A/N: Sorry this update is a little late. It's literally just turned midnight so I'm only slightly behind schedule. Anyway, here's the next chapter!

Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight and all connected to it. I only own this story line and any characters not included in her original saga!

I'll Always Find Peace In The Meadow

Chapter Thirteen: 'I'll see you around' (Bella POV)

Monday 8th May 2017

Lunch in the library has become a regular thing for me and Edward over the last two weeks. We don't meet up every day, only Tuesdays and Thursdays. After all, he has to spend time with Alice and the rest of Rosalie's click, to appease his parents. Or so he says. Sometimes I wonder if he just likes having a break from our time together. From me.

We only see each other at the library on these two days during lunch. That's all. We don't socialise outside of the library. Edward doesn't sit next to me in Biology still, and we don't talk when we pass in the halls. Apart from Mrs. Jensen, no one knows about our lunch time meetings. I don't know what he tells his sister and the others, but it's definitely not the truth.

We don't do a lot during our small amounts of time together. We don't even talk much... only sometimes. Most of the time we sit in silence. I don't mind this one bit. After all, I'm used to my own company and the peace of it. I'm not really sure how Edward finds it, but I've never asked him.

Edward is usually the one to initiate our conversations, but that's not much of a surprise to be honest. We steer clear of anything too personal, anything that would make our... companionship? ...more intimate.

I don't know what you'd call our relationship exactly. Companionship? Friendship? It is a friendship, I guess. Well... I think it is. We're friends but we are also distant most of the time. It's hard to explain. I'm not used to this, to having someone to talk to about random things. I'm not used to having someone that wants to spend time with me.

To be honest, I don't even know if this is a proper friendship. I see him with his sister and friends at the center table during the other three lunches that we don't spend together in the library. They talk, they laugh, they have fun. And I sit at my table by the trash cans, watching from afar. That sounds strange. That makes me sound like a creep. But it's totally innocent, I promise!

I actually like how our 'friendship' is. It's easy. There's no complex connections or emotions. It's simply a companionship. We don't know too much about each other, we don't care too much about each other. It's great.

Edward doesn't suspect my mother's... treatment... of me. That was something I worried about over the first few days of this arrangement. I was worried that he'd somehow work it out and guess. I was worried that my secret wouldn't be a secret anymore. But it's actually been a lot easier than I had anticipated. To hide it, that is. He doesn't have a clue!

And trust me, there have been plenty of opportunities for him to have guessed. The last couple of weeks at home haven't been pleasant... but then, when are they ever? My mother has been stressed about work. Her new boss is strict, according to her. Renee doesn't get the chance to see her boss all that often, seeing as the boss tends to stay on the top floors, where her office is located. Apparently, she likes to make people squirm. She likes making her employees fear her. And Renee seems to think that she's a primary target for the wrath of the boss. Honestly, I suspect she's being paranoid, a little overdramatic. I'd never tell her this, though.

All of this extra pressure on my mother has stressed her out. And when she's stressed, she drinks. And when she drinks, she's more free with her hands. And her feet. And her elbows and knees. And, of course, her harsh words. I've been at the receiving end of Renee's stress. Thanks to the boss' alleged mistreatment of Renee, I've had to face her angry streak on more than one occasion.

She has been more critical of everything I do. If I step a foot out of line, she notices and punishes me. The bruise on my arm from her hitting me after the disaster of the sighing and unwanted apoloapologies a few weeks ago has disappeared. My left arm looks normal again.

My right arm, however, doesn't.

I had spent my Thursday evening last week pairing up odd socks. You see, even though there's only two of us, for some reason we have enough odd socks to fill a small laundry basket. Every time I come across a lone sock, I dump it in the basket until it's partner is found. With everything else I have to do around the house, I always forget about the odd socks. In the end, usually every two weeks or so, I have to sit with the basket, and pair up all the socks. It takes me forever!

Anyway, back to last Thursday. I was almost done with pairing up the socks. Renee had come in to my room to check on me - well, more like to check on my chore progress - and started looking through the pile of paired up socks. I didn't think much of it. She had done something similar with her drawers when I was putting away her clothes a few days before, checking I'd folded them all correctly. I thought everything was as it should be, so when I was pushed from my position perched on the end of my bed, to the floor, I was shocked.

