Chapter 16: Target
School is bad. I thought I'd seen almost everything—the big things—from Jacob, but I hadn't. Jacob hadn't seen her at school. Though the humans' memories are considerably less sharp than his, they cut me just as deeply.
The entire school community seems to know that my family is back—between my venture into town last week and Carlisle's return to the hospital, the whole town probably knows by now—but no one knows what that means for Bella. So the students in the carpark eye my car with eager anticipation, waiting for any news they can get. When Bella steps out (trying not to meet any of the dozens of eyes trained on her), their minds go into overdrive. From our body language, they correctly assume we're back together, but that only makes our breakup—and Bella's breakdown—more intriguing. I am immediately swamped with multiple memories highlighting her vacant expression, her habitual silence, her robotic-like movements, and her complete withdrawal from non-academic tasks.
Alice dances along beside Bella, helping shield her from as many students as possible. To distract her while I work to control my expression—because Bella won't mistake my agony for embarrassment—she waxes lyrical about her supposedly newest interest: acrostic poems. I appreciate my sister's native enthusiasm, but it doesn't help me cope with the coming trials.
Every single student, every single teacher, is stunned by Bella's transformation—nay, her regeneration. The fresh life in her eyes, the color in her cheeks, the bounce in her step contrast so sharply with the lifeless, unresponsive shell they'd become accustomed to. She'd managed to maintain her grades, but that hadn't stopped her teachers from getting together to discuss ways to stimulate her academically—in the hope of helping her out of the crippling depression. Eventually, they'd begun discussing potential therapy options, which the principal had then talked to Charlie about. (Fortunately, he'd opposed it—perhaps because he knew from personal experience that she didn't need therapy, just time… or maybe she'd already started hanging out with Jake and he could see improvements in her emotional state, even though the teachers hadn't.)
Only those in her circle of friends seem to have noticed the recent improvements (because it had been such a surprise when she started speaking again), but they'd still doubted that she would ever fully recover. Lauren and Jessica were still calling her Zombie Bella. Mike had been anticipating getting another chance to win her over, so his response to seeing me is pure anger. When Jessica sees us, the jealousy literally chokes her as she apparently forgets how to breathe. (I understand how she feels, but any sympathy I might've felt is smothered by disgust at the bitter, self-centered foundation of her envy at Bella's "luck".)
Angela is alone in being genuinely happy for Bella, though she worries that I don't know how badly I hurt her. She spends a good part of the morning debating whether to pull me aside and tell me directly or to wait and judge my actions first. I'm glad that she and Ben are still together, and that they're happy. That is one success I can still lay claim to.
While the majority of students laugh and joke about the miraculous change in Bella, the teachers are more wary (similar to Angela, but without her guarded hopefulness). They eye me suspiciously, concerned that my return isn't the healing Bella needs. One teacher labels Bella co-dependent, not realizing that I am the co-dependent one. I wish I could tell them all what I did while we'd been apart, destroying their misassumptions of a carefree few months in sunny California (though my pale skin belies the sun aspect). If not for Alice's life-saving instruction to track Victoria, I would've retreated into some cave deep underground and fossilized (if I hadn't given in and returned to Forks).
The worst reaction to my return is that several girls now think they're in with a shot again. Lauren Mallory is especially intent on making her interest known, and especially cruel in her assessment of Bella's inner brokenness (despite her apparent recovery). When she tries to corner me to ask how I liked LA, all the while thinking that if I knew how pathetic Bella really is, I'd ditch her (again) in a heartbeat, it tests every mill of my self-control not to punch her in that nasty, petty head of hers.
To help me refocus, I consider ways of humiliating her. Alice joins in the moment she sees me strategically ripping Lauren's bag as we exit Biology, and begins searching for the most effective time or an alternative idea to show her up. And then we discover that Lauren is a thief (specifically, an occasional shoplifter). I'm intrigued that the vapid girl hasn't outed herself in her thoughts before now, but then I realize that I have always tuned her out in the past (for her safety, given the things she used to think about Bella even before I left), and she's not the only one dabbling in such minor lawlessness.
When Bella and I are forced to part, she to Calculus, I to Physics, forcing me to follow her through other minds, I cling to Alice's thoughts to keep me sane—and nonviolent. I hadn't forgotten how annoying Jessica's thoughts are, but now I need all my patience to endure them.
