Playlist: Twist in My Story by Secondhand Serenade, Wonderwall by Oasis

Chapter 6

2008

"Hi," he says, loping toward me, sure of himself.

"Hi," I say quietly, unable to keep a smile at bay. But what I should really do is haul back and clock him in the face.

"You're talking to me." He fiddles with his belt loops nervously. Maybe he's not so sure after all.

"I'm an adult."

"Right. Right." He nods his head and takes another step, reaching out his arms like he might wrap them around me, but he diverts them, running them through his hair and down into his back pockets.

"Why are you here? You're not class of ninety-eight. You're not even a Forks High graduate."

"I knew you'd be here."

What the hell? I say it with my eyes, I think, because he answers my unspoken question.

"Aunt Esme and I keep in touch. Always have. And Alice and I reconnected a while ago."

"Mmm. She's here, right?"

"Yeah. She's in the stands saving us seats."

"You're staying?"

"Yeah. Is that okay?"

"It was your high school, too, Edward."

"Yeah. It was once, wasn't it?"

I look him up and down, not ashamed of myself. He was always attractive, but this guy before me—this man—is GQ beautiful even in his plain tee and roughed up jeans. He had always been casual and always pulled it off. I'd been all men's shirts and baggy jeans, wearing nothing flattering ever. Gone are those days.

The years were kind to my figure, filling me out in ways I didn't think were possible when I was younger. And I've taken advantage of it, putting my best features to work in my nicer wardrobe. I started out slowly of course. Beginning in college with tighter fitting shirts and pants that didn't need a belt.

As an adult, I no longer think about what I'm wearing, so long as I am comfortable and I look nice. And by the way Edward's gaze is fixated on me, I'd say I do. Not that I need him to tell me that.

1996

I'm underneath the football stadium bleachers straddling Edward's lap, fingers deep in his hair, tongue deep in his mouth. His hands are splayed on my back, his thighs pushing me up, higher. We've been meeting here almost daily during my study hour and his lunch to talk and make out—mostly make out.

He places soft kisses down my throat, my head tilting back, giving him space.

"Is Alice going to the winter formal?"

"Of course she is," he murmurs against my skin.

"Does she have a dress yet?"

"I don't know this shit, Bella." He pulls back and shakes his head, laughing at my question. "I wish you two would kiss and make up. It's annoying as all hell and stupid."

"She was mean to me."

"I know. I agree. I just—can't you talk to her? I know she'd apologize. For real."

"But then I wouldn't have all the time after school to suck face with this really hot senior in my bedroom."

"That would be bad." He runs his hands up my back, gripping my shoulders. Like I'm his. Like I can't go anywhere. I don't want to.

"Real bad."

He smirks and coaxes my mouth open with his tongue. I can't believe I've become a teenage cliché, but I couldn't care less. Edward is stellar at kissing.

"I have to get a dress," I say between kisses.

"For what?"

"The dance."

"Are we going to the dance?" he asks, smiling.

"Well, I'm going."

He pulls back, eyes full of concern or anger. Jealousy. Something.

"Mike asked me."

"Oh, well if Mike asked you . . ."

"What was I supposed to say? 'I can't go. I have a boyfriend.' Because that would be a lie. I have an Edward. That's it."

"That's it?" He drops his hands from my back. His jaw clenches.

"You know what I mean."

"I know." He stands, and I tumble slightly as he does so, trying to get to my feet.

"Edward? Do you want to—"

"No, I don't. I told you I'm not a good person from the start, okay? It's no big deal. I was thinking about asking Heidi anyway."

"Heidi?"

"Heidi."

"Are you going to kiss her?"

He shrugs. Then: "Are you going to kiss Mike?"

"Ew. How can you even ask me that?"

"How can you say yes to a dance invitation from Mike?"

"Because he asked me." My voice is unrecognizable. Shrill and irritated.

"Whatever." He leaves me beneath the bleachers to pack up my stuff and head to my next class.

If this is what it's like having a non-boyfriend, I'd hate to see how difficult it is to have a real boyfriend.

-OP-

Angela convinced me to help the dance committee with decorations and whatnot. At first, I refused, but once I realized Alice was in the group, I decided to hell with it. She needs to see I can move past her. Besides, of all my "friends," I like Angela the best. She's thoughtful and non-judgmental. I admire both of those things.