I couldn't understand what had happened straight away. That was until Renee started screaming at me, telling me that I'd paired up her socks all wrong. I'd put a black one with a charcoal one. I'd paired a purple with a blue. The colours were all very similar, it was an easy mistake to make. Unfortunately my mom didn't see it that way. At this point I had a throbbing pain in my hip from where I landed on the floor, but all else was fine. Uninjured.

She demanded I resolve my mistakes. So I did. I started checking all the socks, making sure they were all paired up with the correct partner. I must have been taking too long, because she booted me in the top of my right arm. I'm not talking about a light tap of her toe. This was an optimum strength kick straight to my tricep.

I fell to my left side from the force of her kick, instantly clutching at my right arm, holding it to my body. "Speed up! God... You'd think it was rocket science with how much thought you're putting into it," she spat, mumbling the last part as she turned towards my bedroom door. "Once you've finished this difficult job, bring them to me. I'd like to check them all again," she said without stopping to look at me. I was left on the floor with a useless throbbing arm, crying and feeling stupid. She was right. Pairing socks is so easy a four year old could do it, and there I was, messing up. As always.

Now, four days later, I have a nasty bruise that I can only see with a mirror, because it's on the back of my arm. If the pain was non-existent, I'd be able to lift my arm and twist it in some way to see it, but I can't. The pain is too great. It hurts to lift it above shoulder height and writing is a nightmare. It's basically a repeat of what I went through with my left arm. Just when I thought I'd finally gotten rid of the issue as well.

On the bright side, I've found a new place to go. A new escape.

I've lost my meadow. Probably for good. I could never go back there. Not now that I know someone lives so close by. It's a shame, because my meadow was the one place I could go when life was getting me down. When I was feeling miserable, I'd go to my meadow and instantly feel better. That escapism is gone now. But I've found somewhere else.

My father's grave.

I wouldn't say I've found it, per se. I've remembered it. I've found the strength, and initiative to go back to it. I haven't been to my dad's grave since his funeral, just under five and a half years ago. I could never bring myself to go. It's too hard. I know he's gone, but going there would make it more real. And that's something I can't handle.

I have tried. Honestly, I have. I've walked past Forks' Cemetery more times in the last five and a bit years than I can count. I'd make a decision to visit his grave, but then I'd chicken out and walk right past the entrance gates.

The first time I actually visited him was the weekend after my apology to Edward in the library. I had a lot to think about. I had a lot to write about in my journal. After doing my Saturday morning chores, I packed a bag with my headphones, a book, my journal and pen, and some money. I didn't really have a plan when I left the house that day. All I knew was that I needed to find somewhere I could be alone and write in my journal. I needed somewhere I could feel completely safe and in peace.

I never intended to go to Forks' Cemetery. It was a totally unconscious decision. One I'm glad I made. I would never have been able to enter the grounds if I had made the decision prior to leaving my house. I ended up outside the gates, and before I put too much thought into what I was doing, I entered the Cemetery. Even though it had been over five years, I still remembered exactly where he was buried. I slowly made my way to his grave.

The guilt I felt when I saw his bare gravestone was all consuming. There was no sign of loved ones coming to visit. No flowers, no sentimental objects. Not like the graves surrounding his. I cannot put into words how much the guilt weighed me down. Literally. I dropped to my knees in front of his gravestone, placing my palms flat against the cold granite, reading the engraved words with tears pouring from my eyes.

In loving memory of

Charles William Swan

16th Nov. 1981 - 10th Oct. 2010

Beloved husband, father and son

Rest in peace

I spent the first hour at his graveside sobbing, hugging his stone like I was hugging him. I repeatedly apologised, my words garbled due to my unceasing sobs. I couldn't see, the tears were forming in bucket loads before spilling over like a waterfall. I poured my heart out to him. I apologised for everything; for not coming sooner, for not visiting at all, for abandoning him, for not making sure there was always a bouquet of flowers by his side. And for causing his... him to... for being the reason he died.

