I wrote this for Fandom4LLS, a cause very close to my heart.
Thank you thank you thank you to the many people who PMed me, requesting another chapter of this story. I hope this doesn't disappoint.
I recommend reading the previous chapter again. It's been a long time.
This morning is different.
It's new. Everything is.
There is a new thought in my head even before my eyes open. A new flutter in my heart when that thought transforms into a face behind my eyelids. A new weight on my chest that wants to see the face in person now, now, now.
There is a new light when my eyes open. And it's not that the sun is out or the birds are chirping. It's still the patter of rain – really cold rain – that wakes me. But there is a light. In my eyes, in my whole face, when I look into the mirror. There is a smile I can't control even long enough to brush my teeth properly. There is toothpaste on my teeth and lips, my hair is a tangled nest on my head, my face is red like a tomato, my reflection is idiotic and I cannot stop grinning.
There is a new skip in my step as I make breakfast. A new "Have a good day, Dad!" as Charlie puts on his jacket. A new surprised and amused "You too, Bells," against my forehead before he leaves for work.
There is a new surge of feeling chasing away the numbness I had perfected for a long time. My nerves are making sure I feel all the butterflies in my tummy; my otherwise mature mind has retreated into its teen–girl self and is making me try out different outfits; my racing heart is making me want to get into my truck now, now, now, even as I realize it's pointless to reach school an hour early.
I finally force myself to calm down a little, enough to put on plain black jeans and a plainer tee, too confused about the whole Being Girly thing, and glad that the parka will cover it all anyway. I'm tying my well–worn Converses that I retrieved from under the dining table, when I see it. I get up from the couch and rush to the window to make sure my eyes aren't playing tricks.
They aren't and hello, again, butterflies.
It doesn't go as I expect it to, however. He climbs out of his car and instead of just ringing the bell, walks around to the side of the house. Then comes back and climbs inside the car again. Then comes out yet again and paces. Thankfully, the rain has stopped. I watch in confusion until this need to see him up close overcomes me and I rush to the door and yank it open. He startles when he notices the movement, relaxes when he sees me, and my new smile is reflected on his face.
"What are you doing?" I blurt out, again cursing my useless brain to mouth filter.
He shuts his car door and walks up to me. "Well, I…I was just checking if Chief Swan was there or not. I mean, I didn't see his cruiser so I thought he might have left, but I wasn't sure, so I checked the sides of the house, too. I didn't know how safe it would be to ring your doorbell if he was home, and what the chances of me reaching school anatomically correct would be, so…" He shrugs and fiddles with his car keys.
There is a new giggle that escapes my lips. "He left like a few minutes ago."
"Oh. Okay. Good."
He runs a hand through his hair and I notice he has made an effort to tame it. I also notice that his clothes are well–pressed and his shoes are new and clean. There's no scruff on his face, either, and even his car looks like he just washed it.
"You look…really nice," I say, and watch his eyes light up like mine.
"Thanks. So do you."
New smile is wider. New comfort wants to chase the shyness away.
"Do you wanna…like…come inside or something?" Always so good at conversation.
"I would love to, but I think we're getting late for school. That's actually why I'm here. I was driving to school and I thought, your house is on the way, so I took the right turn instead and suddenly here I was, parked outside your house." He toes the ground and keeps his eyes on the car keys in his hand. "I thought you could use a ride to school? I don't know. I mean, you do have your truck – I've seen it at school before, my friends actually made fun of it a while back, sorry about that by the way – and you're fully capable of driving yourself. I know that. But I just thought it'd be…nice to have your company for fifteen extra minutes and so I'm here, offering you my expert Chauffeur Services. If you don't mind, that is. Do you mind? It's totally okay if –"
"Edward."
He looks up. "Yes?"
I take a step forward and touch my new smile to his lips. His lips smile back.
This new morning is perfect.
He plays classical music in his car. It's weird, not because of what he plays, but because I already know what he has on his playlist. I already know which symphonies are his favorite and why. I already know which one holds the memory of watching his parents slow–dance in the kitchen and which one has the biting reprimand of a piano teacher behind it.
"Isn't this the one you played at a recital?"