I'm with Angela and the rest of the crew, hanging up ugly streamers, when my hip beeps.

Edward's number pops up on the small screen. He was grumpy all day today, wouldn't even kiss me.

He's been acting bi-polar since our argument, pouting one minute and laughing and kissing me the next. It's getting on my nerves. He's the one that doesn't want to be exclusive, so why do I have to put up with his lame-ass attitude for saying yes to Mike? I don't understand boys.

Besides, it's been nearly two weeks. Get over it already. Or do something about it.

I ignore the page and finish up with Angela, doing my best to pretend Alice's loud laughter from across the gym isn't bothering me.

When I get home, the door's unlocked. Music pours from my room, something angry and edgy I haven't heard before. Most likely something Edward's Seattle friends sent to him, one of their little love notes in the form of a mixed tape, or in this case, a CD.

He's sprawled out on my bed, feet dangling off the edge, his large, yellow math textbook beneath his arm, a notebook to the side. He's working diligently, it seems. Then again, he always does. Boy gets all his homework done in record time every day so he can have more "playtime" with me. Or so he says. Though, as far as I can tell, he's always finished his homework quickly and never had a problem. He's smart, that's for sure, and I like that he doesn't gloat. I also like that he likes time with me and tells me so.

"What's the band?" I say over the top of the screaming lead singer.

He turns, startled. "You don't know 'em," he says, like it's my fault, like it's something to be ashamed of.

"Nice to see you, too, Edward."

"Don't get pissy with me. I came right after school. You were the one that wasn't here. I paged you. Where were you?"

"Angela roped me in to decorate for the—"

"I get it."

"Can you turn this down?" I have a headache. Forcing a smile and pretending to have a good attitude while watching Alice play nice with others—who weren't me—will do that.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Is it bothering you?" His false tone is not appreciated.

"Yeah." I nod my head, a bit irritated with his attitude. "Don't be a jerk."

His eyes catch mine, and I see them soften. "She was there, huh?"

"Yep."

"You talk to her yet?"

"No."

He sighs, turns down the stereo with the remote, and reaches out to me. I tuck myself into his side, and he continues his AP calculus homework.

I stroke his arm and wind my fingers into his hair while he crunches numbers. I want to kiss him, find some solace for my crappy day, but I'm not sure if that's okay since he was angry when I first got here.

"I'm glad you're here," I whisper and kiss his bicep.

He leans to the side and puts his mouth to mine.

"I can't believe the winter dance is already this weekend. Doesn't it feel like it was just Halloween?"

"No," he says, leaving me abruptly. He changes out the CD; Gwen Stefani's unseasoned tone fills my room. This album is old school.

The meaning behind the lyrics revs me up. So does the way Edward's looking at me, like he'd rather I was wrapped around him.

When he's back on my bed, his body pressed against mine, he kisses me like he wants to kill me. I don't mind. I kind of like a pissed off Edward. I wonder if this is what he's like when he's messed up, high on pot or whatever else he's done before. But mostly, I wonder why he won't just make us a couple. I'd like to ask him why, but I don't. Instead, I put the thought behind me and just feel.

-OP-

The night of the dance, Mike picks me up. He's in a suit, hair slicked back. I managed to find a plain deep blue velvet number with only one bow in the back and a slit to my knee. Mike smiles broadly when he sees me and carts me around on his arm, proud that I'm his date, I guess. Know who's not proud that I'm his date? Jessica. That's who. And I wish she'd said something earlier because I would have told him no and avoided this whole fiasco.

We walk the perimeter of the gym, chatting with friends. Alice is never far away, but we avoid each other, though I do catch her checking out my dress occasionally. I wonder if she likes it. I like hers. It's perfectly Alice—flamboyant and sexy and bold. Leopard print never looked so good on a girl before.

I smile despite myself, and she catches me. We exchange a look and go back to our dates.

I'm in Mike's arms swaying to some bad Brian Adams ballad when I first see him—Edward. He never confirmed that he had, in fact, invited Heidi. But she's on his arm, so it appears he has. She's stunning in deep red, the hem of her dress hitting her thighs. Jealousy cuts through me when I realize what a gorgeous couple they make.

