January 4, 2005

My history teacher must have had a terrible Christmas. First, he scheduled an exam on the second day back from vacation. Next, he gave out an exam that had a hundred multiple choice questions. And finally, he asked Mr. Barton to proctor it.

It was not that I didn't like Mr. Barton. I had thought a lot about what we talked about in our meeting. He was right. My grades did need some work. I did need to try harder at school.

Though my time travels had become more enjoyable and less stressful, they shouldn't take over my life. He had a point—my grades were good. I needed to stop obsessing.

By the end of class, I was one of the last people in the exam room. I double and triple-checked my answers. Finally, when I couldn't wait any longer, I brought my exam to the front and laid it carefully in the pile.

Mr. Barton smiled at me. "How'd it go?"

"Very well," I said truthfully. "I worked hard."

"I can tell. I'm sure your grade will reflect that."

I was about to ask him about extra credit when a sharp, sudden jolt shot through my chest. From his expression I could tell my face had gone white.

"Bella?"

"Can I go to the nurse, please?"

"I'll have to write you a slip—"

"Okay!" I nearly shouted. Mr. Barton scribbled the note and I tore it from his grip, clutching my chest. An time travel episode was coming on and I needed to find a safe place.

The hallways were empty. I didn't want to take the chance. I'd never make it to the nurse's office. Instead I dove into a janitor's closet. My eyes watered at the strong fumes, but it was of no matter—I was leaving. In a blinding flash of white, I was gone.

I was falling.

The jump had ripped me from the closet and dropped me into open sky. There was nothing to catch me. Nothing to hold onto.

I am no bird; and no net ensnares me: I am a free human being with an independent will.

I was moving so fast I couldn't scream. It seemed like an eternity had gone by, but as quickly as I came to that realization, I hit the water, plunging through the surface like a bullet.

I closed my mouth to save my last breath, as thin as it was. I fought my way to the surface. Several lungfuls of air later, it was possible to tread water. I was exhausted, but my work had only just begun.

It was not the open ocean. It was a lake—a deep lake, but small in terms of circumference.

Mr. Barton's hall pass was still in my hand; I let it float away. It sank below the surface, a fate I had just barely avoided.

Carefully, one arm over the other, I swam to the shore. I took hold of the roots and bracken by the side. Green moss coated them; they were cool and wet against my hands. Finally, when I was free of the water, I turned over, exhausted.

The sky above me was clear. Blue and beautiful. I was alive. Against the odds, I had survived once again.

Faint laughter cut through my musings. I lifted my friend a fraction. Two kids around my age—a boy and a girl—appeared on the shore. They pulled off their clothes and ran screaming into the lake. I watched them surface and immediately throw their arms around each other.

Oh. I really had to leave now.

Panting, I crawled into the tree line and used a branch to pull myself up. It was phase one of my routine—get my bearings, make a plan, and get going.

Though soaked to the bone, the skinny dippers clearly had the right idea. It was extremely humid. From the sun's position, it was not yet noon. But I knew it would only get hotter.

I didn't have to walk far. Ten minutes into it, I stepped onto a road. I might have hitchhiked if there was movement, but cars were few and far in between. Shrugging, I picked a direction and started walking.

It was just like Devils Lake. I sensed something special about this place.

As was my custom now, I went searching for the Cullens. I knew enough to look for them at this point.

Even I recognized a pattern was forming. I hadn't traveled to my own past in weeks. I was sure that every trip back would lead me to them from now on.

I studied the landscape as I walked. It seemed like an area they would settle in. They liked secluded places. They liked the quiet. These lands appeared to be the perfect hunting grounds. Other than the occasional skinny dippers and stray time travelers, they would be left alone. Plenty of game and hiding places.

I was thinking like them now. It made me laugh.

But this trip was unlike the others.

This time, they found me. Or rather, he did.

I had stopped to rest for a minute. With the sun beating down on my neck, I was sweating hard. My clothes were still damp from the lake, only adding to my discomfort. I chose a shady spot and sat down. For a brief moment, I wished for the freezing Maine town I landed in previously.

"Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes."

I leapt to my feet. That voice . . . I would know it anywhere. My smile was so wide it hurt.

Edward Cullen was leaning against the tree. He looked far too coiffed and pretty for this kind of environment. In a moment of self-consciousness, I patted my frizzing hair. "You found me."

"I did," he agreed, then stepped closer to me. He bent and hugged me, a gesture I did not expect. He held his arms loosely around my body, as if he expected me to break.

A surge of happiness went through me. I squeezed his neck tightly and breathed in his scent. It was a mixture of honey and what seemed like . . . sunshine.