He gives me a small smile. "You remember?"
"Duh. I listened to all the music you linked me to." I pause. "Hey, do you think that's weird?"
"What?"
"That we already know so much about each other?"
"Kind of," he admits. "But it's also…different. In a good way. Like, I can play all these songs without worrying that the girl I like is going to hate them. I don't have to worry that you'll find me boring and," his lips twitch, "not so badass."
The girl he likes. The girl he likes, the girl he likes, the girl he likes.
Stop it, heart.
"You're really smiley today," he says, grinning.
"I'm happy," I say, suddenly blushing like the signal we're stopped at.
He brushes his knuckles against my cheek. "Me, too."
We talk some about our schedules. Our very different schedules. We don't have a single class together. It's not like I didn't know. I try not to be bummed about that but it's hard.
When he takes the left turn that leads us to the school's parking lot, my happy bubble is rudely invaded by reality.
I see Mike Newton leaning against his car with Jessica Stanley allover him. On their right are Eric and Angela, no doubt discussing the school newspaper, judging by the annoyed looks on their faces and the folders in their hands. They never get along – I've witnessed one too many heated arguments between them from spending my free time helping out at the library and reminding them to be quiet. I see other students from my classes too – there's Ben, Magdalene, Joy, David, and that guy whose name I always forget and –
"Bella?"
"Hmm?"
"I asked you if you were planning on getting out of the car at all," he says with a chuckle.
I pull on my sleeves. "Oh. Um."
His face falls when he looks at my fidgeting hands. "You okay?"
"Edward, are you sure you want to do this?"
He's taken aback. "What?"
"Go inside. School. With me."
"Uh, yes."
"But it's me."
"Stop saying that like it's a bad thing."
I sigh and look out of the window again. "But these people…"
"Look. Bella, I don't care what these people think. Or say. I know you don't like them. I'm not their fan either. They don't even matter. Chin up, and just ignore them."
"Easy for you to say. You're Mr. Popular. You're not the one at the receiving end of taunts."
He sighs and takes my hand, gently uncurling my fist. "I didn't mean to imply that it's easy to just get over it. Nor did I want to come across as insensitive. All I'm trying to tell you, is that if you make every decision based on what some asshole thinks, you're giving them power over you. The asshole wins."
My voice is small. "I know."
"So fuck 'em and their stupidity. If they ostracize you or taunt you, they're the ones losing out on knowing a wonderful person."
"But Edward –"
His lips are on mine and they're perfection and so are his warm fingers between my cold ones. He smells so good. His heartbeat under my other palm is frantic, even as his kiss is comfort.
I'm sure I pout when he pulls back slowly. "Let's go." One more peck. "C'mon."
And I have no will to argue further. He gets out first and looks disappointed when he sees me getting out. "I was going to open your door for you."
"Your manners match your name, but you don't have to woo me. Besides…feminism, Edward. Women Empowerment and all that. I'm an independent woman and I can open my own doors," I say in mock exaggeration.
"You mean you won't even let me carry your bag?"
My eyes must show my horror because he laughs and holds his hands up. He reaches inside the car again to grab his own bag and we start walking. We only take five steps before his fingers find mine again. He squeezes my hand to ask if it's okay and I squeeze his right back to answer that yes, yes it is.
There are things in high school that people take for granted. First kiss by sophomore year (you're practically an outcast anyway if you make it to high school un–kissed – the window you get to redeem yourself is between freshman and sophomore year), making out in the corridors, passing condoms under the table to whoever can't control their hormones long enough for school to end, walking by very quickly if you ever have to cross the janitor's closet, having your earphones plugged in rather than bitching about certain noises you're not supposed to hear, size comparisons in the locker room after gym, giggles over each other's exploits from previous night, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. It's a never ending code of conduct, unwritten but known, unspoken but held up, regardless.
