Chapter 5 - Taking Chances

For the rest of the night, I think about the seven numbers I wrote on Emmett's palm and what they mean. I'm not sure what I do want, but I'm sure of what I don't want: for whatever this is to go away. It feels too good, too right.

I wonder what it means to him.

I keep my phone with me all night, even through dinner. My dad eyes it sitting on my placemat, tucked next to the delicate bone china plate. Then his BlackBerry rings and he excuses himself, his business-brisk voice drifting down the hallway as he goes to his study. I'm left in peace to stare at the screen, halfheartedly eating my grilled chicken and salad as my mom makes cooing noises at Eric, who's curled up at her feet.

"Can I be excused?" I ask finally, tired of sitting here when I know I'm not going to finish this meal, not with the nervous state my stomach's in.

My mom raises an appraising eyebrow, eyeing my plate. "Not hungry?"

I shrug. "I've got a ton of homework to do before bed. I want to get started on it sooner rather than later."

As expected, my excuse gives me the green light. She nods, then reaches over to lay her hand over mine when I stand, picking up my plate. "Leave it, sweetie. I'll get it. Go get your homework taken care of."

My dad strolls in just as I'm going out and he ruffles my hair as we pass each other. Sometimes this is the only interaction we have at this table, short conversations about how school's going and what I'm learning. Usually he or my mom will ask me about Roy, too, but not tonight. I had to admit earlier that we broke up when he didn't come over for our standing Monday night study date, which was usually less about studying and more about him getting to third base.

Somehow I don't think my parents would be quite so dismayed by the news of our break-up if they knew what Roy did to their little girl while they were right downstairs.

I rush through my Calc homework and slog through the reading assignment for English. I'd rather do proofs all day and night than read one word of The Iliad; math is easy for me and makes sense. There's an answer for every problem, cut and dried. There's nothing subjective about it. For not the first or eighth or eightieth time, I'm glad I talked my parents into letting me take a regular English course instead of an AP one.

I fall asleep with The Iliad on my chest and my phone in my hand.

It stays quiet until six the next morning, and even then it only blares my alarm. I don't have to press the snooze button; I'm out of bed and in the shower before I even fully realize I'm awake. My morning routine is a blur; I put my makeup on and dry and curl my hair, shimmy into my best jeans and pull on the purple blouse that Jess says makes my eyes look "ridiculously gorgeous."

I know I look beautiful. I've always acknowledged the fact, in a detached sort of way. But there's something about the way Emmett looked at me on Friday night that made me feel beautiful, and not just in appearance. I want to feel that again. It's only one of the reasons I'm so anxious to get to school. I don't know if we'll talk, but we'll at least look. Maybe that's all I can handle right now anyway.

But when I get to school, he's not at his locker. I look for him in the hallways between classes, but he's not there either. I always noticed when he was here, but now I notice when he's not, too. His absence is almost bigger than his presence. It irrationally annoys me that I'm so aware of him, and that not seeing him affects me like this. Jess and Lauren give me shit for being cranky all morning.

"Is it Roy?" Lauren finally asks. We're at my locker just before English and she's leaning against the one next to mine, her head resting against it. Her fingers tap, tap, tap against the metal and I stare at them pointedly before meeting her gaze.

I let out a sharp sigh.

"It's not Roy, Mallo, okay? I'm fine. But seriously, if you don't stop with the tapping, I'm going to take you out."

Lauren snorts. "Yeah, I'd like you see you try, Posie. You may be tall but sometimes a lower center of gravity can work to your advantage."

My center of gravity all but floats away when I see a folded up note resting on top of my Chem book. Placing my hand on the top of it, I palm the note, not wanting to take the chance of Lauren seeing it and asking questions.

Her fingers are going again, pulling me back down to earth. I shoot her a half-hearted glare that she ignores. "Did you do the reading for Berty's?" I ask as I shut my locker. The note's burning a hole in my palm; I'm that anxious to see what it says.

"The book was open while Tyler and I were... um, doing things. Does that count?"

We walk to English side by side as people automatically move out of our way. "Oh, I'm pretty sure that there's some sort of studying osmosis that happens when you have a tongue shoved down your throat."

Lauren giggles. "Oh, that's not where his tongue was-"

My hand goes up in the air, and I squeeze my eyes shut like somehow that will prevent me from hearing her. "I'm not listening. This is me, not listening. You might as well stop talking now because I'm not listening."

