"On another occasion, while poisoning himself with elevated levels of oxygen, Haldane had a fit so severe that he crushed several veterbrae. Collapsed lungs were a routine hazard. Perforated eardrums were quite common, but, as Haldane reassuringly noted in one of his essays, 'the drum generally heals up, and if a hole remains in it, although one is somewhat deaf, one can blow tobacco smoke out of the ear in question, which is a social accomplishment.' " — Bill Bryson, A Short History of Nearly Everything, page 244

: :

"My daughter is not a thief."

"Neither is our son."

"Fact of the matter is, somewhere between yesterday evening and this morning, someone stole Mrs. Cope's laptop, as well as the Vice Principal's. And, comfortably enough, we find you two in the auditorium inside the schoolhouse. If you were not engaging in illegal activities, what, may I ask, were you doing?"

"We were stuck in the auditorium," Edward says.

"And how did that happen?"

"Someone must've locked us in after our Drama," I explain. "Everyone left by six thirty, but I asked Edward to stay to hear him play the guitar. I thought it would be pretty cool if he could play in our Christmas musical, Cats, so he stayed. He'd left his pick at home, so we went to the back room to get it, and that's the point where someone must've locked us in. We only realized it as we were trying to leave."

"Why didn't you call us?" Edward's father asks, all concern and worried eyes and tender voice. It's quite the contrast between him and my dad (who looks like he might've swallowed a poisonous frog or two). You can see a vein on his temple pulsate. He'll lose his temper any moment and I can do nothing to save the situation.

"The battery was dead."

"But you just charged it yesterday morning."

"I know," Edward says, embarrassed. "But—"

"It's an iPhone. That's notorious for non-existent battery life." Edward gives me barely-noticeable smile. I nod. No offense, but nowadays grown-ups know very little about technology (if they choose to). I could tell them Linux' biggest problem was all the virus-attacks, and they'd probably believe me. That's just a fact of the 21st century.

"And you, Bella? What was wrong with your phone?"

"I left it at home."

"So neither of you had a phone."

"That is correct."

"So what did you do?"

"We called for help, nobody came. We noticed that the only window of the room is insanely high, so we couldn't climb out or anything, and then we—stayed. Played the piano, talked a little, ate the remains of our lunch, and went to sleep."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

Mr. Kramer eyes us both, and luckily, Edward, too, has the courage to look him straight in the eye. I do the same. Mr. Kramer shifts in his seat.

"And the laptops?"

"I don't know, and I'm sure Bella doesn't, either. The first time we heard about this was when you told us someone had taken them. We were stuck."

"We can prove it, too." I straighten my shoulders. "Do you still have that camera in the auditorium, facing the front door?"

"Yes."

"It should cover the auditorium's door, too, right? Just look at the video and you'll see us entering with our Drama peers, someone locking the door, and us never coming out until morning."

"One moment." He walks out of the room. Edward's parents crouch and lean next to him, concerned for Edward's well-being. My dad stares daggers at the side of Edward's head.

Hey, dad, can you pretend to be a little upset by the fact that I wasn't home? And not the fact that this guy wouldn't mind being my friend?

Mr. Cullen leans on the table in front of us and asks, "So you two, nothing happened? Nothing that shouldn't have?"

Immediately, my dad is on his feet, all red-faced and loud noises. "If your son forced himself on my daughter, or knocked her up, I will personally kill him."

Dear ground, please swallow me and save me from the embarrassment that is my father, sincerely, me.

"But nothing happened," Edward's dad repeats as he raises a hand in dad's direction.

"No," we say at the same, and help me God, but it sounds incredibly guilty and rehearsed and not one of them seemed very convinced. I wouldn't believe myself, either. Can this get any worse? I guess the person stealing the laptops could've hidden them in our bags and we'd be expelled for sure.

You know, when we were stuck in the auditorium, I thought the school would issue an official apology, give us a day off and puncture a hole through the wall for the auditorium to have a second exit. Or have a spare set of keys in the basement. Or both. Call me naïve, but it didn't actually occur to me we'd be the bad guys in this situation.

Dad steps closer to Edward. "If you even touched my daughter—I will—"

I'm pretty sure Edward is about to faint. I make sure to lock eyes with all the parents in the room. "Nothing happened, I promise. And dad, if something were to happen, Edward is too much of a gentleman for the decision not to be consensual." I look at Edward's parents. "You've raised him well. But nothing actually happened. We're just friends. I'm not attracted to him and he's certainly not attracted to me."