When you're Bella Swan, you bury yourself in books instead of surfing porn sites. You blush even when you see someone else making out. There is nothing you loathe more than the gym locker room (not even life threatening sports like volleyball), and all the gossip makes your head hurt. You long for things you can't have, and you wonder about how different your life could've been if you hadn't moved to ten different schools in sixteen years of your life. Or if you were curvy. And pretty. The kind of pretty that makes people stop and stare. You wonder if you'll ever be something other than the New Boring Girl Who Can Easily Be Picked On, if you'll ever have a friend that will stay a friend even if you move to another state again, and you cry when you see the guy you like kissing another girl.
But most of all, you don't take things for granted.
You don't underestimate the thrill of simply holding someone's hand. You embrace your heart pounding a frantic rhythm, hold that hand tighter, and for the first time, you smile while entering the building that is your personal hell. You keep sneaking glances at the smiling face that walks beside you just to make sure he's real, and for a few fleeting moments, you don't care that everyone is staring at you. You don't mind not being invisible when he greets people he knows. You just feel. And when it's time to face the day alone, you draw strength from the thumb and forefinger that tip your chin up, and from the lips that touch your cheek as you reach your first class.
You cherish a whispered "I'll see you at lunch," against your skin like the most precious promise that it is.
You let the smile on your lips stay.
"Hey, Bella? Have you read anything new lately?"
This is the oddest question I've been asked by a student in school.
"What?"
"I was actually thinking of suggesting a new story for the Theater Club to Mrs. Cope. Something new. She's given us this ridiculous script and I wanted to earn some brownie points and at least get a lead role once. So I figured if it's a script of a good story – a contemporary story – it'll be so cool."
"Why ask me?"
She takes the empty seat next to me and she is too close and I hate her perfume.
"Because, Bella…you're so smart and you read a lot and you work at the library and shit." She smiles sweetly. Red flag, red flag, red flag.
"Um, no I haven't. Read anything new." Leave, leave, leave.
"Oh. That's too bad. You'll let me know when you do though, right? Please?"
I shrug as Mr. Banner enters the class and starts setting up the projector. I hear a few joyful exclamations from the students. Movie day is always better. Everything is so much easier to tune out.
"Actually, you know what I'm thinking? You should come to our club meetings sometime." I just stare at her and wait for her to get to the part where she reveals exactly why she's here. "Mrs. Cope would be thrilled to have you there."
"Uh, no, thanks."
The movie starts and one disgusting micro–organism after another is displayed on the screen. I try to pay attention. Fifteen minutes of blissful silence later, we're looking at a grasshopper's intestine when she speaks again.
"So… Edward Cullen, huh?"
And that's why you're here. Of course.
"It's kind of weird seeing you two together. Like, don't get me wrong, I totally mean no offense. But it's so out–of–nowhere. How the hell do you even know him? I've never seen you talk to him before this morning."
You've never seen me at all, I want to say. A non–committal nod is all I manage.
The bell needs to ring already.
"Oh come on, Bella! Spill the beans already! Throw me a line here."
"Why?"
And for once, Lauren Mallory is at a loss for words. "Excuse me?"
"It's a valid question. Why?"
"Why not? Girl. You're banging quite possibly the hottest guy in this school, and you're not even going to spill about it?"
I face the screen again. "No."
Bitchface. Huff. Bell. Thank you, Jesus.
By lunch time, I'm anxious and jittery. I've been grilled by the Physics teacher again (I'm convinced her only aim in life is to torture students), been told by the English teacher that the Guidance Counselor wants to see me whenever I am free, and there are all these stares that people keep giving me. People's whispers behind my back were easily ignorable till about twenty four hours ago. Now they're just getting on my nerves. I hate feeling like I'm missing some inside joke – and worse yet, that I am the joke.
I all but throw my books inside the locker. There's an assignment that's supposed to be between my Chemistry lab manual and my well–worn copy of Wuthering Heights, but I can't find it. This frustrates me more.
I decide to look for it after I've had something to eat, and grabbing my bag, slam the locker door.
"It wasn't its fault."
I look to my right, recognizing the voice. I calmly take a step in his direction, even though I want to throw myself at him, hide my face in his chest and not deal with the next half of this day. I try to return his smile, even though I'm sure I only manage a grimace.
His amusement doesn't fade. "Whatever happened, it wasn't the locker's fault. You probably disfigured it forever."