After I had calmed, I sat on the grass beside his headstone and wrote in my journal. I had a lot of emotions coursing through me, a lot of things I needed to get off of my chest. As soon as my pen met the paper, I was unstoppable. The words came barrelling out, ink flowing over the paper at a rapid speed. Some of it made a poem, or a piece of a song. But others were just random pieces of writing; no rhyming or stanzas, no rhythm or beat. Just words. Kind of like a diary entry.

Since then, I've been back every chance I've had. Twice Angela has let me leave early, so I used those opportunities to go visit. The past weekend, I spent all of my free time I could by his side. Any time I can spare has been spent at his graveside. I bought some flowers from the small selection at the grocery store, seeing as the only florist here in Forks closed down some years ago, and took them with me on my second visit to him. I'll make sure that there is always a fresh bouquet for him from now on. I feel ashamed that I've never thought to do so before now. I'm not a very good daughter. The last five and a half years are proof of that.

It's Monday, which means I'll be eating lunch on my own today. That has been my first thought when I wake up every weekday for the past two weeks, since me and Edward began meeting in the library - either that I'll be eating alone at lunch, or I'll have company.

I have some breakfast, get showered and then dressed. I choose my black t-shirt with a picture of Mickey Mouseprinted on the front, to wear underneath my blue denim dungarees. I know that Mickey Mouse is a kids programme, but he is awesome. And anyone who doesn't agree needs their head testing. I love Mickey. I even have a large stuffed toy version of him sat on the chair that's in the corner of my room beside the door.

I shrug on a charcoal grey cardigan, to hide my bruised arm. I pull on my red Converse high tops, painstakingly throw my hair up into a low ponytail, dab some makeup over my dark eyes and freckles, as always, and get everything I need before leaving. I hop onto my bike after unlocking it and throw the lock into my bag. I decide to go a different route to school than my usual today. Instead of sticking to the residential streets, I choose to ride through the center of town, where most of the shops and businesses are located.

Once I'm outside a specific store, I jump off of my bike, leaning it against the storefront as I walk inside. The smell of sugar fills my nose, providing me with a sense of nostalgia. Forks' only sweet shop. It's small, with the cashier desk at the back and shelves lining every available wall space, filled to the brink with jars, and boxes of sweets. A small section of the wall on the right side of the shop isn't shelved. Instead it is covered in railings for packets and bags of sweets to hang from. Two small, glass topped round tables sit in the center of the room, displaying a variety of chocolates and candy bars. The floor, cashier desk and shelves are dark walnut, and the walls are fuchsia.

My father used to bring me in here after every piano lesson that he would take me to. Kind of like he was rewarding me. He'd always tell me to pick out anything I wanted, to maybe try new things, but there is only one thing I would get from this shop. I immediately walk to where they are, in a large share size bag, hooked on a rail attached to that specific section of the right wall. The gold packaging immediately brings a smile to my face.

"Isabella? Is that you?" a low gruff voice calls from the back of the shop. I turn, the pack of sweets securely held in my hands. Hank Langford, the shop owner for as long as I have been alive, is stood behind the cashier desk. His hair is grey, wrinkles run deeply into his skin. His age is showing, but he's still got that charm about him. I think it's his eyes. They are a silvery blue, the most unique eye colour I've ever seen. I remember they'd always fascinate me as a child. He's getting on a bit now. I don't know his age exactly, but I'd guess he's in his late seventies. Maybe even early eighties. He and his wife, Cynthia, live in the apartment above the shop.

"Hi Hank," I say with a rare natural smile on my face. I walk over to him, placing the packet onto the countertop between us.

"Aah. Isabella, I haven't seen you in here in a while," he muses, his eyes searching mine. I lower my head instinctively, trying to hide any emotions he may find.

It's true. I haven't been in here for a long time. I'd say it's been about three years. I would come in to get my personal favourites, as a living memory of my father, but after a couple of years, the trips here became more infrequent until they stopped all together. The pain was too difficult to handle. Every time I pass the sweet shop to go to work, I have the urge to come in and buy my usual, but then an image of my father's closed casket at his funeral passes before my eyes, and I walk straight passed.

I've only come in today, because recently I've made a small amount of peace with my father's death. Not completely. But going to visit his grave has given me the strength to come in here.