"But the way we found you…"

"The auditorium is not heated during the night, dad. I would've gotten pneumonia if it weren't for Edward."

"You didn't sound too convinced a minute ago."

Am I really going to do this? Yes, I am. Edward deserves none of this shit.

"I can prove it. You know there's a way to prove that I've never—you know."

Please, please, I want to die. I've never wanted to crawl into a hole and die more than at this moment.

"That won't be necessary," Edward's father says, concerned but relieved. Mrs. Cullen offers a gentle smile and squeezes my hand. And dad? He just looks incredibly uncomfortable. Edward stares at me, but I avoid his eyes. After a few moments of uncomfortable silence—or staring at me—Mr. Kramer steps back into the room.

"I apologize for jumping to conclusions. Because the cleaning lady was sick, our IT guy was asked to check and lock the auditorium. He did look in, but he couldn't see you, and he locked the door an hour before the usual time. I do apologize. We'll issue an official apology as well."

"Did you get to sleep at all?" Edward's mom asks.

My eyes sting, but only a little. I suspect it was in the wee hours of the morning that we fell sleep.

"A little," Edward replies.

"Do you need anything?"

I munch a few times. "A toothbrush."

Even my own dad twists a smile. It's not a whole lot, but it's something. We get up.

"They'll take the day off," Edward's dad says.

"Of course, Mr. Cullen. And Miss Swan as well. They must've been scared."

Edward and I lock eyes and our mouths lift into a secret smile. I feel like we're partners in crime, in a really good way. I wouldn't trade tonight for all the gold in the world.

"So were you guys scared?" my dad asks as we climb downstairs together. The bell rings, and as the students start to swarm out of the classrooms—running and screaming and enjoying their brief moment of freedom—most eyes fall on us as we pass. They wouldn't dare comment, yet I'm sure our adventures will be gossiped about. Oh, well. They'll find something newer and more exciting tomorrow.

"Not really. We kept each other company and laughed most of the night. I gave Edward candies, he gave me half an apple."

Dad throws a hand on my shoulder after I put on my jacket. He takes my bag.

Honestly, I don't really care for missing school that much, I just want to have a shower. I'm sure Edward feels the same.

"I'm proud of you, kiddo. Glad you're okay," dad says. "I think I should apologize to Mr. and Mrs. Cullen."

"Thanks, dad. I think that's a good idea."

"I don't think they like me very much."

Oh, really, dad. You only threatened to murder their son, what makes you think so? Surely they live to hear death threats.

"I'm glad you care, dad, don't get me wrong, but you need to learn to place trust in me."

"It's him I don't trust."

"But you should trust my judgment, and I can tell you, Edward's a really nice guy."

"I'm starting to see that."

"So it's okay with you that he's my friend?"

"Of course."

Uh-oh. Half an hour ago you were talking about murdering him.

It has finally stopped raining, but the parking lot is covered in puddles. "I'll go thank them and then you go and apologize, okay?"

"Sure. I want to speak to that friend of yours anyway."

"Are you sure you're safe to go?"

He raised his arms so that Mr. and Mrs. Cullen could see (and hear) that as well. "I'll be on my best behavior."

I walk over to them as dad and Edward step away from us.

"I'm Bella."

Edward's dad shakes my hand.

"I'm really glad Edward's in our Drama class, he's an amazing guy. Very talented. You must be pretty proud of him."

"We are." They smile such a sincere, gorgeous smile that they could easily pass as his biological parents.

"And I—I'm really sorry about the way my dad behaved. Sometimes, he just lets him temper get the best of him. He has good intentions, I swear, so please don't—"

"We know, Bella. If I had a daughter, I would be just as protective as he is."

"And, uh, please know that nothing happened between me and Edward, so—not that you would, but—please don't punish him for something he didn't do. He was nothing but a gentleman. And it wasn't his fault."

"We know, Bella."

"But if you need to blame someone, it should probably be—me. I suggested that we go downstairs to look for that pick. If we hadn't gone down there, the IT guy would've noticed that we were in there and not locked us up. So I'm really sorry about that. But your son is really cool and I'd appreciate it if I could still be his friend."

I've put all my apologies out there, so now that I've introduced myself to both, I wring my arms together and smile.

"So, er—thanks for raising him to be a gentleman."

"That means a lot, Bella."