I know that everyone around us is already staring at us. I know that I'm probably making it worse. But all I want in that moment is a hug. I just wordlessly put my arms around his neck and let out a long breath when his fold around my waist.
"I hate this place," I say into his shoulder, my voice muffled by his shirt.
"Me too." He turns his face and plants a small kiss on my neck. I want this moment to never end.
It does, though. After a few seconds, I back away from him sheepishly, embarrassed by whatever came over me. He just smiles and takes my hand again once we start walking. And yeah, people stare some more. I sigh and bear it.
"Hey, um, my friends want to meet you," he says while we're filling our trays with food.
"What?"
He shrugs. "They kind of hate me for not telling them about you sooner. But they'll get over it. Now they're just really curious about you."
"By 'curious' I take it they're wondering what you see in the Local Weirdo."
He keeps his tray down and puts his arm around my shoulder, pulling me close. "No, they just want to get to know you, because they know you're very important to me. So, is it okay if you sit on our table today?"
I want to say no. Every part of me wants to say no.
He senses this and sighs. "Never mind. It's not really that important. You don't have to. Maybe some other day? We can sit somewhere else. We can even sit outside. It's sunny outside."
I gnaw on my lower lip and slowly nod. He pays for my food too, despite my protests.
He starts walking towards the door but I grab his sleeve with my free hand.
"I didn't mean it like that. Like you have to choose between me and them. You should go sit with your friends anyway. I can –"
"Don't be ridiculous. I'm sure they'll survive one lunch without me, Bella. I want to sit with you."
And I hate that he's so sweet and I hate that I can't even get over my issues for one goddamn hour just to do something that will make him happy.
"Fine, I'll sit with all of you."
"You don't have to if it makes you uncomfortable."
I just pull his sleeve and drag him towards his usual table. Their usual table.
Everyone in the school – probably in town – knows these guys. It's a survival tactic. You gotta know who to keep away from. This is a group you just don't mess with. Which is why it never made sense that Edward hangs out with them. He's so different. But he told me yesterday at the beach that his father, Dr. Carlisle Cullen, has known Billy Black, Jacob Black's father, for years, and that they're actually a very respectable, reputed family. I knew the Blacks when I was little. Charlie is a good friend of Billy, too.
Jacob Black is rather notorious. I remember him from my childhood summer vacations here, when he and I would cycle together in the afternoon. He also taught me to play Monopoly. And then we grew up and my 'vacations' turned into visits for a week or so because my mom, Renée would move around so much. And thus, Jacob and I drifted. He avoided me ever since I got enrolled in Forks High; it was like he'd never known me. I got over it quickly, though. I was used to being looked right through.
But he looks right at me now, and he has the nerve to smirk. The bandage on his forehead from the bike accident makes his raised eyebrow look comical. I'm already annoyed, and the conversation that ceases as soon as Edward and I sit down, only annoys me further.
"Guys, this is Bella," Edward says. "Bella, that's Sam, Seth, Emily, Jacob and Leah."
"Hi," I say, barely audible.
They greet back just as awkwardly. It feels stifling. I feel like I've already been deemed inadequate. I half expect them to start interviewing me or some shit, but they all just go back to their conversation and lunch.
Edward leans into me. "That wasn't so bad, was it?" he whispers. I shake my head and try to eat, but the truth is, my stomach is already full. Of butterflies. Not the good kind this time.
"You still blush like a tomato," Jacob suddenly says. Edward's pizza–holding hand stops halfway to his mouth. I look at Jacob and he smirks again. He mouths Stop Sign at me and I swear to God, I want to slap him. And not just for that goddamn nickname.
"What are you two on about?" Edward asks.
"She didn't tell you? We used to make mud–pies when we were little."
I finally find my voice, my annoyance taking over. "Shut up, Jacob." I turn to Edward. "He was an obnoxious brat, and punctured my cycle's wheels just because it was better than his. He also cheated at Monopoly."
"I did not!" Jacob exclaims. He looks so offended; you'd think I just accused him of murdering someone.
Edward looks between us and shakes his head.