"Yeah... you could say that," I mumble, finally raising my head to offer him a small smile. He eyes me speculatively, before his gaze softens and he matches my smile.

"You still like these then?" he asks as he picks up my chosen item.

I nod. "Yep. Still my favourites," I answer. I hand over the money for them, and he then passes them back. I clutch them to my chest like they're my most prized possession. Hank looks at me with concern in his eyes.

"How are you holding up, kid?" he asks, his voice quiet, full of an emotion I can't quite decipher.

"I'm... I'm managing. Day by day," I answer truthfully. He smiles wistfully, his eyes growing misty for a brief moment.

"That's good. Very good," he mumbles. "Say hello to your mother for me, will you?" he requests. I have to fight my natural reaction to his request, to scoff or laugh in his face. There's no chance of that happening. But I don't tell him this. I nod and smile, telling him I'll do just as he asks.

"Sure. Tell Cynthia I said hello, too, please? I'll come back in soon to see you both. And to buy some more of these," I say with a chuckle as I hold up the packet. Some unclear emotion flashes in his eyes. It's gone almost as soon as it arrives.

A strained smile appears on his face. "Will do," he says stiffly. I want to know what's wrong, but I don't want to pry and intrude. It could be personal. So I decide to leave it.

"Thanks for the sweets, Hank. See you sometime soon," I call out to him as I leave the shop. He tells me "goodbye" before the door closes.

After putting the sweets into my bag, I get back on my bike and make it to school just in time. The bell for first class rings just as I reach the classroom door. I'm met with several sniggers and giggles as I walk past people to get to my seat at the back. More accurately, my outfit is gaining the amusement. The dungarees stoop low enough so that the head of Mickey Mouse is visible to everyone who looks at me.

"Nice top, Minnie," Lauren sniggers as I walk past her and Jessica. Both of them throw me a look of disgust, their eyes looking me up and down. I don't care. Ignoring them is the best policy, as always.

And Minnie? Seriously? Is that the best she could come up with?

All of my classes before lunch pretty much follow the same pattern. Looks, laughs and jokes all aimed at me. But then again, what's new? It's nothing I'm not used to. I just ignore and go about my day like all is peaceful.

When the bell for lunch sounds, I pack up my stuff and head in the opposite direction of the cafeteria. I don't go to the library either. Edward won't be waiting for me there, and I have no reason to go to the cafeteria today. I have my sweets for lunch, so I don't need to go and buy any of the school food.

My trip to the sweet shop before school has me in a nostalgic mood. I decide to go to the music rooms. Forks High School isn't big, so the music department isn't anything major. There are only two pianos in the whole school, one in the small auditorium, and the other in one of the two music classrooms. The latter is where I am heading now. I can play the piano well. I had lessons from four years old until I was ten. I picked it up quite quickly. My teacher said I was a natural. The guitar, however, is a whole other story.

Luckily, the music room that has the piano in is unlocked, and empty. I haven't been in here for a long time. And I haven't played a piano in a while either. I do have a keyboard at home, one that my father bought for me on my sixth birthday. I don't play it often though. My mother doesn't like it. She says it hurts her ears.

The last time I played a piano was around four months ago, when I snuck in here during a lunch, just like today. It was a day someone had poured a gel of some kind into my locker. I was pissed off but didn't want to show it. I didn't want to be in the cafeteria and be a laughing stock, but I also couldn't go to the library. A rare lunch time study group was in there, preventing me from escaping to my corner. The music room was my last option that day.

I walk into the room, pulling my sweets out of my bag as I go. I open them up and throw a couple into my mouth, closing my eyes quickly as the flavours burst across my tongue. I sit down on the piano bench, dropping my bag to the floor beside me and placing the open packet on top of the piano, before lifting the lid with a great amount of care. I stroke the keys softly, closing my eyes and breathing a heavy breath in. Memories of playing songs for my dad at home on the keyboard he bought for me flood my mind.

Out of instinct, and without much thought beforehand, my fingers begin moving, pressing down on the keys and playing a familiar melody. River Flows In You by Yiruma was always one of my favourite pieces to play. And to listen to. It's sad but graceful. At times its sweet and slow, but becomes stronger as the song progresses.

