Edward flatly refuses to discuss the kiss. In fact, I think he does everything he can to avoid me in the weeks that follow. When he's not at work or out with God knows who (Charlotte is history now), he's at his fencing club. He doesn't even hang out in the basement anymore because he's hardly ever home.

At first, I'm hurt and confused. I know that brothers and sisters aren't supposed to kiss like we did, but it didn't feel wrong or bad to me. Plus, we've always been closer than other siblings. I used to think feeling the way I did about Edward was normal until I saw how Alice and Emmett are. Theoretically, they should be closer than me and Edward are because they're twins, but they aren't at all.

But lately, it doesn't feel like I'm close with Edward either. Maybe it's because he remembered that he had a girlfriend then. She's gone now, but still. If he had a girlfriend, why did he kiss me? Why all the teasing and the touching? I don't get it.

If he's trying to drive me insane, it's working.

Then again, maybe he just doesn't want to kiss me because I'm his sister and he shouldn't ever have wanted to kiss me. That makes sense, but it hurts. And maybe I also did something wrong or something he didn't like. I can't imagine what that would be, though, unless he didn't like me pointing out that he was hurting me with his dick.

I didn't know they could get that hard. It felt like a rock. I actually had a tiny bruise from him rubbing on my hip. I'd looked at it with awe, running my fingers over the purple-blue spot, remembering that night all over again.

I think about it often. Like, obsessively often.

If I see a couple in the parking lot kissing, I flash back to the way Edward sucked my bottom lip in his mouth. If I see anyone holding hands, it makes me think about how warm his fingers felt against my face, against the corner of my mouth. Watching TV is the worst because there's always someone sucking face on a bed or a couch. Seeing something like that sends me immediately back to inferno ground zero. I'd caught myself blinking as if waking from a trance once, and I'd been totally out of it and panting like a dog in heat.

I'm afraid to watch TV with Dad.

Music sends me straight into Fantasy Land where Edward and I run to each other across a great distance, and he's sorry for hurting and ignoring me, and I forgive him … and we kiss and he looks at me with those soft eyes and touches me like he did that night.

Real life is more along the lines of Charli's XCX's Boom Clap, only Edward seems reluctant about getting close enough to make me feel good anymore, so I'm boom clapping without much reason.

But I have hope.

As the weeks pass and he keeps up a kind of good-natured, sarcastic persona with me, never really getting too close, I feel painfully sad at the idea that he'll never kiss me like that again.

Which is stupid. It's just a kiss.

And then, finally, I get mad.

. . .

Coach Clapp accepts anyone who's interested, who wants to put in the time and effort, on the track and cross country teams. He can't hide his surprise, though, when he learns how aerobically unfit I am.

"You don't bike? Play any sports? Haven't run before?"

"Sometimes I bike. I play Wii games; I'm really good at bowling. I, um, don't usually run … unless I'm being chased."

I sound really lame, so I square my shoulders and lift my chin.

He blinks at me with this quirk to his lips. He looks skeptical, heavily skeptical. "You've got some work to do," he tells me finally. "Are you willing to train? It's gonna be hard. You're gonna have to start eating good food and getting your Zzzz."

"I want to try," I say.

"You've got to be mentally tough." He slams a closed fist into his hand. "This sport is all about pushing yourself, Bella. Setting goals. Being positive."

"I can do it. I want to do this."

"Okay. Okay. We'll give it a shot."

And so Tuesday I join the track and cross country team. I'm wearing a new pair of sweats that I cut off at mid-thigh under a pair of loose shorts. Just like the rest of them—the pros. And I stretch like them, too, slow and long while breathing deep.

Coach Clapp has me run some drills. He says I'm pretty fast at running short distances, and that I can train to become even faster than I already am. I'm no good at jumping, which is a relief because hurdles and high bars scare me. So now, the only thing left to find out is how well I do at distance running. He says four laps around the track is equal to one mile, then raises an eyebrow at me.

I barely make it around three times, and have to fight the urge not to barf in front of him. He said if I want to be any good, I'd need to work up to three miles at least four times a week.

I'm going to die.

. . .

"Ow, ow, ow," I say as I go down every step to the basement. Everything from the waist down is tight and sore from running. I've been trying to stretch often to keep my muscles loose, but there's only so much stretching a girl can do.

"What's wrong with you?" Edward asks. Surprise, he's on the way up.

