A/N: Back again! And another ridiculously long chapter. (I'm grateful to those of you who enjoy these longer chapters—I've always been a writer who has a tendency to spend way, way too much time on things, so I've tried to push myself to be more concise. But this story has more constraints on it than the others so far, and I did think it better in the end to keep the flow feeling natural as possible, even if it means the story progresses more slowly. It's been a little fun experimenting with slightly different approaches.)

Thanks for reading, and for all your comments so far! Hope you enjoy, and see you at the end!

Chapter 2: Open Book

"Staring at the snow again, Edy?"

I didn't turn at the sound of the voice, interrupting the silence. I had heard his thoughts approaching long before I heard the soft sound of his light footsteps.

"Has it done anything interesting yet?" Tanvir continued. He reached up to brush some of the powdery snow from his strawberry blond hair, then flopped down beside me in the snow bank.

"No," I answered honestly.

He glanced at me, then turned his eyes back to the far distance, in the direction my eyes were fixed.

"Well, it is beautiful," he allowed. His eyes flickered up to the clear dark sky above, expanding out in all directions, dotted with glimmering pinpricks of light, then dropped down to the snow, spreading out before us, perfectly untouched like white dunes of sand on a beach. "Incredibly beautiful," he added with feeling. "But I don't know I could sit here for six days straight staring at it."

His eyes slid toward me again, one pale eyebrow raised.

I'd been nearly a week here in the vast Denali wilderness, with our other vegetarian friends—vampires who had chosen, as we had, not to drink the blood of humans. Yet I had barely spoken to them, and I had yet to divulge the reason for my abrupt arrival. I could have read the silent question in Tanvir's eyes even if I hadn't also been able to read his mind.

What's wrong, Edy?

Edy. Tanvir was the only other person in the world besides Archie who called me that. It had annoyed me for awhile, but now I didn't mind so much. It made them feel more like family.

Maybe that was why I was reluctant to explain myself. The shame still burned inside me, and I wasn't even sure I would have told the others back home, if Archie's sight hadn't revealed it and forced it from me.

And yet, in spite of the shame, in spite of the cool, fresh air I drew into my lungs with every breath, I was no better. The memory of the smell of his blood was still alive in my mind, a raging fire. I still longed for it, yearned for it with everything I was.

As I gazed out at the snow, and the majestic expanse of constellations, I saw no more of the beauty. I only saw a face—a plain, perfectly ordinary human face. The face of my greatest enemy.

I didn't reply, only kept staring out at the snow.

"If I'm annoying you," he said, and his voice was gentler than before, "just tell me, and I'll go away. Ivan and Kirill say I should just leave you to yourself. They're a bit more sensitive than I am."

"You're not annoying me," I said, still staring out at the snow. "I'm... sorry I'm being so rude."

Tanvir flashed a smile, then he frowned. You're going home, aren't you? he thought.

"I don't know," I answered. "I haven't decided."

But you're not staying here.

I hesitated. Though he tried to keep his thoughts light, I felt the wistful tenor of them. Tanvir had never been bashful about expressing his feelings for me. In fact, his brothers often called him, not unfairly, a shameless flirt. When I'd arrived here so suddenly...

Tanvir was doing his best to hide his own disappointment, but it was there, all the same.

Is it me? he asked.

"Of course not," I answered.

He shook his head, smiling. "You don't have to lie, you know," he said aloud. "I know I make you uncomfortable."

I didn't reply, and he took that as affirmation. He sighed deeply, and I sensed his thoughts take a chagrined turn. He leaned back in the snow, fingers laced behind his head.

"You know, I'm really not used to rejection," he said conversationally.

"No, you're not," I agreed in a mutter, trying without success to block his thoughts as he sifted fleetingly through his thousands of successful conquests. He preferred human women—there were so many more to choose from, with the added advantage of being soft and warm.

Tanvir and his brothers were incredibly old vampires, older than Carine. Unlike Carine, who had chosen from the outset what she would be when this monstrous life was forced upon her, they had discovered their consciences slowly. In the end, it was their human lovers that had turned them against it—they really loved the women, as something more than something to be devoured.

In some ways, Tanvir, Ivan, and Kirill had a better handle on their instincts than even Carine. Despite the insanely close proximity they allowed themselves to be in with those who were once their prey, they did not make mistakes.

"So," said Tanvir, cutting his string of memories short. "Mind telling what this is all about?"

I looked down at the snow drift in front of me. Again, I felt the burn of shame. I couldn't tell him that simply being in a room with a particular human had nearly made me go berserk, like some fresh, blood-frenzied newborn. Made me daydream about all the ways to kill him, and that I couldn't shake the longing for that blood even now...

"Is it a guy?" he asked with a grin.

I nearly laughed. I almost wished it was. "No," I said. "Not the way you mean." However, my brief, almost-smile faded, and a sigh escaped me.

Tanvir shrugged, though I could sense his curiosity raging.

When you leave, are you going back to Carine? he asked. The same question as before.

"I don't know," I whispered again. "I don't see how I can."

And yet, where was there for me to go? There was nowhere that held any interest for me. What I wanted, or at least, what the beastly side of me wanted, was in Forks.

Where will you run to? he asked.

The question caught me off guard, phrased that way. Run. Running away? If I went somewhere other than Forks, was that what I was doing?

I almost laughed again—a bleak, hollow laugh. Of course it was. Fleeing from my enemy, my very own personal demon—but was that enemy the human boy, or this monstrous part of myself I could not seem to vanquish?

"You know," said Tanvir after a long pause, his face thoughtful. "I think you will go back." His voice took on just a hint of his long-lost Russian accent. "No matter what it is... you will face it head-on. That's just part of who you are."

My gaze was still on the expanse of dark snow in the starlight, but for the first time, I could almost see it glittering, behind the vision of the face that would not leave my mind. I felt myself smile slightly. "Thank you, Tanvir," I said softly, sincerely.

"And," he added, "remember, if you change your mind—well, the door's always open."

I shook my head slightly, still smiling. "I think you would find me a very disappointing lover, Tanvir. I'm simply not up to your usual standards."

Tanvir smiled back. "I doubt that." However, after a moment he let his eyes drop away from mine.

With one graceful movement, like a cat rising from a nap, he slid to his feet.

"Well," he said. "In case you take off before I see you again... see you around, Edy. Hope you drop by again before too long."

"Goodbye, Tanvir," I answered softly, and when he left I could hear the soft whisper of his feet as he flew over the snow, moving so fast he left no footprints behind. As he left, some of the emotions he'd tried to keep to himself during our conversation leaked through. It hurt him, my rejection, though his feelings for me were by no means either pure or very deep. It did make me feel uncomfortable—I did not like hurting those I cared about.