I remember it all, note for note. My eyes are now open, and I watch as my hands move over the keys. It's like I was made to play this beautiful instrument. I feel completely at home when I'm sat in front of one.

The last note of the song is disrupted by a sudden echo of applause. I swivel on the bench to face the music room door behind me. Edward is stood in front of the closed door, still clapping, with a look of utter shock on his face. He begins to slowly walk towards me, his hands finally dropping to his sides. The look of shock, however, doesn't leave his face.

I remain silent, mortified that he heard me play. No one but my ex-piano teacher, my parents and my grandparents has heard me play. Ever. I open my mouth to say something, but no words come out. I'm too stunned. Too embarrassed.

I quickly turn to face the piano keys as Edward sits on the bench beside me. I move over to give him room without him even having to ask. I hear his bag drop to the floor. I press a key down as we sit in silence. The sound resonates around us. I press another, closing my eyes at the familiar calming feeling that the sound of the notes create.

"How long have you played?" Edward asks quietly, as if he's afraid to interrupt my peace.

I blush as I look towards him. He's staring at me, curiosity clear in his green eyes. I turn my head to face the piano once more, not having the courage to speak about something so personal while staring him right in the face.

"Um, since I was four," I answer hesitantly.

"You're really good," he compliments, his voice soft and quiet. I blush again.

"Thank you," I whisper, pressing another key down.

"Have you had any lessons?" he asks me.

"I did, until I was ten," I answer, my voice barely above a whisper and clogged with emotion.

"So you studied it for six years?" he asks after doing the math. I nod silently. "Why did you stop with the lessons?" he asks innocently. I feel the colour drain from my face, suddenly feeling unsettled.

"Um, I... my... well, um..." I stutter frantically over my words, trying to find an answer. How do you casually tell someone that you stopped taking piano lessons because your father died? It doesn't seem like the most suitable topic of conversation.

"You don't have to answer," he says quickly. I turn my head to look at him, offering him a small smile in thanks. It's rare that I do so to him. Smile, that is. I carry on pressing random keys, not really feeling confident enough to play properly now that Edward has arrived. Actually, come to think of it...

"How come you're here? It's Monday. Shouldn't you be in the cafeteria with the others?" I ask, halting my key pressing momentarily so I can turn and watch his reaction.

He groans in frustration, hanging his head back. "My sister is being a pain in the ass," he complains.

I can't stop the giggle from escaping me. He lifts his head to narrow his eyes at me. I can sense he's not offended by my giggle though. His glare almost seems playful. "Why? What's she doing?" I ask. This is one thing Edward does a lot; complain about his sister and her annoying tendencies. He also has a habit of bitching about his parents, which I surprisingly don't mind. It's nice, hearing about another family's dynamics, even if he despises them at times.

"So, you know it's Rosalie's birthday tomorrow?" he asks. I nod. Everyone knows about her birthday. She doesn't let anyone miss knowing of the day she was born. If she could, I guarantee she'd have posters and such advertising the special day.

"Well she's having a party. I-" he begins, but I interrupt.

"Wait! She's having a party on a school night?" I ask in disbelief.

"Yeah, are you really surprised? She's the Mayor's daughter. She can do anything she wants," he says. The way he speaks confuses me slightly. It's like he's defending her. Or maybe I'm just being paranoid. "You didn't know about the party? It's literally the only thing people 'round here are talking about. Everyone's invited," he says, sounding baffled.

"Not everyone," I mumble. I shrug and smile weakly as my eyes meet his. "I don't get invited to many parties, Edward," I tell him. Silence follows my words. I can tell by the look on Edward's face that he doesn't know what to say. He looks at me with sympathy, and I hate that. "Anyway, back to your story. Sorry for interrupting," I say quickly.

"Oh yeah. Um, don't worry about it. Where was I? Oh yeah, so the party tomorrow... I plan on going. Alone. My sister has other plans though," he says, rolling his eyes. "She wants me to ask Jessica or Lauren to go with me. As my date! No fucking way is that happening. Not in a million years," he shudders as he tells me of her plan. I don't offer any response as he carries on ranting. "And now she's got my mother involved. It's a fucking nightmare. They have both been pestering me all weekend about it."