Lauren takes pity on me and stops talking, which I appreciate since there's really no need for me to hear the details that she's so apt to share.

My body seems keenly aware that I'll be seeing Emmett soon, a quiet hum working its way through my nerve endings when we reach the door to our English classroom. The thought that he might be out today passed through my mind, but the presence of the note has proved otherwise and I'm quietly anticipating our interaction, however brief it might be.

Jess is already sitting in our usual spot and Lauren bounds over to her, talking like they haven't seen each other in ages rather than two periods. Sliding into my seat, I glance over to see they're fully involved in their conversation, not paying attention to me. Furtively, I unfold the note, pressing its edges down so that it's flat against my book.

You're a grammar Nazi. Is that better? Wait, are you offering to help me with schoolwork or are you using that as an excuse to get me alone?

I duck my head so that no one notices the blood rushing to my face. He's got me completely figured out.

That's when I feel Emmett; my skin tingles when I realize he's here, in this room. I look up and see him walking by with Edward and Bella. As he passes my desk, his eyes skim my face. He's trying to be slick, so it's brief, but I feel it. I feel beautiful, the way I did Friday night. It feels like he's seeing me differently than any other guy ever has.

His attention lands on the note. He reaches his hand down, slowly so as not to attract any attention, and drums his fingers along the edge of my desk.

Tapping is suddenly glorious.

Acting on impulse, I reach my finger towards his, and they hook for a fraction of a second. When our skin touches like this - secret but not - it's like going down the first hill on a roller coaster, an exhilarating rush that floods my body, jump starts my heart adrenaline and catches my breath. And then he's gone, moving back to his desk, and I'm as good as gone for the rest of class. The rest of the day, really.

It takes me a full minute before I can look at anything but the top of my desk. My heart is flying, racing down that proverbial hill. I'm so incredibly aware of him in the room with me. I can still feel him, but now only his eyes.

Jess and Lauren are talking next to me, but I don't join in on their conversation like I usually do, even though we have at least another minute of socialization to squeeze in. All I can do is listen to the sound of Emmett's low voice mingling with Edward and Bella's soft laughter. I want to turn around so badly, to look at him and see if he's as affected by me as I am by him. Instead, I stare down at his note one last time before I cover it with my notebook. I'm almost relieved when Mr. Berty starts class and I have to focus on the discussion of the previous night's reading. It gives me something else to put all of this energy into and gives me a distraction from the boy sitting in the back of the classroom.

Jess and Lauren whisper and pass notes through all of class, but for once I don't join in. If they notice, they don't act like it's weird, just sweep me up right when the bell rings and pull me out of the classroom. I only get a brief glimpse of Emmett before we get out into the hallway. He's got his hand on top of Bella's head, guiding her playfully down the aisle, but his eyes are on the doorway. On me.

"So, what are you getting Mike for his birthday?" Lauren asks Jess, threading her arm through mine. Jess gives us both a look, smirking, and Lauren rolls her eyes. "You can't re-gift him your virginity, Stan."

"Shut up," she laughs, smacking Lauren in the arm.

"What about you, Posie?" Lauren turns to me and arches an eyebrow. As we weave through the thick crowd, she tightens her hold on me.

"Uh, I'm still thinking about it." The truth is, I haven't though about it at all. And now, not only do I have to find a present for Mike, I have someone else to buy for. It'd be kind of shitty to show up to Bella's birthday party without a gift.

"Shopping trip after school?" Jess pipes up, her voice lifting with excitement at the prospect.

I shake my head, extracting myself from Lauren's grip as we get to my locker. "Can't, I have an Honor Society meeting. You guys go ahead. I'll take care of it on my own."

Jess seems a little put out by my refusal, but then Lauren starts talking about how they should make a pit stop at the lingerie place if Jess really wants to get Mike a present, which lifts her spirits. They flit off down the hallway, calling out "bye, bitch!" (Lauren)and "have fun being honorable!" (Jess),and generally making a spectacle.

The rest of the day goes by in a blur. I don't see Emmett again, but I tuck his note into the back pocket of my jeans, keeping him close in that way.