I drew my legs up to my chest and rested my chin on my knees, staring up at the stars again, though I was already anxious to be on my way. Archie would already have seen me coming home, and he would be happy... and Carine and Earnest, too.

However, I gazed up at the stars for one more moment, trying to see them past the face that kept obstructing my view. Sky blue eyes seemed to be asking a silent question—but the mirror surfaces blocked me from hearing the thoughts behind the eyes, and I saw only my own face reflected in them. It was a blurry, indistinct shape—I couldn't yet see whether the face would be the one who had chosen this life, spent decades of denial resisting the lure of human blood, or the face of the monster. He seemed to silently ask me the question—if I went back, would I be the monster? Would it mean his life would soon be abruptly cut short?

When I finally got slowly to my feet, there was no change. The face had not left the place behind my eyelids, forever silently questioning.

I turned. If I ran, I would be back to Carine's car in less than an hour. I realized I was anxious to see my family again—and be the Edythe who did not run away, who faced things head on. In spite of the silent, accusing eyes that watched me from behind my eyes.

"It's going to be okay," Archie muttered in a low voice, too low for the surrounding humans to hear. His eyes were unfocused, and Jessamine had a light hand on his arm to steer him as we headed as a close group into the rundown cafeteria.

Eleanor and Royal were out in front, looking ridiculously like bodyguards in the middle of hostile territory. Eleanor was warily scanning the crowds, though Royal, while he looked impressive, was internally more annoyed with all the trouble than feeling very protective.

I was irritated, too. "Of course it is," I grumbled back. If I hadn't been absolutely positive I could handle this moment, I would have stayed home, obviously. This was beyond over the top.

The morning had been fairly ordinary—it had snowed in the night, and Eleanor had taken full advantage of my distraction to bombard me with slush balls. When she'd failed to get a reaction, she'd turned on Jessamine next, who was downright dangerous with a bit of packed slush. But suddenly everyone was in business mode, forming a tight defensive ring around me like I might lose it any second.

"He isn't here yet," Archie muttered to me in an undertone. "But the way he'll come in... he's not going to be downwind if we sit in our usual spot."

I rolled my eyes. "Of course we're going to sit in our regular spot—cut it out already, it's going to be fine."

Archie blinked and came out of his reverie as he and Jessamine sat down at our table. He studied my face for a second, registering the slight scowl. Apparently he considered this a normal expression for me, because he nodded once and, seemingly reassured, thought, I think you're right.

I turned my gaze away from him, too irritated by the surprise in the tone of his thoughts to look at him anymore. My gaze fell briefly on Jessamine and she smiled.

Bit aggravating, isn't it? she thought. No one had more experience with everyone watching her every move and afraid she was going to fly out of control than she did. I was starting to understand how she felt.

I turned away.

Today was a world different from last week. Tedium had been the primary concern on my mind, the wish I might sleep just to escape it. Today I was hyper-alert, my nerves taut as piano wires—I took in every sound, every sight, every movement of air that touched my skin. But most of all, I was aware of thoughts—what had been background noise before was now of vital importance to me. The only sense I refused to use was smell.

I was on the lookout for thoughts of us—particularly me. After my display in Biology last week, I needed to find out the new student's reaction to me. Perhaps I could not see into his mind, but I could see into the minds of anyone he confided in. He would want to tell someone about it, of that much I was sure. It made a good story—My first day went pretty good, except there was this girl who sat next to me in Biology who wouldn't stop glaring at me. She was looking at me like she wanted to kill me. And then when I went to the office, she was there, trying to switch out of Biology. What was her problem? Does she always act like that?

I sifted through the minds of the students, looking for something to that effect.

But there was nothing. Not a whisper. Most of the thoughts seemed to be no more than a repeat of last week.

He had definitely taken notice of my outrageous behavior—he would have to have been blind not to. And I was certain I had seen a flicker of fear in his eyes when I looked at him in the office.

Was that the answer? Did he already have some inkling, some suspicion, and was afraid if he blabbed around he might be in danger of reprisals from us? Or was he just the quiet type who preferred not to confide his problems in other people?

The second seemed more likely. The first seemed a little paranoid. It was ridiculous, to get worked up about the minor threat of one tiny, missing puzzle piece. But my compulsion to have the entire puzzle, a complete understanding of the dynamics in the room, refused to leave me alone.

The others were watching me, and they knew what I was listening for.

"So what's the situation?" Archie muttered at last. "What's the latest gossip wave on the Cullens?"

I shook my head slowly. "Apparently... he hasn't said anything to anyone."

This news brought some raised eyebrows. We'd all concluded that the chance he wouldn't talk about the odd events to someone was slim. I was all too familiar with human impulses.

"Maybe he didn't notice after all," Eleanor suggested. "Maybe you aren't as scary as you think you are."

I rolled my eyes. Much as that would make things simpler, it was impossible to hope for—no one, not even a human could be that oblivious. However, as far as I could find it seemed the only result of how I'd acted was that Mr. Cope had told a couple of other staff members about how I'd looked—throwing in his theory about the new kid making some kind of unwelcome, possibly lewd advances toward me. They hadn't believed him, and dismissed it as Mr. Cope's overactive imagination. He was in his office now, sulky and annoyed by the teachers' reception, but also beginning to wonder if he might have imagined the whole thing.

"He's coming in," Archie muttered suddenly, cutting into my thoughts. I felt myself go rigid. Archie added, glancing at me, "Try to look human."

"How's this for human?"

Eleanor produced an icy snowball she had been saving in her palm—of course it hadn't melted. She looked at Jessamine, but I saw the real direction of her thoughts, and so did Archie.

With a casual flick, she sent the ice block hurling like a meteor at Archie's face. He deflected it with two fingers, and it ricocheted to the other side of the cafeteria, too fast for human eyes to see. It shattered with a sharp crack against the brick wall. The already old, scuffed up brick had a new hair-crack just below the ceiling.

Heads closest to the noise turned to the corner to stare at the pile of ice, then searched for the culprit, but they didn't look more than a few tables away, and soon returned to their conversations.

"Very human," Royal muttered sourly.

"It's what they would do if they could," Eleanor said, with a wink at me.

I did my best to look a part of the banter, forcing an unnatural smile as I kept my eyes on them. However, all my attention was on the food line.

McKayla and Jeremy were talking to each other, and not paying particular attention to my intended target, but they were still aware of him. I focused on that part of their awareness, and I saw out of the corner of Jeremy's eyes when the boy glanced in our direction.

As soon as he did, he suddenly looked down again, and I saw the blood coloring his ears.

The image of the blood had me taking quick, shallow breathes, ready to quit breathing if any hint of his scent touched me. However, my mind was on something else, too. For once, I didn't need to read his thoughts to understand the sudden chagrin in his face.

I was here. His worst enemy, who despised him. Maybe he didn't understand the true danger consciously, but he instinctively drew back from my unspoken hostility.

