March 8, 1996

Even though I can't recall every detail about your face in my mind—God knows I tried last night—I recognize it as soon as I see you at school the next day. We have the same lunch period, which is convenient, because otherwise, I'd have no idea how to run into you. I tell my friend Jasper that I have to meet Alice to work on a project, which I realize is a bad idea. He likes her. He's never come out and said it, but it's pretty obvious. I'm afraid he'll try to tag along, but he says he's meeting Mike Newton behind the bathrooms at the football field. Newton's got connections. He gets the best weed.

When he's gone and I'm sure none of my other friends have seen me, I find you sitting on the raised sidewalk with a few other girls. You're as pretty as I remembered. Your friends look up when my shadow falls over your group, but you stare at my shoes. You must've seen me coming. Now I do feel like the asshat Alice accused me of being.

"Bella?" I pause until you look up at me. When your Bambi eyes meet mine, my brain scrambles, and it takes me a second to remember how to speak. "Can we talk?"

Your blonde friend in the cheerleading uniform elbows you in the side, and you purse your lips and nod. I hold out a hand to help you up, but you stand without taking it. Ouch. You set your bottle of lemonade down on the ground next to your backpack. I get the message. You don't expect to be gone long.

I lead you to a spot just far enough away to be out of earshot before I turn to face you. You're regarding me with the same wary expression as yesterday, and I recognize it now for what it is. Carefully emotionless.

"Uh, hey," I say lamely.

The faintest hint of amusement flickers in your eyes. "Hi."

"I, uh, just…I just wanted to apologize again for what happened the other night."

"You already apologized. And you didn't do anything wrong."

"I sort of did, though."

"No, you didn't."

"By proxy."

"It's not the same thing."

"Are you arguing with me about whether or not I owe you an apology?" Despite my nervous, semi-brooding mood, I'm amused.

You crack a small smile but bite your lip when you realize it. "Sorry."

"If I'm not allowed to apologize, you're definitely not."

You shrug and look down. I follow your gaze and watch you try to rub a scuff mark off the toe of your Converse with your other shoe. It makes another smudge.

"Bella?"

"Huh?"

"Look at me?"

Raising your head only halfway, you glance up at me from under long lashes. You're beautiful.

"I know this sort of got off on the wrong foot, but…I'd like to get to know you better. If you want that, I mean."

You lift your chin fully now and draw your eyebrows together. "I don't think your girlfriend would appreciate that."

"She's not my girlfriend."

"That's not what she said."

"I mean anymore. She's not my girlfriend anymore. I ended it last night. And no, not because of you." That sounds harsher than it did in my head. "I mean it's partially because of what she did, but it was just the last straw in a long line of many…straws."

"Is that a mixed metaphor?"

"I'm not sure."

"Because there's the straw that broke the camel's back, which must be the same thing as the last straw. But can you have a long line of—"

"Don't change the subject."

You sigh. "Look, Edward. Yes, I like you. As much as you can like someone you don't actually know. But I'm afraid I might've made a mistake."

My heart thuds, because that couldn't be further from the truth. I'm nervous that you're about to bolt. "It's not a mistake. You have no idea what kind of impact your letter has had on me." I run a hand through my hair, anxious about exposing myself like I'm about to. "I think about it all the time. I've read it and reread it at least twenty times."

Your wide, innocent eyes get wider. "You have?"

"I think I told you that."

"You said no one's ever said things to you like that before and that it meant a lot to you."

"I keep it with me. I mean I did before you took it."

You pull the folded square from your back pocket, and I'm both surprised and incredibly relieved. "I was going to burn it."

I reach my hand out. "Please don't do that."

"Why not?"

"I told you why not. Why would you burn it?"

"Because I was embarrassed!" Your shouted words eat away the shred of pride I was clinging to.

"I'm sorry, Bella. I'm so sorry."

"I told you not to say that."

"Please let me. And please don't be embarrassed. The fact is that it's…like my favorite thing in the world right now."

You stare at me in this really disarming way, something like surprise crossed with amusement.

"Really?"

"Yes. Can I have it back?"

Your eyes dart from me to the letter a few times before you shrug and hold it out to me. Our fingers brush when I take it from you, and I swear my nerves buzz where we touched. Your face turns pink. You're a blusher.

I like it.

I stuff the note into my own pocket. "So. Can we talk?"

"We are talking."

A frustrated sigh escapes me. "Not just now. Can we…like, get to know each other?"

"I don't know. Is it going to be complicated? This Tanya…is she going to be a problem?"

"Tanya's…" I trail off. Even though she's never acted crazy before, I evidently can't guarantee anything. "She was upset when I broke up with her, but she doesn't usually do crazy shit."

I can see you wavering. After you reached out to me and started all of this, I never thought I'd have to convince you to let me be your friend. But I can't blame you. I managed to hurt you without even knowing who you were.

"Okay."

Every muscle I didn't realize was tensed relaxes. For a second, I consider whether my obsession is unhealthy, but I brush the thought off because I don't actually care.

The bell signaling the end of lunch rings, and my shoulders sag. All I want is to keep talking to you. I want to hear you say words like the ones you wrote.

"Walk me home after school," you say. It's not a question. "You don't live far from me."

I'm glad I chose to take advantage of the sunny weather and walk to school today. Something tells me you already know that. "Have you been stalking me?" The smile I show you is wry, sarcastic. "Maybe I should rethink this whole friend thing."

"You take the concrete stairs when you come up from the parking lot," you say. "When you walk to school, you climb up that grassy hill on the other side of the gym."

I shake my head. Your observations probably border on creepy. But you're so plain about it that I can't find it in me to mind.

"Alice told me."

I wonder just how many things Alice has told you about me, how much of it was unsolicited…and just what I'm about to get myself into. The funny thing is I don't even care. The more I talk to you, the more I want to know about you.

I don't tell you that. Instead of telling you how fucking much I do want to walk you home, how fucking much I want to keep talking to you, I say, "Yeah, okay. I'd like that."