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Chapter 6

30 September 2011

I park my truck in the driveway, watching with a sense of trepidation as Edward's Volvo slides into place behind me. I know this was my idea and everything, but I've spent the drive home trying to figure out how to introduce him to Mom, and all I have to show for it is a basic plan that starts with not doing it, and ends with running away.

I jump down from my truck, and wait while Edward gets out of his car.

"I have no idea how Mom is going to react to this, and I'd like to apologize in advance for anything she might say or do," I warn as he walks up.

"Do you really think it'll be that bad?"

"Honestly? I don't know. This hasn't happened before, so who knows what she'll do."

"Right." He glances up at the house, seeming a lot less sure of himself.

With a fortifying breath, I take the lead. Edward follows me up the muddy path and up the porch that needs a fresh coat of paint, which Dad has said he'll 'get to' for two years now. The door's unlocked, so Mom's definitely home already.

"Hello?" I call out, taking a quick peek into the living room; it's messy, but not messy-messy, so it can passably pose as cluttered. Edward looks around with interested eyes.

"Bella? Is that you?" Mom's voice comes from the kitchen.

"Yeah. Hi, Mom," I call out, heading towards her. I barely make it three feet before she appears in the doorway, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel.

"Oh, good, I need your help wi— Oh." She stops in her tracks as Edward comes into view. The sudden appearance of another teenager in her house seems to have shocked her. She stares at him with wide eyes.

"Uhm. I'm not staying," I say. Her wide eyes move to me. "I'm just dropping off my… stuff." I drop my bag by the foot of the stairs, as if to demonstrate, and then gesture over my shoulder. "We're, uh, we're gonna head to Edward's house."

"Hi, Mrs. Swan," he pipes up, with perfect timing. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him waving.

She blinks, eyebrows dangerously close to her hairline. "Oh, hi. Edward. How are you?"

"I'm good, thanks."

Stepping forward before this dissolves into an actual conversation, I discreetly flap my hand at him to shut up. "I'll be home before dinner, okay?"

"Oh. Okay." Her gaze flits back and forth between us. "I didn't realize you two were friends," she says, giving me a look fully loaded with meaning. I think she might be expecting a five-page essay as an explanation.

Not really being up for that, I find myself shrugging. I literally have no idea what else to do. Something tells me 'I've secretly hung out in a tree-house with him several days a week for years, and I never told you on purpose,' wouldn't do much to help the situation.

She looks back and forth between us again, eyes slowly narrowing in suspicion.

"What did you need my help with?" I ask, hoping to distract her.

It takes her a few seconds to respond; she stares at me blankly before her mouth pops open in understanding.

"Oh, it wasn't anything important, honey. It can wait until you get back home."

"You sure?" I ask, even as I take a step back towards the door.

She waves us away. "Of course. You two go."

"Okay then," I say, taking another step. Edward follows my lead, reaching the door before I do. "See you later."

"Bye, honey. Nice to see you, Edward. Say hi to your parents for me."

He glances back, already out on the porch. "I will. Nice to see you too, Mrs. Swan."

She opens her mouth to say something back, so I hurry to intercept her.

"Okay, thanks, bye," I say quickly, waving as I close the door. It shuts with its usual bang, and I breath a sigh of immense relief.

That went so much better than expected. I'm pretty sure I'll be under heavy investigation once I get back home, but I can deal with that.

I think.

I'll also have to dodge what I'm sure will be ceaseless requests to have Edward come over, but again, I can probably deal with that.

Hopefully.

"Your mom's nice," Edward observes as we walk back down the path towards his car.

"Yeah? Got a nice impression of her during those ten seconds, did you?"

He gives me a little shove. I'm amazed I don't trip over my own feet and faceplant right in front of him.

"Are you saying your mom's not nice?"

"No, not at all." I walk around to the passenger side, and speak to him over the roof of his car. "Mom's plenty nice, and I'm sure she'll be very enthusiastic about showing you that."

I settle into his car, and he slowly follows, watching as I put my seatbelt on.

"Why will she be enthusiastic?"

"Well, now that she's seen you, she's probably going to do everything in her power to make sure you come over to our house as often as possible."

He still seems confused.

"I just told her I have a friend," I explain, waving a hand at my house. "She's probably inside, like, dancing around the kitchen. Calling Dad to tell him the amazing news."