"What's wrong with Beau?" McKayla asked Jeremy, and I felt her concern.

For some reason I could not explain, I felt a flicker of annoyance. There was really nothing wrong with McKayla—unlike Jeremy, she bore no secret derision or ill will toward the new student. But there was a possessive tint to her thoughts, like she'd already staked her claim, which I found distasteful.

McKayla had gotten to introduce herself to Beau following that Biology class last week, and now, even as she was carrying on another conversation, she often went over the moment in her mind again with an almost loving caress. She was absolutely delighted with my inexplicably rude behavior, it had played very nicely into her plans. She liked the contrast it must have made—bombshell goddess Edythe Cullen, who looked down on lesser mortals like dirt on her shoes, versus nice, down-to-earth girls like McKayla Newton.

It was, of course, completely ridiculous to be irked by the elaborate fantasies she was already forming in her mind. It was like I was forming some kind of strange sense of possessiveness myself—like that infernal hour of torture that would be forever seared into my mind had formed some kind of invisible bond between us, the kind that could only be the result of the severest trauma. It was especially ridiculous, considering the new student was completely oblivious to it. He was still a complete and utter stranger to me—more a stranger than anyone else I had ever met, with his hidden, veiled thoughts, and his continual refusal to divulge them aloud. Still, for some indefinable reason, the girl continued to grate on my nerves.

I switched to watching him through Jeremy's eyes, looking for his reaction. However, before he could say anything, the boy spoke up to answer McKayla's question.

"Nothing," he said. He had a low voice, quiet, though I heard it with perfect clarity even across the length of the cafeteria. Wordlessly, he took a soda bottle as he moved to catch up with the end of the line.

"Aren't you hungry?" Jeremy asked.

"Actually," he muttered, "I feel a little sick."

Jeremy made a quick assessment of the truth of this, then shuffled back a few steps to get out of puke-range, just in case.

It was easy to guess the source of his sudden ill-health. My hard insides twisted uncomfortably, my shoulders rigid.

Eleanor caught my eye, and grinned a little. You don't look so good, girl.

The group went to sit down at one of the first tables in the room—not downwind, just as Archie had promised.

Archie elbowed me in the side. He's going to look soon. Act human.

I clenched my teeth behind my forced smile.

"Relax," Eleanor said, shrugging, keeping her voice too low for the humans to hear. "Let's say it goes bad, you kill him—he's just one human. That's hardly the end of the world. Eternity is a long time to wallow in guilt."

I tensed and didn't answer. Eleanor would know all about that.

Eleanor was about to say something else, but Archie suddenly grinned and, with a quick flick of his fingers, flung a piece of ice he'd been hiding in his palm right in Eleanor's unsuspecting face.

"You let down your guard," he explained with a shrug. "Too bad."

Eleanor's stunned look turned to a fierce grin. "You asked for it." she leaned across the table, flicking her long hair, still covered in a mixture of ice and water from the slush fight with Jessamine, in Archie's direction.

Royal leaned back to avoid the deluge, nose wrinkled, while Archie leaned back too, laughing.

I found myself laughing, too—I saw in Archie's head how he'd staged the moment, just as Beau Swan turned his head in our direction, so he'd see us looking happy and mirthful, as if we were the most normal high school kids in the world.

Archie was still grinning and leaning away—he was still watching us.

...And he's right back to staring at Edythe Cullen again, someone thought, catching my attention.

Before I had time to think, I automatically turned at my name—but my eyes, instead of finding the source of the thought, slid to the face beside it, and a pair of pale blue eyes.

Our eyes met for a fraction of a second, but at the same moment he casually turned away from me, toward Jeremy, as though he hadn't been looking in our direction at all.

I knew I should look away, especially since Jeremy was completely aware of the direction of my stare, but I couldn't. I had been exercising all my self-control not to look at him, but now that I saw him, I couldn't seem to tear my eyes away.

I focused on his mind, trying to pierce through whatever was blocking the sound of his thoughts. But there was nothing—only silence.

"Edythe Cullen is staring at you," Jeremy noted, glancing over his shoulder back at me. There was a flicker of jealousy in his thoughts, followed by dismissal. Sure, everyone is interested in the new guy now—even the Cullens. But that'll only last so long.

"She doesn't look angry, does she?" he asked in a mutter.

I felt a thrill mingled with dread—here was the conversation I'd been hoping to catch in someone's thoughts. And I would be here to hear the first time he told anyone, first-hand. I listened carefully.

"No," Jeremy answered, confusion in his thoughts. Then it quickly turned to amusement. "What did you do, ask her out?" What an idiot. But, better you get over yourself now, while you've still got a bit of dignity left.

"No!" he said vehemently. "I've never even talked to her." He hesitated. Then, keeping his voice so low the others sitting right at the table probably couldn't have caught it, he added, "I just... don't think she likes me very much." He fidgeted uncomfortably as though he could feel my gaze fastened unblinkingly to the back of his head as I focused again to try to penetrate his mind, but I heard nothing.

"The Cullens don't like anybody," Jeremy reassured him. Then he corrected himself, "Well, they don't notice anybody enough to like them." He could see me from where he sat. He was torn between annoyance at my mystifying attention to such an ordinary guy, and the natural excitement most in Forks were susceptible to when something unusual and interesting seemed to be going on.

"But she's still staring at you," Jeremy informed him.

"Stop looking at her," he grumbled.

Jeremy snickered, but did as he was asked.

And that seemed to be the end of the conversation. McKayla jumped in with plans for a snowball fight, and it didn't seem the subject would come up again.

I found myself simultaneously dismayed and relieved. If I had been expecting to glean some information about the boy's real thoughts on the incident, it had turned out to be more than a little disappointing. He was going to continue to keep his secrets after all. But, it was a relief in that, if this was all he had divulged about it, it didn't seem we needed to worry too much about his spreading it around. And based on the conversation, it seemed unlikely he had any inkling of the supernatural about us or the true nature of what had just about occurred in that Biology class.

I had just been being paranoid—of course. He was just an ordinary human. To him, it was just a slightly strange, unsettling incident, especially for a first day. Some girl he didn't know acting like she hated his guts. Unusual, but nothing to bother too much about.

The rest of the lunch hour he did not look in our direction again. I got the sense that he wanted to—every so often his body would turn slightly in my direction, his head too, but then he would tense and turn back to the table. Seemingly he deliberately chose not to. No doubt he was curious to see if I had taken up glaring at him again, but at the same time, afraid to find out. Even though he didn't seem to have any conscious fear of me physically, he seemed to be the quiet, sensitive type, who did not shake off hostile encounters very easily, even if they were under bewildering circumstances with total strangers.