I'm so distracted looking for and thinking about Emmett as I make my way to Mr. Medina's classroom after school that I don't notice Roy until we nearly run into one another in the doorway. I'm honestly a bit surprised to see him here. After all, he's got so many activities: soccer, debate, NHS. Usually the Honor Society falls low on his list of things to attend. But here he is.

"Oh," I say, brilliantly.

"Go ahead," he replies, sweeping his arm out like it's some sort of grand gesture to let me pass through first. He's doing that thing again where he acts like he doesn't care, and it's just uncomfortable, so I scoot past him into the classroom without another word.

Roy and I were invited into the Honor Society our sophomore year, much to our parents' delight. He didn't really give a shit about it, but he joined anyway, partly because his parents wanted him to have something to add to his already impressive list of accomplishments. I have a feeling the other reason was because he wanted to spend time with me, although he never said it. He acted really unaffected most of the time, but he had these fleeting moments of vulnerability that caught me off-guard – a soft kiss or a lingering touch. Sometimes he'd come over to my house after he and his dad fought. He rarely said anything about it, but that indifferent mask he wore would be gone, replaced by something sadder. We'd put on a movie (always his choice) and he'd sit close to me, holding my hand. It was those moments that made me feel less like the girl he should date and more like the girl he wanted to be with.

Part of the problem, though, was that those moments became fewer and far between, until I felt like all he saw was who he thought I was, as opposed to who I really am. I think I was a great idea, and maybe he was, too, at first. But in three years, we never got beyond that. We never went too deep.

That's not enough for me anymore. I don't understand how it could be enough for him either, why he would want us back when we weren't enough to begin with.

I chew on my pen cap while Mr. Medina goes over the agenda, distracted by my thoughts. I look over my shoulder at one point, shivering when I feel the weight of someone's eyes on me. Roy is sitting one row over and three desks back, slouched down in his seat. His gaze shifts quickly to the front of the classroom when our eyes meet. I'm all too aware of him, though, even after I turn around, and it makes me squirm in an entirely different way than it does with Emmett.

After Mr. Medina gives the precursory overview of the agenda, I step up to lead the rest of the meeting. You might think that something like this would freak me out, public speaking. Surprisingly, it doesn't. When I have a script, an agenda and a goal, I'm fine. It's only when I'm left to my own devices that I get myself in trouble.

Like after the meeting when Roy follows me into the hall.

"So, what? You're just going to ignore me now, Rosalie?" he asks, somewhat loudly.

I can feel the attention from the students who have just exited the room with us. There's one of two ways I can play my part in this. I can either do what I've done for the past, I don't know, forever, or I can just flat out say what I'm thinking, consequences be damned.

I decide on the latter. What do I have to lose?

"I'm not ignoring you, Roy. I just thought... you might want some time." I try to say it quietly, gently, but it's difficult with him glaring and everyone staring.

He's trying to keep his cool but his hands are balled at his sides, betraying his effort. "We're in high school. All we've got is time. Why'd you blow me off on Saturday?"

My eyes flash to the people around us. They've all but stopped talking. I swear they're leaning in so they don't miss a word. I step closer, hissing at him, "Well, seeing as how you broke up with me, I figured you didn't really mean to ask me out on a coffee date. You don't take someone out for coffee when you've broken up with them."

He stares at me for a moment, then lets out a soft snort. "Thanks for confirming what everyone's been telling me for the past three years, Rosalie."

It's a final dig, and while I know he doesn't really mean it, that he's just saying it to get under my skin, it does its job.

I'm done with this. Done with this conversation and done with the implications that I'm a bitch for finally doing what I've wanted to dofor a long while. I turn on my heel and walk away, my silence sending the message that my words cannot.

To him it says, I know you're disappointed, but I am, too.

To them, all it says is bitch, bitch, bitch.

I can't bring myself to care.

When I get to my car, I fish the folded piece of paper out of my back pocket and grab my phone. I don't know if it's the conversation with Roy that fuels my fire, but without a second thought (usually I'm all about second thoughts... and thirds), I pull up Creep and press the text message button.

My fingers fly over the screen as I quickly type out a message: Do you need to be tutored or are you using that as an excuse to get ME alone?

I press send before I lose my nerve. My phone buzzes in my hand almost immediately, and I smile like a fool, feeling the heavy weight of my interaction with Roy evaporate completely.

Why do you have to turn it around on me? And do you always answer questions with questions?

