Diary of an Ugly Girl

by Anton M

Complete. Follow Bella as she grows from a bullied little girl into a sassy young woman. After all, it's not about what you're looking at, it's about what you see. An unorthodox story about best friends and their journey. Humor/Angst/Friendship/Romance. AH.

15. On the Field, Under the Stars

"To my mind, the only possible pet is a cow. Cows love you. They will listen to your problems and never ask a thing in return. They will be your friends forever. And when you get tired of them, you can kill and eat them. Perfect." ― Bill Bryson

: :

Sunday, the 2nd of January
5:45 AM, listening to Hans Zimmer's Time. It's pretty epic. The moment I laid on the carpet, Ping Pong snuggled up beside me. He's now snoring and waggling his tail every once in a while.

I wish I could spend one day—just one day—seeing people's reactions to me without having the experience in life that I do. No thoughts, no judgment, just observing my reality as it is from another person's point of view. If I could direct a movie, I'd like to direct one where you only get to see people's reactions to the "camera" and not a glimpse of the person telling the story.

Why can't my life be never-ending progress? Is it always going to be one step forward, two steps back kind of thing? Why can't I reach a certain point of confidence and never question my self-esteem again?

I want that.

I feel weak being affected by something as trivial as words. I don't want set-backs. Regardless of what I want, though, my life is not directed by anyone but me.

If only I had experience directing. Maybe Christopher Nolan would be up for directing my life. How exciting would that be?

Now, I would love to say I didn't let that girl get to me, but she dug up some deep shit that I thought would never hurt me again, and I'm literally crying all the way home. I even get off two bus stops before Edward's, just to be able to get it all out. Don't hold in your emotions and all that, right? Well, holding anything in is no longer a problem. I am a wreck. Fortunately, when I get home, nobody's there, so I get to lie on this plush parlor carpet, hug Ping Pong and cry. A lot. Unfortunately, I fall asleep doing just that, and when I open my eyes, Edward is kneeling beside me, frowning.

"What happened?"

I'm sure my eyes are puffy and red from "not holding in my emotions," which probably convinces him that someone hurt me. Well. He's right.

But I'm not about to tell him that. So I don't.

I sit up, careful not to wake Ping Pong. "Nothing. I was just tired."

"Bella, I might not be able to read you most of the time, but this is the one time I know you're shitting me. Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," I reply, rubbing my eyes. "Just a bad moment."

He looks doubtful.

After that evening, we make it a habit to watch a film in the parlor every night. Edward often writes on his laptop (I'd die to see what he's writing, but since I wouldn't want him to snoop around and read my diary, I don't ask), but he's sitting so that I can only see the back of his Macintosh. Sometimes, he looks up at me (which makes me smile), and he gets this secret smile on his face. He doesn't seem to particularly care for most of what I'm watching, even though he insists on being okay with watching together.

You know what? Edward is a different person when he writes. He's in a world of his own. Even when he looks at me as if he can see right through me, when I say something, he's so concentrated that I usually have to repeat myself.

The first evening, I decide to torture him a little and make him watch Titanic. I don't think he enjoyed it too much. I bawl my eyes out (as you do when you see DiCaprio freeze to death), and Edward just stares at me, wanting to say something.

"What?"

He tilts his head to one side. "Nothing."

"Let it out."

He tries not to smile. "It's not like you didn't know he was going to die."

"You're a smug bastard."

He laughs like what I just said caused incomparable happiness. He shakes his head, chuckling as he kisses my (tear-stained) cheek and goes to write on his laptop. Next evening, he chooses to watch Misery (1990)—because I won't shut up about it, probably—and the moment I point Cathy Bates out to him, Edward looks back and forth between the screen and me, and lets out a long, "No." Like really long. Like, nooooo.

He, apparently, doesn't think we look similar at all.

I usually hold myself back around my friends, knowing that they don't enjoy obscure independent films as much as I do, or foreign films where you have to read subtitles, but I miss watching them. I mean, Hollywood mainstream films can be good, too. I really hate it when people go all apeshit about mainstream things, claiming that since so many people enjoy them, they must've been badly-made. That's such a shitty, elitist approach. What's wrong with a film you can enjoy? Seriously. A mainstream film can be good. Independent film can be full of shit. Enjoyment is only a part of movie experience. It's not all black and white.

But Edward says he doesn't mind watching a foreign film, so I happily choose La Règle du jeu, The Rules of the Game (1939) because I've heard (read, really) many wonderful things about that film. I rent it and start watching. And you know what? There's this quote by a maid named Lisette (I think), when she says, "Friendship with a man? That's asking for moonlight at midday."

And the thing is, Edward looks up from his laptop after the quote, and then he briefly locks eyes with me before he returns to writing (not showing any emotion) and I just know he understood without having to see the subtitles. I know he did. I ask him, and apparently, he's in AP French, and he's surprised by the fact that I do not speak a foreign language. (I'm only fluent in English and Sarcasm, and I'm not so sure about the former.) I mean, I take Spanish (as you do), I just suck at it.

But when Edward realizes I wouldn't understand without subtitles and cannot speak a word of French, he recites a poem. In French. That is fucking hot. I wish I knew the author, I wish I knew French so I could write it here (and Google it to know what he was saying), but I don't. When he's finished, he beams a smile a mile wide, and says he's now found a way to say what he means without me understanding any of it.

He continues to infuriate me by saying stuff in French, and gives me a nickname in French—but since my knowledge of French phonetics is non-existent, I cannot even Google it to understand him—all the while refusing to tell me what he's saying.

Smug bastard.

Anyhow, on Wednesday, I enter that beige and towering and intimidating Harborview Medical Centre to see a gynecologist. I've decided seeing a gynecologist is one of the boldest things a girl could do. Especially one without any sexual experience. My G.P. told me it would be wisest for me to see an expert because of how late my period started and to make sure I would be given the right pills and all that. I'm not going to argue.

Really, I should've gone to Pacific Gynecology Specialists at Madison Street, but there's a renovation going on and my gynecologist is seeing patients in Harborview Medical Centre. They're nearby, so it's not a problem.

The problem arrives when I've given away my coat and start to pass Edward and his dad in a corridor. (I am so mortified at that point that it barely registers that I don't know what Edward is doing here.) They're engaged in a conversation, and really, I'd rather just die than have to explain why I'm here, so I halt, and very slowly, start to turn around. But before I get to do a one eighty, Edward calls out my name.

I am mortified. Please kill me.

Edward's dad's pager goes off just when he sees me, so he offers a greeting and he's gone. But not Edward. He stands there in his dark jeans and blue button-down, looking all hot and disheveled. He would make one fuckhot doctor. But of course, he has no idea why I'm here because obviously, I very much want to talk to him about my gynecologist's appointment. Not.

"I volunteer here," he explains before I can even open my mouth. "What about you? Are you alright?"

"You volunteer at the hospital?"

He frowns. "Yeah?"

"You're serious."

"Why?"

"Alright, Edward." I look at my imaginary wrist watch. "You've got thirty seconds to list all those things you're horrible at. Go."

"Wait, what?"

"List all the things you suck at. There is no way guys as amazing as you exist, so I must not know you too well. Thirty seconds. Go."

He grins. "Guys as amazing as me, huh?"

"You really are a smug bastard."

He keeps that grin on his face.

"So what're you doing here?"

"Oh, me? Well, I'm a closet nymphomaniac. I figured, since I like masturbating so much, I'd want to jump into bed with Laurent as soon as possible. So I need some, you know, protection."

He inhales sharply, but then he takes a good look at my unfaltering smile, and he relaxes. "Jesus, Bella—you're kidding."

"Not about the masturbating." I laugh at his gaping. "Of course I'm kidding. I just wanted to have an exciting answer."

"So you're really here for…"

"Birth control pills. It's thrilling."

He scowls, pursing his lips together in a line when he rushes me to the side of the corridor. "Bella—I know you're new to this, but please don't rush into anything just because you go out with a guy. Never let yourself be forced into anything. Alright?"

"Yes, dad."

"Bella…"

"Edward, it's just for my cycle to be regular with me working out so much every morning with increasing intensity." I feel a faint blush in spite of myself. "That's my exciting answer."

"Jesus, you scared me."

"We should really have sex, Edward. I wonder if you'd call me God, too."

He bursts into laughter, and I smile. I look at the time, and I really need to go, but before I do, Edward asks me to find him before I leave so we could leave together. How sweet is he?

Just after we've parted ways, I look back at him and yell, "Edward?"

"Yeah?"

"I tutor on Saturday and work at the cinema on the weekends."

He looks all confused as I blow him a kiss and rush to my appointment.