As the thoughts of the others turned away from him—McKayla was still talking animatedly about the snowball fight she was planning, apparently not noticing how the sound of the precipitation against the roof had turned to the pattering of rain—I tuned them out, still staring at him, still trying to somehow force my way into his mind. But of course, all my efforts were in vain.

When the lunch period ended, and the humans began filing out, I remained in my seat. The others didn't move either—waiting to see what I would do.

I had two choices. Go to class, sit beside him and try to get through the hour—or tell myself I'd had enough for one day and skive off early.

"I... think it's okay," Archie said at last. "Your mind's pretty set. I think you can make it through."

The uncertainty in his voice was palpable. Archie knew only too well how the best of intentions could change in a moment.

"I wouldn't push it," Jessamine cautioned, her face grim. "It would be better to take it slow." Although she was trying very hard not to be, I could tell she was happy she was no longer the center of everyone's concern, the weakest link. That was me now.

"What's the big deal?" Eleanor said bracingly. "Either she'll kill him or she won't. Might as well get it over with either way, I say."

Royal grumbled. "And have to move again," he said with distaste. He glowered at me for my inconvenient problem's possible effect on his personal comfort.

For a moment I didn't move, torn. Ironically it was Eleanor's blasé comment that almost had me ready to head back to my car to spend the class. Of course it was a big deal. If I slipped up, then a life would be lost, put to an end. Maybe a lot of lives, if there were witnesses. Maybe Jessamine was right, maybe I had pushed myself enough for today. To intentionally place myself in the path of temptation, for absolutely no reason at all than to test my strength, because of some pointless macho desire to face this challenge head on—wouldn't that be wrong?

And yet, I felt my mind unconsciously reaching, flitting from one mind to the next as I sought out someone who was with him, so I could see what he was up to, if he was saying anything that would help me ferret out the secrets of his irritatingly unfathomable mind. I knew what I wanted to do—irresponsible as it might be. All my thoughts had been racing in one direction for the last week, day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute—and now that I was here, all I wanted was to go to my Biology class and, for the first time, speak to my enemy. And, even more—I felt a shiver of some emotion I could not identify down my spine—for the first time, hear him speak to me.

"No, I really think it will be okay," Archie said, with more assurance this time. "It's firming up. I don't think anything bad will happen if she goes. I'm ninety-three percent sure, anyway." Archie was looking at me with an odd, curious expression. Wondering what had changed in my mind to make his vision more secure.

I wasn't sure myself. Was I just looking to sate my curiosity about his silent mind? Looking for any chance to finally ask some of my own questions I had been wanting to ask from the beginning? Or now that Tanvir had put words to what I did not want to be—someone who ran away rather than faced things proudly straight on—was I simply acting in defiance of it?

In that moment, it didn't matter. I had made up my mind.

I pushed back from the table. "See you later," I said abruptly. "I'm going to class." Slinging my bag over my shoulder I turned and walked away without a backward glance, though I still felt their thoughts trailing after me. Eleanor's congratulations, Royal's self-absorbed annoyance, Jessamine's disapproval. And of course, Archie's continued wariness.

When I reached the door of the classroom, I stopped. I drew in one last deep breath, then held it firmly in my lungs as I stepped into the small, warm space.

It seemed I wasn't late. Mrs. Banner was still setting up for today's lab as I entered. My eyes automatically flickered to my table—and of course he was there.

His eyes were downcast, head resting on one hand as he scribbled something on his notebook. As I passed, I glanced down at the drawing, curious—but it was no more than doodles, a series of jagged lines angling out in a pattern. It wasn't going to get me any closer to deciphering his enigmatic thoughts.

I pulled my chair back a little more roughly than usual, letting the legs scrape along the linoleum to alert him to my arrival.

He didn't look up, or make any sign he noticed me there, but for a slight tensing of his shoulders. Just like in the cafeteria, he seemed to be deliberately ignoring me. Maybe he'd even started the drawing just to give himself something to keep his eyes on when I came in.

I was beginning to realize I must have unnerved him far more than he was letting on. Shy, sensitive—those were traits I tentatively attributed to his invisible mind. If I was going to get a handle on how he thought, and complete my puzzle, I had to start somewhere. He was sensitive to others' hostility, more than most. Hostility made him uneasy, uncomfortable.

In any case, there was nothing for it but to remedy that somewhat less-than-ideal first impression. That should be simple enough—humans' memories were easily overridden with the inception of new, conflicting information. And I wouldn't be able to ask any questions if he wasn't speaking to me.

"Hello," I said, in a quiet voice I used when I wanted to put humans at ease. I made my mouth form a perfect, polite smile—without showing my teeth.

His eyes flashed up, and his mouth actually fell open a little in shock.

I continued, "My name is Edythe Cullen. I didn't have a chance to introduce myself last week. You must be Beau Swan."

He gaped at me, completely stupefied. I tried to imagine the thoughts going through his mind. Was the person he was sitting next to bipolar? Was she on psyche medication? Or had the whole thing just been in his imagination, brought on by first-day jitters?

I noticed color beginning to creep up his face, but I kept my eyes fastened to his, not looking away even for a moment.

"H-How do you know my name?" he managed to get out at last.

It was a strange response to my introduction, but then, he had more than adequate excuse if his brain wasn't yet firing on all cylinders.

I laughed a little. "Oh, I think everyone knows your name. The whole town's been waiting for you to arrive."

This was obviously not welcome information, and his startled look turned to a distinct frown.

There was another bit of information about the workings of his mind to be gleaned here—he did not like attention. Being shy and sensitive, that made sense. Attention was a threat. Even my attention now seemed to be giving him some anxiety—I doubted these few polite words had yet erased my murderous glare from his memory.

I felt myself beginning to relax a little. Figuring out how his mind worked was not going to be as big of a challenge as I anticipated.

"No," he began, still looking uncertain. "I meant, why did you call me Beau?"

My smile shrank slightly. He was being incomprehensible again. Hadn't he told everyone he had spoken to yesterday, repeatedly, what name he liked better?

"Do you prefer Beaufort?" I asked.

"Absolutely not," he said adamantly. He hesitated. "But I think Charlie—I mean, my dad—must call me that behind my back—that's what everyone here seemed to know me as."

I sat there for a second, stunned. What I had taken for a lack of social grace or temporary mental obstruction brought on by shock was actually a keenness I had not been careful enough to foresee. If I hadn't been listening to the thoughts of all the others that first day, I would have addressed him by his full name first, as the others had. He had immediately, instinctively picked up on the difference.

"Oh," I said, a little lamely.

He stared back at me for a second, then turned away, color rising in his face again—I had to look away quickly, and I was careful not to breathe.

My thoughts continued to swirl around the figure sitting next to me, even as Mrs. Banner began class and we both stared up at the front.

What was he thinking? What suspicions was he forming? Was he forming any at all?