Oh, really now? It doesn't go unnoticed that he's throwing my words back at me from our conversation in the hall the other day. My face burns with the thrilling realization that he's paid close attention to them, just like I have.

I think that I asked you first if you need a tutor, so technically speaking, you're turning it around on me.

I sit anxiously, alternating between staring at the screen and out the window. The parking lot is pretty deserted and I don't see any of my friends' cars, but I do a precautionary sweep anyway. I nearly jump when the phone vibrates again, even though I'm expecting it. I'm such a geek.

I want to hang out with you. If you want to call it tutoring, that's cool too.

Holy hell. Not gonna lie, I do a stupid little happy dance in my car. Happiness is a few simple words from him with the implication of more.

I catch sight of myself in my rear view mirror and lean forward, pulling it down so that I can get a good look at the girl I barely recognize. I'm smiling like a total idiot and my eyes are a little glassy, like I've been drinking. He does make me feel drunk, though - dizzy and floaty in a good way, but also on solid ground.

I don't know what it is about him, but in the past few days, with just a few interactions, I suddenly feel like taking chances, like stepping outside my comfort zone and seeing what can happen. I've spent so long inside this little box that's been built around me - by my parents, my friends, even by me - it's like I'm peeking out and Emmett is the sunshine and fresh air outside. He represents the possibility of things I could have if I stretch my legs, if I just trust and let go.

But the reality is, there are people who probably won't understand that. I've always been Posie and to them I always will be. The expectation has been set, and I don't know how to change that, especially where Emmett is concerned. It's always at the back of my mind, wondering what Jess and Lauren and everyone else would think if something were to happen between Emmett and me. I'm sure Lauren would have an opinion and would give it freely, but part of me wonders if she and Jess would be happy for me after the initial shock wore off.

I guess that's a little horse before the cart,considering we've shared only meaningful looks, a smattering of touches and some mild, mutual flirtation that makes my heart want to beat its way out of my chest and walk itself right into Emmett's hands.

And now text messages, of course. Text messages that say he wants to hang out with me, tutoring or not. How do I even respond to that?

Oh, right. With words.

Well, I AM hanging out with you on Friday.

I don't wait for a response this time. I've been sitting the parking lot for way too long, staring down at my phone and probably making the most ridiculous faces. My car doesn't exactly blend in - a red Beemer for my sweet sixteenth, thanks Dad- and the last thing I want is to be spotted just chilling out here, smiling to myself like a crazy person.

Besides, I have a little shopping and a lot of homework to do. And probably some daydreaming, too.

Oh, who am I kidding? It'll be mostly daydreaming with a side of homework.

I'm sitting cross-legged in bed later that night, hunched over my AP Chem homework with Eric next to me when my phone chimes from the nightstand. I pounce on it, telling myself it's probably Jess or Lauren so I don't get my hopes up.

But my hopes are up and when I see Weirdo Creep on my screen, it goes straight to my chest. I think this is going to kill me before I even get a chance to see where it might go.

Good point, his message reads.

His response is simple and doesn't really give anything away, but he wrote me back. That has to mean something, right?

Ten seconds later, another message pops up.

So what are you wearing?

I nearly fall off my bed, first from shock and then from laughter. I can almost imagine the devilish grin he probably had on his face when he sent it, his cheeks a little pink like they were on Friday from the fire.

And maybe from me.

"Rosalie, are you okay?" My mom's voice drifts up from downstairs. Eric is barking at me like a maniac. I shift, pulling him into my arms and put my hand over his snout. He growls, but quiets down. Little monster.

"Fine," I call back, pressing my hand against my forehead and looking down at my phone. I can barely make out my reflection in the screen, but I don't need to see my face to know I've got the goofy expression going again. I hope to god she doesn't come up here, because there's no way I can get away with saying my AP Chem homework has me this bright-eyed.

When I'm sure she's gone back to the living room, I go back to my phone, back to Emmett. I feel almost feverish, my blood pulsing wildly through my veins. It's heady, a little dizzying, but in a good way.

And now? I'm going to make him fall off his bed.

I'm wearing your hoodie… I type out with a smirk.

I'm actually wearing his hoodie with sleep shorts and a long-sleeved shirt, but I don't share the extra articles of clothing. I want to see how he'll react, if at all.

You're killing me

The smirk morphs into a euphoric smile. Obviously I do have the same effect on him.