It's the same man I saw when I was sixteen, and he's terribly nice. He emphasizes a little too much the pill is useless against STDs, to which I emphasize a little too much that my main priority is to a have a regular cycle, not have unprotected sex. He means well, though, and tells me to immediately let him know if I have uncomfortable side-effects so that we could switch pills.

He also gives me a handful of condoms.

Okay then.

I weighed myself on Tuesday. I'm 112.5 pounds now. I'm pretty proud of my consistent weight gain. I work my ass off at the gym with Mr. Black in the mornings, but I also eat a lot, and the coach seems to be happy with my progress. No, really. I'm growing some stamina.

By the time I text Edward that I'm ready, he's already in the foyer, looking all professional in a grey coat as he jokes with a doctor. Just when Edward's eyes fall on me, said doctor throws his head back and laughs. They shake hands and part ways (with the doctor shaking his head in amusement,) and Edward joins me with a smile.

We enter a crisp winter day. I drag a smiley face on the slightest layer of snow with my foot before Edward and I start walking. For a while, we do just that. We observe people and steal glances at each other.

"We've come a full circle, huh?" I ask, hiding my mitten-clad hands in my pockets.

"A full circle?"

"This is how our friendship started." I motion between the two of us. "Walking."

He lips tug into a smile.

"Holding the pavement?"

"Exactly." I grin. "I can't believe you remember that."

We pass a few elementary schoolers attempting to make a tiny snowman out of the meager amount of snow.

Edward lets out a breath, and I watch the vapor leave his mouth when he says, "I'm actually… not volunteering."

I look at him, waiting for an explanation, and he carefully glances at me. "You seem to see me like I'm this perfect man. I'm not. I'm really not, Bella." And he sounds so sincere and apologetic at the same time, it's almost heartbreaking.

"What were you doing at the hospital then? You seemed to get along with the doctors, too."

"I'm volunteering, sure. I'm just not voluntarily volunteering."

"I can see your lips moving, but all I hear is yabba-dabba-doo."

He lets out a laugh, and I'm glad to have lifted his mood. He's talking about this as if the fact that he's doing it for other reasons makes him a worse person. It doesn't. I'm not even volunteering, voluntarily or not. Does that make me a bad person?

"If you don't want to do it, why do you?"

"It'll look good on my resume."

"And?"

"Dad wants me to do it."

"Ah." I take a moment to look at him, his long eyelashes and evaporating breath. "But we don't live life to fill out a resume, Edward. We live life so we can do this." I search for a pen and a paper. I find the latter from my bag, and after I ask, Edward offers me his pen.

"What're you doing?"

I take my piece of paper and scribble, You are amazing.

I give Edward back his pen (he frowns at me) and stop the next person passing us, a middle school girl wrapped under layers of clothes. I step in front of her and smile—not to look threatening—and offer her the piece of paper. I probably look like an advertiser, so I tone my grin down a notch and say, "It's for you."

It helps that my piece of paper is pink and totally girly.

She continues to walk as she unwraps my piece of paper, and Edward and I simply stand, side by side, watching her. After she's unwrapped the paper with her mittens, her pace falters and she turns her head. Even from the distance, I can see her flushing a little as she offers us a modest wave and a shy smile with braces. She neatly folds the paper, puts it in her pocket, lowers her head and hides her smile in a scarf. There's newfound spring in her step.

I tug Edward's sleeve but he just stares at me, mouth slightly agape.

"You have that look again."

"What look?"

"That look you get like the rest of humanity left their pants at home and you're the only one wearing them," I answer, tugging his sleeve. "Come on, it's too cold to stand and stare."

We resume to walking. I hide my chin in my scarf.

"It's just that… you're pretty remarkable." He turns his upper body toward me as he says it. I grin and curtsy. Edward chuckles.

"So. You were saying. Why would you do something just because your dad wants you to?"

"He's just… it's complicated. It's the one thing where any argument with him is invalid by default."

"He wants you to become a doctor?"

"Yes," he replies. "And he wants me to attend the same medical school."

"Have you told him you don't want to?"

"No. Because I don't really know that I don't want to. But I don't know that I want to, either. I just hate the continuous lectures about wasting my brain and talent and future and the importance of specializing early. We have these huge arguments about it."

"You know, what I've seen from them and what I hear from you are like two separate universes."

"You don't think my dad's capable of pushing me?"

"I'm sure he is. But your parents, so far they kind of seem like the perfect example of a loving couple. I'd give away all my worldly possessions to have had so much warmth and love when I grew up. I mean—I don't mean anything bad about my own. God, no. But it's—that warmth is kind of difficult to learn as a teenager."

He frowns, looking down at me, and presses his lips in a line.

"Don't give me that look."

"What look?"

"Like I'm this weird little girl who grew up without love. I didn't. I don't doubt that my parents love me. But it's one thing to know it, it's another to have felt it. And to have learned to express it without trying to rationalize everything."

Edward throws a hand on my shoulder, but this time, he leaves it there. He kisses my temple, like this really wet, exaggerated kiss, and squeezes my shoulder.

"See? This is what I mean. You're so used to this kind thing that you don't even mean anything by it."

Edward just hums and pulls me closer to him. I smile into my scarf.

"I wasn't going to say that," he replies. "I guess we all want what we don't have, because your dad kind of seems to offer the sort of liberty that I crave. He doesn't seem to push you in any direction. Am I right? He seems the type to let you figure it out yourselves. Right now, I think I need that."

I let out a laugh.

"Well, aren't we just a pair."

He smiles. "Indeed."

"And yet, neither of us would be who we are if our parents hadn't chosen to raise us the way they did."

"So do you know what you want to do in the future?"

"Yes."

"And what is that?"

"You'll laugh."

"I promise I won't."

"Acting," I reply. "I think that's what I want to do."

He leans forward to see my face, and that smile is so sincere it gives me goose bumps. "I think that's a brilliant idea."

"Unrealistic, too."

"Why?"

"Oh, come on." I motion at my face. "They'll want me to do so much plastic surgery I might as well jump off a cliff."

"Bella," he says, one tone away from growling. "There's nothing wrong with the way you look."

"I know," I reply. "But there's not much right with the way I look, either."

"Bella," he repeats, and his tone is awfully close to a reprimand. "I thought you finally understood. Your self-deprecation is getting old."

"Never become a teacher, Edward, you can't scold to save a life."

"I'm serious."

He locks eyes with me, absolutely firm-looking, and I have to laugh.

"I'll be fine. No reason to worry," I reply, and when Edward continues to look like he's chewing on a lime, I decide to change the subject.

"So, what made your dad change his mind about me?"

I couldn't have caught him more off guard if I'd thrown a tomato at his face, or so it seems. He looks like a deer caught in the headlights.

"What? What do you mean?"

"I mean, why did he suddenly decide we're not to be trusted? And why is it important to keep it from me? It feels kind of degrading to be out of the loop."

"How do you—know about this?"

"My intelligence is not as low as my self-esteem, Edward. What I can't figure out is why. Why keep something like this from me? It's so simple."

"It's not like— we didn't…" He sighs, rubbing his forehead. "I'm sorry. It's not a secret, not really, I just don't think that when your dad told mine—"

"Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait." I tear myself out of his arms. "My dad? Did you just say my dad? Charlie?"

He nods.

I have a really Emmett moment. I hit an invisible punching bag and let out a growl filled with curses. I'm sure it's feminine and lovely. After a half a minute of coarse language, I finally take a breath so deep the chill hurts my lungs.

"So, let me get this straight. My dad, Charlie, told your dad, whatever his name is, to tell you, to not get involved with me?"

He nods, and the fear and regret in his eyes would be so funny if I didn't feel so punched in the gut.

"That's the most ridiculous thing I've heard in my entire life."

"I'm sorry."

"Why are you sorry? I am so pissed at my dad right now it's not even funny. What I don't get is why. Does it look like we're madly in love or something? Because that's just ridiculous. And even if we were, what's it to him? I am so confused. And why the heck would he want to keep it from me?"

"I think he just didn't think it was that important."

"Then why didn't you tell me, Edward?"

If I could see under his hat, I'm sure I could see the tips of his ears turn beetroot purple. He looks away. "I don't think you're ready to hear what I have to say."

I step right in front of him. "My interest is piqued."

He continues to avoid my eyes, but I can tell he's frustrated. "I didn't want you to think that… that if it weren't for your dad, or mine, I would still not—"

"Edward!" I interrupt with a laugh, and it's borderline hysterical. "Did you think I'd start looking into your touchy feely ways? Oh, God. I'm sorry if I've left that impression. I really won't. I know you don't mean anything, and God, us getting involved? That would be like Ben Barnes getting married to a lamp."