It was so maddening—this sense that I couldn't know, that I couldn't understand. It was like being blind.

However, I was temporarily distracted from my burning questions by another problem.

Our last exchange had used up the very last bit of my air. If I was going to talk again, I'd have to take in more—which could be very dangerous.

However, Mrs. Banner had us doing a lab today. Doing it without speaking would be difficult, especially without appearing as though I'd reverted back to the inexplicable hostility from that first day. I had to talk, just to hold onto the little progress I'd made today to setting his mind at ease.

Casually as I could, I leaned away from him, until my head was almost out in the aisle. Bracing myself and locking my muscles in place, I took one silent breath, drawing the air through my mouth alone.

I was right to have been cautious. Even without my sense of smell, I could still taste the scent of him on my tongue. My throat was on fire as the craving reignited in my stomach, as strong as before.

My entire body was rigid, perfectly still. However, as I cut off my lungs once again, I thought it wasn't quite as bad.

The burning, raging desire for his blood wasn't weaker per say, but only breathing through my mouth helped, as did being mentally prepared for the onslaught.

I slowly leaned back fully into my chair, and in a moment I was—almost—completely composed again.

Mrs. Banner was finished explaining the lab, and she called, "Get started."

I forced myself to turn back to him.

"Ladies, first, partner?" I said.

I was sure my delivery of the friendly, casual line was flawlessly polite, and my smile looked completely normal, but as he looked up from his desk at me, his face went blank. He gaped at me again in open astonishment, like he had when I had first spoken to him. Was I wrong? Was there something off in my expression?

Finally, he came to life. "Uh, sure, go ahead," he said.

Splotches of color were spreading across his face like flower petals, and I had to look away. I seized the microscope and pulled it with a little too much force to my side of the table, as though for some reason overly eager to get started on the inane lab. I needed something to distract myself—not that this was likely to be very distracting.

I barely glanced at the first slide.

"Prophase," I said. I quickly switched out the slide for the next, then stopped, and realized in my deliberate, intent focus, I was being a bit rude. "Or did you want to check?" My voice didn't come out like I meant it to—I wanted to sound polite again, putting him at ease. Instead, it came out more like a challenge. Daring him to question my ability to identify the simple slide correctly. As though, being my enemy, naturally he should hope to catch me making a mistake.

Of course, he still had no idea we were supposed to be enemies, and he blinked, looking startled. "Uh, no, I'm good."

I wrote Prophase neatly on the worksheet.

Another trait—he backed down from confrontational situations, rather than rise to the bait. He wasn't the pompous type who would try to bluff about knowing things he didn't know just to get one up on someone.

I glanced at the second slide, then wrote Anaphase on the next line. I was working quickly—if we got the lab finished early, that might give us a chance to talk. And for me to finally ask a few of the probing questions I had been storing up.

I slid the next slide into place.

...And there Edythe Cullen goes again, doing the entire lab herself. I better intervene or our new student isn't going to learn a thing.

"Miss Cullen?"

"Yes, Mrs. Banner?" I answered politely, at the same time carefully sliding the microscope toward the other side of the table.

"Perhaps you should let Mr. Swan have an opportunity to learn?" she suggested.

"Of course, Mrs. Banner."

I turned toward him, waiting, though I mentally sighed. This could take awhile. The others in the class kept checking their slides again and again, confusion coloring their thoughts. McKayla was continually switching them in and out—though in fairness, part of the problem may have been her concentration was divided between the lab and watching us with mingled frustration and apprehension.

I watched the side of his face with total absorption. He seemed tense under my scrutiny, though fortunately his face didn't go red again this time. He carefully bent his head to the microscope.

"Metaphase," he said after a second. His voice was sure.

I was startled by this quick pronouncement, and as he started to remove the slide I said, "Do you mind if I look?" I reached out automatically without thinking, catching his hand.

The moment my skin touched his, he jerked away like he'd been stung.

I withdrew my hand quickly, mortified—I should have known better. Our hard, ice-cold skin was naturally repulsive to humans. His reaction was natural, especially if, as I suspected, his subconscious was aware of the predator I was, even if he himself wasn't. However, I couldn't quite suppress the irrational sense of hurt.

For me, the touch had been an odd, jarring experience. Like an electric jolt up my arm. And the sudden heat—it felt like I must have sucked all the heat from his entire arm and drawn it into mine.

"I'm sorry," I said softly. I pulled the microscope toward me and examined the slide to give myself something to look at.

"Metaphase," I agreed after a moment, pushing the microscope back in his direction.

However, as he went to exchange the slides, he fumbled them, and the new slide fell on the table and the metaphase slide tumbled toward the floor, though I caught it before it could touch the ground.

"Ugh," he said. "Sorry."

"Well," I said, smiling, "the last is no mystery, regardless." Another trait—he wasn't particularly well coordinated. But this worked out fine, I was eager to be done with the simple, unproductive lab.

I wrote in Metaphase and Telophase on the last two lines, then set the sheet aside.

He was looking down now, at his desk.

I watched him, studying his profile. I sensed McKayla get distracted from the lab again, her eyes on us.

Oh, so now she's going to act all nice. What game is she playing? Look at Beau, he's scared stiff of her... or, he can't be smitten already, can he? She's confusing him. She is so horrible, I wish she would have stayed wherever she went, I bet she's toying with him on purpose.

It was a little funny, how many girls had fixated on this boy. To me, he seemed remarkably ordinary. And my first impression that he looked gawky and clumsy had turned out to be dead on. So what did so many of the girls at the school—there were more than just McKayla and Erica, who were the most aggressive—see in him? I could only suppose it was because he was new, something different and exciting. Eventually that would wear off, but for now he was the center of attention.

And yet... whenever I looked at his face, I found it hard to look away. I couldn't help but stare into his wide, sky blue eyes that seemed like I should be able to see straight through, but hid the secrets of his thoughts like the perfect mirror of a still mountain lake.

His eyes flickered, and suddenly he was looking straight into mine. I didn't look away—still trying to force my way into the mind behind the eyes.

"Did you get contacts?" he asked abruptly.

I blinked. I didn't know how to answer such a question out of the blue. "No." The idea of ever needing to improve my eyesight was a joke.

"Oh," he said, glancing down again. "I thought there was something different about your eyes."

I froze. Then, trying to maintain a casual front, I shrugged, my eyes dropping as I turned away, my gaze wandering instead to the teacher, who had begun to do her rounds.

There it was—another penetrating observation I had failed to anticipate. Of course there was something different about my eyes—the last time my eyes had been flat black with thirst. But before coming back to school, I'd glutted myself on the blood of animals until I felt almost bloated, in preparation for this day, though I knew it would only have a marginal effect. At the moment my eyes were a light gold, the color they were when I was well-fed.