Jessica has decided she's pleased I'm back because it means Mike's renewed interest in Bella will again go unrequited, but she isn't remotely happy for Bella. She is peeved at the way Bella treated her, and I'm surprised that it really does seem as though she used her—ignoring her as she had everyone else, then suddenly inviting her to see a movie, choosing a zombie movie, then seeming completely indifferent to the horror until right at the very end, when she'd ditched abruptly. And then she thinks of Bella's truly "insane" behavior afterward, approaching a group of creepy strangers who were hanging out outside One-Eyed Pete's bar.
Their number (four) seems too much of a coincidence—had approaching them made her feel imperiled? Was that how she acted when she was hallucinating about me? I want to apologize to Jessica because Bella doesn't deserve the blame for her erratic behavior, but Jessica also doesn't deserve an apology—especially when she starts fantasizing about me again, too. There is no way I'm looking at her (let alone speaking to her) ever again.
She keeps up her annoying fantasies at lunch, picturing sliding her hand beneath my shirt with Bella sitting right beside her. I barely manage to suppress a shudder. When Bella looks at me, her eyes full of questions, I realize I haven't hidden my disgust as well as I thought. I stare back, losing myself in her gaze and wishing for the billionth time that I could fill my mind with her thoughts.
In an effort to make it absolutely clear that my attachment to Bella is as strong as before, I keep my eyes trained on her the entire lunch break. Even in our English class, I look away as little as possible. When Bella finally hisses at me to stop looking at her, I just smile and rest my chin on my hand, making it clear I don't intend to move any time soon.
Those closest to us heard her warning and are amused, but they still aren't convinced of the depth of my attachment. So I up the ante. I stare at her even when the teacher is talking—and I stop taking notes. That draws more attention, until the entire class is acutely aware of Mr. Berty's impending reprisal. He overlooks my rudeness for eight whole minutes before deciding it's time to test me.
He poses a question to the class at large, then fixes his gaze on me. "Mister Cullen?" he asks pointedly. "Can you explain it?"
I wait until Bella turns to look at me before reacting, as if I hadn't known he was going to call on me. As if I haven't been paying attention. I look up, hesitate, then say, "Sorry, sir, could you please repeat the question?"
Everyone is stunned. Bella's mouth falls open along with all the others, but she knows I'm lying, so she recovers quickest. She looks as though she can't decide whether to be irritated or amused—and she's trying to hide both emotions. But no one is looking at her. They are all glancing between me and Mr. Berty, who looks exultant.
He composes his face into a sterner expression while he thinks up an extension on the question he asked—one he hasn't even raised with the class yet. Then he says, "What is Holden's real problem?"
Almost everyone notices that the question is considerably harder, and they lean forward eagerly, wondering if this will be the time I make a mistake.
I am sorely tempted to say I don't know, but that would give him cause to call me out further on my obvious lack of attention, and I'm not about to stop looking at Bella. "Um," I begin, enjoying the way every mind in the classroom keenly awaits my answer. "Holden idolizes childhood. He sees adulthood as fake and full of suffering, but his inability to understand others, his lack of self-awareness, and his feelings of isolation will only further isolate him as he moves into adulthood himself." I am tempted to go on, but Mr. Berty is already frustrated by my brief but telling analysis.
Those who know I am right, or think it sounds right, are immediately disappointed, but the rest soon figure it out based on Mr. Berty's expression.
"Thank you, Edward," he answers curtly, before turning back to write on the board. Can't catch him out even when he's not paying attention, he grumbles. Then, No wonder he doesn't pay attention.
I turn back to Bella, who has a calculated frown waiting for me. "Pay attention," she hisses, but I just smile. She gives up and returns her attention to the front.
Despite my continued focus on Bella, Mr. Berty doesn't call on me again until class is finished. Then he beckons to me as Bella and I are walking out. Bella instantly looks nervous, so I give her a smile and ask her to wait for me in the corridor.
With mixed emotions, Mr. Berty watches Bella smile back—looking relaxed again as she walks out—before refocusing on my educational needs rather than our worryingly unhealthy relationship (which, after trying and failing with Bella, he knows he can't influence). "Edward," he says companionably, "I know this class is a little behind where you're at—"
I shake my head. "I'm fine, Mister Berty, really. I'm sorry I wasn't paying enough attention earlier—it won't happen again."