He crumples his face and pushes hands into his coat pocket. He might not look at me, but he's sharp and deliberate in his actions as he bypasses me. And, immediately, I know he's annoyed. But more than that, as he motions for us to continue walking, he locks eyes with me, and there's pain in his.

For such an easy-going socializer, Edward sure is intense. And I don't think I'm used to someone caring or noticing my self-esteem, but Edward does, and boy does he ever. It genuinely seems to matter to him that I stop making those comments about myself. But just as I'm about to open my mouth, Edward opens his.

"I think I have more social skills than a lamp," he mutters.

I snort and laugh, because God, he's so backwards but he's so nice and gah, I'm overwhelmed by affection when I look at him. His mouth twitches when I laugh, so I know I'm safe to hug him. And I do. I breathe him in and I squeeze his back and I press my nose in the crook of his neck.

"Every girl with a horrible self-esteem should have a best friend as amazing as you are, Edward."

He hums, squeezing harder. My heart jumps to my throat when I think of how close I am to his lips, but I swallow it back and press an innocent kiss on his cold cheek.

It wasn't even an argument, per se, just a bit leaning sideways, but I just know that somehow, we'll always manage to sort things out. I'll push and he'll bubble with emotion he doesn't want to let out, or he'll push and I'll yell answers so true they can never be taken back. Either way, we'll work things out.

For some reason, that's a thought so assuring and heart-warming that I feel enormously cherished, and suddenly, I'm bubbling with emotion yearning to get out. I want to stay like this. More than that, I want to raise my head and change everything between us. But I don't. I watch his little smile when I pull back, return it, and we keep walking.

Some people have whirlwind romances. Me? I have a whirlwind friendship. And I'm okay with that, as long as the whirlwind never ends.

Regardless of me sorting things out with Edward—sort of—I just have to call dad the moment I get home. Because as much as I understand Edward's argument of not wanting to lead me on unintentionally, my dad not wanting us involved makes no sense whatsoever.

So the moment I get home and sit on the parlor couch, I call him. It's impulsive and it could wait, but I'm determined to get answers. And I don't think I'm actually expecting him to pick up. With his schedule? Highly unlikely.

So I'm surprised when he does pick up the phone.

"Bella?"

"So, dad."

"Is anything wrong? Why are you calling my cell phone?"

"I just thought you'd want to know. I'm pregnant."

Silence.

"Edward and I have been having tons and tons of sex since we just couldn't keep our hands off each other, you know? And since we're both so intelligent and reasonable, we thought, hell, let's have a baby at seventeen."

Edward casts me a look so alarming his face is starting to turn blue.

"Bella, you'd better be kidding."

"Nope. Baby on the way. Due on the fifteenth of August."

"Put Edward on the phone," he rasps. "Immediately."

"You know, I don't think so," I reply. "Dad, what on Earth gave you the idea that going behind my back about something so simple is okay? Just when I thought you're actually starting to see that I'm almost an adult, you pull shit like this. Would it really have hurt you to simply tell me you don't think getting involved with Edward would be sensible and give me your reasons? But no. You tell Carlisle to tell Edward that it's not advisable or whatever. Why?"

He exhales, it's slow and loud. "Wait—so you're not really pregnant?"

"Dad," I sigh. "I'm so far beyond disappointed in you it's not even funny. That shit hurts."

"So you're not? You're not pregnant?"

"Jesus, dad. No. I don't know how to break this to you, but Edward and I are friends. There is literally nothing going on between us other than him trying to annoy me by not paying attention to the film we're watching and me trying to annoy him by explaining every director's filmography. So why? Why would you not tell me? It's so simple. I don't understand."

"Bella, can we have this discussion in four hours on Skype?"

"Depends," I reply. "Will you try to wriggle out of giving me actual answers?"

I hear a scratchy female voice in the background.

"I promise I won't," he says. "I have to go."

"Alright." I sigh. "See you in a bit."

For over five seconds, I hear him breathe on the other end.

"I love you, Bella."

Am I angry? I don't know. Confused and hurt, yes. Angry? I can't see the reasoning behind his actions, so I don't know where to aim my anger.

After disconnecting the call, I sit on the D-shaped table and pull my legs on it. Ping Pong is attempting and failing to jump in my lap, so I pull him on my lap and pet him. Edward seems to think I'm like him—holding everything in until I explode—so he leaves me alone. In the evening, I lay on this plush parlor carpet opposite Edward, who's decided to return to his usual spot by the wall as he (I'm guessing) writes on his laptop. Ping Pong is trying to either lick my screen or dance on my keyboard, so I hug him by my side until he calms down.

My dad has the stupidest argument for keeping this from me—our conversation sounds something like this:

"I was just trying to protect you."

(Yes, he actually says that.)

"From what? From letting me think that you trust me?"

He rests his head on the knee he's lifted, and it's still odd to see him be so casual. "Bella, what do you think would happen if you two tried it out and it didn't work? Where would you go? Do you think they'd let you stay there if you break that poor guy's heart?"

"Right. Because he's obviously so in love with me."

"In love or not, this wouldn't be a good time to date him. Nothing personal against him. Just not the right time."

"Dad, we're not pursuing anything. We don't see each other like that, neither do we exist in the same universe. That makes all your worries kind of pointless."

"I disagree."

"With which part?"

"I'll leave that one for myself."

"Okay. But now, imagine this. Imagine that Edward and I really did start to date, and at one point, it would all go incredibly wrong—and despite that, we'd both be adult enough to be courteous about it and I could still live here until you're back. Imagine that."

"But that's hardly realistic, Bella. Teenagers' breakups are over-emotional and dramatic and everyone thinks their life is over."

"Is that how your breakups were when you were a teenager? I'm sorry if they were, but I'm not you, dad."

He sighs, and suddenly, looks like he's wearing the weight of the world on his shoulders.

"I know."

"So what? I'm supposed to be projecting your fears for my entire life? We're different, dad. I don't react like you do. I don't act like you do. At one point, you'll have to accept that even when my decisions aren't the ones you'd make, my mistakes are mine. They're mine to make. Not yours. And I know, hindsight must be twenty-twenty, but please, dad. Just, just trust me, okay? I've earned it. Don't you agree?"

He intertwines his hands on the table, twiddling with his thumbs. That's where he looks as he speaks.

"Imagine this," he starts, sounding old and exhausted as he repeats my words. "Imagine a single father who's known a nine to five life all his life, who loses the love of his life for the second time a mere week prior to the biggest risk he's ever considered, imagine having a son who accuses you of neglecting your daughter when she was in middle school and had troubles I, apparently, never heard of. Imagine having two kids, so incredibly different but equally loved, who are forced to raise themselves for four months just after losing their mother. Imagine having a daughter who sometimes bears so many similarities to the love of your life it's equally heartbreaking and thrilling to even be in the same room with her." He raises his eyes, and there are unshed tears in them, but he immediately lowers his eyes and clears his throat. "Imagine that, Bella."

I rest my forehead on my palm, staring at my keyboard, realizing I was on the verge of crying myself. When I confronted my dad a few hours ago, this is not where I imagined going, and it is obvious I am definitely not as okay about mom passing away as I attempt to show. Neither is dad. I recognize that the tapping at the keyboard has stopped, so my sudden silence must've drawn Edward's attention.

"I'm sorry, dad." I lick my lips and press them together. I don't even know what I'm apologizing for. "I… I'm so sorry."

He nods, shrugging (it's not very convincing.)

"I make mistakes, Bella."

"I know."

"Do you, really? I've made more than you probably tell me."

"So have I. But don't intentionally hold harmless information for yourself just because of your deluded vision of 'protecting' me. I don't need protecting." I attempt a grin. "Haven't you heard? I'm amazing."

He lets out a laugh. "That, you are. But you're still my little girl, and I worry. I'll do everything I can to make sure you're safe and well when I'm gone."

"As long as you actually communicate, alright?"

He sighs, and even though I'm still slightly confused by some matters, I decide not to badger him. He looks so beaten.

"Okay. I promise not to mess up. Intentionally."

I laugh. "There you go."

Thoughtful, he rests his head in his palm, and if I didn't know any better, I'd think he's looking at me with awe. "Have you always been this sassy?"

"You mean rude and disrespectful? Yes. Yes I have."

"No, I mean so full of life, Bella. Not rude… unless you want to be. I think you know the lines exceptionally well, you just choose to ignore them."

"Well, isn't that my psycho-analysis wrapped in a one-liner," I reply, hiding a smile. I dancing on weak ice, I realize, by bringing mom up again, but I cannot dismiss his words. I press my lips together and sigh. "Dad, what did you mean that I'm so similar to mom it's painful to even look at me? I couldn't be different from her, appearance or character."