Edward squints back at the house, as if he's going to see my mother shimmying past a window or something.

"Oh. Well, uh… I mean, we can go to your house next time."

"Are you that eager to get to know my mom?" I smirk slightly.

He rolls his eyes with good humour and starts the car. "No, but it wouldn't hurt if she liked me, right?"

"Right," I say as we back out of the driveway. "But I'm pretty sure Mom already loves you, just for making me less of a recluse, so you probably don't have to worry too much about that."

He nods thoughtfully. "Isn't that a type of spider?"

"I'm sorry, what?"

"A recluse. A brown recluse. Or something." He looks from me to the road and back again. "No?"

"I mean, yeah, but what does that have to do with anything?"

"Nothing. I was just making a comment."

"You're weird," I decide.

"I know, but you still like me, right?" he asks, throwing me a grin I'm not prepared for.

My chest seems to cave inwards for a second, as if my body is pulling itself closer to my heart. The feeling releases as quickly as it appeared, but the shock of it lingers.

"I guess," I say, thankfully not sounding as shaken as I feel. I need to change the subject. "So what do you want to do today?"

"Oh. I don't know. Did you have anything in mind?"

"Not really." I slip my fingers under my thighs, glancing out the window as we come up to the end of my street; he turns right. "Do you have any homework? I could motivate you, or whatever it was you said."

"Yeah, sure," he says, nodding. He makes another right turn, into his own street now. "I could probably do some math or something."

"Ah, yes, the noble science of 'math or something.'"

"You know me, I'm all about the noble sciences."

I laugh quietly, chancing a look at him. He's smiling to himself, as if pleased he made me laugh. Edward is always handsome, but smiling really does do extraordinary things to his face. The feathers I had in my lungs before make a small detour to my stomach, and I have to turn my head away to stop myself from staring at him.

"Here we are," Edward says, slowing the car down and turning up onto a driveway.

We're only one street over, but his part of the neighborhood is nicer than mine. Most of the homes here were built less than 15 years ago. The house we're in front of now is one of the newer ones. Almost the biggest on the street.

Edward reaches back behind my seat to grab his bag before stepping out of the car. I follow him, and we walk through the perfectly manicured garden. I glance over my shoulder only once, just to see if there's anyone looking at us. The street is silent and empty.

"So, you hungry?" he asks as we step inside. "I need something to eat, and I wasn't kidding about those bagels." He slaps his stomach a few times, rubbing a circle.

He has a very… flat stomach.

Oh god, stop noticing that.

"Yeah, sure," I say, tearing my eyes away to take in the entry. It's a bright, airy room, with an impressive staircase that wraps around as it ascends, open all the way to the ceiling on the top floor, and the skylight above. It makes my own paint-flakey porch and squeaky doors seem even more depressing.

I watch as Edward neatly stacks his shoes, laces tucked inside, on a low rack by the door. All the shoes there are neatly stacked with their laces tucked inside. I feel bad about having to place mine on the floor. I try to make them look as straight as possible.

"Come on, kitchen's this way," he says, dropping his bag at the foot of the stairs.

His house is just as immaculate as the garden, but it feels warm. As if every perfectly placed decorative touch has been done with love. Even the random knick-knacks seem carefully chosen. I wonder if his mom did all this.

There's a faint, muted sound coming from somewhere, like music. I look up at the ceiling. It's a little louder in the kitchen.

Edward sees my expression, and points upwards. "That would be Alice. Her room's just above here. She likes playing music a few levels over 'way too fucking loud.'"

I feel my eyes widen. I didn't even think about this possibility. "Alice is home?"

His brow creases and he looks at me, half pleading. "Don't freak out."

"I'm not freaking out." Much. I've had about zero interactions with his twin sister - just like Edward, she fits in anywhere she wants to be, with any group of people. It's very intimidating. "I just didn't… I didn't really think about it. Her being home, I mean." I self-consciously scratch my neck. "Do you think me suddenly being here will seem weird to her?"

He does a strange half-shruggy thing, as if shifting a backpack he's not wearing. "No."

"Because she's so used to you bringing home girls you've seemingly never spoken to before?" Even as the words come out of my mouth, they annoy me. I annoy me, for saying them in the first place.