I bite my lip, wondering how to proceed. I'm not exactly a pro at flirty texts. I finally settle on, you probably want it back at some point, right?

The phone vibrates again.

Nah, you hold onto it. I like the mental image more than I like the sweatshirt.

Oh, god. I'm dead. He's killed me. I have no reasonable response to that, so I fall onto my back, nearly crushing Eric in the process. I cover my mouth to muffle my giggle as Eric jumps off the bed with a huff.

If I was dizzy before, it's nothing compared to the feeling rushing through me now. My cheeks are hot from his words and our exchange. I don't know what it is about him, but I do know I want more of it.

A lot more.

xoxo

We continue stealthily texting back and forth the next few days. I'm basically walking around with my phone in my hand at all times. Which is really no different than before, but it feels different now. Everything does.

The texts are about nothing and everything. Sometimes it's inconsequential - like that he's at the bakery picking out a cake for Bella because the owner is an old family friend so he gets a discount. Sometimes, it's more telling, like the fact that while he's at the bakery, he's also getting cannolis for his grandma since they're her favorite and she's not feeling well.

I'm walking to Calc on Friday morning when my phone does that tell-tale buzz in my back pocket. Since I'm alone, I check it then and there, right before I go into the classroom.

What time do you think you'll be leaving MN's? I can meet you at the corner of Valerie St.

The bell rings so I fire off a quick answer, my fingers flying over the screen. Not sure, hopefully not too late. Save me a big piece of cock.

As the little bubble turns green and the words fly from my phone to his, I stare in horror. Cock.

Auto correct. It must have been auto correct, because it's not like I go around chatting about cocks on a daily basis. I mean, okay, a little. With Lauren and Jess but... no.

That was not what I wrote. No.

No.

No.

"No!" I wail, cursing technology. What happened to the days of carrier pigeon?

"Ms. Hale? Will you be joining us or should I move the class into the hallway for your convenience?"

I look up from the screen. Mrs. Sulpicia is standing in the doorway, an annoyed expression on her face. After muttering the proper apologies, I skulk my way into the classroom, still holding my phone, appropriately mortified.

"Phones off, people." It's a general announcement that she makes at the beginning of every class, but today it seems to be directed especially toward me.

Speaking of the offending piece of technology, mine buzzes in my hand one last time as I sit. I peek at it, almost scared to see how he responds.

Moving a little fast, aren't we, Hale?

Holding the button down on the top of my phone, I shut it off before sinking down into my seat.

Excuse me while I go die now.

xoxo

"Nachos are a girl's best friend," Jess practically squeals as the underclassmen at the concession stand hands her a heaping pile of semi-stale tortilla chips drenched in artificial cheese sauce. He stares at her, mouth slightly agape, as she dips her finger in the cheese and brings it to her mouth, letting out an orgasmic groan.

"You're giving the kid a hard on, Stan. Dial it down," I mutter under my breath, my lip curling up in disgust as she swirls her finger into the fake cheese again.

Jess ignores my comment, nudging me away from the concession stand with her shoulder. There's a long line snaking behind us; it's halftime at the football game, which apparently equals snack time. I don't know why, but the concession stand is always packed and Jess is one of its most loyal customers. She gets nachos every game, without fail, always moaning and groaning over them like she's never had them before. Considering she's had some of the best cuisine from all over the world (her parents are travel nuts), it's a little ironic that it's the nachos at Forks High School's concession stand that get her all hot and bothered.

Sometimes I wonder if her and Mike's foreplay involves imitation nacho cheese or something, because her excitement over it is completely suspect. Of course, then I have to do a mental brain bleach because...no. I'm still scarred from the time I overheard her having phone sex with him during a sleepover last year.

Sex inevitably makes me think of Emmett, which inevitably makes me think of our text message exchange earlier. My entire body flames with humiliation. I saw him at his locker after school and he could barely look at me, he was laughing so hard, his shoulders shaking and the back of his neck adorably red. He caught my eye for a split second when Lauren and Jess weren't looking, and the smile, those dimples so deep, made my stomach quiver and my eyes roll simultaneously. Stupid auto correct. I know he'll give me shit about it later.

