"It is easy to overlook this thought that life just is. As humans we are inclined to feel that life must have a point. We have plans and aspirations and desires. We want to take constant advantage of the intoxicating existence we've been endowed with. But what's life to a lichen? Yet its impulse to exist, to be, is every bit as strong as ours—arguably even stronger. If I were told that I had to spend decades being a furry growth on a rock in the woods, I believe I would lose the will to go on. Lichens don't. Like virtually all living things, they will suffer any hardship, endure any insult, for a moment's additions existence. Life, in short, just wants to be." ― Bill Bryson, A Short History of Nearly Everything

: :

Thursday, the 16th of December
07:53 PM. Meh. Just, you know, meh.

I open my eyes to see my fist clenched around wet part of Edward's T-shirt, my left arm still around Edward's neck and my head perched under his arm. His arm is wrapped around my waist. My face is damp. I push myself away from Edward, but he shushes me in a way that's so tender and nonjudgmental I stop struggling.

"It's okay. It was just a dream. Just a dream."

I let out a weak laugh. "I'm so sorry. I slobbered all over you."

"I think my shirt can take it."

I avoid his eyes as I wipe my face into the blanket. "How very heroic."

"Is everything alright?" Edward's dad asks from the doorway.

I attempt to shy away from Edward, but he won't let me.

"Yeah. Bella just had a nightmare. Everything's fine."

"You okay, Bella?"

I gather my guts to glance at Edward's dad. I clear my throat. "I'm, uh, fine. Just give me a minute while I suffocate myself on your couch and never show my face again."

I slide under the blanket.

"Edward, how come your family is never embarrassed?"

"I literally couldn't decipher a single word you just said," he replies, throwing the blanket off of my face. "Why didn't you mention you had nightmares?"

"I don't."

Skeptical, he asks, "And you screamed 'please' at five AM just because you were on a sunny beach and you wanted to catch those butterflies you saw?"

"Er, totally," I reply. "No, really, Edward. This is the first time in, like, ten years for me to have a bad dream. Honestly. Now, tell me, how come you and your dad are so casual about embarrassment?"

"What?"

"Why is your family never embarrassed? Seriously. I scream loud enough for you all to wake up at ungodly hours, your dad arrives in his pajamas to check up on us, and he doesn't even look remotely fazed by our proximity. If my dad caught us together like this, like if he were actually home last Thursday, innocent or not, you would be—er, never mind."

"Tortured in unmentionable ways and thrown in jail? I know."

"So how come your dad's so cool about it?"

"He—trusts me." Edward yawns. "They know nothing's about to happen. And we've survived—er, quite embarrassing situations, you could say. Maybe it's toughened our perspective."

"Did he walk in on you having sex or something?"

He laughs, but the tips of his ears redden. "It would be a lot simpler to make my brain work at five AM if you weren't at the same level with my crotch."

I don't think I've ever turned from remotely pale to beetroot purple so quickly. I rest my head on the pillow. "Sorry."

Thanks, wittiness, for failing me when I most need you. Jerk.

He laughs and pulls the blanket back on us. We lie next to each other.

"To answer your question—no. It was the other way around… a few times."

"Ah, gee. Sorry. Lifetime of therapy waiting to happen, huh?"

"And then my both my dad and mom have respectively walked in on—" he stops, probably reaching his limit of embarrassment for a conversation. "Er, you know."

Frankly, I'm surprised he has a limit of embarrassment.

"Masturbating, huh?"

If Edward's face were capable of flushing in its entirety, this would be his moment, and so, I'm wondering how the heck a girl like me manages to be so forward. Really. So I flush from head to toe, and I feel really awkward.

"Shit, I'm sorry, Edward, I'm such a moron I—"

"It's fine," he says through embarrassment, even smiling a little. "I'm just not used to talking about this, I guess. But it's perfectly natu—"

"There you go again, Edward! Normal people pretend they never said anything, and not manage to talk about it afterwards like it's no big deal."

"But it isn't, I mean—"

"Shh! Seriously, have you ever thought about becoming a doctor? 'cause you could talk about unmentionably embarrassing diseases or make the patient think it's perfectly acceptable to go around telling people you have an iPod up your butt."

He lets out a laugh so sincere I could not help but join in.

"Thanks for the heads up, but you're absurd."