"Bella."

"What?"

"You don't even know."

"Know what?"

"Have I never really told you?"

"Dying of suspense here."

"God," he mutters, staring at his fingernails. "Even hearing your voice. Every time I'm expecting her to appear from the other room when I hear you speak. The tone, the liveliness, even the occasional random comments. Spitting image of her."

"We didn't look remotely similar, dad."

"Not the point. You're just so her sometimes. And I don't know where you got the rest of your appearance, but honestly, your smile is spot-on. The kind of smile men would follow to a battle and back if you just sat there on a lonely bench and smiled."

"You're so full of shit right now."

"I'm not."

"You so are."

"Alright, smile."

"What?"

"Smile. Give me a smile." He raises his voice. "Edward, you're there, right?

I motion at my head.

"Headphones, dad. He can't hear you."

"Well. Since I'm too old for you to believe me, ask Edward or your friends or make a Facebook questionnaire about it."

I laugh. I ask him about his first week and the training and my pit bull. Since Emmett seems to have told him that I go running now, dad thought a decent dog would work as a safety net—whatever his reason, it's incredible he remembered that I'd always wanted a dog. And that he found a way for me to get one.

Dad doesn't say it directly—and he doesn't have to—but I just know that this was the only possible choice for him. Joining the US Marshal Service. He seems a little tired, but he's happy. And I'm thrilled he is. He has exactly twenty five minutes to talk to me, and I ask so many questions about his life in Glynco I think I'm starting to annoy him. Or maybe he's flattered that I care, I don't know. Either way, he hurries off after I've satisfied my curiosity, and I notice that Edward is still watching me.

I take off my headphones.

"I solved our problem," I say. "We can go ahead and have mind-blowing sex in your room now."

His mouth falls agape and he blinks like a slow stop-light before the edge of his lip twitches. He smiles.

"No more keeping pointless stuff from me, alright?"

Edward sighs, long and loud, and runs both hands through his hair. He's still smiling. "Alright."

"Two down, one to go. Is it okay if I go and yell at your parents now?"

"Mom doesn't know, and either way, they're not in. Wednesdays and Fridays are their nights out."

"Very cool. I'll yell at your dad tomorrow then."

I quit Skype, close my laptop and sit cross-legged in front of—not next to—Edward. He still closes his Mac, and as much as I understand, it's a sure sign he's writing. Ping Pong goes nuts and starts circling me, and we both watch him do it.

"It's alright, Edward, you can continue. I won't peek, I promise. I'll just sit here and ogle at you like a total creep."

"Is that so?"

"Totally. Firstly, I need to know what you do to have such long eyelashes."

Edward laughs.

"I can ogle right back, you know," he says.

"Ah, I was wondering why I'm beating jocks away with a stick."

"I think Emmett and Jasper have been doing a fine job all by themselves."

"That's horse shit. Do you know something I don't or are you just throwing guesses around?"

"Just throwing it out there."

"Still horse shit."

"I don't know. Maybe Laurent is simply the first one to have made the cut."

"Are you trying to suggest that no-one's asked me out because they need Emmett's permission? That's ridiculous."

"No. I'm just saying it's not impossible."

"Did you speak to my dad? You two are so filled with horse shit today. He's becoming so deluded with distance he told me I act like mom sometimes. He then continued to compliment me on my smile. Next thing I know, you're telling me I'm fit to become a model."

"Well, you've got the stature and the complexion. Now you just need the drive to become one."

His earnest tone makes me laugh.

"Did you just use the word complexion in a sentence? Very poetic." I grin. "So. Actually, I kind of need your help and then you can go back to writing."

"Alright."

"I need to know what people do on dates."

He focuses and refocuses his eyes on my face before clearing his throat. "Pardon?"

"You heard me. What do people do on dates? I have no clue."

Edward presses his lips together. "Why?"

"I have a date with Laurent tomorrow, remember? I'm pretty clueless about this stuff, and I thought since you've probably dated more than I will in my entire life, you'll be perfect to instruct me a little."

The sound coming from his chest is somewhere between a growl and a groan. It's low. He runs a hand through his hair. He is (clearly) taken aback by my request.

"What I mean is, is rounding the second base okay on the first date? Or should I cover the third one, too?"

No sooner have the words left my mouth before Edward's face pales.

"What? No."

"Ah, I should go for a home run right away. I knew it. Wouldn't want to be a prude."

He looks like he's about to faint.

"Bella," he insists, literally face-palming in front of me. He rubs his forehead, and his eyes are earnest. "Bella, no. Uh, please, that's not."

He doesn't finish his sentence, but when I'm dying of laughter on the inside, Edward looks like he's in physical pain. When he's trying to find a way to talk about the birds and the bees, I cannot hold it in any longer. I drop on the floor and burst out laughing. Ping Pong thinks I'm seriously badass and starts climbing on my back, and I let him lick my face and laugh like there's no tomorrow.

When I come up for air, Edward is staring at me.

"You should've seen your face!"

"That wasn't funny, Bella."

"It so was."

"I almost had a heart attack."

"I saw."

"Never do that again."

"Edward, there's something you need to know about me that will shock the bejesus out of you. You ready? I live to bullshit people. It is my only purpose in life. It's who I am. So I promise nothing."

The edge of his mouth is starting to twitch and his eyes are amused, so I'm positive he's not really mad.

"Come on, Edward. Do I really look so naïve? I must look even more naïve than I am and that's an accomplishment since I'm pretty naïve to begin with."

"Just warn me the next time you pull an Oscar-worthy performance out of your sleeve."

"Flattery will get you everywhere, Edward. Keep going. I'm all ears."

He laughs. I've cracked him.

"Okay, so, point number one, try to keep my clothes on. It'll be tough, but I'll handle it. Maybe a little petting over the clothes then. Anything else?"

His face sobers and he keeps rubbing his forehead. "Not funny, Bella."

"So I should play hard to get? Maybe pretend to be unavailable for the second date and then jump into bed with him on the third one. Does that work?"

"Bella," he warns.

"Sorry. You're just irresistible, you know?"

He tilts his head on the side, probably wondering if I mean my words or not.

"Nah. Just kidding. Ugliest man I've ever seen."

He huffs a laugh. I lay on my stomach, holding my face in my palms.

"Okay, stop distracting me. So, rule number one, clothes stay on. Anything else I need to know?"

This time, I honestly expect an answer, so I hold my hands up in surrender and snicker when Ping Pong licks my cheek. Edward just looks at me for a moment. He straightens his shoulders, rubbing the scruff on his face he probably doesn't realize is there. Does he ever shave? Or is it like a special shaving level that gives his scruff a certain length? Or maybe it's an accident and he's never even thought of it.

"Be yourself, I guess." He shrugs, now staring at the dog. "If he's got his eyes and ears in the right place, he'll be crazy about you in no time. So just… be yourself."

"I was going to pretend to be Emmett, but now that you've reminded me, I guess it does kind of make sense to show up as me."

He chuckles, but there's an emotion underneath that I can't quite place. It's subtle. It's the odd reaction as I turn all his sweet and earnest words into a joke, it's the way he doesn't seem completely at ease with talking about this with me, it's the occasional furtive glance my way. Like he's having a hard time figuring me out. Or maybe it's just all in my head, and he's just not yet used to the total package of Isabella Swan. Sometimes I'm just a pain in the ass, let me tell you.

"Alright, thanks." I lean down to kiss his cheek, trying and failing to be just as casual about this as he is, because his cheek is a little rough and I think he's wearing cologne, and it's terribly good. I exaggerate my sniff. Edward frowns when I pull back.

"You are totally giving me your cologne for my birthday. No person should be allowed to smell this good."

He runs a hand through his hair. "I'm not wearing any."

"Lucky bastard. I'm officially stealing your clothes then. Sorry if you need to be butt naked all the time."

Well, no. I'm not sorry at all.

I stop sniffing him and jump on the couch. "So, any film preference?"

Even before he does it, I just know he's about to pull out his Mac and start writing. He does. I choose L'aile ou la cuisse (1976), or The Wing and the Thigh, a French comedy about the art of cooking. The choice is not completely selfless because I semi-hope that I hear Edward speak French again. Hey, at least I can admit it to myself.

About fifteen minutes in, I'm aware that Edward has stopped writing and is observing me. I offer him a smile. He returns it. A few minutes later, Edward closes his laptop. I've understood that he doesn't care much about movies (he's just nice enough not to tell me he doesn't give a shit), so I raise my eyebrows when he sits next to me. A casual hand lands behind me on the couch.

He sits like a confident man, leaning back and watching the screen but not really seeing it. He couldn't look more disinterested in the movie if he tried.