I had no sense of boundaries. No shame at all. I never wanted that hug to end. After a long glorious minute, he pulled away. His eyes went to my wet clothes.

"Did you land in the loch?"

"The lake? Yeah, that was a surprise."

"No, it's a loch," he corrected me. "We're in Scotland."

"Scotland?" I repeated in astonishment. "Wow. I've never been to Europe. This is unexpected."

"Unless you time travel."

I laughed. "Well, you have me there. Hey! How are you not dead right now?"

He took my hand to lead me into the trees. "Technically, I am dead."

"I know that," I scoffed. "I mean, how are you in the sun right now?"

"We never explained that little detail to you, did we?" he said aloud. "All right, stand here."

I stood waiting in the shadows. It was noon. With the sun at its highest peak in the sky, he stepped out into the light.

I gasped. I had seen myself in mirrors when I traveled. The light was a blinding, harsh white. But my time travel had nothing on this. Edward's skin was sparkling. He looked like a statue, white and still, but glittering like a hundred thousand diamonds. With the sun glinting in his hair, he was unworldly. I was a mere mortal in the face of perfection.

"I can see your reluctance to settle in sunny places."

He burst out laughing. "Says the girl who vanishes in a burst of light!"

"I can't control that," I shrugged. "Don't hate me for that."

"Oh, I could never."

I knew I was blushing. I was no expert in the flirting game. But I could have sworn his tone had lifted slightly, a teasing lilt that made my heart do backflips.

He reached for my hand. I took it eagerly, examining the shimmering skin. "What's the date?"

"July 2, 1952."

"Seven years," I murmured, whistling softly. "That's a long time."

"Not long for vampires," Edward reminded me, taking up the walk again. We were still holding hands.

"What are you thinking?"

"I just wish we knew more about it," I sighed. It wasn't exactly a lie. "Or where it's going to take me next. It's maddening."

"It is indeed," he murmured. Before he could speak again, a thundering crash echoed through the trees. I jumped back in fright. Edward was standing so close I barged into him.

"Sorry," we both said in unison. Then he shook his head. "It's just Emmett."

Emmett himself came bounding through the trees, scooping me up in a hug. A squeal escaped my lips.

"Jesus Christ!"

"Nope, Emmett McCarty Cullen."

I made a face. "Okay, slugger. Put me down."

"No, it's much easier to carry you."

"Hey," I protested, my chest pressed to his shoulder. Edward walked behind us and tried very hard not to laugh.

"Oh, big tough guy," I grumbled, pulling at Emmett's hair. "Let's make fun of the human for being slow. Let's show off our muscles."

"If you got 'em," he chuckled. The hair-pulling didn't seem to bother him at all. Huffing, I gave up and focused on glaring at Edward, the only person in my sight line. He merely smiled at me and continued walking.

It wasn't a long journey. When we left the woods, Emmett turned around and walked backwards, allowing me to see the house. It loomed before us. Clearly the Scottish village lifestyle was not for them.

"Christ, does this place have a moat?"

"There's a garden in the back," Emmett offered, then spun around to face the front again.

"I'm getting motion sickness," I complained.

"Quit whining, we're here."

When both feet were on solid ground, I pointed my finger in his face. "Don't do that again."

"All right," he said defensively, holding up his hands. "I'll let Edward do it next time."

Edward punched his arm. "Shut up."

Blushing, I followed them inside. He was right, though. If Edward had done it . . . well, I wouldn't have complained.

The house was as lovely inside as it was outside. The Cullens definitely enjoyed the rustic style, but with a careful, classic touch. Emmett went around opening windows for me, crafting a cross draft through the rooms. The furniture was so pristine that I didn't want to sit down. Everything looked expensive.

My clothes were sagging from the dampness, and the humidity wasn't helping, either. I stood there awkwardly.

"Is there a place I can freshen up?"

Edward stood up. "This way, Bella."

He led me to the staircase. He climbed them at my pace. The walls leading up the stairs were lined with pictures. I studied the portraits and landscapes. "Did you take these?"

Edward ducked his head. "With the camera from Christmas."

"You have a real eye for it."

For the first time I had known him as a vampire, he looked . . . shy. "Thank you. Art helps me express myself. That and music."

"Do you still play piano?"

"All the time," he nodded. "I write my own music."

I stepped closer in excitement. "You'll have to play for me sometime!"

His eyes never left mine. "Of course I will."

We lapsed into silence. I stared into those bright golden eyes and felt like I was back in the loch. Except that I was drowning on dry land. My novels described attraction in the simplest of terms. They never said it hurt you, or made you feel as light as air at the same time. It hurt to look at him, and it hurt to look away.