It is official. I've groveled when it wasn't needed, I asked permission to be Edward's friend, and I admitted it was my fault. Next move? Moving to Mexico.

I turn to leave, but Edward's dad calls after me.

"Bella? You're welcome to have dinner at our place anytime. We don't blame you at all. Please call me Carlisle."

"And I'm—Esme. You seem like such an honest, sweet girl, you can stop by anytime." She moves to hug me, really hug me, and it's so caring and wonderful I just want to stay there forever. I miss mom.

"Er, thanks. Edward's really lucky to have you."

"We're lucky to have him."

I smile. Honest to God, if my parents had chosen me, would they treat me this way as well? Not that I'm complaining—I love my parents with all their faults—but it's just, you know, something to think about.

Dad comes to offer his apologies. I join Edward, who is (much to my surprise) leaning on dad's police cruiser and grinning.

"What are you all smiles about? Did my dad tell you he won't murder you?"

"Something like that."

"You're leaving something out."

"Let us have our secrets."

"Well, either way, I'm glad your life is no longer in danger."

The tips of his ears redden as he looks down at me. He's actually pretty lean and somewhat wiry because of his height, but next to my super-gangly (über-muscled, oh yes) self, he's pretty muscled. I'm pretty tall for a girl. My mom's 5'4'' so I thought I didn't stand a chance, but it turns out her mother, my grandmother, was, like, six feet, so that why I was 5'4'' by the age of thirteen. And then I grew. And grew. When I reached 5'8'' I started to get nervous. I did not need to add super-tall to my obvious list of positive traits. Lucky for me, I stopped growing at 5'9'' which isn't that bad at all. I could still find guys taller than me, and Edward is much, much taller.

Edward pulls me into a real hug, too. I felt a pang of envy at the ease with which his family shares their feelings, and a few moments later, everyone is hugging me. I should wish for an amazing, handsome, wonderful guy to want me, and maybe Edward's twin pops out from somewhere.

Oh, stop it. You know what I mean. I know you do.

No, actually, if I could have one wish—just one—that came true, I would wish to (deserve to) get into SUNY, Purchase College in Purchase, NY. That would be pretty cool.

"What was that for?"

He shrugs. "You know, for being such a beautiful girl."

I burst out laughing. Our parents look at us with amusement.

"Finally—finally, I get you to joke about it as well. High five!"

He high-fives me, a half-smile on his lips. "You know, your dad told me I was a pretty decent guy and I am to look out for you when your brother's not there."

"Look out for me—how?" I ask before grinning. "Ah, you mean suitors! Those hundreds of thousands of guys who think I'm amazing and incredibly gorgeous!"

"Um, yes."

"Fabulous. I do need protection from all the potential love interests in my life. There are so many sometimes it's difficult to pick just one. And that's where you come in. That is such a tough job you have. So what do you get out of it?"

"Spending time with a beautiful girl?"

"Ah, shit, you're outta luck. I hear this girl does not only look like a giraffe, she also only spends time with friends who are not obliged to watch out for her."

"What if he wants to?"

"So he's the social suicide type of guy."

"Nope, she's just got this distorted world view and an incredibly low self-esteem," he says, with that earnestness so characteristic of him, and then suddenly, the bashful expression from earlier is back. "Actually, I just wanted to, um, thank you for offering to, you know, prove that we didn't— your dad would've killed me."

I face-palm. Yes, I face-palm, because if there is a situation specifically defined by a face-palm, I am sure this is it.

"You're welcome, but please, let's never mention this again, okay?"

"It's nothing to be embarrassed about, Bella. It's only natu—"

"Please stop talking." I guess I never comprehended that he's a doctor's son, so speaking about such matters is probably no big deal for him. "Let's never mention this incident again, okay?"

Edward nods and motions for me to go over to our parents.

"So, you're coming with our car."

"Why?"

"Your dad's going to work, and we'll drop you off."

We walk over to dad and the Cullens. "Didn't you just have a night-shift, dad?"

"No."

"But how come you didn't find us earlier if you were home tonight? Did you really not notice that I didn't arrive home from school?"

He shifts from one foot to the other and excuses us. He looks incredibly uncomfortable.

"Uh, no. I wasn't home. Emmett called me in the middle of the night. I know I should've been home, and I'm really sorry for not finding out about you sooner. I worried myself sick thinking what could've happened to you."

"Don't worry, dad. But where were you?"