I'm sure it won't, he thinks, amusingly irritated, but he isn't distracted. "If you already know what I'm teaching, it feels like I'm wasting your time."
I smile; he has no idea how true—and how false—that is. "It's good revision," I say, hoping to reassure him.
Yeah, right, he thinks sourly. You just like it 'cos you can spend every class staring at Bella Swan.
He is absolutely correct. I compose my face into an expression of earnestness despite my amusement. "I didn't realize I was so distracted," I tell him, hoping he'll appreciate the show of ostensible honesty. "I'm still adjusting to being back in Forks."
He sighs. "I understand," he says, and he does; he read between the lines of what I said (including assuming that I must've studied Catcher in the Rye at the school in Los Angeles) and trusts that I won't be so blatant in my disregard of his teaching again, but he's still disheartened that I clearly don't need it.
"Thanks, sir," I say, even as I head for the door before he can set extra homework.
Going by Bella's smirk, she listened in on our conversation. Then she confirms it as we start walking; "I didn't realize I was so distracted," she quotes, a touch of disapproval clear in her tone and raised eyebrow.
"I was making a point to the whole class," I reply, hoping she'll let it go.
"What point?" she demands, forcing me to acknowledge what I'm sure she is fully aware of.
"That I'm as obsessed with you as always," I say, avoiding mention of her schoolmates' scorn.
She sighs, then says, "Please don't do it again."
"No need," I tell her happily, leaning in closer to ensure I'm not overheard. "The news is already spreading—I didn't take my eyes off you once in English, even when the teacher asked me a question, and I almost got it wrong."
She laughs, amused by the exaggeration, as am I. I laugh with her, enjoying a momentary reprieve as the thoughts around us focus on how wrapped up in each other we appear, rather than Bella's changed state.
Alice skips up beside us and grins at me, complimenting me on my performance in her thoughts.
"Don't encourage him," Bella admonishes, correctly guessing the bent of her thoughts.
Alice and I can't help but laugh. "Spoilsport," Alice teases. "I thought it was excellent." Then, to me, she adds, "Good thing you avoided the temptation to say you didn't know." Her vision of Mr. Berty's reaction to that is even worse than I'd anticipated—it would've incited him to arrange a meeting between our parents and teachers to discuss our "dangerous and unhealthy co-dependency" (I like that he sees it going both ways, but that insight is certainly not worth the fallout).
Gym class is a relief. It is nice to do something physical, and the effort of physical restraint is a useful distraction, though the thing I most enjoy is feeling useful: Alice and I save Bella from having to participate.
Despite our assistance, by the end of school, Bella's exhaustion is clear. Being the focus of attention has wearied her. Even Alice is quiet in the back seat as I drive us to Bella's. Bolstered by her visions of how tonight might go, I dare to suggest that I keep the car and we let Charlie see us doing schoolwork together. Bella almost asks Alice to take the Volvo home, which means I'd have to hide when Charlie got home (but I wouldn't have to leave at all), but then she nods.
Alice stays with us, which makes doing homework a lot more fun thanks to her ability to find something new in everything she does, until she switches from the subject of calculus to the subject of our wedding. I try to stop her, but she has a feeling that this is finally the moment she'll get Bella's agreement, so she ignores me.
She starts with the standard arguments, but Bella is as resistant as ever, impelling her to try ever more insistent urgings. My presence makes it difficult for her to strategize, as she struggles to keep me from catching even a glimpse of her wedding-related visions. Her thoughts get so twisted up that she's giving herself a headache.
"Ugh!" she groans, massaging her temples. "Edward, go away—I need to think without you in my head."
"No," Bella declares, slamming her pen down on the exercise book. "That's enough. Edward is not going anywhere."
Alice stiffens, suddenly realizing just how far she's gone off the rails; trying to offset all the wasted moments she sees in this current, "lowly" version of history is turning her into a dictator. "I'll go," she murmurs contritely.
Bella's determined mien switches to one of sympathy. "I didn't mean that," she says gently.
"I just want to help," Alice offers to excuse her overzealousness.