"That's hardly the point. You know, when I first met you a month or so ago, I thought you were pretty awkward, but really, you're only awkward in simple situations—when it comes down to the world of super-awkward awkwardness, you're cool as a cucumber. However, when you get yourself a girlfriend, please do not start talking about your sex life to me. That's just wrong."

"I would never," he says, and his smile turns into a yawn. "Are you going to tell me what your dream was about?" A pause. "Was it, you know, your mom?"

With a simple banter at 5 AM, he's made me forget all about what happened, and I don't feel like addressing those problems yet. "Nice try. Later. Sleep now. We have at least an hour before school."

"I'll hold you to that." He scoots closer and holds out his arm for me. I lean into him, but not without thinking how odd it is to go from zero contact with a boy to making contact incredibly casual. I don't know if I will ever understand how to take proximity as self-explanatorily as he does.

"This is going to be a hell of a lot more awkward when you find yourself a girlfriend."

"Bella," he replies, already semi-asleep. "Shut up and sleep."

"I just can't figure you out."

He raises his head to look at my profile because I'm facing away from him. "Spend some time with my parents and you'll never question this again."

He falls asleep within a minute, and even though I shut up, I don't. I've always been a somewhat easy sleeper in the morning. And I'm left wondering about a lot of things.

Edward's mom comes into the living room to turn on the electric heater. I offer her a sheepish smile that she returns. Unlike me, she doesn't look embarrassed at all, and if I didn't know any better, I'd say they're encouraging our proximity. But I'm pretty sure they want us in the living room for that exact reason, so that nothing happens that shouldn't. So that they can keep an eye on us.

It's 05:43 AM at that point. I don't want to skip jogging just because I'm visiting Edward, so I attempt to crawl out from under him. But just like in the morning in one oh six, his grip only tightens. Either he's freezing or he needs the assurance of me being there. It's really cute.

Except my bladder might explode.

Esme returns to the room with an armful of woolen blankets, and sees my struggle. She chuckles.

"Has he always been like this?" I whisper, struggling not to wake Edward up (again) in my attempt to break free from his arms.

"When he was a little boy, yes," she answers, smiling. "I didn't know he's still like that."

"What do I do?"

"I know." She takes a pillow from an armchair, gives it to me and motions at his arms. I put the pillow in between us and under his arm, and suddenly, it's much easier to slide out from under him. He immediately grips it.

"That's pretty damn cute," Esme says.

I change in the bathroom, and am relieved to see that both Edward's parents are in the kitchen, Edward's mom is now reading a newspaper and his father is frying eggs. It's oddly in reverse to what I deem common, but I like it. I'm not too eager to slip into gender roles if I were to ever marry someone. I wouldn't make a typical housewife at all. Seeing this gives me hope.

"Good morning," I say. They raise their eyes. "I just—I'm going to go for a jog, could you leave the door open for me?"

"Of course," Edward's dad says as if me jogging is the most natural thing in the world. "Esme will be gone in a half an hour, but Edward and I will be here."

"Thanks, er—" I can't remember his name. I can't believe I can't remember his name.

"Carlisle."

"Ah, sorry."

"No problem. Happens all the time."

They're both really concerned about me jogging with the snow, but I shrug off their concern. I can't have an excuse not to jog. So I still head outside, and it's actually kind of warm. Pretty snowflakes find their way towards the ground, yes, but there's not a blanket of snow. It melts as soon as it hits the ground.

By the time I get back, Esme is gone, and Edward's dad—whatever his name was—is the one reading the newspaper. I have a quick shower, and put on my white dress. I wake Edward up, or try to, anyway. I'm not surprised that the other day, he only woke up, like, five seconds after Emmett had jumped on him. He sleeps like the dead.

Like the dead, I tell you. Even shaking his shoulder doesn't make him blink. I wonder how loud I had to scream for him to wake up because nothing else seems to work.

So I get a good grip on the pillow and tear it from his arms. The reaction is immediate. He starts to search for it, blinks, and focuses his eyes on me. Already dressed.

He sits up. "Are we late?"

"Nope," I answer. "Just thought you'd like some breakfast."

He falls back on the pillows. "Just give me, like, five minutes." He closes his eyes. He's asleep.

Not a morning person, I suppose. I feel really bad about waking him up earlier, so I don't bug him again. I find a place around the kitchen table, and Edward's dad glances up at me before assuring I should make myself feel at home and eat whatever I want. He doesn't have to tell me twice because before I know it, I'm shoveling as much onto my place as I can without feeling impolite.