"Just breaking in my track muscles," I tell him shortly. Ow, ow, ow. Even my lungs feel like they've had a work-out; I keep coughing.

"Wow. Grouch."

"Wow. Casper the Ghost."

"Don't mess with the TV," he tells me. "I'm just coming up to get a snack. I'm right in the middle of a Walking Dead episode."

"Whatever," I say, and I turn around to follow him. So much for catching up on my Flash show. "I didn't even know you were down here."

Holy crow, going up is even worse.

He's still standing in the doorway. "Oh, so you're now you're not going down there?"

"Nope. Wouldn't want to bother you."

He rolls his eyes, but I brush past him. I'm not interested in any excuse or wisecrack he may have.

"So you joined the school track team," he calls after me.

"Yep, I'm their newest track running star," I say and keep going, all the way back up to my bedroom. He doesn't need to know I almost barfed on the track and that I can't even run a mile yet. It's bad enough that he heard me groaning and saw me wincing.

A few minutes later, I get a text from Edward.

Hey, grouch, I made popcorn. Want some?

Bellabean: Runners shouldn't eat junk food, so no thanks.

Edward: It's not buttered.

Bellabean: No thank you, Edward.

Edward: So I guess that means no Coke, either?

Bellabean: No, Edward.

Edward: What about jellybeans?

Bellabean: I'm not hungry.

Which is a lie. I'm hungry, but I already had dinner. If I'm going to snack, I'll have to eat carrots, apples or an orange.

Edward: Are you on a diet?

I sigh. He doesn't want to talk face-to-face with me, so he's bugging me via text? Argh.

Bellabean: No, I'm just eating smarter now.

Edward: Sounds boring.

No kidding. But I've got this anger driving me now, which makes it easier to stay committed. I'm going to make it around the track four times by this coming Saturday. That gives me four days to practice … to run my heart out.

Edward: You still there?

I decide not to answer him. If he wants to talk to me, he can come upstairs.

But of course he doesn't.

. . .

Jasper's telling me about his flip-book idea for our art class at lunch when I suddenly notice someone standing to my left. I turn to see who it is and am taken aback by the sight of oh-so-shy James Laurent. Jasper pauses in mid word, then forks a piece of watermelon into his mouth.

"Hi," James says. He's got a tray full of food in one hand and his back pack in another. "I'm James. Could I sit with you?"

I smile at the look at his face. He's nervous-looking because of me? Interesting. "Sure. I'm Bella."

He sits and greets Jasper. "I know. You're in my English and History classes. I'm, er, also in track."

Fruit gets stuck in my throat. "You're in track, too?" Did he see me almost lose it the other day?

"I'm a cross country runner. Coach says that's what you want to be, too."

I swallow and nod. "Yes. I have to work up to it, though."

And he grins. Damn, he saw.

"We could run together if you want," he says. "Running in pairs is actually encouraged."

He's got his hair back in a pony-tail today. With his clear blue eyes and white button down shirt, he looks almost like a Grecian god.

"I'd slow you down," I say and shake my head. When I glance to my right, I see Sprock peeking over Jasper's lunch tray, and I cough out a laugh.

James is adamant, though. "I train seven days a week. I won't hurt myself if I run with you, Bella."

I gape at him. "You run seven days a week?"

He shrugs. "Almost always. I love to run."

"Wow. I'm flattered that you'd want to help me."

"I do." And he looks very, very serious. "But if we're going to run together, I think we should set up a routine. Like, say, every day at six a.m., or every night at six p.m."

"Every day?" I squeak.

James nods and touches my wrist. "We can start out slow. Half a mile for a week, then a mile the next week, depending on how well you do. I recommend six a.m., though." And he grins at me full blast. "It's the perfect time of day."

Jasper gives a thumbs-up. James sees this and nods his head. "Hey, man."

"You won't get impatient with me? I won't be able to keep up with your pace, you know."

"I know. And no, I won't."

Something about the look in his eyes tells me that he won't … tells me that he just likes me. And I'm both fearful and hopeful, scared and excited.

"Okay," I say.

His smile is another blinder. "Great. We'll meet at the school track, okay? We'll run there until you can make a mile, then we'll run off track."

I pop another piece of melon in my mouth and chew with satisfaction. Everything is coming together.

Across from me, Jasper makes kissy lips and I kick him.

. . .

Getting up at 5:30 is hard. Almost impossible, even. I slide down the side of my bed to the floor and groan into the grayness of my room. Why am I doing this again?

James.