"No, not— I mean, no, because I don't do that, and no, because Alice doesn't care if we're friends. She… I mean, she kinda knows already anyway. So…" he trails off, not looking at me. The slight guilt on his face tugs at me.

"You told her?" I ask, and his gaze darts up to me and immediately away again. I raise my eyebrows. "When?"

He looks uncomfortable. "Uhm, a while ago. She figured out I wasn't actually hanging with Em all the time, and she kept bugging me until I told her I was actually hanging out with you."

I don't really know how I feel about that, which is weird. I'm fully expecting a wave of nerves so acute I might throw up, or a completely irrational blaze of anger. But I get neither, and the lack of them confuses me, more than anything.

In fact, I might be feeling a twinge of something suspiciously close to pleased.

"Oh," I say, watching Edward watching me. He slowly grows as confused as I feel.

Brow furrowing, he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. "That's it? 'Oh'?"

Floundering slightly, I shrug. "I don't know. I guess it's not… I mean, she's your sister. I get why you'd tell her." To my surprise, the words ring true as I say them.

His eyebrows jump now. "Just… just like that?"

I wrap my arms around myself and grimace slightly. "I know, it's weird, right? Am I having a normal reaction to something?"

"Hmm." He walks over and places the back of his hand against my forehead. "Maybe. You don't feel hot, so we can't brush it off as a fever dream."

I poke my finger against his ribs with a snort. "Shut up. I'm being serious."

"About having a normal reaction to finding out someone knows you're my friend? Yeah, this is a serious conversation that warrants a serious response," he says, eyebrows raised condescendingly.

"Listen, I said shut up. So shut up." I poke his ribs a few more times, for good measure, and he dances away with chuckle.

"All right, fine. Serious. Yes, you're having a normal reaction. How does it feel?"

"Weird. Definitely weird."

"Hopefully you'll get used to it."

"Maybe."

"Trust me, you're probably a natural under all…" He trails off and waves a hand in the general direction of my torso, "this. It's just been hiding all these years, and it's finally ready to come out. Like a butterfly from a cocoon."

I silently stare at him for a moment. "Thanks."

"You're welcome."

Trying to hide my grin, I roll my eyes and walk over to their kitchen island; taking a seat on one of the bar stools, I say, "Weren't you hungry? I thought we were going to eat."

"Yes. Right." He turns away and opens a tall cupboard. I blink a few times at the sheer amount of food inside. "Anything in particular?"

"Uhm… I don't know."

"Yeah, me neither," he says. He then practically sticks his whole head inside and rummages around. He comes out with his arms full. I watch as he puts it all down on the island. Pringles, bagels - the infamous bagels, I'm assuming - Twizzlers, and Doritos seem to be the main ingredients.

"You're gonna eat all of this?"

"Well, I thought you'd help out, but yeah."

"Aren't you eating dinner?"

He stares at me as if I'm crazy. "Of course I am."

With a frown, I consider him for a moment. "Is this a guy thing? Is this one of those things I shouldn't even try to understand?"

"What, eating?" He takes out some plates and glasses.

"Excessive eating."

"Hey, I'm a growing boy, all right?" He points at me, mock-serious. "It's my job to eat my parents out of the house."

"Well, you're off to a good start."

"Damn straight," he says, grabbing a handful of Doritos and shoving them into his face.

A laugh bursts out of me, and he grins with his cheeks puffing out.

"You look like a chipmunk."

He rolls his eyes and walks over to the fridge. He holds up two cans of Coke, still chewing. I nod, and he grabs some more stuff from the fridge before sitting down beside me.

Though Edward has no qualms about spoiling his appetite for dinner, I proceed with a bit more caution. As our conversation shifts to discussing the new Spiderman movie, I chew on a Twizzler and nurse a pile of chips after Edward insists I try one of the bagels. He's right, they are delicious.

"I just can't get on board with Peter Parker, the like, most American character in the history of the world, being played by some pasty English dude. I just can't. It's wrong," Edward says, pointing half a bagel at me. "Toby Maguire, fine – not the best choice, maybe, but at least it was better than this Garfield guy."

"I don't know," I say, wiping salt from my fingers. "I think he looks good. And he's hotter than Maguire."

He looks taken aback, the bagel drooping in his hand.

"You think he's hot?"

I shrug, pulling on the sleeves of my hoodie. I realize I don't really want to talk to him about finding guys hot.