"So, your dream," he says, and I glance up at him. "Is it recurring? Do you see nightmares often?"

"No, sir."

I am just going to opt for that because hell if I actually remembered his name.

"Do you feel like talking about what happened would make it easier for you?"

"I—I don't know. Like a professional?"

"Yes."

"I—maybe not. I can talk to Edward and Emmett."

He stares at me for what feels like a long time before nodding. "Esme is really worried about you. So if your dad and brother are not at home, you must know you can stay at our place any time. Or even if they are."

"Thank you."

"And here—take my card, so that if you have any problems at all, you can call me," he adds, giving me a business card. He places a hand on my shoulder. "I've seen Esme lose both of her parents, Bella. It is not easy."

I nod, pursing my lips in a line. Edward couldn't have gotten better parents if he chose them himself.

Speaking of Edward, he strolls in when I'm having a second helping of… well, everything. His dad sort of, I don't know, lights up when his son enters, and they hug.

I pinch myself. No, really, like a real pinch, one that hurts.

I have never been given a good morning hug. Well, that is, until now, because Edward hugs me, too.

Okay, this family is slightly odd. Or maybe it's my family that's odd. Either way, I'm starting to get a hint of why Edward can't understand my bafflement concerning human proximity when it's so casual for him.

"You're giving Edward a run for the money, Bella."

I look up. Edward's dad motions at my plate and then at Edward's. It's full. So is mine.

"Yeah, but don't worry, after I'm done eating the contents of your fridge and still feel hungry, I will no longer be opposed to cannibalism."

Carlisle laughs. Edward beams and throws half an omelet into his mouth. "Don' wowwy, mo's goi' to—"

"What he's trying to say in such gentlemanly manner is that we don't mind. Once my wife finds out about this, she'll start baking food for an army. Even if she is particular about her own food. So I'm relieved to see a girl eat."

"Oh, no problem. I'm always hungry."

: :

"So… what was your dream about?"

We walk to the school because it's pointless to drive only a few blocks.

"It was kind of an exaggerated version of what would happen if I didn't exist."

"And what would happen?" he asks, teasing. "Did the world cease to exist without you?"

"Of course." I smile. "But really, it was pretty bad. None of it would actually happen if I weren't here. Like my dad was an unemployed alcoholic, Emmett was best friends with Michael Newton, Emmett didn't graduate high school and had a pregnant girlfriend. And you—you were on an entirely another level of fucked up."

"What? What did I do?"

"You were a womanizer of a drug dealer who, along with Michael and Emmett, helped torture Eric and force him to take heroin."

"Oh, wow."

"Yeah. And then you insulted me in ways I hope would never even occur to you."

"What did I say?"

"You—er, you said… something pretty harsh and then compared me to Cathy Bates."

"Who?"

"Cathy Bates, you know? Won an Oscar for her role in Misery? That Stephen King's novel?"

"Never heard of her."

"You've never seen Misery? Fried Green Tomatoes? About Schmidt? Titanic?"

He shakes his head.

"Now you're lying. You must've seen Titanic."

"Never seen it."

"Are you serious?"

He nods.

"Oh, wow."

"What?"

"I think you're the first person I've met who's never seen that movie," I reply. "So that gap in your knowledge of movies is to be filled."

He's amused. "What—you're going to tie me to a chair and force me to watch every single chick flick ever made?"

"That's insulting," I answer. "Only the good ones."

He chuckles, and we enter the schoolhouse. Quite a lot of people greet Edward, and I receive careful, furtive glances from said people (nothing to do with my "status" at school and probably everything to do with the situation Emmett and I find ourselves in). While I was away, Edward seems to have made lots of friends, and I can't say I didn't see it coming. There's something about Edward that puts people at ease. He has this relaxed way of interacting and joking with random people, and seems to make everyone feel special.

Including me. But I'm not the only one.

But he's also distracted me from thinking of issues that would otherwise occupy my every thought, and I'm really grateful about that.

I clear my throat at the lockers. "Hey Edward?"

He stops taking today's notebooks from his locker, looks at me, frowns and puts a hand on my shoulder. "Yeah?"

Is this really necessary, Edward? I wonder if he actually realizes how much casual contact he initiates. If he were dealing with a girl who wasn't me, it would be the easiest thing in the world to think he's leading me on. But he's not. It's just him.

