seconds.

"If I'm not going to talk then you have to," I said, hiding behind what could liberally be called a hoagie.

"Do I?" he asked, one eyebrow raised.

I sort of slouched into myself, my attention entirely on my food.

"Very well," he said. "Why don't you wish to go to the Spring Formal?"

I swallowed, "That is me talking again."

His face twitched in a way that convinced me he was trying not to laugh or make fun of me.

"Were you intending a long monologue?" he inquired, as though nothing would make him happier.

"Why so interested?" I asked.

"Because you are interesting," he said, emphasizing interesting in a weird way.

"I'm not," I said around a smallish bite of sandwich. "I'm really not."

He looked thoughtful for a moment.

"Or is it that you do not want to be?" he asked.

"Who says I don't want to be?" I retorted.

"You do," he said. "Right now. Everyone is interesting to someone. But you do not want to be. You dress for comfort and function far more than you do for display or attention. You are soft spoken in class and almost never offer an answer unless no one else does or the teacher calls upon you specifically. You dismiss every single notion that you might be worthy of attention, despite the fact that no other girl at this school was asked to this dance by more than one person, let alone the number you attracted. And yet, even here and now, when just about any passerby would say that I am here, being interested in you, you would still brush aside all thought that I might want to be here with you, more than anything else."

"Now I know you are lying to me," I said with a cynical edge.

"And you are deflecting," he pointed out.

"But there is no way that you could want nothing more than to be here with me," I pointed right back. "Even if those scenarios still included me, I am sure there are other things you would rather be doing than sitting in a school cafeteria, surrounded by a ton of eavesdropping students."

He became very still, and something about his eyes focusing on me made my guts squirm and my heart race. He looked away.

"I will concede that you are right," he said distantly. "But there isn't a thing I would rather be doing than to be with you."

I felt my face go red, and it was my turn to look away.

The truth was, I didn't want to believe him. I understood that, but I couldn't admit to him why.

"You look conflicted," he said. "And rather pretty when you blush."

I hid my face so he wouldn't see me blush more.

"Why are you conflicted?" he asked and I refused to look up.

"Please," he said, his voice just loud enough for me to hear. Unconsciously, I looked up.

He was looking back at me, and his expression wasn't one I had seen on his face before. His eyes were on me, searching my face carefully, but were tinged with something, like a quiet sadness, some little heart wrenching expression that made me think he was sad or disheartened by something he saw. It was almost as though he longed for something, something he knew he had no right to ask for. I knew exactly what that was like, because I couldn't deny that that feeling was exactly what I was feeling at that moment.

"I don't want you to be telling me the truth," I said. He blinked, his quick surprise darting into confusion.

"If you are telling me the truth," I said tremulously, "and if I believe you, then it will hurt all the more when you leave again."

"I'm not going to leave, Bella," he said.

I shook my head, "You already left twice. And even if you don't, there is always the possibility that you will stay away from me again, for my own good."

He made a weird motion with his arm, almost like he was reaching out and then pulled back, probably resettling his sleeve or something.

"I wish that were so," he said, sounding almost sad. "It is in your best interest for you to never see me again. If I were to do what is best for you, I would leave, right now, this very second, and never impact your life again in any way."

I wanted him to stop. What he was saying was tormenting me, and I hated it. I wasn't this girl, who could so easily be swept up in a boy, no matter how…

"But you don't have to worry about that," he said, his tone not changing, a slightly bitter smile upon his face. "You see, it turns out that not only am I a monster, I am also a monumentally selfish creature. What I want is, apparently, so much more important than what is best for you."

I started breathing regularly again. I hadn't realized that I wasn't.

"And what do you want?" I asked.

He grinned at me, and I was back to irregular breathing.

"That would be telling, Ms. Swan," he said, a lilt to his voice and the barest hint of something vast, something deep in him, something that had my toes curling.