I snuggle up beside him because I know he's so totally cool about us touching like this, and his arm wraps around my shoulder.

"Edward?"

"Hmm?"

"This is nice."

He smiles, kisses my forehead, and I hear the words he doesn't say. This casualness is not forever. This might be for the last time, for the memory of it. Even if it's nothing romantic or sexual, it can't continue if I go out with Laurent and if it lasts. Maybe, just maybe, Edward knows it too, and that's why he decided to join me. Either way, I'm snuggled beside him and I cherish the moment more than ever.

: :

Ping Pong is, let me tell you, a heck of a dog to take care of.

And before you judge me for the name, it was semi-accidental. First, I wanted to name him Walter. Like a proper name. I thought of Edward Norton's Dr. Walter Fane from The Painted Veil, a subtle and underrated role. And surprisingly, a sexy one. If you've never thought of Edward Norton as a sexy man, this film will convince you otherwise.

For short, I thought I'd call my pit bull Wally, or Wall-E.

Esme and Edward's dad are extremely happy that I love their gift, just like I'm elated that they would actually let me have a dog in their house. Esme doesn't really like the fact that he's a pit bull (she wanted to get me a more feminine dog), but Emmett told Edward I like my dogs like I like my cookies, no-nonsense. He, Edward and dad discussed it, and Emmett's suggestion won. So Edward went ahead and got me a rescue dog. Ping Pong a pretty shade of brown, half a year old and quite well-behaved. He's actually not a pure breed, but as Louis CK put it, he looks like a mix between a pit bull and, well, a pit bull.

We discussed the name in the living room, and we'd already opted for Walter, but then Angela gave me a call, and after she'd mentioned that she's playing table tennis with Ben, I'd echoed 'ping pong,' and honest to god, the dog went nuts. He started circling the room and jumped on everyone, and when anyone in the room said 'ping pong,' my dog ran to them, waggling his little tail and looking all happy and shit.

Ping Pong it is. I kind of like it. Edward thinks I'm crazy, but what else is new?

During the past week, I've learned more about dogs than ever. I know it's important for Ping Pong to socialize at an early age (mostly with other dogs), but I also know pit bulls are frowned upon. If my dog got into a fight with another dog, even if the other dog is completely nuts, society would blame my dog because of his breed. I'll do anything to avoid a situation like that, so it is now a part of my morning routine to train him. After or during my jog and/or weights. When I know I'll run in shady-ish areas, I take Ping Pong with me.

By the time Edward finally rolls around, I'll have been awake for five to six hours. He's really not a morning person. Like, seriously.

If I weren't talking about a dog, this would sound like a romantic cliché, but honestly, I think having Ping Pong around is something I didn't know I needed. It's freedom and pleasant obligation wrapped in one, and I feel, I don't know, needed. There's someone whose survival depends on me. That's a lot to take in.

I'm so worried and careful that I feel like I just had a baby. Every time Ping Pong makes a sound I'm not used to, I'm positive he's about to die. It's a surprise I haven't gone to listen if he's still breathing in the middle of the night. I used to do that when I was a kid. I snuck into my parents' bedroom and listened if they were still breathing.

But I think it's the newness of it. After a few months, I'm sure we'll have a solid routine and I'll love Ping Pong slash Wall-E to death. I already do. He's good-natured and bat-shit crazy. Hey, at least we have one thing in common.

Yes, that's right. We're both agnostic.

He needs a strict diet and a strict workout regimen. Just like me.

My point is, he's lovely, and I love Edward to death for the idea and the implementation.

On Thursday, I realized that owning a single dress doesn't exactly work in my favor in terms of going out with Laurent. And while I didn't show it, I was completely serious in my concern about dates. I don't even know why people call it dinner. Basically, we're going out to eat and talk. Why not just say that?

I'm surprised to wake up with a twisted knot in my stomach, so maybe I'm unconsciously nervous. It's a huge step, no doubt. There's a guy in this world who's interested in me. Do you know how flattering that is? No-one's ever been interested. Ever.

When I've gone to the gym in the wee hours of the morning (it's one of my gym days) and exhausted Ping Pong, I arrive home dying of thirst only to witness the sweetest thing in the kitchen. Edward has woken up (uncharacteristically early), and just when I enter, he wraps his arms around Esme's shoulders and rests his head on top of hers, giving it a kiss. With her back to her son, Esme smiles and mumbles something about coffee.

Seriously. I'm going to have such high standards after having seen how sweet a guy could be. Maybe I'll train my dad to hug me every morning or something.

It's such a sweet moment between a boy and his mom that I start to back out of kitchen.

Only to back into Edward's dad.

"You alright?"

I motion at the kitchen. "I didn't want to, you know, interrupt."

"It's fine," Edward's dad says, smiling and motioning for me to reenter the kitchen. I do.

"Morning," he says.

Esme and Edward turn and grin. Edward isn't remotely embarrassed about showing how much he cares about his mom. Swoon. You know, I think I'm going to marry this guy if Laurent doesn't work out. Edward is really nice, like super nice, so maybe I'll trick him into thinking it would be a good idea or something.

Right.

I give Ping Pong some dog food. It's called Taste of the Wild. Edward already went to the vet with Ping Pong, and it's something the vet recommended, so we should be good.

I pour myself a glass of water, drown it, and pour another one. Edward is semi-dozing and very adorable as he drinks a cup of coffee half-asleep, and Edward's dad starts to read The Seattle Times while Esme cuts some fruit.

It's weird. I've been here a week, and not once have we all eaten breakfast together. I'm usually either the first one up, or I head off to jog just when Edward's dad appears in the kitchen. Edward's breakfast is usually my lunch, and by that time, both his parents have gone to work.

I'm sticky and sweaty as I take off my buff and sit for a moment.

"So… I'm pregnant. It's Edward's."

Edward's eyes bug out of his head as he chokes. His coughing gets so bad he actually goes to spit his drink in the sink. Meanwhile, Esme has turned to stare at me and Edward's dad silently sets aside the newspaper.

"So, yeah, thought you should know."

In deathly silence, I drink my glass of juice and scratch Ping Pong's neck.

"Pardon?" Edward's dad asks, his manner of speech creepily similar to Edward's, while Esme stares at me in shock. It's like the idea of me and Edward together has occurred to her as often as having tea with a blow-drier on top of Kilimanjaro.

Still slightly red-faced, Edward shakes his head. "She's just messing with you."

"Is she?"

Edward's dad eyes him, and suddenly I feel like I'm in on information that I shouldn't know or understand, but I do, and from the sheer shock on Esme's face, you can tell she's probably oblivious to his, er, sexual history. Honestly, if Edward were my son, I'd want to be oblivious, too.

I sigh. "I'm not pregnant. I've heard you'd have to actually have sex for that to happen."

Edward's dad lets out a breath.

"But I spoke to my dad yesterday. And I don't want to sound ungrateful, because I am grateful. I am. I've never grown up with a family who shows affection like you do, so living with you is like a learning curve. I couldn't have asked for a more caring family to stay with. But also, I'd really much rather you told me if there's something I should know or do or if something is unacceptable. I think it would be fair. I'm really not one for subtle hints at all, especially when it's something as unlikely and pointless as this."

Esme looks touched but really, really confused. She walks to her husband and puts her hands on his shoulders.

"Honey, what's going on?"

I look at him. "Does that sound fair? I talk more nonsense than is worth believing, but however I joke, the likelihood of me and your son is further hindered by the fact that we're not actually interested in pursuing anything. Right, Edward?"

Edward hums. Edward's dad raises his eyes and stares holes into Edward's skull, but Edward is eyeing the content of his coffee cup like his life depended on it. Esme just looks utterly confused.

I clear my throat. "So yes. And Esme, I'm not really… my mom wasn't… I have a bit of a problem with finding clothes for my date tonight, so I was wondering if I could borrow a skirt or something. Just for tonight. It's okay if you don't want to. It's fine either way."

Her whole face lights up, and it might be a stretch of my imagination, but I can absolutely imagine her wanting to have a daughter. I wish I were someone who cared about clothes and make-up.

"Of course, sweetie. I have a bunch of them that I haven't worn for years. I'll show you where they are. Do you need any help with make-up?"

I watch Edward's silent stare-down with his dad.

"I would if I owned any."

After my shower, Edward's dad comes to talk to me to clear the air about why they kept this from me. He has this intimidating way about him sometimes. But we're fine. I'm still slightly confused about their motives, but he says it's something to do with Edward, and I already had a talk with him. Confusing shit.