"That's—something we should talk about tonight."

Huh.

"Is that okay?"

"Sure, dad."

And in my newfound boldness concerning human proximity, I pull dad into a real hug, the one with two arms, and he surprises me by not immediately pulling away. And then I do something else I've never done. I kiss his cheek. He's taken aback by my sudden burst of feelings, but he recovers quickly.

"Don't worry about me, dad. You go and kick some butt at work."

"I will. You go and get some rest. Rent a movie and order take-out if you want to. I'll see you tonight."

He waves at us before pulling away in his cruiser. We get into the Cullens' SUV, and I sigh. I'm really tired.

"Everything alright?"

"Yeah, I think so. My dad is just being weird."

Yeah, I think my dad is having an affair—that's probably not a correct answer, is it?

The house echoes when I place my back bag on the corridor floor. I've always had a love-hate relationship with being home on a school day. It's just that, on the one hand, it feels forbidden and exciting and—I can do whatever in the world I want—on the other hand, I'm quite a conscientious student, so I usually end up feeling guilty and studying from home. But the difference is, when I'm home, I can do it under the kitchen table or in my closet… which I sometimes do, I admit.

Hey, you gotta have a change of scenery every now and then.

I make myself two sandwiches even before taking a shower, because dear God, am I hungry. It's like I haven't eaten in days.

It is almost a religious experience, taking off my clothes to have a shower. But before I have a shower, I take a moment to observe myself in the mirror—naked—as I brush my teeth.

Emmett, if I'm ever dumb enough to forget to burn this diary, and manage to lose it before it ends up in your hands, and you're thinking I'm spilling my secrets and shit, these next few sections are the ones you'll want to skip. I promise.

So I stand there, brushing my teeth, and turn in front of the mirror. I'm tall. I'm lanky. And not in that petite, beautiful way. I have no calves to speak of. I have no muscles to speak of. My breasts are those of a thirteen year old, an A cup. No, actually, nowadays, most thirteen year olds are more developed in that department than I am. On a more positive note, I seem to have small hips, so I don't look entirely manly, and my shoulders aren't that wide, either. I have—barely—noticeable waistline, but it's there. I've never noticed before.

Now, I'll write something I've never told anyone. I'll probably regret it later, but I've never put it out there, so maybe it's time I did. Even if it's just my diary that hopefully no-one but me is going to read.

I'm a late developer. It's not my opinion. It's a fact. Yes, during my teenage years, I grew taller and taller, until I didn't when I was sixteen. But I had never had my period by the time I was fifteen. By the time I was sixteen, it still hadn't started. Do you know how awkward it is to talk about such things with your dad? One that is a natural introvert—much like I am, but pretend not to be. Back then, I would've never been able to walk up to him and say anything remotely close to my extreme worry for my lack of need for feminine products. And my mom was far. Speaking to Emmett was out of the question.

I googled every possible cause for my lack of period, read more about it than humanly possible, and got information about so many possible negative causes for my problem I decided I needed to see a specialist. Do you know how much it costs to see a specialist? Most of my savings. No way in hell was I going to dad for that money.

I saw that specialist. He was very professional and clinical and told me nothing seemed to be out of order, I was just a late bloomer. But I was to see him again if my period hadn't started by the age of seventeen. That was a year ago. You have no idea how relieved I was two months later when I had my first period. I know, most girls are nervous and freaked out by that, I was happy. Sure, it's not your favorite part of the month, but it's significant in order to have kids one day. I'm glad I still have a chance.

That is, you know, after I find my blind prince on a white horse who adores me and shit.

Emmett, if you're flipping through the sections to see when it's okay to continue reading, this is your sign. Not that it's okay for you to ever read my diary, but if you're already holding it, I'm pretty sure you'll read it behind my back regardless of my wishes.

Whatever. I'll make sure to talk about some awkward girly stuff in the future, just to bore the shit out of you.

Anyway. As I finished brushing my teeth and looking for ways to hate my body, I decided something. Sure, I can't change some things about my body, like whether or not I will finally develop hips and breasts to stop looking like a twelve year old boy, but there are some things I can change. Like I could start jogging to have muscles. Do push-ups. I could try to gain weight. If you think every gangly gawky wiry-looking girl is in seventh heaven to look like a boy, think again. I haven't weighed myself since, like… actually, I've never weighed myself. I should probably start with buying myself a scale, huh? And no matter what it shows, I'll need to add to it. I'm pretty sure I'm underweight. I want to have a BMI of 20, if not more.