"And I appreciate the sentiment," Bella replies, "but there's bossy and then there's—"
"I know," Alice interrupts, not wanting to know whichever word Bella has decided on (tyrannical is the current frontrunner), "and I'm sorry. You're right. But you will love the wedding if it's done right."
"Right for me?" Bella asks.
Alice nods solemnly. "Right for you—and for Edward."
That promise seems to swing it. Alice sees Bella agreeing and can barely contain in her excitement while Bella slowly bestows her permission for Alice to lead the planning.
"You're going to love it!" Alice gushes, leaping up and twirling to shed some energy before rushing to Bella and taking her hands. "I promise—everything will be perfect!"
Bella can't help but respond to her enthusiasm, laughing as she accepts a brief hug, although she bites her lip when Alice turns to hug me. I give her a smile, but that's all I have time for before Alice throws herself into my arms.
"Perfect," she repeats, promising me, too.
She atones for her overbearingness by offering Bella the option of discussing the wedding now or going back to calculus, and then does a tolerable job of settling back into homework. So I indulge her by offering some opinions on a few of her ideas for my suit, initiating a highly pleasant and productive mental conversation.
When Bella decides it's time to start cooking dinner, Alice says her goodbyes. She grins at me as she sees me watching the Food Network for tips. Rather you than me!, she teases on her way out. I make a show of doing my Spanish homework while Bella cooks, though really I am watching her.
That is how Charlie finds us. He wants to be angry when he sees me, but how can he complain about what we're doing?
Bella hands him a beer and he accepts it with a sigh, before going into the living room and switching on the television.
While dinner is cooking, we make a start on our English homework, though mostly we joke about Holden's hypocrisy. Charlie can hear us laughing together; I hear the hope mounting inside him for a few minutes, before I get the distinct feeling that he's smiling.
I stay until Bella is ready to dish up, and then say my goodbyes. Charlie walks into the kitchen, no doubt to hasten my departure, but he does at least nod in my direction and he's even happy enough to smile at Bella while I'm still in the room.
Only Esme and Jasper are home when I get there; Jasper is telling Esme about the latest philosophical controversies. They try to rope me in, but I propose a short recital instead, so I play for twenty minutes before heading back to Bella's—taking a slight detour to catch a deer on the way.
Bella immediately notices my lightened eyes and smiles; then she says, "I hope your dinner was as tasty as mine."
I shake my head. "I'm sure yours was much nicer."
"No mountain lions around then?" she teases.
"Not between my house and yours."
She laughs, then strokes my cheek. "Thank you for being quick," she murmurs, raising her lips to mine and giving me proper thanks with her sweet lips.
I can't help remembering the wolves' distaste, so I marvel at Bella's complete lack of concern that I've just fed (vampire venom is a 'natural' sanitizer, but we haven't explicitly discussed it). At least it means she isn't bothered by the bloody future that awaits her.
Bella suggests we do some more homework, but I shake my head and pull out a couple of college applications. She rolls her eyes, but lets me work through one for her, writing what she tells me. By the end of it, she is more engaged, enjoying dictating to me, so I manage to convince her to let me start a second application.
She tires of it halfway through, so I put aside the papers and suggest an alternative focus. Wedding-related matters make her tense, so I let her come up with a topic for conversation. She asks for a vampire story, so I tell her about the Volturi's predecessors, a family of Transylvanian vampires who gave rise to the Dracula legends. When I finish, she asks for another, but it's getting late and she's obviously tired.
To combat her ongoing reluctance to sleep, I encourage her to get into bed by shedding my shirt. We kiss until I have to pull back to let her breathe.
"I love you," I say, thrilled by her brilliant smile.
"I love you," she replies, giving me one last kiss; she knows I'm calling time on our amorousness, and for once, she is too tired to argue.
She quickly relaxes into sleep, but once asleep, she is more restless than usual. Her sleep-talking reflects the stress of the day, too. She is defensive about our relationship, but seems even more anxious about the new thoughts I've been exposed to. The one consolation is that she doesn't say Jacob's name at all.
When I go home to change, Alice presents me with the ten pads and seven sets of colored pencils she'd told me to get, on an easel that Jasper made for me—gifts to cheer me up after the torment of school. But then she tells me I need to start now if I want to give the drawing to Bella for a graduation present, which is more than a little depressing considering graduation is over two months away.