He frowns, suddenly seeming a little less confident.

"I mean, do you— So, what, you think tall, skinny guys with too much hair are hot?"

"No, I'm just saying, he's better-looking than Maguire."

"But you do think he's hot?"

He's staring at me so intently I can't help but laugh at him.

"I don't know, a little, yeah. I mean, he's not unattractive." I take a sip of my soda, studying him for a moment. "Why do you care?"

He looks uncomfortable. A squirm of his legs is a further tell.

"I don't. I mean, I do, because it— I mean, the choice of who should play Spiderman shouldn't be based on how hot he is."

"I never said it should," I say, chuckling.

"But you think the English guy is better suited to play him, because he's hotter than Maguire?"

"What? No," I say, laughing louder now.

"But you said: 'He looks pretty good. And he's hotter than Maguire.' That suggests you think hotness is a necessary requirement for Spiderman."

"No, it doesn't. It was just an afterthought. I mean, Peter Parker shouldn't be ugly – he isn't in the comic books. So Garfield works because he has that… hot-geek aspect about him."

He seems disgruntled with my opinion.

"So, hot geeks do it for you? Is that what you're saying?"

"No, I didn't say that."

"Okay, so let's go other end of the spectrum, then. What about Thor?"

I shake my head. "No way is that other end of the spectrum. It's not a fair comparison. Thor is a god, from another planet. He's literally an alien deity. You can't compare him to Spiderman, who's just a normal human guy."

He holds up a finger. "With radioactive spider powers."

"Yeah, but at least those are man-made. He wasn't born with them, like Thor."

"Okay, fine." He takes a Twizzler, holding it up for me to see. "You want a spectrum? Here's a spectrum. Spiderman, versus…" he grabs a bagel, "Captain America. Both start off as human losers, who gain man-made powers later in life. Who wins? Not in a fight, but in a beauty pageant."

"Oh my god."

"Answer the question."

"I don't know. Spiderman? Spiderman. Peter Parker," I say, throwing my hands up a bit.

"Aha!" he says, pointing the twizzler at me. "So you do think Spiderman needs to be hot."

"No, I don't!"

"Sure, sure. That's why you choose the gangly nerd over the super-solider."

"Listen, Captain America's… I mean, he's all right. But he's— I mean, he's too… he's too bulky," I say, stumbling over my words. "It's too… too, like, you know…" I drop my voice into a lower register, "'Hey, look at me, I go to the gym every day! Fuck yeah!'"

He bursts out laughing, which is exactly what I hoped. I grin at him, tucking some hair behind my ear.

"You sound like Emmett," he says, as his laughter fades to a chuckle. He drops Spiderman and Steve on the counter.

"Well, Emmett's a perfect example," I say. "He's too much."

His laughter stays in his thoughtful smile as he studies me closely. "I thought girls were supposed to love huge muscles."

I wrinkle my nose as I smile.

"Do you even like muscles at all?"

I try to hold in the laughter, but I can't. I rub my hand over my forehead. I feel self-conscious answering these questions, but also somehow pleased that he's asking.

"I do. Just not…"

"Bulky ones," he says, finishing for me.

"Right," I say, smiling at him. He grins back, and there's that feeling again, like my chest is caving in and everything's squeezing closer.

"So not big and bulky," he says. "And how did you feel about tall and skinny with too much hair?"

I can't bring myself to be anything but completely honest. I can barely think.

"I like tall." He's tall. "And I like nice hair." He has nice hair. Loads of it. "Skinny's okay, but not my preference." Because he's not skinny now, but he used to be.

His brows pull down the smallest increment.

"I like how you look."

The words tumble out of my mouth, and I immediately want to barf.

He freezes, brow smoothing out, eyes widening. I want to barf even more.

Oh god, why did I say that?

"So I guess it's good you don't look like Captain America," I say quickly, trying to play it cool. But I don't know the first thing about being cool, so it probably doesn't work, and now he thinks I'm a spaz. "I don't think I could be friends with you if you did."

"Well… damn," he says, letting out a quick chuckle that doesn't sound exactly right. "There goes my Halloween costume."

"Just as well," I say. "I'm not a fan of blond guys. Not a good look."

"Ouch."