"Aww. Poor you," I tease as I pat his arm in mock comfort. He gives me the death glare. I smirk in amusement.

"Bella, this isn't funny. What am I going to do?" he asks me, exasperated.

"Easy. Ask one of them to go with you," I say, before I reach into my bag of sweets and pop one into my mouth.

"What?! No. I don't wa-" he stops mid-sentence, his eyes following the movement of my hand. His nose wrinkles in obvious disgust. "Gummi Bears? Really, Bella?" he questions as he eyes my bag of Haribo sweets like it's going to come alive and attack him. You'd think the bears were real with the way he's acting.

"Yes, Gummi Bears. Is there a problem?" I ask, raising an eyebrow as I reach into the bag and pick out another three. His face scrunches up as he watches me chew.

"You do know they're made with gelatin, right?" he asks.

I sigh, rolling my eyes. "Yes. Yes I do. Please do not give me the lecture. I've heard it all before... about how gelatin is made from boiling animal bones, cartilage and skin. I don't care. They taste good, so there's no issue," I answer as I throw another one into my mouth. He gives me a look of disbelief. I pick up the bag, shaking it a bit to loosen the ones that are stuck together.

I hold out the bag in Edward's direction. "Want one?" I ask. He shakes his head vigorously, pushing the bag away from him and towards my chest. That's when his eyes drop to where the bag is. I'm about to admonish him for staring at my boob area when his eyes raise to mine, question and amusement twinkling in them.

"Is that Mickey Mouse?" he asks, pointing to my chest. I look down at my top briefly, before looking back up at him, my blush heating my cheeks.

"Um, yeah. I love Mickey Mouse," I answer honestly. No point in pretending it's not true.

"Still?" he asks as he quirks an eyebrow. I can't help but feel like he's going to take the piss out of me.

"You're being very judgemental today. First my sweets and now my clothes," I say coldly as I turn back to face the piano.

"No I'm not," he replies quickly. Defensively. He sighs, and I watch out the corner of my eye as he lowers his head. "I'm just trying to understand you better," he admits quietly. I don't know what to say to that, so I stay silent. Edward eventually raises his head. I sense him turn his gaze back on me.

"So..." he begins. "Mickey Mouse, huh?" he asks, again with genuine curiosity lacing his voice. I can sense in the way he says it, by the tone of his voice, that he is attempting to lighten the mood.

"Uh-huh," I say with a nod, deciding to help by latching onto his attempt. "Mickey Mouse is freaking amazing!" I exclaim, before placing my fingers at the keys needed to start the song. I begin playing it, a sincere goofy grin on my face. After a full run through of the song, I stop and look at Edward. He looks utterly confused. "Oh my God! You don't know this tune?" I ask incredulously. Edward shakes his head silently, looking at me like I've got three heads. "It's the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse theme song," I inform him, starting it from the beginning. Edward laughs as I play. All too soon, before I can finish the song, I join in Edward's laughter, resulting in my inability to play anymore.

We both calm down, a few chuckles here and there coming from Edward. I eat some more Gummi Bears, much to Edward's revulsion. I roll my eyes at his look of disgust and shovel a handful into my mouth. He pretends to gag, turning away to look down at the keys. He starts to press on random ones, not really creating any set melody.

"Do you play?" I ask. He nods, glancing at me sideways, like he's checking I've finished eating the oh-so-horrible sweets. "Can you play something now?" I ask curiously. He stops the movement of his fingers, turning his head fully to look at me.

"Like what?" he asks. I pretend to think long and hard about it, tilting my head up and tapping my chin.

"I don't know. Something that will amaze me," I say. He nods his assent, turning to the piano. He straightens his back, delicately placing his fingertips on the keys. He closes his eyes, and just as I think he's going to blow me away with a wonderful piece of piano playing, he begins with the Happy Birthday tune.

I laugh as he smirks at me, continuing to play the well-known tune. "Come on now," I whine. "Be serious."

"Alright, alright," he concedes, stopping to play another song. I'm prepared, yet again, for a well-played piano piece, when he abruptly comes in strong with Do Re Mi. I huff, crossing my arms over my chest, causing Edward to laugh. He stops and holds his hands up in surrender, still laughing.