"I, er, was just wondering if you could tag along today, too?"

He laughs out loud, and by-passers give us curious looks.

"That's how you think of our friendship?" He grins. "Me just tagging along? Ouch."

"No, I mean—" I huff and I blush. Whatever happened to me not blushing about non-sexual comments? Jesus, all I do is blush. It's embarrassing. "I mean you've found an army of friends while I was away, but you really helped me yesterday, you know? So I was wondering if you could distract me today as well."

He shakes his head, shoving his locker closed, and turns to me. "You're so absurd."

"So you'll do it?"

"Bella," he says. "You don't need to ask. I'm here, see? I'm right here. And I don't see what the hell you're talking about, I have no any army of friends. I mean, where are they?" He looks around, and a few people wave at him and say hi.

Well, I can. They're everywhere. It's like a popularity contest I never knew about, and Edward—oblivious as ever—seems to be the winner. It's not that I mind, not at all, it's just that he's best at making me feel like I still deserve to be treated like a normal person after what happened.

"I'm here, see?" he asks again, and he seems to be pretty adamant about making me see whatever point he's making. He taps Angela—who passes us—on her shoulder and makes sure he's got her attention before motioning at his feet.

"Am I here, Angela? You can see me, right? I'm right here, see?" He motions at me. "Tell Bella I'm right here."

I have never seen Angela more confused, she looks back and forth between us and lets out a hesitant, "He's right here?"

Edward pointedly locks eyes with her. "Thank you, Angela. See, Bella? I'm right here."

Angela, confused as ever, waves at me and leaves. I feel more confused than ever.

"So you're here, and I'm not seeing things."

"Bella," mock-groans Edward as we head to the second floor. "I'm saying I'm not going anywhere. So don't ask me something as ridiculous as whether or not I'm going to tag along with you. I'm not going anywhere. I'm right here."

To make his point clear, he stops me. We stand in the middle of the staircase much to the annoyance of by-passers. And I can't not smile at something like that. He's really sweet.

"So when you wake up one day and discover you're the king of the school and the most gorgeous smartest jock, and you get into Juilliard and stuff, we can still hang out?"

He snorts. It's loud.

"Like that's ever gonna happen," he replies, picks up the bag I let fall behind me, and briefly kisses my temple like it's the most natural thing in the world. "You really don't get it, do you? Come on, let's get to Biology."

I'm stunned. He kissed my temple. No-one's ever done that. Not even my mom. Like, yeah, my mom hugged me and stuff, but she didn't have the habit of kissing me when she tucked me to bed. Otherwise casual contact would come much more easily to me.

And, God, suddenly I'm fighting with tears behind Edward, and I pray no-one notices. I should know better, though, because when we're sitting down, Edward wants to tell me something but closes his mouth before the words get out. His face pales.

"Did I do something—? I'm so sorry, Bella—I didn't mean to—"

"It's not that, Edward," I deny. "It's just—you know," and I decide to be brutally honest. Awkward, but honest. "It's just—my mom never—" I motion at my temple and blush through my tears. "You're the first one who's ever—"

His lack of embarrassment in heavy-embarrassment inducing situations (God, that's a bad description) must've rubbed off on me, because that's a pretty embarrassing thing to admit to someone. What was I saying about doubting I was deprived of affection as a kid? Clearly, there is no doubt. I must be pretty deprived to notice such a thing.

"I didn't mean—I mean, my mom was amazing and kind and stuff, she just never had the habit, you know?" I try to cover. I didn't mean to say anything bad about my mom. My mom was pretty awesome.

Edward opens and closes his mouth several times, but he says nothing but, "So you're okay?"

I nod.

But through the entire lesson, Edward has this entirely absent-minded expression on his face, like he's at the brink of a realization. Mr. Banner calls out his name three times, and even when Edward finally understands his name was called, I slip my own workbook under his nose for him to acknowledge where we are. He reads the right answer from my workbook, and even though Mr. Banner is asking everyone to answer, he skips me. Not that I mind, but still.

I slip a note to Edward.

I didn't mean to upset you.

oh, no, I'm not upset.

Even in his neat handwriting, he doesn't acknowledge capital letters.

Then what is it?

I'm just… thinking.

Hey—I didn't mean to give you any ideas or anything, I'm sorry if it sounded like I was.