He catches my eye and whispers something in her ear. My throat feels raw, like there are thumb tacks scraping the inside, and I can't breathe. I excuse myself and bolt to the bathroom.

I hide in the stall but can't keep my sobs in.

A soft knock on my door alerts me to someone else's presence.

"Are you okay?" Alice.

I open the door and wipe my nose with my hand. "I've only been here half an hour, and I'm crying. Doesn't the crying happen at the end of the dance?"

"He warned you, right? He told you he doesn't do this?"

"He told me. I know it. I didn't think—I didn't—"

"Do you love him?"

"No." It's immediate, but I want to take the words back as soon as I say them. What is love? How can I know if I love him if I don't know what love is? "I don't think so. I don't know."

"He cares about you. I know he does."

"How do you know?"

"Because he's been an ass to me since I was an ass to you. I'm so sorry, Bella. So so sorry. You can be with whoever you want. And I can, too. We just need to find a balance. I need to find a balance. To make time for other people in my life that matter—like you."

"I miss you, Alice."

We throw our arms around each other and sob half in/half out of the filthy bathroom stall.

We clean ourselves up and enter the gym again, hand-in-hand. We dance together and have a good time. I do my best to ignore Edward, but when I take a break outside to cool down, he's there, and I can't ignore him any longer.

"Having fun?" he asks, looking at the moon.

"Yeah."

"I saw you with Alice."

"I saw you with Heidi. You never said for sure you were coming."

"Yeah, well, I was. I'm here."

"I see that."

"Mike's sure holding you close."

"And Heidi looks like a slut."

"What's it to you?"

"What's it to you if Mike holds me close?"

His eyes slam to mine, and his jaw tightens before he speaks. "Dammit, this is why I didn't want to do this. I don't want to fight with you. I don't want—"

"What, Edward, you don't want what?"

"This."

My hands fly out wide, annoyed that I don't understand what he's saying. "Anger? Hatred? Jealousy? What?"

"Passion," he counters and pushes me against the brick wall, his thigh between my legs. "Mike better not touch you."

"If you put one hand on Heidi, I'm going to cut it off."

His lips are on mine. Hot and unyielding. His hands ruin my hair in seconds, hairpins landing on the ground with a soft plink, plink. He grips my thigh in his hand, ripping the slit, making it higher. "You make me so . . ."

"What?" I ask, the words a whisper against his jaw.

"You make me feel like . . . forget it."

"What were you saying?"

"I don't know." He exhales, the anger falling away. In its place, a peace. Like we know where we stand. He grins lazily and smoothes soft kisses down my neck.

The gym door creaks open, and a throat clears. Edward pulls away, rubbing his lips. Mrs. Sanderson stands with her hands on her hips admonishing us to move it or else without actually saying the words.

Going back indoors blows since I have to spend it with Mike and watch Edward dance with Heidi. However, my attention shifts a bit when Jasper pulls me into his arms to dance.

"She's really sorry, you know. Couldn't stop talking about it. She misses you."

"I miss her."

"Are you going to be okay? I don't to want to be the guy that—"

"You didn't do anything. We just let things get away from us. We aren't . . . I mean, Alice and I have been friends for a long time. I don't think even something as big as first love can keep us apart."

"Love? She said that?" He beams, standing a little taller, making me stretch my arms.

"Why don't you ask her about that?" I say, chuckling.

"Or maybe I'll just tell her I love her instead."

"That'd probably be best. You know Alice."

"I do." His grin is wide. Love has made a fool of him. But in the best way possible.

"I'm glad, Jasper. Really."

The dance winds down with Alice and Jasper at my side. Oh, and Mike, which is disappointing. But I do have my best friend back, and I'm pretty sure Edward's all mine, too. Maybe going to the dance wasn't a bad idea after all.

A/N: My fabulous readers made a concerted effort to get Overpass on the top five at The Lemonade Stand. Sadly, we missed the boat. Maybe another time. Though, it's not for nothing because I have seen some new readers. Hi! And thank you!

Please stick around and let me know what you think. Reviews are better than sucking face under the bleachers with your non-boyfriend.