Later. My heart skips just thinking about it. I feel like we've set some kind of foundation for what might happen tonight. For what I hope happens tonight. I can't deny that I've thought about him walking me home, without Bella this time, and what might happen in the darkness of my driveway. Just the thought of it makes me come alive. I'm so aware of what he does to me and I love it, want to feel it all the time.

I've been watching him on the field the whole night, my eyes glued to him. I've always been aware of him out there, but tonight it feels like more. I have this sense of possession, like he's mine, even in secret. I want to yell out and clap when he makes a tackle or gets the ball, but I can only bite my lip and follow him with my gaze, staying with him that way.

I hope he feels me.

"Hey, the stands are this way, Posie," Jess says suddenly, yanking on my arm.

I was so caught up in my thoughts of Emmett that I've wandered completely off path. Jess is oriented toward the metal bleachers, one hand cradling her precious nachos and the other one on my elbow. She's wearing Mike's letterman jacket, the hood of her cashmere zip-up pulled over her head, and she's staring at me like I'm a little unstable.

Okay, maybe I am.

"I'm going to hit the bathrooms real quick," I say, hitching my thumb toward the gym.

"What, you don't want to use the Porta-Potty?" Jess asks, smirking.

The name alone is enough to make me shiver. There's no way I'm stepping foot in that thing and Jess knows it. She laughs at the look of horror I'm sure I'm wearing and waves me off with an extra-evil little giggle.

I roll my eyes and stuff my hands into the pocket of my jacket. "I'll meet you back at the bleachers in a minute, okay? And be sure to save me some of those quality nachos."

Jess flips me off over her shoulder as she strolls off.

There are packs of students everywhere. I catch a whiff of pot from the tree line as I walk up the path to the school. The band is still playing, doing their halftime show, which is a dedication to Broadway musicals. The laughter from the pack of girls in front of me floats through the air as they link arms and bend their heads together.

Only when we enter the school, under the harsh fluorescent lighting, am I able to see that it's Kate, Charlotte and Tanya. The three of them are holding blue Slurpees, which I'm pretty sure have a vodka topper. I follow them into the bathroom attached to the gym, quietly listening as they talk about the game. Slipping into the stall, I hover-squat, trying not to touch the walls or well... anything. Public bathrooms are gross - there's no two ways about it.

"Em looks so good tonight," I hear one of them, maybe Tanya, say. I exit the stall and go to wash my hands. Yeah, it was definitely Tanya.

They all look up at me for a second and I force a smile, because it's what you're supposed to do, but I know it comes off cold. The trio returns the gesture. It reminds me of Stan and Mallo's fake smiles: thin, no teeth.

"Em looks so good every night," Kate amends as they turn back to the mirror and each other. They continue talking about him as they touch up their make-up and the 88s on their cheeks. God, I really do have so much I could add to this conversation, but I keep silent. I have to practically bite through my lip to do so.

We finish in the bathroom at the same time and I wind up walking behind them again, this time back down to the field. The team is huddled together on the sidelines, going through some ritualistic pep talk where Coach Clapp yells and they all grunt and yell back and smack each other's asses.

They break right before we walk past. Apparently that gives the girls permission to shout out "Go Spartans!" and "Yeah, Emmett!" And of course, they make the obvious comments about a tight end.

I sneak a glance at him. His jersey is pulled up, hanging around his neck as he adjusts the pads hugging his ribs. He scans the crowd and then finds me, briefly. His hair is damp and curly, sticking to the nape of his neck, his eyes bright and brilliant underneath the stadium lights. He smiles right at me, to me, and then one of his teammates shoulder-checks him to reclaim his attention. I keep my gaze on him, though, shamelessly. The Under Armour shirt he's wearing clings to his body like a second skin. I can make out the outline of his abs beneath it. I don't have too much time to ogle them, though, because something else catches my attention: a red ribbon tied to his shoulder pads, fluttering in the light breeze.

My red ribbon.

My heart stutters in my chest and just before he pulls his jersey back down, he smiles while tugging at it. I know he knows I'm watching.

I float back to the stands.

Charlotte, Kate and Tanya go on talking and speculating about whether Emmett will be at the party at the reservation later that night. And usually, I'd keep my smiles on the inside. But damn it, right now? I'm smiling. Sure, it might be slightly smug, but I don't care. Because I know he won't be at that party, and deep down, I think they know that he won't be there either.

I know exactly where he'll be.

With me.

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