"But please understand one thing," he said. "In this regard, what you want is more important than what I want. If you should choose…"

He looked away, and for a moment, his face looked brittle, older somehow, like he had suffered a lifetime of indescribable pain, and it was etched profoundly into his face. When he looked back, he was himself again, if still sad looking.

"If you should choose that I have no place in your life," he said, "then I will go. No matter what. If at any point, you decide that I am truly not worthy of you, tell me, and you will never see me again."

"And what if I don't?" I asked, before I could stop myself. "What if I never want you to leave?"

He gave me a look, a sort of reluctant pleasure mixed with empathetic sorrow.

"I will stay as long as you like," he said, "but I cannot believe that you will never want me to go."

"Why not?" I asked, unsure.

He smiled, "Because I don't want you to be telling me the truth. And because the notion is too enticing."

I ate, still self-conscious of him watching me, but having no idea how to respond to that. After I had worn down my meal, I looked up again.

"So what brought this on?" I asked.

"Brought what on?" he asked, folding his hands.

"You said that were tired of staying away from me," I pointed out. "But this is a pretty serious one eighty. What brought it on?"

He shook his head, "That is not something I am prepared to tell you."

It was my turn to shake my head.

"Let me get this straight," I said, leaning back. "You are willing to stay, but only so long as I want you to. You are willing to be honest, but not about anything you think will make me want to leave. You will tell me when there are things that you don't want to say, but you won't tell me what those things are or why they will make me decide to kick you to the curb?"

He nodded, "Yes, essentially."

"You really are selfish," I said.

To my surprise, he laughed, "Very."

"But that doesn't make much sense," I said. "If I only get the parts of you that you are willing to share, then how will I ever really know you?"

"You won't," he agreed. "And maybe that is a good thing."

I considered his words, "For me, or for you?"

He looked away, and said nothing.

After a moment, the bell rang. Right; school, class, kids all around us. I had been so focused on him, I hadn't really considered where we were anymore.

He didn't stand as I did.

"Aren't you coming?" I asked.

"I am not going to class today," he said seriously.

"Why not?" I asked.

He shook his head, "Because fainting once per year is enough for me."

"Huh?" I asked, confused.

"We are blood typing in Biology," he explained.

"Oh," I said. "Oh! Ugh! Really?"

"What is it?" he asked, almost unconsciously standing.

"I can't go either," I said, trying not to let the fact that I liked that we had this one thing in common, at least. "I would be in the same boat."

"Ah," he said. Apparently, he had no concern showing how much he liked this common ground either. "Then, I have an idea."

We walked towards the front office.

"If I asked you to do something, would you?" he asked.

I looked at him suspiciously, "Not without knowing what it is?"

"Nothing nefarious," he assured me. "I simply want you to wait here for me."

My suspicion deepened, "Why?"

He gave me a conspiratorial look, "I am going to bribe Mrs. Cope. It is best if there isn't any witnesses."

His tone was half teasing, but I couldn't tell which half.

"Okay," I said shakily.

He stepped into the office, and as the door was closing, I couldn't help but gently nudge it to remain open.

"Mrs. Cope," said Edward, his voice low.

"Yes, Edward," she said pleasantly. "What can I do for you?"

Something changed. His voice became flat, low, as though he wasn't really speaking, like the voice I heard wasn't even really him anymore.

"Release Bella Swan and myself from class," he said. "We cannot go to biology today because of health reasons."

There was a short silence. I heard shuffling papers, and the boisterous Mrs. Cope didn't say a single word more. I suddenly became worried that he might turn and see the door open, so I let go with my foot and stepped back. A few seconds later, he stepped out with two passes in his hand.

"Here," he said, handing me one.

I looked at him with renewed suspicion, "You can get one of these whenever you want?"

He looked a bit weary, then smiled, "Only when the need arises. It isn't as though we are 'ditching' recreationally. This is in our own best interests."

"That sounds exactly like what someone who did ditch recreationally would say," I pointed out.

He sighed, "To the library?"