No one had ever noticed this oddity about us—no one had ever looked closely enough to notice. Maybe they instinctively shied away, not wanting to understand. But he had stared right into the pitch black depths of my murderous eyes—of course it would seem obvious to him.

I cursed myself—if I had known what the question was leading to, I could have simply answered yes. But I had been blindsided. I was going to have to be more careful, on the lookout for such traps.

Mrs. Banner came to our table then. She looked over our shoulders to glance at the completed lab, then looked more closely to check the answers.

"So, Edythe..." Mrs. Banner began. I wouldn't have needed to hear her thoughts to know what she was about to say.

"Beau identified half of the slides," I said, beating her to the punch.

Mrs. Banner was doubtful. I'll bet she's just saying that. This is a difficult lab, I took it from the advanced course. Unless...

She turned her attention to Beau. "Have you done this lab before?"

He shrugged. "Not with onion root."

"White fish blastula?"

"Yeah."

Mrs. Banner nodded. "Were you in an advanced placement program in Phoenix?"

He seemed a little embarrassed. "Yes."

This settled the mystery for Mrs. Banner. "Well," she said, "I guess it's good you two are lab partners." As she moved away, she added under her breath, "So the others have a chance to learn something."

I stared back at him, stunned yet again. He probably could have identified all the slides as easily as I did—but he hadn't let on in the slightest. How condescending I had probably seemed, and he'd just sat there and taken it quietly.

So, he was smart—but he didn't feel the compulsion to prove it. He was intelligent in a quiet, humble way.

His eyes had dropped to his notebook again, making more jagged line patterns. He seemed determined to ignore me.

"It's too bad about the snow, isn't it?" I said conversationally. The weather seemed a safe enough conversation starter.

He looked up and eyed me warily, as though he suspected some ulterior motive behind my everyday question. Of course, he was right to be suspicious—I decided I would start out easy, then work slowly into the nosy, more personal questions I was burning to know about. Like that old myth about boiling a frog, starting the heat out light.

"Not really," he said honestly.

I had suspected this for a little while now, but I wanted to confirm it.

"You don't like the cold," I said.

"Or the wet."

I gazed back at him. "Forks must be a difficult place for you to live," I noted. Rain and cold were a part of life here. It seemed a strange choice. A part of me wondered wistfully what things would be like now if only he hadn't chosen to come to this town, if he had stayed away. My throat wouldn't be searing now, I wouldn't be feeling like I was about to be torn in two by my desire to be the good daughter Carine could be proud of, and the desire to sink my teeth into his skin...

I cut that thought off right where it was.

"You have no idea," he said in a low voice, frowning.

"Why did you come here, then?" It slipped out more as a demand than a polite question. Almost accusing.

He hesitated, seeming to shrink back a little from my intensity.

"It's... complicated," he said hesitantly.

"I think I can keep up," I pressed. Something had suddenly occurred to me—he obviously didn't like confrontation. Maybe I could use that to my advantage. If I was pushy enough, aggressive enough, he might give in just to placate me.

He was silent for a long minute, making me wonder if I had somehow slipped up in my reasoning. Then he glanced up, meeting my eyes, and he answered.

"My mother got remarried."

I hadn't realized I was so tense waiting for his answer until I felt myself relax slightly.

"That doesn't sound so complex," I said, and my voice was softer than before, sympathetic. This time the change in tone was automatic, rather than a ploy to try to extract more information. His open answer seemed to make him less of a challenge, a puzzle to solve, and more of a person. A person with worries and struggles like everyone else. "When did that happen?"

"Last September," he said, a little heavily.

My desire to know more was burning more strongly than before. I was staring at him, fascinated. It suddenly occurred to me that I'd forgotten about the burning in my throat for almost a whole half-minute.

"And you don't like him," I guessed.

"No, Phil is fine." He smiled, almost fondly. "A little young, maybe, but he's a good guy."

I pursed my lips, wary. Again, the conversation was going in a direction I couldn't predict. It was like every time he said something, he would set up my expectations for it to follow with something else, and then he would say something completely different that made mincemeat of my theories. I was like a frustrated scientist, trying to construct a thousand tiny formulas about the movement of the stars based on a flawed model, all the time sensing I was missing something vitally important.

"Why didn't you stay with them?" I asked. It was the nosy question of a prying gossip, but I was too absorbed to care.

He stared back at me with confusion, and still a touch of suspicion. Trying to figure out what could possibly have me so interested.

"Phil travels most of the time. He plays ball for a living." He half smiled, maybe at the novelty of the idea of someone who actually lived what many considered a dream job.

I found myself automatically smiling back. "Have I heard of him?"

"Probably not. He doesn't play well. Just minor league. He moves around a lot."

Ah. It was starting to come together now. "And your mother sent you here so that she could could travel with him."

This got more of a response than anything I'd said so far.

He had been sitting with slightly hunched shoulders, but suddenly he straightened. Almost—defiant.

"No," he said shortly, "she didn't. I sent myself."

I stared at him, my eyebrows pushing together. I could not seem to predict one thing he would say. What had triggered this response, when he had been so meek and passive before? Was it that I had seemed to suggest some weakness, in the implication he hadn't had a choice? Or had he taken my comment as an implied insult to his mother?

"I don't understand," I said at last, speaking softly so he wouldn't pick up on the petulance.

He sighed suddenly, as though he was beginning to regret having allowed himself to be drawn into this conversation. But as he caught my eyes, seeing me waiting for an answer, he gave in.

"She stayed with me at first, but she missed him. It made her unhappy... so I decided it was time to spend some quality time with Charlie."

The corners of his mouth moved, as though he were trying to smile but couldn't quiet manage it. His tone was gloomy.

"But now you're unhappy," I said.

He didn't deny it. "And?" Just a touch of defiance once again slipped into his tone.

I shrugged my shoulders and tried to make my voice light, but my eyes were still riveted to his face. "That doesn't seem fair."

He laughed, a short, incredulous sound. "Haven't you heard? Life isn't fair."

"I believe I have heard that somewhere before," I said dryly. If only he knew the irony.

There was a short pause. "So," he said at last, "that's it." He sounded ready to be done with the conversation.

But I wasn't ready to be done. I tilted my head slowly to the side, and then I said, slowly, "You put on a good show. But I'd be willing to bet that you're suffering more than you let anyone see."

He looked away. He seemed irritated again, though he shrugged and his tone was nonchalant as he answered, "I repeat... And?"

I took a wealth of information away from this exchange. It said a lot that he would move away from his preferred home to a climate he found so detestable of his own initiative, simply for his mother's sake. However, it said even more that he had kept it to himself all this time. Such a sacrifice, and he hadn't wanted anyone to know about it? He had told me because I had pressed him into it, but he was already looking as though he wished he could take it back. Did he hide what he was going through because to him, complaint equaled some betrayal of his mother? Or was it because he didn't want anyone's pity?