At around five thirty (when Edward comes home from football practice with his hair all delicious and disheveled and damp), I take a few clothing choices (from the vacant room where Esme's clothes are) to try on for my date. Esme is small and fragile, so that's good, but she must be about nine inches shorter than me, so that's a bit of a problem. But I also find a hilarious Halloween costume, and seriously, I want to wear it. Albeit a bit begrudgingly (I can't imagine any guy enjoying a fashion show), Edward has agreed to give my outfit his approval, so I put on my costume.

"It's very short and sexy, Edward! Try to contain your boner, okay?"

With teeny-tiny steps, I round the corner, and it takes a fraction of a second for Edward to understand that I am wearing a gigantic pink teapot suit. I swirl and curtsy while Edward is struggling not to die of laughter.

"So… what do you think? Laurent won't be able to keep his hands off of me, eh?"

"Indeed," he answers, grinning as he gives me a thumbs up. "Perfect. Yes. Go with that."

"Wait, you have to see my other choices first."

"How many do you have?"

"Three," I answer, struggling with walking in this ridiculously hot costume. So I opt for jumping into my room instead.

"What is up with you and hopping?"

"Wouldn't you like to know!"

I sneak out of the hot teapot costume and into a little classy-looking black dress (it has a few loose strands), and while it's an absolutely gorgeous dress, it's a tad too short. It ends just above mid-thigh, almost like a long form-fitting blouse. It shows my legs, and while I'm still on the scrawny side, I do have the faint trail of muscle now which I'm proud of.

But pretending to be a girl is kind of fun, you know? I would've never thought I'd find so much enjoyment in trying clothes on. But it's not half bad. It's fun. I must thank Laurent for this.

But the little black dress that I actually like? Edward is horrified when he looks up from his Mac. His mouth is agape and he's shaking his head.

"Fuck, no," is what comes out of his mouth.

"Gee, thanks for not embellishing your disgust or anything. Girl with a fragile ego here, remember? Adios."

He curses and calls after me when I go to try on my next choice, but it's fine. It really is. Maybe it's a bit too soon for me to think I could pull off something lovely. I'm okay with that, and I'm okay with Edward not thinking I suddenly look pretty or some shit. Hey, at least he's honest. First reaction is always honest.

My third outfit is a red skirt that I can wear with a black-and-white blouse of mine, and if Edward hates that one, too, then I give up. I'll just crawl under my bed and never show my face again.

You know, I've noticed that ever since meeting Alice, I'm back to the old me. It's like the last two months didn't exist. Maybe I should pay Edward so that he would lie to me. Or buy myself some friends who'd lie to me on a daily basis.

On that thought, I find myself five bucks from my purse, and hold it out to Edward the moment I've rounded the corner. He's no longer sitting on the floor with his laptop. Instead, he's on the couch, running a hand through his hair and violently tearing at them.

"Bella, I didn't mean—"

"It's fine." I send him a smile as I hold out my five dollars. "So, I was thinking. I kind of need some reassurance, and I know it's not much, but I'll give you a fiver if you tell me a nice white lie."

His face goes absolutely pale, and if I thought he looked horrified before, he looks comically so now.

"Are you kidding?"

"But look at this lonely fiver, Edward. I promise it'll be easy to lie if you don't look at me. You can look at the wall and say something lukewarm. Not even sexy or gorgeous or whatnot, just, like… 'you look nice' or 'not half-bad.'"

His eyes search mine, and he still looks pale, but the intensity is scary.

"What happened?"

"An ugly girl wants to hear a lie, Edward, that's what happened," I answer. "So how about it?"

"No, I mean—you were doing fine before, and this week, this… this fucking self-deprecation comes back."

I shrug. "I was knocked off my high horse and my illusions and now I'm back to realism." I continue to hold my fiver. "So how about it? Just a small lie. Nothing big. Just enough for me to feign confidence."

He says nothing. Instead, I'm enveloped into the tightest hug imaginable. I can feel his warmth under my skin, his breath on my neck and his heartbeat under my cheek. It's such a personal hug it's dancing in the borders of friendship and beyond. I can't switch off the part of me that feels more, even if he's so super casual about proximity.

I'm not. I choose carefully who I let close to me.

"What was that for?

He holds on to my shoulders after our hug.

"You're beautiful," he insists, locking eyes with mine. His voice is low and persistent.

"Oscar-worthy performance? Right back at you, Edward. Thank you." I hand him my fiver, kiss his cheek, and before he's able to react, I grin and run to my room to tidy up a bit and carry the rest of Esme's clothes and costume upstairs.

"I don't want your money, Bella!" Edward yells. His voice is coming closer.

"Not now! I'm naked!"

It's not until late at night that I see that fiver again.

Esme is incredibly excited about my date—even more so than I am. I think it's the prospect of helping me prepare for it that excites her, but after I refuse creams and powders and whatnot, she tones it down a little. I'm not backing out of what I said earlier. If I'm about to change myself, it will not be for a man. That includes dates. The only thing I agree on wearing is this cherry-red lipstick, and that's only because we have so much fun picking a color. I don't use mascara, nothing else. Just that lipstick.

Eh. Laurent has known me for a half a year. By now, he must know I'm a bit weird.

When it's six twenty five, I rush downstairs to grab my purse, and with my luck, that is just the time the doorbell rings. By the time I'm back on the first floor, I'm facing the funniest scene in the foyer with Edward leaning on the corridor wall, arms crossed, staring bullets at Laurent, who is being cross-examined by Edward's dad. Funny shit. I put on my coat and clear my throat. Eyes fall on me.

"Bella, what time is your dad's curfew?" Edward's dad asks.

"Never had one."

"You do now. I want her back at eleven sharp."

Laurent lets out a nervous laugh. "Yes, sir."

He breathes a sigh of relief when he sees I'm ready and holds out a single rose. It's sweet. I've never been given flowers before (other than for my birthday).

He's clad in dark jeans, a beige coat and a very white hat that emphasizes his darkness.

He smiles. "You look beautiful."

"Damn, you're good. I didn't even pay for you to say that. I think I like this dating business."

He laughs. "Shall we go?"

"Yes, my knight in shining armor, but, er, do you mind if I go and put the flower in a vase?" But Esme is already there, taking it from me and ushering me out the door. However, before I get to actually join Laurent, Edward taps on my shoulder, and he leans close to me. His voice is low, quick and insisting.

"If he does anything at all you're not comfortable with, send me a message or call, anything, and I'll be there. Alright?"

I turn to look at Laurent.

"Are you an axe-murderer?"

He laughs. "Forgot my axe today, though."

"See, Edward?" I say. "No reason to worry. He forgot his axe today."

Finally, finally, we're out the door, in the cold and fresh air, heading off to the cinema in Laurent's grandpa's Honda. It's red, it's old, and it has character.

"So, I've been preparing to face Chief Swan all day, and then I get here, thought you'd moved, and instead of your dad, Cullen is the one looking like he wants me buried alive. So, why am I picking you up from their place?"

"Ah, my dad's in Georgia. He quit the chief business. He's now on his way of becoming a marshal."

"Cool. So the Cullens are like old friends or something?"

"If this is a roundabout way of asking me about my relationship with Edward, I can assure you we have not been nor do we strive to be together."

He glances at me with a closed-mouth smile and nods, and I just know this is what he wanted to know. You know, Laurent has always struck me as an all-around positive guy. Even when he asked me out and doubted I'd agree, he kept smiling and stuff, just like now. But underneath the smiley guy, I can tell he's a bit nervous. I don't know why. I mean, I'd like to think I'm a pretty easy-going girl, but maybe he genuinely likes me. Does that even happen? I really doubt that's the case. Never mind.

"I like peanut butter and jelly sandwiches."

He laughs, but it's still nervous. "I'm allergic."

"To peanuts?"

"Yes."

"Raisins?"

"Love them."

"Good. At least we have one thing in common. If we run out of things to talk about, we should now officially opt for talking about raisins."

He lets out a laugh. "You're different."

"I'm sorry."

"No, no, don't be." Nervous laugh. "I think that's why I've liked you for so long."

This time, I'm the one with the nervous laugh. It's surreal. I'm serious. It's one of the most surreal things I've experienced. No guy has ever shown interest in me, much less acted on it. This is something the romantic books and movies don't tell you: they don't tell you how genuinely flattering—in the best possible way—it is to be the object of someone's affection. I don't mean that he's supposed to compliment me left and right, no. Not that. I mean, I can actually tell he's interested but either shy about it or not sure of my reciprocity. His nerves are flattering in the sweetest possible way. I'm not sure I've ever seen him nervous.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

Again, that uncertain laugh. "I tried. I actually hinted pretty heavily. Angela knew. Your brother knew."

"Hinted? Okay, I should probably tell you right away—throwing hints at me is about as effective as solving an algebra equation by chewing bubble gum. Especially when I don't know that I'm supposed to be paying attention."