He was counting on me to meet him at the school.

Asking for the car last night was an unpleasant chore. Edward wanted to know what I wanted it for, and I told him I was driving to the school to go running with a friend.

"Who? That white-haired kid I saw you talking to yesterday?"

"His name is James. And he's going to help me train to be a cross country runner. Coach Clapp says he's ranked second in the state."

Edward wasn't happy, but I didn't know if it was because I was borrowing his precious car, or if he just didn't like who I was running with.

James was waiting for me when I pulled up in front of the gated track. The sun was rising and the sky was pink and orange and dusky blue.

"You ready?" he asks.

We stretch and he helps me with some new moves. We sit on the ground facing each other with the bottoms of our shoes touching, and stretch our arms out to each other. Then, we grab hands and take turns pulling each other forward. Kind of like a see-saw.

"You bring water?"

I lift my bottle of Sparkletts in a salute, and he does the same with his bottle of Arrowhead.

We meet every morning for the rest of the week, and although I'm still not comfortably able to run a mile by Saturday, I still feel as though I've leap over one of those tall hurdles.

"Call me Jamie," he says before we get back into our cars on Friday morning. "I'll see you in English, okay?"

"Okay."

He's nice. He's really, really nice.

. . .

"James Laurent used to go out with Vickie," Edward tells me later that morning.

"What? No. She's disgusting."

Edward scowls at me. "Apparently he likes disgusting."

"Apparently he wised up like you did."

"Apparently he's got bad taste, though."

"Not anymore," I tell him with a smile. "Apparently."

Edward gets this ugly look on his face, which is saying something because he never looks ugly. "I thought you were just training with him."

"We are. Just training," I tell him archly. "We're not dating."

"He hasn't tried to kiss you or anything?"

I scoff at him. "Not that it's any of your business. I don't ask who you're kissing or leaving behind from week-to-week."

Edward chugs his orange juice, then slams his glass down on the table, making me jump. "He'd better keep his hands and his mouth to himself."

"Or what?" I ask and take my dishes to the sink. I'm no longer hungry. I'm furious.

"Or he'll have me to deal with," Edward says and drops his plate on top of mine in the sink.

"What are you going to do, Edward? Punch him because he might like kissing the same girls you do?"

I feel him looking at me, feel him boring a hole into the side of my head with his gaze, but I'm busy rinsing off our dishes. I don't want to see the look in his eyes. I'm already this-close to losing it. So what if James likes me? What's it to him?

"I don't get why you'd even care," I growl. "Besides, he's nice. He watches over me. He's helping me get stronger with running. That's all."

And besides, he hasn't even asked me out yet. If he's in to girls like Vickie, then he probably won't.

Edward still doesn't answer, just stands there looking at me. Sheesh, maybe he should take a picture.

"No one watches over you like I do," he finally says. His voice sounds steely and intense, but the look in his eyes is one of tenderness. Maybe even apology.

"Well, maybe you don't have to anymore," I tell him. "Doesn't seem like you want to anyway."

"That's not true, Bella."

I've got tears in my eyes and a lump in my throat now, so I retreat fast. "Gotta go get my bag," I say and run for the stairs and my bedroom.

But he hears what I'm not saying and catches me, then pulls me back to him so my back is against his chest and his arms are tight around mine.

"I'm always going to watch over you, Bella," he says against my neck. As the goose bumps raise, he presses his lips against the skin there and I whimper.

"This isn't fair, Edward," I cry. "Why are you doing this?"

He tightens his arms around me and kisses my neck again. "I don't know."

I struggle to break free, even though I don't want to, because he can't just play with me. He's hot and then he's cold. He's who Katy Perry is singing about.

He lets me out of his arms, but traps one of my hands in his.

"Well, figure it out," I say. "You're giving me whiplash. I don't like feeling this way."

"I don't either. It's hell. I'm trying to stay away from you."

"But why?"

He shakes his head. "I just have to. We're not supposed to . . ."

"Yeah, well you do with any girl who crosses your path. So if I choose to, you can't say anything about it. It's my choice. Not yours."

And then he yanks me against his chest. "It's also my choice." And he kisses me on the mouth hard, then releases me.

"I'll wait for you in the car."

I race up to my room, throw myself onto my bed and scream into the pillow, then grab my bag.

Maybe he needs a dose of his own medicine. Maybe he's not the only one who can give someone else a case of whiplash.

Grrrrrr.

. . .

Who wants to spank Edward?