I startle so badly I shriek. Whipping around, I meet the eyes of Alice Cullen, casually leaning against the door jamb. Alice Cullen, who's dating Jasper Whitlock, who is very blond. Oh god.

"Geez, Alice," Edward exhales roughly, closing his eyes for a second. "Make a noise, would you?"

Her gaze is quick and knowing, and she looks between the two of us. "Sorry. Not my fault you weren't paying attention." She smiles at me. "Hey. Bella, right?"

"Yeah."

Her smile widens. She keeps eye-contact a second longer before turning to her brother.

"Mom called. She and Dad are having a date night in Port Angeles; they won't be home 'til late. Dinner's on us, so I'm ordering pizza," she says. "Jasper's coming over in about an hour. We're watching a movie later."

She looks between the two of us again, her lips twitching as if she's fighting a smile. Keeping her eyes on Edward, she says, "Bella, why don't you stay for dinner?" Only on the last word does she look at me. I freeze.

What?

"Oh, uhm, I—" I can't stay for dinner. I can't. I can't eat pizza with Alice Cullen and Jasper Whitlock.

"It'll be fun," she says, interrupting me, which is okay because I wasn't actually making sense anyway. "I've been wanting to get to know you better for a while, anyway. Edward talks about you all the time."

He immediately makes a sound of protest. I feel like I've missed a step going down the stairs.

Edward talks about me? All the time?

He talks about me.

All the time.

I've barely processed these words before Alice grins at her brother. "Okay, great, see you later!" she shouts over her shoulder as she sprints away. I hear her feet thumping up the stairs above our heads.

I turn and look at Edward. His face is slowly turning a deep shade of pink.

"I can't stay for pizza," I say, because that is an easier subject than Edward talking about me, all the time.

"You could," he says, his shrug almost convincingly casual. Still blushing, he jumps up from his chair and starts grabbing our snacks. "Jasper's a good guy. I think you'd like him."

"That's not the point," I say, because he knows that's not the point. "I mean, your sister knowing is one thing, but Jasper's a different story."

He doesn't answer, taking unnecessary care in putting everything back in its place in the pantry. I can only see the back of his neck, but somehow I know he's blushing again.

"Edward."

"Hmm?" He shifts uncomfortably.

"Oh, my god." I jump off my chair and stride across the kitchen. Taking his elbow, I make him turn to face me. "You told Jasper, too?"

He shakes his head. "No, I didn't. Well, I mean, I guess I did, like, indirectly," he says, his volume dropping into a mumble the harder I stare at him. "I didn't even know he knew! I only found out like a month ago."

I keep staring at him, waiting. Reluctantly, he mutters, "Alice told him."

"What? Why?"

"Because. I don't know, because they're dating, and they tell each other stuff. And before Alice made me tell her, she'd been asking Jasper about why I was hanging out with Em so much, and I guess he got curious, too. She basically told him so he wouldn't say anything to Em."

I make a low keening noise and pace away. A lot of people suddenly seem to know a lot about something I thought was a secret. I could've done with a bit more of a gradual increase.

After a moment, Edward says, "But I guess, since he already knows, there's no harm in staying." His expression is the picture of innocence.

I grit my teeth. "Guess so."

He nods wisely, but as he turns away, I can see him fighting a smile. "Okay, cool. Come on, let's play video games or something."

I flounder slightly at the abrupt change of subject. "I thought we were doing homework?"

"No one does homework on Fridays," he says, already walking out of the kitchen.

I follow him towards their living room. "So why did you say we would?"

"I don't know, seemed like a good idea at the time," he says. "It got you here, didn't it?" Smirking, he drops down on the couch, and everything about the way he looks right now makes my stomach warm.

"You say that like you had anything to do with it," I reply, but I sit down next to him anyway.

"Oh, I think we both know I had everything to do with it," he says, smirking even wider as he picks up the remote.

I wish I could argue, but with a flutter in my stomach, I realize I can't.

I really can't.

Blinking rapidly, I keep my eyes on the screen and away from his face.

This isn't actually happening, is it?

I don't—… I don't, right? I can't.

He gets up from the couch only to crouch down in front of the game console, fiddling around with a disk. I catch sight of a tiny sliver of skin above his jeans, where his shirt rides up.

Oh god.

It is happening.

… I am so screwed.

Thanks so much for reading. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and this silly little pair.