Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight.

A/N: Super short, but kind of fluffy! Next chapter will move on a bit more. :)

The Civil War reflected the constant tension between the American north and the American south – or, the Union and Confederate States of America. Starting in 1861...

My eyes trailed from the looming pages of the textbook to the clock ticking away behind Carlisle's desk. It was just after four and I had been locked away in this room for the past hour and a half.

I was hungry, I was bored, I was starving for something else to do – anything else. But exams were coming up to be placed in restrictive courses for the high school in the new town we were moving to after the spring. Well, new to me, anyways.

Most of the family had lived in Washington before, decades ago, and now that anyone who had been there when they were there was either long gone or dead, it was safe to go back.

Forks was the name of the town.

Forks.

It sounded like a bad pun on an equally as bad town. Rosalie had insisted on the Pacific Northwest, and Forks seemed to have a pretty decent fraction of rainy-to-sunny days. But, as I had to remind myself often, I was the only one who could actually be in the sun without any attraction for the humans. I didn't light up like a Swarovski diamond, so, I guess, technically I couldn't complain about—

A sharp tapping against my forgotten textbook had me startling back to the present.

I blinked, my eyes focusing on Edward, sitting at the desk across from me, twenty or so notebook pages scattered before him. He had tapped the book with the cap of his pen which now, coincidentally, rested on the side of his mouth as he stared at me, one elegant eyebrow raised.

"What?" I asked.

He rolled his eyes and dropped his position, letting the pen fall back to his essay. His foot reached the leg of my chair from beneath the table and gave it a short kick, pushing my chair out just enough so that I had to pull myself back in, huffing in annoyance.

"What do you mean, what?" he said. "If you're going to be this bored after an hour of reading—"

"It's been an hour and a half," I corrected, ignoring the way his shirt tightened over his chest as he leaned back and crossed his arms. I hoped he ignored the slight stutter to my heart, as well. I didn't know what had gotten into me over the past couple of months, but it seemed that everything Edward did put me…off. And not in a bad way.

"And why are you even writing anyway? Isn't everything typed now?" I tried desperately to change the subject, but it didn't seem to work. His eyes got that slight tight look around them before he closed them and leaned forward again, running a hand through his hair.

"Some teachers request handwriting," he answered simply.

"And you don't have this essay already written up?" It was very unlikely that any of them were given any topic that they hadn't done within the past five or so decades. Usually, they saved all of their assignments so they could just pass it in and I knew Edward was no different.

He hummed in response for a moment and I thought that was my only answer until he brushed off the title page and held it up for me to read.

"'Kahneman's Psychology of Judgement and Decision-Making'," I read slowly, glancing up at him with confusion.

"He just recently won a Nobel Prize," he explained.

Oh. So this topic was too recent to have been previously discussed in a different high school.

"Isn't that annoying?" I asked after I had watched him go back to his writing. He glanced up at me, his eyes liquid gold.

"What? Psychology?"

I smiled, knowing how hard it was for him to discern my silent thoughts. He hated having to figure everything out through mindless hints; he was used to picking out any information he wanted without a problem.

"Bella," he sighed in exasperation, further proving my silent point and my smile grew.

"Not having a paper ready," I explained and he relaxed his tense muscles a bit.

"Oh," he said and then shrugged. "It's not that bad. I don't mind writing."

We were quiet for a while then. Edward went back to his writing and I went back to pretending I was reading, while actually thinking about real school—not this fake, Carlisle-lending-me-textbooks bullshit. I didn't want to read about history, I wanted to learn it. Apparently, Edward, Em, Rose, Jas, and Alice always took entrance exams before attending any of the high schools they had joined. It was, like, a right of passage, or something if you were "homeschooled" beforehand. Of course, none of them had actually ever been homeschooled; Esme was, in fact, younger age-wise than some of the others. But, in order to determine which level class I needed to be placed in, entrance exams were a must. And non-negotiable.

And you'd think after all my arguing to be allowed to go to school, I'd be completely fine with this new-found information. I guess I was just stubborn.

After a couple of minutes—or hours—had ticked by, Edward tossed his pen down to his paper and stared over at me, arms resting across the desk, his hands clasped over his paper.

"So, since you are clearly done reading…" he trailed off and I rolled my eyes, giving into my poor guise and shut the book in front of me. The Civil War could wait. The exams weren't for another few months, anyways.

"I heard from Alice that she told you of the vision she was hiding from me?" He stared deadpanned at me, waiting for me to refute what he already knew to be true. I pursed my lips, deciding to take the silent route. He smiled, making a small sound of contentment. "Tell me what she saw," he demanded.

I pulled in a breath from my nose and shook my head.

"Bella," he said in that low voice he used when he was disappointed with something, but he wouldn't get me that easily.

"I promised her I wouldn't say anything," I said. "And Jasper knows, too. Why don't you ask him?"

"Because." He pulled in his legs and sat higher in his chair, leaning closer to me so that his upper body took up more than half of the wide desk. I could reach out and touch his nose if I wanted to. His eyes widened, the gold seeming to melt and burn in his irises and I already knew what he was going to say. "You are easy to persuade."

But it was only he that could persuade me when he dazzled me like that.

"Now," he murmured in that low, velvety voice he saved especially for times such as this. "What did Alice see?"

I sucked in some air and held it, trying to force my eyes to wander from his, but they couldn't. He had me in his hands and he knew it. He smiled when I let out the breath I had been holding and watched as I fell straight into his trap. I closed my eyes, but the damage was already done. My mind was too fuddled to remember exactly why I wasn't allowed to tell him and, besides, we weren't going anyways, so why did it matter?

"Alice saw the three of us in Paris," I groaned and already he was shaking his head in disagreement. "She wanted me to go to Fashion Week, but she didn't want you to know we were going."

"Why not?" he asked angrily, and his fists clenched tightly. Because I knew Edward so well, I knew why he was upset. I reached over and put one of my hands over his fist, hoping to quell him. His eyes which had hardened in ire began to soften as he watched me.

"I'm not going with her, so it doesn't matter, but I know I can't go to Europe, or anywhere close to the Volturi. Why do you think I told her no?" Well, that and the fact that I really did not want to go with Alice Cullen to any sort of fashion show, ever.

Edward slipped his hand from underneath mine and moved them below the table, a pout on his brooding face. He stared out towards the window for a long moment before looking back at me. "Do you want to go to France? Because, if you do, we can all go. But I'd really rather you didn't—it's just too close."

Close to Italy, he meant.

I smiled and shook my head. "I'm fine with Washington, for now."

And it was true. Even though I had never traveled outside of North America, for now, seeing the states was plenty for me. Going to school was plenty for me. There was no need to become greedy when I had everything I needed and wanted in the palm of my hands.

Edward smiled, but the brooding atmosphere was still heavily situated around him. It was never easy to pull him out of this state. Once he heard something that disgruntled him, it was downhill from there.

But I knew one thing that, without fail, always seemed to lighten his mood.

I stood up, pushing my book back to the corner of the desk where Carlisle had left it this morning and reached my hand out to Edward. He stared at it and then at me. His mind must be flooded with horror scenarios involving me and the Volturi.

"Wanna go for a run?" I asked, lifting an eyebrow.

The shadow lifted from his face just enough to see that he wasn't clouded with dismay and he flashed me his lopsided grin, grabbing my hand.

I may even let him carry me on his back.