"Here's the washroom," he said at last. He seemed reluctant to let me go inside.

"Thank you," I murmured, sliding past him.

Time slowed to a crawl. It was as if the humidity in the air was compressed into that tiny space between us. Eons seemed to go by until I was inside the bathroom, the door breaking the charged moment. I placed my hands on both sides of the sink to steady myself, taking a free breath at last.

I wondered if that intensity was mutual. I felt stupid for entertaining these thoughts at all. Even if there was . . . something between us, it was never going to work. I was never around for long.

Anger bubbled under my skin. I turned the tap and let the cold water fill the tub. Wrenching off my clothes, I climbed in and sank under the surface.

I was still upset. I never thought time travel would interfere with a relationship because I never pictured having one. I was a solitary person; I was used to being alone. I didn't need much, and a problem rose, I was independent enough to figure it out. I had my parents and my books and usually that was enough. But what if it wasn't?

It was not that I needed him. People need food and water and air. It wasn't that.

It was that I wanted him.

I wanted him more than anything but I couldn't have him.

I learned to deal with my condition over the years. It happened whether I liked it or not. But now I felt myself hating it with a fervor I couldn't have dreamed of. I hated what it did to my life. I hated what it made me do and what it wouldn't let me do.

My gloomy mood did not lift. I didn't want to brood. But why would I get the chance to meet people as kind as the Cullens, only to see them for short periods of time? It was almost cruel.

I wrapped a towel around myself and realized I had a problem. My clothes were still sopping wet. If Rosalie was home, I would have asked her to borrow something. But she wasn't home and I doubted the boys could be of help. I decided to go looking for her room.

This task would have been easy at my house. Two bedrooms and two bathrooms. Easy. At the Cullen house, there had to be twice that number. I wandered from room to room, searching for a simple dress and a pair of undies. I had no such luck.

One door at the end of the hall was open. I knew immediately it was not her room. Photography supplies rested on the bureau, and the walls were a deep blue. I was sure that this was Edward's room and that he would not like me to be in here.

But I was curious. Ignoring what people said about curiosity, I stepped inside and took a long look.

The far wall was lined with bookshelves. One held dozens of books. The other had a number of old, handwritten journals.

I thumbed the spine of one journal. What did Edward write about? Hunting expeditions? Memories of years past? People he met in his immortal travels?

Though tempted, I respected the journal writing hobby. I used to do it myself. And even though I wrote about silly things, I knew I'd hate it if someone read my private words. So I left the journals alone and moved on to the bureau.

The camera from '45 sat on the surface; it was clean as whistle. He kept it in good condition.

I glanced over my shoulder once. No movement. No problem.

The first drawer was stuffed with shirts. Nothing out of the ordinary. They were of the highest quality. It seemed odd, though, because it appeared that Edward didn't care much for what he wore. But I suspected Rosalie or Esme bought his clothes, so that made sense.

I tried to picture Edward in my time. The mental image made me laugh. Edward seemed too proper for jeans and a t-shirt. I shook my head and smiled. No. I doubted I'd ever see Edward in a pair of jeans.

I moved the shirts to the side, still grinning. The smile froze on my face when I saw what was hidden underneath them.

It was a photo of me from 1945. The one he took when I wasn't looking. I had been thinking of something else—musing on my condition, and Carlisle's research. He captured my hesitant smile.

The photo was so candid. I was there. Christmas, in Maine, in 1945. There was proof of it. It was right here in my hand. Proof that someone had seen me, even when I was constantly disappearing.

It was proof that Edward had seen me.

I put the picture back and rubbed my eyes. I was being silly. The house was full of his photos. One picture of me meant nothing. I pushed the door shut and turned to leave.

"Snooping?"

I jumped a mile and clutched my towel for dear life. If there was ever a time for one not to be naked, it was when someone else caught you poking through their stuff.

Edward was leaning against the doorframe. His posture reminded me of earlier, when he found me in the woods. This time, though, his expression was less than pleased.

"No! I was just . . . looking for some clothes."

He raised his eyebrows skeptically. "In my room?"

"I didn't know it was your room," I argued. It almost sounded convincing. "The door was open . . . I was looking for Rosalie's room."

"Hmm," Edward said, unmoved. "It's three doors down on your right."

"Great, thanks," I said enthusiastically, trying to cover the sticky moment.

We passed each other again. This time the tension was even worse. I was hyperaware that only a towel covered me. The blush spread down my neck and over my collarbones. His folded arms stiffened as I went by.

The nervous smile was plastered to my face. Once I was in the hall, I did not look back.

A/N: Happy Back to the Future Day, everyone! I hope you enjoyed this installment! See you all next Wednesday.