"I'm starting to think you're just stalling because you can't really play at all," I say, deepening my frown in an attempt to hide the smirk trying to break through. Edward grows serious, raising an eyebrow at my challenge. He cracks his knuckles, much to my dislike, and settles his hands on the keys. His face sets in determination, his eyes closing briefly, before he begins playing.

And play he does.

He plays one I recognise, but one that I don't know how to play. Canon in D Major by Johann Pachelbel. I'm in shock and awe as he plays the piece perfectly, never faltering once. Once he finishes, he turns to me, offering me a shy smile.

"Wow. That was... Wow." I say, struggling to find the right words. He chuckles nervously, blushing as he rubs the back of his neck. "Where did you learn to play like that?" I ask.

"My parents put me into lessons as soon as possible. They tried doing the same with Alice, but she never really enjoyed it. I, on the other hand, loved learning new instruments," he tells me, shrugging.

"I'm sorry... did you just say instruments? Plural. As in more than one?" I ask.

"Yeah. I can play the piano, guitar, alto saxophone and I can kinda play the drums. I want to learn more, but school gets in the way of the dedication learning a new instrument takes," he says with a frown, shrugging again like it's no big deal. But to me, this is a big fucking deal. I can only dream of playing more than just the piano.

"Wow. That's so cool. The guitar? I've tried, but... yeah," I trail off with a nervous laugh.

"What? Do you struggle with it?" Edward asks. I shrug looking down at my hands. I want to answer "yes" because that is partly the truth. For some reason I struggled with the guitar. It didn't come to me as naturally as the piano did. However, that's not all there is to it. And right now, I don't want to get into it. My nostalgia has already reached its limit - or the limit I'm willing to give it, at least - for today. And the nostalgia today has been pleasant. Positive. Talking about that would taint it with negativity.

Edward must sense my unease, because he turns away without asking any further questions. I look around, wanting to be rid of the horrible tension that has suddenly filled the room. "Oh, look!" I say, pointing to the other side of the room. Two acoustic guitars are hanging on the wall. "Can I hear you play?" I ask him.

"Maybe some other day," he says softly. I turn to look at him, confused and a little hurt by his refusal. He's looking at the door, or rather, at the clock above the door. "We should go, or we'll be late to our next class," he announces, standing from the bench and swinging his bag onto his shoulder.

"Right," I mumble, a little disappointed, copying his actions. He waits for me to close the lid of the piano and pick up my sweets, glaring at the pack in my hand. It's a struggle not to laugh at his aversion for Gummi Bears.

We walk out of the music room together. It's not until we turn the first corner of the corridors that I realise this isn't such a good idea. People blatantly stare, slack-jawed at the two of us. I do what comes natural and lower my head. Unfortunately for Edward, he's not used to the judgemental attention. I can sense how uncomfortable he is. His unease is like a fume, rolling off of him in clouds of mist.

After walking a minute or so in silence, we reach a corridor in which I have to go left, and Edward has to go right. "Um, I'll... I'll see you around," Edward mumbles as he scurries off, desperate to get away from the stares. Or me.

I sigh as I watch him walk away, feeling sorry for him. As I turn to carry on walking to my next class, I see the devil-duo stood outside our classroom door. They both have their arms crossed over their chests, matching scowls on their faces as they narrow their eyes at me.

I choose to ignore them, walking towards the door and pushing past them both to enter. I hear their sounds of disgust as I walk in between them; the scoffs and growls. I just roll my eyes. I hurry to my place at the back of the room. It's only a few minutes later, after I'm sat and the lesson has begun, that I think back to Edward's parting words.

"I'll see you around."

Why didn't he say "I'll see you tomorrow"? What does this mean? Will he no longer want to meet me for lunch in the library? It's Tuesday tomorrow, so I should be definitely seeing him. Speaking to him. Eating with him.

Am I looking too much into this?

Have I ruined my one friendship because my mere presence, just me walking beside him, caused people to stare?

A/N: Oh no. Something for Bella to worry about until the next day. Is she looking too much into it? Do you think Edward will stick to their usual Tuesday lunch meet? Let me know in a review.

Thanks for reading and I'll see you again on Wednesday!