He looks up from the note, and I swear, his face is conflicted. It's conflicted, which means I must've hit a sore spot, and he's thinking how his meaningless actions mean more to me than to him and it's too easy for me to misinterpret his casualness. Oh, God. Is this going to change the dynamics of our friendship? Is he going to, I don't know, keep himself from hugging me and stuff? Jesus, if one little admittance did that, I should just… keep quiet so that I wouldn't harm our friendship.

The moment the bell rings, Edward does just what I meant to do—he pulls me aside in the corridor.

"Hey, I can see you're over-analyzing. You didn't do anything wrong, okay? Thanks for being honest with me." He ruffles my hair and throws a hand across my shoulders. I'm so relieved. Everything's okay.

When Edward isn't sharing a class with me, the day drags like ox's saliva. It is incredible how careful people are with me. Yeah, I get it. I wouldn't know how the hell to act, either. But everyone except Edward is treating me like I'm a porcelain doll sitting on a doorknob of a particularly creaking door. The moment you breathe, it creaks.

The weird part is, I am convinced that if I were to break down at a random moment, any moment, Edward would be the one I'd want to have next to me. And he's the only one not behaving like I'm about to scream and cry in the same sentence. If I were to do so, though, he'd be the one to know what the hell to do with me.

My math teacher, Mrs. Fisher? She doesn't ask me a single question (or Emmett). She always asks me at least once during the lesson. Mr. Banner? In the middle of our note-sharing, he starts stuttering and is embarrassed because he mentioned death by natural causes versus death by "unnatural" causes in ontogenesis. His stammering gets worse when he introduces us to apoptosis.

Yeah, I get it. The word is out that my mom is no longer with us.

She didn't die of apoptosis, though.

Jessica? Lauren? Tanya? They seem to have a mutual agreement not to look me in the eye. They're super nice, so extremely nice it makes me uncomfortable.

Nobody laughs at my jokes.

But that's because I haven't cracked a single joke. Not at school. I don't know. I just don't feel like even making fun of myself. Like, yeah, I'm not a looker. So what? I'm alive. People uglier than me have found a partner for life. Why did I ever give a shit? And so what if I go through life without ever finding anyone? Worse things have happened.

Before lunch, Lauren sneaks up on me and walks into the cafeteria with me, motioning at Edward with her head. She's not very subtle. So I say I'd catch up with Edward later, and stay behind. Lauren, as per usual, gets straight to business. I think I really appreciate that about her.

"So. Tanya told me not to tell you anything, especially now, but I think if anything were to happen, she'd need to know you were okay with it. So she's really into Edward. Like, seriously."

I feel like a door.

No, really. I feel like a giant fucking door. There's people going in, there's people going out, information going in, information going out, and there's a door, and even though everyone knows it's there, nobody really notices it. I mean, you only notice a door when there's something wrong with it, right? So there's my mind on the one side of the door, external forces like Lauren on the other side, and I'm a door.

I really suck at metaphors, don't I? I'll just drop that thought.

So basically, I know what she's saying, but I'm so utterly confused by my reaction that I refuse to acknowledge what she just told me.

"I'm sorry?"

"Tanya really likes Edward, but she isn't sure if you like him, like him, too. And she wouldn't try anything if you did, but I'm pretty sure you don't, so I'd like to clarify that for her and make her stop talking about him all the fucking time. So could you drop in a few good words for her? She'd really appreciate it."

Huh.

I manage a quiet snort and a burst of laughter so real I even fool myself, because right now, after last night, I'm pretty sure I've gone from not acknowledging to full blown acknowledging. You know what I mean, and this time, Emmett, what I mean and what you think I mean coincide. Yes, I mean what you think I mean when I say you know what I mean.

Who woulda thought, huh?

"Sure. And Lauren, there's nothing going on between me and him."

"Nothing going on between you and who?" a voice asks behind me, and I recoil. So does Lauren, apparently.

"My imaginary friend Bill."

Edward stares at me, just observing with the slightest of frowns, and admits he left his wallet at home so he would need to borrow some money from me. I give him some. He gives me a long look that I can't decipher before he slips into his place in the line again and continues his talk with Laurent and Tyler.

Lauren smiles at me, and she really locks eyes with me—finally. "Thanks! You're super. And Bella—we're really sorry about what happened to your mom." She just looks at me for a moment. I nod, and the moment she's gone, Angela replaces her.