I frowned, "What?"

"We aren't going to leave school, are we?" he asked. "And we only have the one class off. Where else were you thinking we should go?"

I honestly hadn't thought that far ahead. The idea of having an entire period with him suddenly seemed very intriguing. I realized that there were many things we could talk about, many possibilities that lay before us. I found it surprising how intently I wished there was a place where we could go and be alone.

"I…" I started to ask for that very thing, but then lost my nerve.

"What is it?" he asked, and I shook my head.

"Library," I said, wishing my voice was more sound.

We made our way to the small, almost nonexistent library. The school didn't employee a librarian, so the teachers took it in turns to mind it on an off period. I wasn't sure how the books that got taken down got back onto the appropriate shelves. When we walked in, Mr. Mason, the English teacher stepped out to the tiny office.

"Can I help you two?" he asked, and we offered out passes.

"Alright," he said. "I have tests to grade, don't make too much noise and knock if you need anything."

He went back to the office but left the door open.

We were the only ones in the library. There were only like six stacks and four tables that could seat more than one person. We took one and sat at opposing corners. I set my books down and it wasn't until that moment that I realized that, other than the notebook I had seen him writing in, I had never seen Edward with a single book or writing implement.

"Where's your stuff?" I asked him.

"Stuff?" he asked curiously.

"Like books and papers and things," I specified. "You know? School stuff."

He grinned, "I have what I need."

"You don't take notes or read books or anything?" I asked.

He gave me a discerning look.

"What?" I asked.

"Why don't you want to go to the dance?" he asked.

"What does that have to do with your school books?" I asked hotly.

He gave me a roguish, half smile. I suddenly felt rather woozy and had to remind myself of important things like closing my mouth and breathing.

"You want to know things about me," he said. "And I want to know things about you. I am suggesting commerce, a trade."

I considered, "What would it cost me to have you tell me what you are?"

His face relaxed and went still.

"It would take you confessing your deepest, darkest, most shameful secret to me," he said, his words heavy with severe melancholy.

At first, I felt the weight of his words. It really hadn't occurred to what exactly I was asking of him when I asked, nor what it would have cost him to tell me. Then, the idea of actually telling him something like that about me came to mind, and I understood completely his reservations.

"I am sorry," I said, my words quite.

"Sorry?" he asked, inquisitive again.

"I hadn't considered your perspective when I was asking," I said apologetically. "I won't ask again."

He brought out that smile again, and the tension was rightly broken.

"So," he said, "you won't be telling my your deepest, darkest secret?"

"I don't have one of those," I said, my voice squeaking for some reason.

He gave a knowing look, "As you say."

His tone was deeply dubious.

"So," he said, "what would it take to have you answer why you don't want to go to the dance?"

I thought about it.

"I don't know how to answer that," I admitted.

"You don't know what it would cost," he asked, "or you don't know why you do not want to go?"

"Both," I said. "Maybe? I don't know."

"You sort of make it a point to not think too hard about yourself," he noted.

"Why should I?" I asked a bit heatedly.

"Self understanding is the most important part of life," he said. "If you do not understand yourself, do not know yourself, how can you know anything?"

"I don't know," I said, a bit sullenly, "Why do I need to know myself? Why is that even important?"

He took a deep breath.

"What are you running away from?" he asked.

"I'm not running," I said.

"You are," he said smugly. "You are doing everything you can to avoid answering the question."

"And you'll do anything to weasel an answer out of me," I retorted.

He looked momentarily pensive.

"I apologize," he said formally. "I realize now what I wanted, and you are completely within your rights to deny me. I was wrong to insist."

I felt an almost edgy sense of curiosity, "What did you want?"

He grinned, and it made the room tilt a moment. If he had asked me about the dance right then, he might have gotten an uninhibited answer.

"Do you see?" he asked with elation. "How could I not ask when it is so vital for me to hear it?"