"Baz Luhrmann, nice."

I grin. "Did you join Drama just because of me?"

He throws me a glance, very brief and really nervous, and looks ahead again. If you could actually tell when black people blush, this would be his moment. "I don't think it'll work in my favor if you know my cards right away."

"I know nothing about dating rules, Laurent," I admit, and immediately slap my forehead. "Ah, shit, I'm not supposed to tell you this, am I? Shit. Well, since I'm already on it, I think you should know that this is my first date. Like, ever. Sorry."

He simply chuckles. "I knew."

"Emmett?"

He nods.

"Does it bother you?"

"No. I think you're one of those people who has that Jennifer Lawrence charm. Like, if you didn't know her, she'd pass you on the street and you'd think she's about average, and then you see just a few interviews, and immediately, you're in love."

"I'm flattered, but please don't tell me you just called J-Law average. She is totally stunning."

"So are you," he says, giving me a look and a warm-hearted smile. I am sorry, but when someone puts their moves on you like that, you can't not blush, especially when you're a Swan.

"You're slick."

He grins. "Is it working?"

"Yes."

He grins. "In that case, you're a mix between Kate Micucci and Jennifer Lawrence."

"Keep going. One more compliment, and we're having sex tonight."

He erupts into laughter—you see, unlike Edward, he's known me for a year now, and I literally throw those comments left and right all the time. Even at school.

"So what made you finally ask me out?"

"My mother."

"Okay."

"No, I mean, we're Kenyan. She used to be a runner. Olympic silver, actually. I noticed you're getting into running, and I have all this useless knowledge about running, so I thought at least there's one topic for conversation."

"That, and raisins." I smile. "And that's crazy awesome. I'd love to meet her."

Mental facepalm. That? That is the wrong thing to say. I think I just invited myself over before we've even survived one date. That is not how things are supposed to work, I'm sure.

"Never mind. Word vomit."

He smiles. "I'm sure she'll love you."

Seriously, he's like perpetually happy or something. Maybe it's a syndrome.

We go to the SIFF Cinema, and it's one of those nights when they play oldish movies, so we see Marathon Man (1976). It's really good. At one point, I can see Laurent's hand just lying between us, and I know it's an open-ended invitation. Instead of overanalyzing, I intertwine my fingers with his, and looking at him, all I see is teeth. It's like I'm sitting beside white teeth randomly hovering next to my face.

Laurent is, honestly, a genuinely nice guy. Once he's over his nerves, he's quite opinionated and I love arguing with him. He also doesn't let anything get to him. (The girl sitting on his other side accidentally pours soda on his pants, and Laurent is cool as a cucumber. He laughs it off.) We have dinner in a semi-fancy restaurant (one that looks like you have to make a reservation in advance), and we eat chicken and have fun. Laurent speaks film, which is a revelation—yay! He actually likes films—and finding a topic to speak about doesn't seem to be a problem.

I like him. I do. I could actually grow to like him as more than a friend, I recognize that. The sad thing is, I should understand all of this without having to consciously think about it. There are snippets of moments when my mind compares him to Edward before I'm able to process it, but I don't let my thought linger.

By the time we leave the restaurant, happy and well-fed, it's ten fifty. It'll take a half an hour to get home, but I assure Laurent it's fine. I mean, what's Edward's dad going to do, anyway? I still feel like there's more to that not-letting-me-know-it's-not-okay-to-get-involved- with-Edward story than they let on, and that confuses me. Not to say I'm breaking the rules to spite him, no. But I can't say breaking those rules don't give me a sense of independence, sort of like letting Edward's dad know he has no power here.

So now he's Gandalf the White to my Théoden. Great.

Back in front of Edward's house, Laurent insists on accompanying me to the porch regardless of the fact that we broke my curfew by twenty minutes. But I stop him before we get there. He's a bit shy, standing with his hands in his pockets as he gives me that nervous smile. But before he can say anything, I step in front of him—I don't have to raise myself on my tiptoes, we're the same height—and I kiss him. He's taken aback. A second later, he's holding my waist and returning my kiss.

There's no fireworks or sparks or electricity or any of that. But it's not unpleasant. It's different. It's my first "real" kiss, not a peck or a kiss out of obligation. Laurent, he's a big guy, and even without a height difference, I still feel tiny and special in his arms. He smiles and hovers when we pull back, and I mirror his smile. I can tell the kiss did more to him than to me, but I'm okay with that. Maybe sometimes you're not in the same place immediately, maybe I need time to get where he is.

But I'm flattered he seems to see something in me.

"You're very pretty." He smiles, not letting go of my hand.

"Keep complimenting me, and you might get a second date."

He laughs, it's a bit nervous. "Can I call you?"

"Sure. You have my number."

He pecks my lips, and I watch him drive away in that red Honda. My first date. I feel a bit giddy. All in all, it was a good date, he's a super positive guy. And he thinks funny girls are underrated. That's nice.

"You're late."

"Fuck. Thanks for the heart attack, Edward."

He's in his grey pea coat, holding his iPhone and leaning on the railing. He crosses his arms.

"Why didn't you pick up the phone? Do you have any idea how worried we were?!"

I don't think I've ever seen him so upset. It's like I did something to deliberately hurt him, but all I did was arrive home a bit later. He's taking my dad's request way too seriously.

"I know you're, like, four years older than me, but let me be a teenager, Edward. Because I am. And I'm supposed to be breaking rules. My date was excellent, thank you for caring."

"Shit, just pick up your phone the next time."

"I'm sorry," I answer, taking off my scarf and walking to the front door. "I just got sidetracked by all that sex in the back of Laurent's car. I'll make sure to be texting the next time I'm going down on him."

The hand he's about to run through his hair stops as his eyes widen.

"That—that's what… you were doing?"

Here's the difference between those friends who've known me for years, and Edward: my other friends don't have to process the meaning behind my "dirty" jokes before they get them, Edward does. I'm already inside and taking off my coat with Edward breathing on my neck when he lets out a breath.

"Jesus. You were joking."

"Damn it, Edward, the next time you do not understand that I'm kidding about this, I will get really, really offended."

I haven't even had the chance to take off my coat before a very concerned-looking Esme and Edward's dad overwhelm me with questions—and apparently, they were so concerned they called my dad. Hell. I could've done something way worse, gotten pissed, stolen a car, bought heroine, but no, I'm twenty minutes late and they call my dad. It's the middle of the night in Georgia and he's gotten too little sleep to begin with, and now he gets bothered with trivial shit like this.

It has taken a while, but finally—finally—I understand what Edward meant when he said his parents' concern can be overwhelming. Jesus. They're upset with me being late, but they give me the phone with my dad in the other end probably in the hopes that my dad's scolding will sink in better than theirs.

On goes the coat, out the door I go, and on the swing I sit.

"Hi, dad."

He's quietly laughing in the other end. Laughing.

"So… how was your date?"

"It was really nice. I think I like Laurent."

"Carlisle and Esme seem to think you were on your way towards getting killed or worse." I can almost hear the smile in his (tired) voice. "So, is Laurent the bulky black guy Emmett used to hang out with in middle school? The one who liked to save the ants from drowning?"

"Yes."

"He seemed nice. I approve," he says, yawning. "Carlisle and Esme now think that I am a bad parent, but I've told them your curfew is one AM. I don't think they understood me when I told them you're more likely to break the rules the more rules they give you to break. Regardless, from now on, I'd much rather you obeyed by theirs."

"Dad."

"I know. I know, but it's their house, their rules. They're just concerned."

I sigh. "I know."

"But how in the world they thought a giant black guy would get mugged or let you get kidnapped I do not understand."

He laughs at his own joke, but he sounds way tired.

"Go to sleep, dad. Thanks for being you."

"I wasn't concerned because I don't care, Bella, but because I do, and I know you."

"No need to explain. You have your way of raising us and they have theirs, and that's the way it is."

"Couldn't have put it better myself. I have a five AM wake-up call today. Sweet dreams, Bella."

"Love you, dad."

So much for scolding me because I was twenty minutes late. I knew he wouldn't, though. It's just like he said, he's not concerned because he doesn't care, but because he's raised us not to be scared of life. He knows firsthand that Seattle has one of the highest crime rates in the States. So do I. That doesn't mean he wants me to stop living.

Well, that, and the fact that I was with a very intimidating-looking football player.

I step into the house and hand the phone over to Esme. "I'm sorry I was late. It won't happen again."

"I want you to understand that we were only concerned," she says. "We just want you to be safe."

"I know. I'm sorry."