I was afraid he would take the opportunity to end the exchange, so I answered, "I don't entirely understand you, that's all."

He looked nonplussed. "Why would you want to?"

"That's a very good question," I murmured, more to myself than to him. I stared at him hard, trying to will myself to understand—to see. I'd always thought of myself as intuitive, perceptive. But it was slowly becoming clear that without my extra hearing, I was deaf and blind, stumbling around in the dark. All my conjectures about him had all turned out to be almost entirely wrong. Picking out traits here and there didn't seem to put me very close to understanding—there was a depth to them, a complexity that always seemed to complicate everything that seemed like it ought to be perfectly straight-forward.

He fidgeted under my intense stare, clearly uncomfortable, then looked away, back to the blackboard.

I sighed. The frustration was almost unbearable. I kept thinking I'd gleaned something important, only to have it slip away again.

To my surprise, his eyes returned to me. "I'm sorry," he said, eyebrows furrowing. "Did I... Am I annoying you?"

Again, he took me by surprise. But I understood. He had certainly not forgotten our last Biology class, nor was he likely to. He perceived my frustration as a return to the hostility of before, and he was anxious to clear the air. Even having done nothing wrong, he was quick to apologize. He didn't let a personal sense of injury or pride keep him from reconciling with other people.

Technically, we were enemies—he was my worst nightmare and I was his, even if he didn't know it. But I realized I didn't want him to think of me that way. As some kind of threat, or someone who, for some inexplicable reason, despised him.

I smiled a little. "No, if anything, I'm annoyed with myself."

He frowned. "Why?"

Perhaps it was because he had been honest with me, or perhaps because I wanted to say something personal to prove I wasn't fishing for information to turn against him, but I found myself saying honestly, "Reading people... it usually comes very easily to me. But I can't—I guess I don't know quite what to make of you."

Suddenly, inexplicably, he grinned.

I stared back at him, bewildered. Considering I had just admitted to weakness—something he ought to realize I didn't do often—this didn't seem to be the appropriate reaction. But maybe I had completely misread him. Maybe he was completely aware of the fact we were born mortal enemies, and was now taking delight in the fact he finally seemed to have won one over on me. Or at least he was vindictive enough over the incident last time to rejoice in my frustration.

I tried my best to keep my voice mild as I said, "Is that funny?"

He fought the grin down to just a smile. "More... unexpected. My mom always calls me her open book. According to her, you can all but read my thoughts printing out across my forehead."

I wondered if I had ever seen him really smile before. There was a bit of a sparkle in his eye as he spoke about his mother. A fond, almost soft look.

It suddenly occurred to me that, maybe, with the amusement, his mental defenses might be momentarily down. Maybe whatever shield he had might be linked to that.

It was a long shot, but if that was it, I might not get another chance. I stared at him, suddenly concentrating all my focus on hearing that voice in his mind—even if it was just a word, a glimpse of an image, or a trace of an emotion.

Nothing. Not a whisper.

He was staring back at me like I was crazy, so I quickly smiled again, relaxed. "I suppose I've gotten overconfident," I said lightly.

His brow creased, perplexed, like he was trying to figure out what to make of me. "Um, sorry?"

I only laughed, trying to set him at ease despite what must seem incredibly peculiar behavior.

Mrs. Banner called the class to order then, and Beau turned to face the front at once, and he seemed relieved to finally escape me.

I watched him for a second longer, then turned to face the front, too.

This was a foolish risk I was taking.

I had used up all the air I had in the conversation. So, gripping the table hard, I leaned out as far into the aisle as I dared without looking conspicuous, then drew in another breath through my mouth. Someone opened their book at another table at the wrong moment, so the airflow sent a particularly concentrated wave of his scent into my mouth—I nearly gagged as my throat exploded in flames. The monster—who was really me, overwhelmed by the temptation of this boy's obscenely appealing blood—perked up.

Jessamine had been right, this was stupid. Why was I torturing myself like this? And it wasn't just about me and my family. It seemed so wrong that I was capable of putting his life in danger too—and for what? Just to satisfy my morbid curiosity? To soothe my obsessive compulsive issues to have every piece of the puzzle slotted into place?

My hands continued to grip the table, and I tried to lean as far from him as possible, as the two monsters continued to war inside me—the monster that longed for the blood, and the monster that seemed willing to set him in danger of the other monster for selfish, paltry reasons.

The moment the bell sounded, I fled from the classroom, moving a little too fast—likely undoing any impression of politeness I'd halfway constructed in the course of the hour. The moment I was outside, I gasped at the clean, wet air like I was dying. I rushed as fast as I dared away from where I knew he was, feeling like I was being chased.

Eleanor was waiting for me outside the door of our next class, Spanish. She took in the wild look on my face and tensed.

What happened?

"Nobody died," I answered shortly.

She nodded. That's something. When I saw Archie ditching there at the end, I thought...

As we headed into the classroom, I saw the memory from moments ago, seen through the open door of Eleanor's last class—Archie walking briskly across the grounds in the direction of the science building, face blank and solemn.

A flood of horror shot through me, and I slumped as we sat down. "I didn't realize it was that close," I whispered.

Eleanor shrugged. Wouldn't worry about it. Nothing happened, right?

"Not this time," I said in a low voice.

Maybe it will get easier.

I didn't reply.

Or maybe you'll kill him. She shrugged again. You wouldn't be the first one to mess up. It's not like anyone would judge you too harshly. Sometimes, you just can't help it... Honestly, I'm sort of amazed you've lasted this long.

Again, I didn't answer her. I was quietly revolted—revolted by her acceptance of that outcome, as though it were inevitable. And did she really think that was my greatest fear if I murdered him to sate my appetite? Being judged?

Sometimes the blood just smells too good, she continued reasonably. It's happened to me twice, you know. The first time was when I was still kind of new, it just smelled a little bit sweeter than any other blood. But the second time...

The scene in her head suddenly changed, speeding back in time to a half century before, to a back country lane at dusk.

A middle-aged man was relaxing against an apple tree in a nearby orchard, his head covered in a straw hat, back resting against the bark. The harvest was over, and the rejected fruits lay scattered about the ground, leaking their fragrance into the air through their bruised skins. The scent of a freshly mowed field of hay also rose in the air, mingling with the heavy aroma of the fruit. Eleanor strolled casually up the lane, just on an errand. The sky was purple overhead, orange over the trees in the west.

It would have been a normal evening like any other, had not the wind suddenly changed, and the light breeze rattled the leaves of the trees, sending the man's scent curling across the lane, right into Eleanor's face...

I didn't last half a second, sighed Eleanor. I didn't even think about resisting.