I did see. He wanted an answer to his question, just as I wanted an answer to mine. I wanted it so badly, I wasn't really thinking about whether he wanted to answer or not. But I still wanted an answer to mine. Maybe, if…

"I would like to know what you wanted," I said. "But it is up to you if you answer or not."

He smiled again, his eyes a little sad and it made him look younger somehow, vulnerable.

"I wanted an answer," he admitted with trepidation, "because I wanted to be important. I wanted to matter to you. I wanted you to answer, not because I asked, but because you valued me and were thus willing to answer. I realize now that in fact, I turned the notion of that around in my head, meaning that if I were to get an answer, it meant that you did value me. And you do not need to. I don't need to matter to you at all."

How could he say that!? How could he even think it!? Of course he mattered! Naturally, I didn't like it when he treated me poorly and I hated the idea of his deprecations and his own deplorable opinions of himself, but the very idea that he wasn't important twisted in me, knotting me up inside. I couldn't stand it anymore than I could the idea of him leaving. I opened my mouth to protest, to denounce and deny, but instead, strange words spilled from my lips.

"Will you go to the dance with me?" I asked.

He looked nearly as shocked as I felt. What in the heck was I thinking!?

He considered me, "Truly?"

There wasn't any way I was backing out of that one.

"Yes," I said.

He tried not to let his smile grow, and my heart hiccuped in my chest.

"And you aren't asking just to placate me and plan on revoking the invitation later?" he asked.

I glowered at him, "Do you want to go to the stupid dance or not?"

His expression changed. He become serious, a deeply earnest and sincere look to him. I watched as his hand slid a few inches in my direction before stopping. He seemed to settle on settling forward for emphasis. Had he been about to reach for my hand?

"I would be honored, Bella," he said with a sort of muted yet powerful conviction.

I didn't know how to respond. I was adrift at sea, awash in feeling that made me want to still, to quiet and be settled under the weight of such heavy words, but I also felt like I was going to explode if I tried to sit still, as though running about in a wash of high pitched shrieks and giggles was my natural state of being. In the end, I just blushed and looked away, trying to keep the dope smile off my face. When my eyes returned, those emotions washed away quite quickly.

"What is it?" I asked.

He looked more than a little forlorn.

"Would you understand," he asked, his voice hesitant, almost unsure, "that though I was afraid that you might not choose me, I am now more afraid that you have chosen me?"

I took in his words.

"Yes," I said, feeling a bit raw to admit it. "I know exactly what you mean."

We both shared a small smile. They weren't altogether happy, but they weren't unhappy smiles either.

We didn't talk that much for the rest of the period. He sat with his notebook in front of him, his pen scratching away. I reread the current chapter, and ten minutes before the period was over, I stood up.

"Where are you going?" he asked, sounding a little alarmed.

"Biology," I said. "We should get our homework."

He looked pensive, "I do not think that is the best idea."

I gave him a look, "I haven't ever skipped a class before. I don't want to get behind."

"Missing a single day hardly matters," he said. "Why risk it?"

"I'm going," I said, finally packing up my things. "Are you coming or not?"

He rose and hid his notebook and pen within his coat.

"This is not a good idea," he said.

"You worry too much," I said, and we made our way to Biology.

The class was still in session, but it looked as though everything used for doing blood typing had been put away. I deemed it safe, but Edward stood resolutely outside as I opened the door and walked in.

"Why weren't you in class?" Mr. Banner asked, looking suspiciously over my shoulder.

"I faint around bleeding people." I said, feeling suddenly a little queasy as the barest hint of copper brushed across my nose. "I was excused from class by Mrs. Cope. I was wondering if I could get the homework."

He scrutinized my face, "Are you feeling alright?"

I felt myself sway on my feet.

"I'm fine," I murmured determinedly, not wanting to admit that my stomach was starting to turn somersaults. "Homework?"

Before he could respond, I felt a cool hand carefully grip my upper arm and start leading me out of the room.