Despite having never broken a piano key, and not breaking a pen since I was a newborn, my ability is as woeful as Alice's visions of all the ruined paper and pencils predicted. As I discover the moment I touch the first pencil to the first sheet of paper, colored-pencil lead is totally different. At first, I can only manage straight lines; the moment I try a curve, the point either snaps off or tears the paper.
I use a knife to sharpen the pencil every time I break off the point because that also requires a deft touch. But it also wastes a lot of pencil. After using up all the shades of black, green, and brown in the first pack, I stop worrying about the color and just try to sketch out the various shapes using lots of little straight lines.
The picture in my head is the one Alice saw in her vision. I go through an entire 96-pack in 43 minutes, with nothing to show for it—my right hand is scarcely better than my left—but I do my best to focus on the long game. Knowing that I will succeed eventually, as long as I keep practicing each night, makes it bearable.
Bella is still fast asleep when I get back. Her steady heartbeat calms me in less than a minute, and my frustration fades away. The effort is certainly worth it—her enjoyment of the picture alone makes it worth persevering.
The next day at school is barely any easier than day one. Bella seems more cheerful, but I still see several new memories of her formerly catatonic state. At least I'm able to intercede before Lauren can ask Bella how she convinced me to take her back (with exaggeratedly lewd overtones). I wish I could do Bella's work at Newton's for her, too, but I know she values being able to earn her own way (despite the fact that she already has our considerable fortune at her disposal). So I settle for going with her.
Mike eyes me critically, torn between anger and resignation. Given my devotion in class, he half expected me to show up, but he'd been hoping I wouldn't. He hates that I'm back, because he actually thought he was in with a chance again. I can't help smirking at him when Bella isn't looking.
Without the distraction of schoolwork or friends, I am able to pick through his mind for other memories of Bella. One disturbs me more than others—Bella's uncharacteristic enthusiasm for gore after he tried to suggest they see a romantic comedy: "I want to see Crosshairs," she insisted. "I'm in the mood for action. Bring on the blood and guts!"
But thinking about the movie makes him think about Jacob. He starts wondering what happened between Jacob and Bella… and how much I know about it. Has she told me about him or am I completely unaware of his existence? Suddenly, I'm not smiling anymore. I have to look away before he notices.
When he starts composing a question about him (hoping to stir trouble between us), I get in first and commandeer the conversation for the rest of the evening. By the end of Bella's shift, Mike is in no doubt that I'm never letting her go again.
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Epilogue
Life returns to 'normal' within a matter of days—faster than I would've believed possible. Charlie's heightened dislike of me, Jessica's ongoing avoidance of Bella, and Bella calling out another man's name in her sleep notwithstanding, it is almost as if the past six months never happened. Almost.
Alice and I remain on high alert, more watchful than ever. I track Bella's every moment when I am not beside her, either through the thoughts of others or through Alice's visions, which (thanks to her intense focus) cover most of the time but also extend further and further into the future. Thankfully, to the benefit of everyone's sanity, she adopts a more flexible outlook on the future and resumes her regular, subtler approach to shaping the course of our lives.
Her exaggerated focus on Bella lets other things slip by, but I can live with that. Even if it means I don't get to monitor my progress on the drawing as precisely as I'd like to. But I stay as focused as I possibly can, guarding Alice's vision protectively in my mind.
It is frustrating to fail so repeatedly, but every time I lose focus, I shred the paper or snap the lead—or the pencil—so I am punished for my lack of patience. Every time I have to start again is a grim reminder of my purpose. I am so strong that I could snap Bella's bones as easily as I snap the pencil.
Every day, I spend as much time as possible practicing my skill; even when I am with Bella and not able to work on it directly, I seek out other tasks that provide an equivalent test.
My efforts are rewarded grotesquely slowly. Five packs of pencils are destroyed and worn down with little improvement. It takes almost two weeks to draw something that progresses far enough to look vaguely like the picture in my head. Except, even now, the moment I feel a little confidence or think I'm getting the hang of it, my concentration slips and I gouge the paper.
Nothing I have ever set my mind to has taken so long to master.
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Continued in the sequel "Solstice Dance" (s/12123143/1/Solstice-Dance)