Happy to have made a life-changing decision—hahaha—I finally have a shower. And I'm pretty happy, you know? It feels good to be motivated. I decide that first thing the next morning, and every morning after that, I will go for a jog, no matter how tired or sleep-deprived I'll become. I will try to eat more protein, more carbs, more everything. Healthy foods. Regularly.

In the evening, I make a list of things I can change about my body, and things I do like about myself. There aren't that many, mind you, but I want something to motivate me and if pretending to be pretty and confident manages to motivate me, why not?

I'm a gorgeous bad-ass girl.

Hahahaha.

Okay, let's work up to that.

: :

Wednesday, the 1st of December
6.05 AM, listening to Meredith Brooks' I'm a Bitch from my MP3-player; it feels empowering, you know?

I wake up with my diary plastered all over my face. Apparently, I fell asleep right after having written my badass passages, and that was at six or seven PM. It's 4.36 AM when I wake up (I have five unanswered calls from five different people, two of them from strange numbers—how in the world did I sleep so deeply not to have heard that?), and I can't remember waking up this early. Not without an alarm clock, anyway. It is, of course, dark outside. And raining. I didn't have a conversation with dad yesterday, but he's probably here, because someone has pulled the cover of my bed over me. But it could've been Emmett, too, because considering the things I've discovered about him lately, he cares, too. I'm happy he does.

I'm glad you care, Emmett—happy now? Now, why are you still reading my diary?

Just like I'd promised myself, I find some old ragged-looking sports trousers and a jacket. I take my MP-3 player as well, and silently head downstairs. I must be insane. It's probably crazy cold as well as wet outside, but whatever. I promised I'd do it, and I will.

I start off jogging snail-speed, trying not to freeze my ass off. And you know what? It's not that bad. Maybe it's because I'm determined to start off slow, very slow, and I see the artistic side of what I'm doing. I mean, I'm pretty sure all my classmates are still asleep. I'm pretty sure anyone I know is still asleep. And so I jog. I only run on the streets that are lit because I might be crazy but I'm not suicidal. If dad found out about this, he'd go nuts.

Oh, well. What he doesn't know won't hurt him.

I stop to walk because even with snail speed it's obvious I'm out of shape, but I still keep going. I figured I'd jog for half an hour and walk for an hour, but since I'm unable to jog for a half an hour in a row, I end up jogging—walking—jogging for the entire time. And just when I'm about to turn around because I've been going 45 minutes away from my house, I knock straight into someone.

Now, if my life were a love story, it would be some hunk my age who'd find my craziness adorable or some shit. And we'd start jogging together every morning and he'd fall in love with me—even though I'm ugly—and I'd have too low self-esteem to ever think he likes me and he'd tell me he loves me and I'd say it back and we'd get married and have gorgeous babies.

But, it is not.

It's my gym teacher.

Yes, my class' gym teacher is a guy. Our school has one female gym teacher and two guys, so my class ended up with him. It's a guy who's seen my lack of skill in the muscle-field more than anything else, so to say that he is surprised to see me is a gross understatement. And the moment we both recognize each other, I know as well as he does that if he were to make a comment undermining what I'm doing, I would never attempt to jog again. But since he's a reasonable guy, he only nods.

"I'm impressed, Miss Swan. Keep up the good work."

And he's gone.

My respect for him grows a hundredfold, not because he was impressed by the fact that a girl as far from sports as I am would make an attempt in athleticism, but because he understood how important for me it was not to hear some snarky comment.

I guess not everyone I know is still asleep.

: :

Wednesday, the 1st of December
9.24 PM, listening to Woman by Maroon 5

Remember how I thought the students would find another subject for gossip? Yeah, about that.

I'm awake by the time dad and Emmett wake up. Our usual morning routine consists of a morning program to hear the weather forecast and just, you know, wake up. I make three omelets (I don't always make breakfast, but when I do, I bug Emmett about the dishes) and sit on the couch to eat one of them. I watch the morning news. It isn't until I see a photograph of myself—as well as of Edward—and an in-depth story about what had happened that I start to doubt my conviction that they'd just let it go.

They show our one oh six, the door and how high the windows were. A reporter speaks in front of our school—was that filmed yesterday?—and interviews Mr. Kramer. The reporter says they weren't able to get a comment from either of the families and didn't have any information as to whether or not Mr. Swan or Mr. and Mrs. Cullen were going to sue the school or the IT guy or the Drama teacher.