"Breathe," Edward whispered as he led my outside. I heard Mr. Banner speak and Edward reply, but my brain was a bit fuzzy and I missed the actual words.

"Can't," I replied belatedly. "The smell doesn't help."

"Humans can't smell blood," he stated.

"Some can," I said, giving him a petulant look for his generalization. "I'm one of them."

Before I could react, my legs wobbled, and swiftly were no longer under me. In the space of a single breath, I was in Edwards arms.

"Put me down," I protested weakly. I would have done more than that if class wasn't still going on and there were actually people around. He didn't seem hampered at all by my weight and strolled to the front office with no sign of strain or fatigue. He slipped inside with no trouble opening the door and without jostling me.

"Oh my," I heard Mrs. Cope say. "What happened?"

"We decided to go back to Biology to get our homework," Edward said with his usual charm. "It wasn't the best idea."

I tried to glower, but my face was nearly turned to his chest and I doubted he could ever see if he was looking at me. It was then that where I was and whose chest my face was nearly nestled into actually hit me, and I was quickly shredded by equal desires to be put down and lean closer. As he set me carefully and easily in a chair, my hand cramped as I forced my fingers to release the hem of his coat that I hadn't realized I was clinging to.

"I'll get the nurse," said Mrs. Cope.

Before I could jump out and explain that wasn't necessary, likely passing out and voiding my own argument, Edward stepped in.

"I do not believe that is necessary," he said. "She is just a little lightheaded."

"I see," said Mrs. Cope. "What's your last class, honey?"

"Gym," I all but moaned.

"Hmm," said Mrs. Cope. "I'm not sure that's the best idea either."

I didn't try to explain that my bemusement had less to do with the state of my head and more to do with the quality of my coordination.

"Perhaps I should take her home," said Edward. "If that is alright with Bella."

"Yes," I said, anything to get out of Gym.

"What about you?" asked Mrs. Cope.

I could hear the smile in his voice, "I am sure Mrs. Goff won't mind. I will do whatever make up work she believes I need."

The bell rang for last period, and Edward sat in the chair beside me as Mrs. Cope amended our slips.

"It isn't fair," I muttered.

"What isn't?" he asked, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. I looked away pointedly.

"I couldn't have stepped one foot out of class without my school calling my mother back in Phoenix," I inform him. "Yet here, I am missing two classes and leaving campus early, and they haven't even suggested calling my father."

He nodded, "Small towns are far more trusting."

I shake my head and then regret it and have to pause for the room to catch up and quit twisting.

"And I am sure that it has nothing to do with you," I pitched sarcastically.

"Me?" he asked, sounding bewildered.

"Do you believe everyone gets their way so easily?" I suggested.

He gave me a lopsided smile, and the room spun even more than when I shook my head.

"This," he indicated the area at large, "this is easy. Getting what I really want, that is hard."

I felt suddenly more sober.

"What do you really want?" I asked.

He looked at me, like he did before, when I asked him to the dance, that sincere, intense look. It scared me how much I liked it, and I liked how much it scared me.

"I am getting what I want," he said. "It just takes more work."

The late bell rang, and he stood.

"Shall I carry you," he asked. The look on his face told me just how much he knew that I hated that idea.

"I can walk, thank you," I said, with so little thanks it was practically a barbed comment. He simply chuckled.

We walked outside, and he stayed close to my side, to the point that I thought he was waiting for me to go down.

"I am not going to fall," I said a bit acidly.

"Please, Bella," he said, with an actual edge to his voice. "You already almost fell once today because I was too far away from you. I do not want a repeat of the performance. It is a little thing. Can you not allow me this one comfort?"

Okay, so I kind of felt embarrassed by how much I enjoyed the idea of him standing so close to me being a comfort to him. I liked it so much that I didn't even realize when we started heading towards his car rather than my truck. Granted, they were very close together, but still.

"You're actually going to drive me home?" I asked.

"I said that I would," he stated, sounding almost offended.