She takes a deep breath and slowly lets it out. "We never talk anymore."

I purse my lips in a line. I haven't meant to ignore her, I really haven't, but I've had so much drama going on it's just… I didn't mean to. Angela is such a lovely, down-to-earth girl, and we used to have silly sleepovers. It's been a while since we talked outside of school and cafeteria.

"I'm sorry, Angela."

"No, no—I didn't mean like it's your fault or anything. I mean, I miss you."

She get this sad smile on her face and just envelops me in a hug. I hold on.

"And I know words mean nothing, but I'm here if you need anything, okay? But I can see Edward is right here as well, and I'm—I'm glad you have someone."

"Thanks. He's a great friend."

She steps back and takes a breath. "So, I'm going to tell Ben tonight."

Say what?

"Really?"

"Well, no. But I'm going to more like show him, you know? So that if he's really not into me, I can say it was a fluke and I just got caught up in the moment and everything will still be okay."

I imagine how that would go with Edward. Ah, I'm so sorry for kissing you, Edward, you just had some chocolate on your lips and I just thought I'd lick it off. For a whole minute. There was just so much chocolate, you know?

"I'm surprised you haven't attacked each other at school, to be honest."

"I'm surprised I haven't attacked him, either." She giggles. "I've felt everything's too complex to put myself out there for so long. Friendships with boys can be so complicated." She sighs. "It's kind of like you and Edward, really. Except you don't like him."

"Right."

But I'm starting to think—is it? Everyone seems to believe so. Not one person in my circle of friends—except for Tanya, but that was her own interest in Edward speaking—genuinely believes Edward and I have something. Is that because I'm a better actress than I give myself credit for? Does Edward have to constantly refute claims about us? Or do we simply look like the unlikeliest people to ever discover soul mates in each other?

And no, I am not going to add my appearance to the equation. I always hide behind what I think of myself. Enough of that. It's exactly how Edward told me—why do I think it doesn't matter at all in everyone else's case and in my case, it's the end of the world? Why do I do that? Do I see some connection between the level of affection and attraction because of what my mom emphasized in her life? Do I feel like I'm unworthy of affection because I see myself lacking in appearance?

I don't think I'm ready to answer that question. But at least I see the problem, and I refuse to continue being such a hypocrite. If I believe it doesn't matter, why do I make it matter in my own case?

Whatever I feel for Edward or whatever I'm ready for or whatever I'm ready to put out there, at any point in our friendship, I'm not allowed to hide behind my appearance. It's time for a change.

I glance over at our table—Emmett is sitting with Edward and the others—and I see Tanya sitting next to Edward. She looks happy. For the first time in my life (I've had a lot of firsts lately, huh?) I feel an unreasonable pang of jealousy. For a minute, I just watch them. And the thing is, I wish I could hate Tanya for being in his league or for being so darn nice. She's so lovely all the time, and if anyone would be good for him, it's her.

Edward makes some joke, the table laughs, and so does Tanya. She then leans over to tell him something. He smiles politely, but turns back to Emmett and the table laughs again. This continues. She tells him something, and he's very polite, but I'm pretty shocked to realize he doesn't like her. He's polite. He laughs. But he doesn't lean over or find reasons to touch her or anything.

Or is that how he behaves if he does like someone? Afraid that every touch suddenly means something and unsure as to whether it's reciprocated?

I'm so confused.

Edward is right. I think too much.

In my fascination with this new knowledge, I failed to notice my beloved Michael Newton & Co. sneaking up on me. They were surreptitious enough to go fairly unnoticed, so nobody's eyes are deliberately on us. I look over to the teacher's table, and yes, only Mr. Black has noticed. He nods at me. I nod back.

"You know, what I really don't get is that you hadn't seen your mom—for what—seven years? So it's not like you're really grieving or anything since she was already out of your life. So why do you bother?"

Fuck you. I just… fuck. How does he even know this stuff? He knows exactly which strings to pull, and this time, it just fills me with so much fucking ire just looking at his semi-smirking face.

You know, I really don't get it when I read a romance novel where the author writes about a smirk as if it's some sexy thing the protagonist should fawn over. A smirk is an offensive, arrogant smile, and fuck it, Michael Newton wears it well. By which, I of course mean that I don't think he's even capable of a genuine smile. Not around me, at least. I hope.