Over my dead body.

Why don't we just blame the guy who built the school?

Just on cue, the reporter goes off to talk about the man who built the old schoolhouse in the 1930s and how the schoolhouse had questionable fire escape routes. The story ends by saying that both of the students are—to the best of their knowledge—a little shaken by the experience but alright and had taken the day off.

"So how was it?"

Emmett plops down next to me, eating my omelet and looking smug. That bastard.

"How was what?"

"You know. It."

"Shit, Emmett. Not you too. Edward and I did not have sex."

"Not me, too? They asked if you two had sex?"

"We didn't. Let's leave it at that."

"Such a waste of a perfect opportunity."

"I will pretend not to have heard that."

He pauses. "You know, you were pretty beat when I came home."

Oh, shit—I slept with my diary on my face. Did he read it? Like, really read it? I observe his face and don't see any signs of secrecy or anything. Thank God.

"Thanks for putting the cover on me."

"No probs."

"So where's dad?"

"Should be down at half to eight," he says. "You know, I've been meaning to ask you—have you noticed something, like, strange about dad lately?"

You mean other than the fact that he's either in a relationship or just sleeping with someone?

"Strange?"

"Um, I mean… Is he—? Forget it."

"Is he seeing someone? If that's what you were going to ask, I think the answer is yes."

"So you've noticed?"

"He wasn't home yesterday night. He told me so himself. I think it's pretty obvious."

"Do you mind?"

"Not really. Divorce with mom really affected him, so I guess—if he's happy, I'm happy. It's none of my business. Do you mind?"

"I'm just confused—why would he not just introduce us to the woman and get it over with? We'd just tell her how nice it is to meet her and get on with our lives. Why all the secrecy? I don't understand."

"I think I do."

"Why?"

"It kind of obvious, isn't it? He can't convince us not to be sexually active if he's not even home to notice whether or not his daughter made it home."

"I noticed."

"In the morning, Emmett."

"I noticed, like, at ten in the evening."

"Why didn't you do something straight away? What if I'd been, I dunno, abducted or something?"

"I was trying to—cover for you."

"Why?"

"I thought, maybe, you were at a party or something. And I do remember how many times you've covered for me, so I was trying to, I dunno, extend the same courtesy."

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but that's kind of sweet. Thank you. Even though I only go to parties, well, twice a year."

"You're welcome," he replies. "The moment I realized you'd never come home after three AM, I called dad. He went nuts. He wanted to know why I hadn't contacted him sooner and what if something happened and what if this and what if that and yada-yada."

"I'm sorry. So then what? He came home?"

"He came home, called the office and asked if there had been any reports of an—abused girl or something. He found out that Edward was missing as well, and you should've seen his face. It went from white to purple in nanoseconds."

"Sounds like him, yeah."

Absentmindedly, we finish our plates, switch off the TV and make sandwiches for lunch. That's what you do when your mom is in another state. You take care of this yourself.

"I should warn you, the others at school—you're up for some serious gossip."

"I figured."

"Most of them think you definitely did it."

"The joys of a teenager, I guess. Everything circles around that."

"Just tell them I'll kick their ass if they mess with you."

"Thanks." I laugh. "I will."

That morning, Emmett does something he's never done before. I've told you how he's kind of a jock, right? If there is a popular crowd in our school, he's in it. And this morning, he walks through the corridors with his arm on my shoulder. I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel protected and cared for, because I'd always felt like this awkward little sister who's on the way of his popular jock life. But it turns out he's either so cool he can afford to show he cares about his ugly little sister, or he just doesn't give a shit. Or maybe it's a combination of both.

He walks me to my locker. Turns out he's sincerely worried that someone would do something to me, and while I think he's being incredibly sweet, I also think he's exaggerating. But it's still sweet, you know? Not that he's ever ignored me at school, per se, but we've never really hung around a lot at, either. And he went so far as to walk me to my class.

And honestly, I don't care if I sound like a wuss, Emmett is an awesome brother. He really is.

Up until now, I haven't given a shit about my social status for so long it's difficult to be faced with the fact that while I might not care, some of my classmates clearly do. In the corridors, some people greet Emmett and wave at me, but I'm not left with the impression they're discussing me. Now, I understand I just wasn't paying attention. As I step in the classroom, I get everyone's attention and then some.