The rest of the hour goes by torturously slow. I watch them all interact and crack jokes with each other. I appreciate that Jacob attempts to include me in the conversation a couple of times, but I resent it too. Him. I resent him and the fact that he wasn't there when I needed a friend, and he doesn't get to backtrack now.
Edward comments on my lack of appetite once or twice, but is otherwise engaged in some deep conversation with Leah, who doesn't say a word to me. She has eyes and ears for Edward and Edward alone. She laughs at his jokes a little louder, and she touches his arm a lot and it doesn't take a genius to figure out she has it bad for him. And I don't blame her. There aren't many girls who don't want him. I just don't understand why wants me when he could have anyone from an array of perfection. Like Leah? She's pretty. She has straight, exotic black hair. She has a lean, athletic body. She's not well put together and plastic like most girls, but guys find her "raggedly sexy" (I heard Jared – a boy in my class who almost always smells of fish – call Leah that). I see how Sam looks at her. With hunger. With longing.
I stab a piece of something on my plate and stay silent. It's not like I don't have anything to say. There are things I want to comment on, chime in with my own opinion on that movie they all hated or that band they want to watch live. I want to tell them that I hated that movie too and that the band is actually terrible in concert. I want to tell Sam that he's really dumb for talking in front of Chief Swan's daughter about how he is seriously considering dealing drugs, but I also want to tell him I feel bad that his family barely gets by. I want to ask Emily how she got those scars on her arm. I want to ask Leah to back off. I want to throw my plate aside and ask Edward to leave with me and sit in the happy–surprise–sunshine after the rainy morning.
But I say nothing. I do nothing. I open my mouth but my throat closes up and my tongue feels too thick. The words just refuse to form. My heartbeat quickens as I practice twenty times in my head what I want to say. But by the time I relax enough to vocalize it, the moment is gone, and I am reminded of why the Guidance Counselor wants to see me. I'm almost grateful Edward's friends don't specifically ask me something, because that would just make me panic. I'm frustrated as it is. I push the food around on my plate, pray that no one tries to talk to me, and stew in my bubble of insecurity. I'm being stupid, I know this. But I can't help it. I feel like the outcast that I am. Like if an outsider would look at this table, they would only see my hunched shoulders and nervously shaking leg. They would see my plate of barely touched food and wonder how someone like me ended up in the midst of all these cool kids.
It suddenly strikes me that I always wondered that about Edward. That little bit of familiarity makes me smile to myself.
I startle a bit when I feel Edward's hand grazing my leg under the table, stopping its nervous shaking. He's still talking to Leah and Jacob, but his gesture is a sweet reminder of why I'm here. His back–and–forth fingertips on my denim clad knees tickle, but it's a welcome feeling. I put my left hand on his, and brush it against his knuckles. And even though his face is turned towards his friends, his upturned cheek gives his smile away.
"You've been so quiet," Edward comments later as he drives.
"Just thinking."
"About?"
"Lots of things," I answer.
He looks at me for a second, but doesn't pry.
"Hey, you missed the turn."
"We're not going back to your place yet. Unless Chief Swan is supposed to come home early today. Is he? Please say no."
I roll my eyes. "No, he isn't. Where are we going?"
"Just some place I like to go to when the weather's nice."
I follow his example and don't pry either.
The silence in the car is replaced by the radio. I get to pick the songs this time. I leave the window open and let the wind run through my hair. By the time the car stops, my hair is a mess, so I pull it back with a hair–tie.
I turn to Edward when I notice the surroundings. "We're hiking?" I ask, wide–eyed. I'm awful at hiking.
"Not a lot. It will only take a few minutes."
I worry my lip between my teeth again. But before I can say anything else, he starts towards the trees.
"Um, the trail's on the opposite side, Edward."
"We don't need that trail."
"Are you sure?" I fervently hope he knows where we're going, because seriously, all I can see are just goddamn trees and an uphill climb, no matter where I look.
He turns to me, leaning in closer than I expected. For a moment, all I can think of is how bright his green eyes are. Maybe it's the forest, or maybe it's the sun, but I like to think there's a light in his eyes that is his alone. And I'd follow it anywhere. He holds out his hand. "Trust me, Bella."