The memory continued then—it was a memory of failure, of loss of control, but as Eleanor's blurred shape disappeared from the lane, and the man looked up, startled, his hat falling off amidst the fruit in surprise, there was just a hint of euphoria, too. The taste of a blood like no other—

I was suddenly on my feet, my chair shoved back. I wanted to clutch my hands to my head and shut my eyes, to block out the images—images and feelings of the taste of the exquisite blood in my mouth.

Señor Goff blinked, startled at my sudden movement. "Estás bien, Edythe?" he asked. I could see my own face in his mind, and I knew I looked far from well.

"Perdone," I muttered as I quickly turned and darted for the door.

"Eleanor—por favor, puedas ayudar a tu hermana?" he asked, gesturing after me.

"Sure," she answered, and in a moment she was right behind me.

I kept walking without looking back until I was to the far side of the building. At last she caught me and put a hand on my shoulder.

I struck her hand away with such force it would have shattered the bones of a human hand—and the bones in the arm attached to it.

"Sorry, Edythe," she said, and she was really apologetic.

I drew in deep gasps of air, trying to clear the images from my mind, the memory of the taste in my mouth—paled as it did in comparison with the temptation I faced myself.

She was trying not to think of the scent and flavor of her memory, but didn't entirely succeed. "Is it... as bad as that was?" she asked finally.

"Worse," I said through gritted teeth. "So much worse."

She was silent for a long moment.

You know, Edythe... I know you don't want to hear this, but... maybe...

"No," I snapped, a little louder than I meant. "No, don't even think it. Go back to class. I want to be alone."

She turned without another word, and returned back down the hall. She would give Mr. Goff some excuse, I didn't care what. All I knew was that I had to get out of here. Now.

I retreated to my car to wait out the rest of the school day. Hiding again.

I probably should have spent the time making decisions or bolstering my resolve—but I couldn't seem to think clearly. Instead, my concentration wandered automatically, sifting through the babble of thoughts. I immediately sensed the familiar voices, Archie, Royal, Jessamine—but I went right on past them until I found Jeremy, whose mind was becoming more and more familiar. But Jeremy wasn't with the one I was looking for, and I searched around until I found McKayla. The two of them were in Gym class together.

She was feeling down, anxious, and from her rapid stream of internal debating it didn't take long to find the source.

...I've never seen Edythe Cullen say more than a word or two to anyone. What is with her? She's been acting so weird around Beau. I couldn't stand the way she was looking at him. Like she couldn't decide if she was totally fascinated or wanted to spit in his face. When I asked him about it, he just said, 'I wonder what was with her last Monday.' That doesn't sound like he was all that interested. Maybe that's it. Maybe she likes him, but he isn't going for it. And who can blame him, when she's like that? Maybe I should say something, do something to cheer him up... I'll make sure he doesn't have to play at all today...

McKayla seemed to cheer at this, and her thoughts continued on making plans and playing out girlish little fantasies, but I didn't want to hear any more, and I withdrew from her mind.

I fidgeted, feeling irritated for no good reason. I pulled a CD from one of the slots, and pushed it into the stereo—one of Archie's favorite alternative rock bands, more banging and screaming than music. I turned it up until the entire frame of the car was trembling with every hit of the bass, trying to drown out all the voices in my head. It was a fight not to let my concentration wander back to McKayla Newton's thoughts, where I knew he was. I shouldn't be spying on him, that was impolite. But still, I would keep an eye out, so I would know exactly when he was leaving the gym so I could be prepared.

As the end of the hour drew near, I checked McKayla's thoughts again. I saw his face in her mind as the bell rang and the class began to file out of the gym doors. McKayla was admiring his features again—his tall, lean frame, his deep blue eyes, his silent demeanor... But at the moment her thoughts were colored with disappointment. She had to hurry to her parents' store after school to work, so there wasn't any time to talk. She said goodbye and hurried off through the doors with the rest of the crowd.

Without McKayla's eyes, I turned my own eyes to the crowd coming out—I picked out his pale face and dark hair easily.

Without knowing quite what I was doing, I found myself opening my car door, and stepping out into the rain.

The rain was a light mist in the air, clinging to my skin and hair. Breathing shallowly, I watched him draw closer, still not at all sure what I was doing. Was I hoping he would see me here? Was I hoping, inconceivably, he would come over and say something to me—prove McKayla wrong?

He was still walking in my direction, but he didn't look at me, instead tilting his head back to frown at the clouds, then sighed and came to a stop beside a faded red Chevy truck, several cars down from mine. The thing was huge and covered in rust, and obviously several times older than he was. He climbed into the truck without seeing me.

I slumped a little, disappointed, but I continued to watch him, leaning back against the side of my car, arms folded.

As he started the truck, the engine roared louder than any vehicle on the lot. Then he turned up the heat and put his hands to the vents. Of course—he didn't like the cold, or the damp.

He at last reached over and put his hand on the passenger seat, turning around to make sure the way was clear to back up. As he looked around, his eyes finally fell on me. He blinked, obviously startled—maybe because from the way I was standing, it had to be clear that I had been watching him.

He looked away sharply and sent the truck suddenly into reverse, as though eager to get away, but he had to slam on the breaks as he nearly took out Erica Teague's Toyota in his haste.

He checked all his blindspots again, then, looking deliberately in the direction opposite of where I was standing, he carefully backed out again.

As he passed me, he kept his eyes staring straight ahead, mouth set to hide his chagrin.

I realized I was laughing to myself at the look on his face. It wasn't really that funny, I supposed, having such a knee-jerk reaction to my very presence. He'd nearly flattened the surrounding landscape in his desperation to get away.

But, he had looked at me.

A/N: On the Spanish class bit, I used Google Translate to get the revised version of the dialogue given the gender-swap, but for any Spanish speakers out there, if there's anything incorrect there, let me know the correct phrasing and I'll fix it. (*Edited—thanks to Aurain Orimura for the correction in the 'tu hermana' line, and also thanks to CCNH . Tributo-Runner for the help on the proper use of 'perdone' and the accent/spelling on 'estás.' Thanks so much!)

Side note—in the original Life and Death, Chapter 13 Confessions, Edythe tells Beau that she spent two days in Denali. (Edward tells the same thing to Bella.) However, in the Midnight Sun partial draft, Edward says he spent six days in Denali. (From chapter 2, Open Book: 'Six days had passed, six days I'd hidden here in the empty Denali wilderness'...) Considering that Beau first met Edythe on Monday, and she doesn't return to school until next Monday, I thought six days makes more sense than two. (I don't know what she would have been doing those other days if she came back early from Denali, and it's hard to believe that with Edythe's driving and no need for sleep that just getting there and back would have taken that many days.) So I decided to go with the Midnight Sun version.

Thanks for reading! Bit of a rougher one this time, but if you have a moment, let me know what you thought, and see you next time!

Posted 5/29/18