I hate to admit, but Emmett was not exaggerating.

"Will you please close the door after you, Miss Swan?"

I do as I'm told, walk to the back of the room and sit down next to Edward. I make sure to beam at everyone I pass, just to let them know no matter what they say, I refuse to be affected by anything as trivial as high school gossip.

Edward appears to be quite tired, still, and it worries me. Does he have any news about his sister? Bad news? Ah, shit. I open my mouth to ask, but he beats me to it.

"Hey, listen—I'm sorry about what they're saying. I had no idea it would be this bad. The guys, they're actually giving me high fives and, uh, I'm just sorry. I've been trying to tell everyone nothing happened but nobody seems to believe me. I'm sorry."

"Frankly, I don't give a shit. They can think and talk whatever the hell they want."

Caught off guard, he leans closer. "It's just, I've heard rumors like this are worse for the girls in high school, like, they get labeled very easily."

"I'm serious, my new fake lover, I'm determined not to give a shit."

He chuckles. "I'm glad. You're too smart for that shit anyway. Alright then."

"Hey, Edward, I meant to ask you—how's your sister?"

"Rosalie."

"What?"

"Her name is Rosalie."

"Um, yes, Rosalie. How is she?"

"Better." He smiles, just slightly. "Still drugged and unconscious, but her friend told me she should be okay."

"That's wonderful."

"Hey, star-crossed-lovers from district one oh six, may I have the honor of having your undivided attention?" our history teacher says. "I would very much appreciate it if you discussed your urgent matters after my class."

Thirty pairs of eyes land on us, and just to goof off to show how much I care, I place a hand on my heart and battle my eyelashes at Edward. And—oh my God, he's awesome—he does exactly the same. Edward, battling his eyelashes? Makes the class laugh, and honestly, I'm not sure I've ever been so relieved.

But the fiasco that is star-crossed lovers from district one oh six continues thirty minutes later when our very own Peter Gallaghe peeks in the classroom and asks to speak to both of us.

Ah, you should've seen John Newton's face, he was not pleased at all.

Edward and I exit the room. Peter Gallaghe is leaning on the window sill. He's wearing a dirt-colored vest with a yellow short-sleeved collar shirt underneath.

"You're back!" I smile. "And, you have a badass lip piercing. That is awesome. Can I touch it?"

He chuckles, nodding, and I touch his lip piercing.

"Does it hurt?"

"Not anymore."

"Very cool."

He holds his hand out to Edward, smiling. "So, you're the guy who took care of Bella in one oh six? Edward Cullen? I'm Peter Gallaghe."

"Nice to meet you, sir."

"Oh, haven't you heard? He's my new fake lover. So, why are you tearing us from the pleasant company of Mr. John Newton?"

"Actually, I wanted to ask you something—are your parents going to sue the school?"

"What? No, of course not."

"Not that I know of," Edward says. "I don't think they would."

"Mr. Kramer went nuts after I arrived and he wanted me to take the blow if they're going to do that."

"What—blame it on you?"

"Yeah. I was supposed to be there, you know. I'm usually the last one to leave. But I was still in Cleveland, and I saw the news yesterday evening. If they're going to keep someone responsible, it might end up being me, and I'm in no financial situation to get sued."

"That's preposterous. In any way, shape or form was it your fault. No-one's going to sue you."

"Thanks. I guess I can tell Mr. Kramer the good news." He touches his eyebrow piercing. "So, what've you been up to since I've been gone?"

"Oh, you know, this and that. Having sex in the auditorium and being the new number one slut at school. Haven't you heard? I'm the bitch now."

Edward gapes. Peter bursts out laughing. "Only you, Bella. So, was it any good?"

"Insanely hot. Edward's the man." I mess up Edward's hair. He looks like the wind has been knocked out of him.

"I'm glad. Keep an eye out for her, will you, Edward?"

"Two eyes, actually." Edward sounds so earnest and sincere Peter and I end up laughing again.

"You're gonna fit right in," Peter says, smiling.

"Peter, I think it would be awesome if Edward played the guitar in Cats. Maybe a few songs. And he's got an amazing voice, you'd fall off your chair if you heard him. He's even better than you."

"Oh, really?"

"Deathly serious."

"Can't wait to hear you, Edward."

"I, uh, I'll do it if Bella plays the piano."

"You play the piano? Since when?"

"She's been at it for seven years."