"What about my truck?" I asked, feeling worried.

He turned to me, still walking with an even, graceful gate.

"I understand how important it is to you," he said gravely. "I will ensure its safe return directly after I return to pick up my siblings. Or, we could take your truck and I could walk back-"

"No," I cut him off. "If you can just get my truck back-"

"Before your father returns home," he finished.

I stopped and stared at him.

"You are getting easier to understand," he said. "I like it."

I liked it too.

He opened the passenger door to his silver Volvo, and I got in. It really was a very nice car. He slipped into the driver's seat and pulled smoothly out of the space. He seemed at ease behind the wheel, moving with a minimal, practiced efficiency, the turns and accelerations smooth and sort of comfortable somehow.

"Tell me about yourself," he said.

"What?" I asked, unsure.

"I would like to know more about you," he said.

"Like what?" I asked, feeling even more unsure.

"What is your mother like?" he asked, "besides being able to read you like a book."

I just stared, "You remember that?"

He looked at me just long enough to make me uncomfortable, both for my safety and because he was looking at me so unabashedly.

"I remember everything about you," he said. I looked out the window, hoping he didn't notice my cheeks go pink. By his smirk when I looked back, I gathered that he had.

"My mother is very young for her age," I said. "She lives in the moment a lot, which means she doesn't always make the best long term decisions. She gets so caught up in what she is doing and what she is currently passionate about, she comes off as extremely forgetful, air-headed, and insensitive, but you just need to get to know her. When she pays attention, nothing gets by her. I'm a terrible liar because I learned at an early age that it wouldn't do any good to lie. She enthusiastically and unashamedly herself in a way that I admire and doubt I could ever be. In a lot of ways, she is more like my best friend then my mom. But she loves me and thinks the world of me, and I got used to having to be the adult a long time ago. I love her too."

We stopped, I realized that we were already at my house.

I blinked, "How do you know where I live?"

He straightened, "Small town."

I shook my head, "Why don't I believe you?"

He grinned, "Because you are more like your mother than you think."

I raised an eyebrow at him, "Oh?"

"Yes," he said. "You are yourself just as much as she is, only that you are not her; you are you, and you live differently than her. But you are yourself with abandon. It is one of the many things that drew me to you in the first place."

My heart decided to give up on the whole beating thing and gave pole vaulting up my throat a chance. It didn't go over well for either of us.

"What makes you say that?" I asked, my throat a bit constricted.

He laughed, sounding astonished.

"Bella," he said, sounding somehow conciliatory and also reproving. "Have you any idea how few people act the way you do, let alone how many teenagers? You not only made the decision to do what was best for your mother by moving here, but when you arrived, did you mope and become dejected and shun all who spoke with you? Of course not. You made the best of it, by choice, making friends of people who benefit considerably more by having you as a friend then you do having them as yours. You support those around you, care for those who do not or can not care for themselves, and yet you refuse to back down when you see unfairness or injustice, demanding decency from others and holding them to standards you know they are capable of without shame or belittlement. In all of that, you are fearless and do so effortlessly, as easy as breathing, and as far as I can tell, the only thing that you truly fear is being selfish, of not getting what you want but think you do not deserve. I am here to say that you do serve it; you, more than anyone I have met outside of my own family and even more so than some of those, deserve to be happy."

I didn't know what to say, what to do. No one had ever spoken to me like that. No one had ever looked at me the way he was looking at me now. I was so used to being seen through, looked passed and over. Never had anyone act like I was important before, like I mattered. He wasn't simply saying that I mattered; he believed it. It was not a comfortable feeling, but it was deep and seemed to bypass my usual defenses for such things, except that no one had ever talked to me like that before. It felt like there was supposed to be something here, like this was the part where I did a thing, but I have never done this thing before and didn't know what it was.

So, I settled for, "Thank you."

His calm and confident expression seemed to crack a bit, and he suddenly seemed as unsure as I was, which was ludicrous to me. If anyone in the world had a reason to be confident and sure of themselves, it was Edward.

