Author's Note: Thanks to Isabel Hale, twilightprincess2010, NellieGURL, Seul Lune, cakeaddict61, and miss.dramatikkkk for reviewing! Seriously, you guys are the best. You all made my day my year with your positive words and happy thoughts! I hope you guys like this chapter!

Disclaimer: Twilight, New Moon, Esme Platt, and Charles Evenson are all the property of the wonderful Stephenie Meyer. Margaret Platt belongs to me at the moment (and, let me tell you, she is a handful!). The lines, "that I were a glove upon that hand that I might touch that cheek" and "shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and temperate" belong to a fella I know named William Shakespeare. They are from "Romeo and Juliet" and "Sonnet XVIII," respectively. You should really check out his work; it's not bad at all!

3. The Willow

"So, did he say anything?"

"No. He just stared."

It was the next evening, and Margaret and I were in my backyard, sitting in the shade of the weeping willow by the pond that divided our fathers' property and discussing last night's dinner. I had held off on this part of the evening until I had had my fill of Margaret's imitations of Mrs. Evenson. Margaret was also familiar with the Evensons, since her father and my father were cousins (even though Margaret's father was technically my first cousin, once removed, I still felt compelled to call him Uncle Franklin, or Uncle Frank, out of respect), but she had only met them a few times. Mr. Evenson and my father were both accountants at the same bank in the town about two miles away, and they had grown to be very good friends. Consequently, the Evensons were natural guests at all picnics, dinners, or just any general soiree that my parents held.

"Did anyone else notice?"

"I'm not sure. If they did they didn't say anything about it."

"… Maybe he likes you."

I glanced up from the daisy I was cradling in my hands. Margaret had an evil glint in her eye.

"Don't be ridiculous. He's never shown any interest whatever in me."

"Maybe he's seen the light!" Margaret fell back against the willow, fanning herself with her hand, pretending to swoon.

I felt my face grow warm. "Margaret, stop that."

She sat up. "You never know. Remember that boy who worked at the market? Remember how he was?"

"Yes, I do, and clearly better than you do. You convinced me that he was in love with me, and that he was too shy to say anything. And how did that turn out? He was engaged to be married."

I felt a sad twinge in my heart when I remembered the young man from two years ago. He had been very handsome, and had always smiled at me when I passed by with my mother. After seeing his smile and his warm, brown eyes several times, I confessed to Margaret that I felt myself falling in love. She had insisted on seeing him, regaling me with romantic thoughts of how he was probably writing poems about me amongst the tomato crates, and that I should write him something as well. I felt my cheeks burn again as I remembered the letter that I had anonymously written and placed on top of the apples one day for him to find. Then, I had run to hide and watch him read the letter. The look on his face was degrading enough, but when he showed it to his fellow grocer and they had laughed at it…. My humiliation had somewhat abated with the relieving remembrance that I hadn't had the courage to sign that letter, but the ache I had felt when I learned that he had moved to Columbus to marry… that was still very much present.

Margaret switched tactics. "Yes, but you didn't even know the grocer. You've known Charles for years. That's more than enough time for-"

"But I haven't. Not really. I mean, I've known him, been acquainted with him, that is, but we've never really talked much."

"You must have spoken just a little! These things can take so little time. All it takes is a word, sometimes.

I raised an eyebrow. "Oh, and you're such an expert?"

Margaret chose to ignore my jibe. "Think: has he ever said anything to you that might hint at attraction?"

I wracked my brain. Put on the spot, I couldn't really remember any conversation I had ever had with Charles. "I don't know, like what?"

I shouldn't have asked.

Margaret picked her own daisy. "I don't know, things like," she adopted a deep voice. "'Oh, Esme, I love you! Oh, Esme, my heart beats only for you! Oh, Esme, you are the sun in my lonely… lonely, lonely universe! Oh, Es-'"

"Cut it out!" I was mortified, but I still giggled uncontrollably.

"'Oh, Esme, say you'll be mine! Your eyes! Your soft skin!'"

I lunged at her in an attempt to smother her mouth. She leapt to her feet and climbed onto a low limb of the tree, her imitations now marred with her own laughter. Her eyes held a wicked gleam.

"'Oh, Esme, your delicate hand! The blush that paints thine cheek! Oh! That I were a glove upon that hand, that I might touch that cheek!'"

I threw myself at her again, gaining a foothold on a low branch and pursuing her as she climbed higher.

"'Hey, Esme! Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?'"

We were now high off the ground, Margaret laughing gleefully as she dangled a foot in my face, only to pull it away from my groping hands before reaching for another branch.

"'Thou art more lovely and temperate!'"

"Margaret Platt, you come down here right this minute!"

Margaret, far outside of my reach, perched herself on a branch and began systematically pulling petals off of her daisy, which she had somehow managed to keep a hold of all this time. "Charles loves Esme; he loves her not. He loves her; he loves her not. He loves her…"

"Okay, that's it!" I reached out to grab hold of the branch she was sitting on, but it was too far away, and I needed to change my foothold. I took a big step for a branch just within my reach and shifted my weight.

It all happened very fast. My foot slipped, and I lost my balance. I frantically grabbed for something to hold on to, but there was nothing. Margaret quickly ascertained what was happening and reached out for me, but it was too late. I felt a rush of cold air sting my eyes and draw tears to them.

It was strange: it only took a second to reach the ground, but I had time to contemplate how similar this sensation was to the recurring nightmare in which I was falling – how amazing it was that my mind could so accurately instill in me what it really feels like to fall.

For the briefest of moments, I looked down. It appeared as though the ground was reaching up to envelope me, instead of me coming to meet it. Then I hit the ground and all of my body weight landed on my leg. I dimly heard a loud crack that rent the air and a bloodcurdling scream and I panicked, thinking that Margaret's branch had given out on her.

With my last thought I realized, the scream had come from my lips. And the crack was the sound of my leg snapping underneath me.


Author's Note: Sorry for the cliff-hanger, everyone. To make it worse, I'm going to be gone all weekend and into next week, so I won't be able to update. But never fear! I promise you a long (really, really, really, really, really long) chapter when I return. In the meantime, please let me know what you think:-)