I place my hand in his and let him lead. He was right. It doesn't take us very long (even though it's rather exhausting) before the trees start to thin out and I am looking at the most breathtaking view of the ocean and the mountains that I have ever seen.
"Holy crap," I say breathlessly.
He chuckles. "I know."
"Where exactly are we?" I ask in awe.
He sits against an old tree stump and pats the space in front of him. I comply and go sit between his legs, my back to his chest. It's…intimate. And new. And warm. And my heart is running a mile a minute already and it feels close to breaking right out of my ribcage when he puts his arms around my waist.
"We're a little higher than the cliffs my friends cliff–dive from. I found this place accidentally. All of us got high one day and decided to jump –"
"From here? Are you insane?"
"I'm crazy, but not that crazy. Not from here. God, no. The lower cliffs. We got there one boring late afternoon. They jumped, and I chickened out at the last minute and went off to explore the woods on my own. And before I knew it, I was here. I'm just glad I decided to make my way back before the sun went down, because this cliff is easy to miss at night and I was too young to die by accidentally falling into the ocean."
I shake my head. "So reckless."
"I prefer the term adventurous."
"It's a really beautiful view, though."
He holds me tighter and leans down to rest his chin on my shoulder. "I figured," he kisses my neck and I shiver, "that if this was going to count as our first date, then I might as well take you to the most romantic place I know." His lips move higher and kiss my jaw. My arms reach upwards and my fingers find purchase in his hair. I'm about to kiss him when he speaks again.
"Bella, are you mad at me?"
I lean back a little to look at his face. "What? Why would I be mad at you?"
"Because of the whole thing at lunch. I shouldn't have made you sit with them. I saw how uncomfortable you were; I'm sorry."
"Edward, last I checked I was the one who insisted on sitting with them. They're your friends. I might as well get used to them."
"But you didn't speak to me much after that and I just thought… never mind; I'm an idiot." He doesn't meet my eyes.
I shift a little and frame his face in my hands. And then I blurt out the one thing I didn't want to talk about. "I had to go see the Guidance Counselor at school today."
He's clearly taken aback by the turn this conversation just took. "Um. Okay?"
I take a deep breath. "She told me that my teachers are expressing concerns about my inability to function in group projects and my disastrous attempts at presenting papers in class. She asked me about how I feel when I meet new people. I told her the truth. I hate it. I hate that I can't even make the most basic conversation. That I can't take things past a mumbled 'hello.' That even for greeting someone I have to give myself a pep talk. That my hands start to shake from nerves and my words just get stuck in my throat. That I feel judged and ridiculed and no one even has to bat an eyelid to make me feel like that. Social Anxiety, she called it."
He puts his hand over mine and brings it to his lips, waiting for me to continue.
"So if I was uncomfortable," I sigh, "it was because I'm not normal. I couldn't – wouldn't – be mad at you over that. You only wanted all your best friends to get along."
"I should've been more considerate."
"No. I should've been more like the rest of the people. I shouldn't clam up like I do. It's not okay. I think I just became a bigger Weirdo in your friends' eyes."
He kisses my forehead and then the corner of my eye. "Did you know that most people face some degree of Social Anxiety at some point in their lives anyway? That doesn't make everyone abnormal. Who gets to decide what's normal and what isn't? And even if someone does, who's to say that normal is better?"
"Isn't it?" His kisses move down my face. "I mean, be honest, wouldn't you rather have a girlfriend who can at least talk to your other friends?"
"Bella," he sighs, "it isn't about wanting a particular kind of girlfriend. It's about wanting you." His nose brushes mine. "I want you."
"Even if I'm awkward, plain, at best weird, and at worst an embarrassment?"
"Even if I have to keep reminding you that you're beautiful and smart and have a heart of gold and that there's no one else I'd rather be with."
And I have to kiss the lips that say the sweetest things. I have to cherish the hands on my face that warm the skin the setting sun fails to. I have to hug him closer and closer till I forget where I end and he begins. I have to hold on tight to his shirt and let it ground me to here. To now. To us. And everything else is a blur.
I have to ignore the beauty of the setting sun to hold in my heart the beauty of this moment instead.
A/N: Thank you for reading.