Edward, who I was going to the dance with a week from Saturday. I had to get a dress. I had to… Why did I agree to this!?

"Just so you are aware," he said, "I will not insist that because you asked me and I said yes, that we need to go to the Formal together. If you decide that you would rather not, I will completely understand. I want to go with you, but not more than I want you to have what you want."

I thought about what he was saying, and I understood it. I couldn't stand the idea of going anywhere with a person who really didn't want to go with me, but felt like they had to. Even thinking about that felt awful. But when I thought about it, if there was anyone I would want to go to a dance with, it would be Edward. I was suddenly aware of the idea of him, dashing and svelte in a tux, his arms around me, a slow song permeating the air about us.

"You look nervous," he asked. "What is it?"

"I just…" I started but couldn't finish.

"Just what?" he asked patiently.

"I've never been…" I said and trailed away again.

"Been?" he asked again, his tone never changing.

"I've never been on a date before," I admitted in a small voice that was surprised he heard.

"Truly?" he asked, sounding surprised.

I started to feel indignant, "I've just never dated before, okay?"

"Bella," he said with placating amusement. "I do not mean that you are not worthy of dating. Just the opposite. I am surprised that someone hasn't courted you at length long before now."

"Courted?" I asked.

"You have roused the interest of so many boys already here in this small town," he said. "Considering the populace you no doubt left behind at your former school, one would think that you would have been beating them off with a proverbial stick."

I laughed. Loudly. I couldn't help it!

"You must be joking," I said. "I am completely ordinary and wholly uninteresting, by everyone who isn't you."

"How many boys asked you to the dance again?" he asked, a bit rhetorically.

I sighed, "Three, other than you."

"I never asked you," he pointed out, and it was true. All the other boys asked me, even though it was supposed to be the other way around. But not him. That seemed… really significant somehow.

"Yeah," I conceded, "but they just asked me because they wanted me to go with them. They didn't really care what I wanted."

"True," he agreed with a light smile, "but they were interested in you, or else they wouldn't have asked. And have you even considered the ones who didn't have the courage to ask or else believe that you wouldn't be interested? I have a feeling the same could be said for the boys back in Phoenix as well."

"You're crazy," I said, not believing him for a second.

"I must be," he said, "since I thought for a moment that you might actually believe me."

He chucked, but somehow I knew it was self-directed.

"Speaking of incredulity," he said, looking out into the light drizzle that had begun to fall, "I should be getting back soon. My siblings will not be so understanding if they have to stand about waiting for me in the rain."

"Oh," I said, feeling foolish. "I guess I will see you tomorrow. Won't I?"

He actually looked disappointed.

"Regretfully, no," he said. "I won't be at school tomorrow. My brother and I have a camping trip planned for this weekend, to take advantage of the nice weather. I won't be in at all tomorrow."

I understood the disappointment. I wished he had told me. I felt like the time I had spent with him was somehow wasted, like I hadn't savored it or appreciated it enough. But there wasn't anything I could do about it now.

"Okay," I said, because there was nothing else to say. I was pretty sure my disappointment was about as obvious as his. When I thought about it, his disappointment made the situation more bearable, if only slightly.

He smiled, leaning towards me. For a moment, I thought he was going to do something ludicrous that I was completely unprepared for, but he just opened the door for me.

"It was a pleasure, Bella," he said. "I hope to see you next week."

Smiling, I slipped out of the car. I walked to the door, reaching into the pocket for my keys. Keys!

I turned and found that Edward was already gone. I guess I would just have to make up an excuse for Charlie. I will tell him the truck didn't start and that I thought I might have flooded it or something and that I got a ride with Jessica. But, as I slid the key into the lock, I realized that there was only one key on the ring, my house key. My truck key wasn't there.

I looked back the way Edward had gone.

"Show off," I muttered, smiling, and went into the house.