But what really pisses me off is that Michael Newton has just voiced a thought that, at a very low point during one night, occurred to me, too. Not the part about why I should bother, but the fact that she was already out of my life for so long, so why do I feel so fucking grief-stricken?

The reason is obvious, of course. I loved her. I still do.

And why does Michael Newton still bother? What satisfaction does he get out of insulting me? I'm genuinely curious, does he get anything out of it? Why should he bother?

I step closer to him. I don't think I've ever willingly stepped closer to him, I mostly just ran when I could. But I really need this to fucking stop before I murder him for what he did. I step so close he gets uncomfortable, but he does not seem to be looking for attention right now, so he doesn't move.

"You know, Michael? Fuck you."

His smirk widens. "That all you've got to say?"

I raise myself on my tiptoes to be closer to his ear, but I look elsewhere. "Remember that day three years ago? Yeah? You do? Well, of course, how could you forget. Remember how I had that bag, that really ugly one you tormented me about always with me? Guess what was in it?"

He stays quiet, but I can sense I've got his attention, and I'm glad, because I'm bluffing the heck out of this story.

I hum. "Yes. A camera. I have the entire thing on a tape. If you ever fucking harass me again, verbally or physically, it's going to my dad."

"You're bluffing," he whispers, but it's quite shaky, and I know he believes me. "And that tape would show you in a bad light, don't you think?"

I let out a laugh, it's quite creepy and humorless. "And a fourteen year old girl willingly does such a thing. They will think I wanted to."

And he knows. He knows that if such a tape existed, Michael Newton & Co. would be facing a court case, a court case which would be quite impossible for them to win.

Eyes are on us now, quite a few. Michael Newton's father curiously observes his son's pale face, and I can see that Emmett is on his feet, his arm gripping Edward's shoulder, and they're both watching us like hawks. I avoid their eyes.

"And that tape is your adios to any college that might want your sorry ass." I pause. "So any word of any student you're harassing, and this tape is out, got it?"

He nods. Two of his little hanger-ons watch him curiously before they all leave, and I let out a breath. I'm shaking. The lady behind the counter is waiting for me, and the people in the line are impatient. I don't order anything. Instead, I walk over to the teacher's table. Eyes are now definitely on me.

"Mr. Black? Can I have a word?"

He frowns, and Peter—who sits next to him—asks, "Did anything happen?"

"Mr. Black, I need to speak with you."

"Miss Swan, could this—"

"It's either this or I go and smash Michael Newton's nose into the back of his skull," I reply hastily. "Please. I'm sorry, but please. Right now. Before I do something stupid."

"Okay." He gets up, and together, we walk out of the cafeteria. I mouth 'I'll be right there' to Edward, and even though he looks pretty anxious (as does my brother), he nods.

The corridor is almost empty.

I stare at my gym teacher and take a breath. "Would it be possible for a woman to beat Michael Newton's time at Seattle Summer Marathon?"

He doesn't laugh. I appreciate it so much. If I wasn't so angry right now, I'd offer a smile for his belief in me.

"You'll need to train a hell of a lot for even considering—"

"I'm not asking if you think I can do it. What's women's world record in running a marathon?"

"It's two hours and sixteen minutes, or something. I'm not sure."

"What's Michael's best time?"

"Two hours and twenty eight minutes."

"So it's possible."

"Yes, but it takes a hell of a lot of hard work."

"I'm not afraid of hard work. I'll do whatever you need me to do to achieve a better time than that. I'll run night and day if I need to. I'll be in the gym any spare minute I have if you want me to."

"First you'll need to gain weight."

"Already working on it."

He glances at my white-clothed self before settling on my face, assessing me. I don't move an inch. He's not much taller than I am, but he's muscled and tanned. His hair is in a perpetual pony tail, kind of like mine used to be in a perpetual braid. For almost a minute, we just stand without saying anything. Finally, he comments.

"This is really important to you."

"Yes."

"And you want me to help you."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because you're probably the only coach who isn't going to jeer at me. I know I've never been particularly athletic. But I want to improve. I want to be better. I want to beat him. If you need me to pay for your help I'll find a way."

"That's not necessary."

"So you'll do it?"

"I'll do it."

I let out a breath. "Thank you. You have no idea how much that means to me."

"I've tried to beat him for three years, so don't think that you're looking at a walk in a park. My personal record is two hours and thirty nine minutes, and it was definitely not an easy jog."

"I'll do whatever it takes."