I can eat the humble pie and mean it, but I have lived my entire life by nobody else's rules but mine. It will be very difficult, if not impossible, to play by someone else's rules. I'm not a rebel for the sake of being a rebel, but the moment they make me feel caged, I will find a way to secretly break their rules. If Emmett and I ever did have something in common, I think this is it. And my dad has recognized it.

It's difficult to explain without looking like I don't respect Edward's parents. I do. I really, really do. But my world view doesn't match theirs. I don't think I could explain the freedom I need in my life even if we spent an entire day discussing it.

I go downstairs and change into my pajamas, and when I'm done, Ping Pong arrives out of nowhere and waggles his little tail. I sit on the parlor carpet, letting him lick my face. I laugh. He seems to be the only creature happy about my successful date with Laurent.

"Do you want to know how my date went, Ping Pong?" I ask him. "Laurent thinks I'm like Kate Micucci and that I'm funny. Do you know how sweet that is? I think I'm in love." He keeps looking at me, all happy, and I just feel like I want to hug him. So I do. "You're a great listener, Ping Pong. Maybe you should look into becoming a therapist, what do you think?" He growls a bit and yawns.

A throat clears. "Shower's free," Edward says, and I raise my eyes to look at him, his damp hair and snug T-shirt. He's frowning as he runs a hand through his hair, looking like I've punched him in the gut. He avoids my eyes.

"Oh, come on, Edward. I was just twenty minutes late and you're all behaving like I went ahead and got myself raped and killed or something."

Still avoiding my eyes, Edward takes his Mac and doesn't even sit at his usual spot on the floor by the wall, he just goes to his room and shuts the door with a quiet click.

Seriously, there is something wrong with this dude.

Before I go to sleep, I notice a paper flower on my desk. It's made of the fiver I gave Edward and it's lying on a piece of paper with a single sentence on it.

you're beautiful.

Edward you sweet, sweet man.

What I thought was excitement and nerves about the date, turns out to be either food poisoning or a stomach bug. Just a few hours after falling asleep, I wake up feeling sicker than I remember myself being, and I've barely dragged myself to the bathroom before I'm vomiting my guts out. I sit there, by the toilet, for a good fifteen minutes before another wave of nausea hits me. It continues like this before Edward hears my retching. The moment he sees me, he offers me a glass of water and sits right next to me. He caresses my hair. I'm beat. I feel limp and tired and sick. Maybe I'm dead.

"Did he give you alcohol?"

"No."

"What did you have?"

"Chicken. Same as Laurent."

"I'll check if he's got what you have," he says, gently stroking my shoulder. He's now able to look me in the eye again. The sheer concern in his makes me feel all warm and fussy inside—or it would, if I didn't feel like I might vomit any moment. "Will you be okay for a second? Where's your phone?"

"My desk."

"I'll be right back, alright?"

I let out an obscure hum before I continue to retch. I didn't even eat as much as I'm vomiting.

"He's fine," Edward says, crouching next to me. "I'll go ask dad what to do, alright?"

"No," I mutter. "I'll be fine. It's probably just a stomach bug. Go back to sleep."

"I wasn't asleep. Can I do anything for you?"

"Let me die."

He chuckles, but he still doesn't leave me be. I don't know how he thinks he can help.

"Just so you know, I would totally leave the bathroom if you wanted to vomit your guts out. Other people's puking makes me puke."

"I'm used to it."

"Snarky comment, Edward, snark snark. I'm too tired."

He laughs, and sure enough, he doesn't leave the bathroom for the next few hours until there's nothing left for me to puke. Not even my zest for life. When I've stared at the wall for a half an hour without admiring the insides of this toilet, I try to drink the water Edward offers, and I succeed.

"Go to sleep, Edward. I'm getting better."

"Do you need me to carry you?"

"I'll be fine. Just, uh, see that I actually make it." With Edward looking like he's ready to scoop me up in his arms any second, I lean on the wall and slowly crawl to my room. Well, not really. But my bed is nice. Really, really nice. I missed my bed. I realize I'd already dozed off when I feel Edward pull the covers on me. He's gone for a second and when he gets back, he sits on the other side of my bed with his laptop. He's above the covers.

I think I ask, "Whatcha doing?"

"Looking after you. How do you feel?"

"Empty," I reply, snuggling closer to the pillows. "Really, really empty."

After he's kissed my forehead, I think I hear a whispered, "Me, too." The sound of Edward's keyboard lulls me to sleep. It's soft, it's infrequent, and it assures me of his presence. It's what I need.

: :

Friday night, following my request, Edward has picked Rosalie up from the city to spend New Year's Eve with us in Forks. Edward needs to get a few things from the house, but I'm already outside, and Rosalie takes her time getting out of Edward's (much detested) car.

I observe her as I approach. She's got straight ginger hair, facial features of a Barbie doll and a body that is somewhere between voluptuous and overweight. But it's an hourglass figure, which makes having a larger frame look attractive. She is, for all intents and purposes, someone you'd call a 'big' girl. She does not look unattractive, oh no. Neither am I judging. Not at all. I'm just surprised.

Our eyes lock, and she immediately recognizes me. Her lips stretch into a hesitant smile, and it is scary how similar her smile is to her brother's. Even without a DNA test, I'm pretty sure there's some shared heritage there.

Her gait is somewhat hesitant and slow. Not once does she turn her head. I notice she's really careful with her head.

"Hi," she says, almost meekly even though the smile does not leave her lips. "Isabella, right?"

"Rosalie." I nod and smile. "Awesome to finally see you in person. Is it okay if I hug you?"

"I, you—just like Edward. Just please be careful with my head."

I envelop her into an awkward but much appreciated hug, and I'm gentle. You'd be proud.

"Thanks for inviting me to, you know. I just really, it means a lot."

"No problem at all."

She's not as shy as I expected, just sort of… timid. I don't know if I expected her to have trouble speaking or something. She doesn't. She's just quiet and deliberate and very, very careful with her head.

She observes the direction of my eyes. "Were you expecting long blonde hair?" She grabs onto the top of her perfect hair and pulls upward.

It's a wig.

There's white bandage all around her head. Why did I not think about this? Obviously, she's bald. It's been, what, three weeks since her operation? Four?

I smile. "Well, at least you get to change the color of your hair every day without worrying one bit about the negative effects of bleaching."

She laughs as if I'd said something entirely too funny, and I swear it's not the slightest bit fake.

"Hadn't thought of it that way, but yes, true."

Edward arrives with two back bags, and I have the feeling he saw us hug and chat, and deliberately postponed joining us. There's this good-natured smile he offers when he throws the bags in the back. Rosalie joins me in the backseat. Each and every one of her movements is like in slow motion, and I cannot help but wonder how much pain she has to be in. What a brave girl.

I want to ask about what happened to her, who she's living with and where, why she escaped, does she have any money, if not, does she need some… but I don't. Not just yet.

"So, your place, shopping or Emmett and Jasper?" Edward asks.

"Emmett and Jasper, my place, and shopping. In that order," I answer.

"Yes, ma'am." He salutes to the mirror. Rosalie returns his smile, and he takes off. "So, Bella. How do you feel?"

"Fine. Ate some rice, drank some yoghurt. Fit as a fiddle."

"You're sure?"

"Yes. I wouldn't miss my Emmett tradition for the world."

"You're sick?" Rosalie asks, and it's quiet and concerned. It sounds a bit naïve, but it's adorable.

"Not really. Next time, please remind me to reconsider kissing the guy who had stomach flu the previous week."

The moment she turns to her brother and asks, "You had stomach flu?" I'm flushed from head to toe, and I can see Edward's ears redden.

"Your brother and I are not—we're just friends."

"Oh, I thought, I'm sorry."

"It's okay," I assure her, seeing as she's genuinely embarrassed. "Is it okay if I'm curious about what happened to your head?"

Relieved to be changing subjects, she smiles a little. "It's always okay to be curious," she replies. "Craniotomy, I believe that's what it's called. Basically, it has something to do with removing the bone flap of my skull to access the brain."

"Why did you need it?"

"Brain injury."

She might as well have said her step-father hit her, because that is certainly how I interpret it. How much abuse has she survived? She looks fragile, she's prone to embarrassment, she's shy and timid and really, really careful (physically), but she's probably the strongest person in the car. I'm awed by her in the best possible way.

"Is it okay to ask where you live?"

"Right now, there's this lady who's helped a friend of hers who was in a similar, anyway, she's a relative of a friend and she's really, really helpful. We're heading off to New York in three days, actually. She's got a friend who's a neurosurgeon, and if things go according to plans, I'll be under the scalpel before next week is over."

She almost says the words to herself, she's so quiet, but Edward still hears her, and apparently, it's new information. His eyebrows are raised.

"Do you need any money?" he asks, and I nod along.

"I want to help, too," I offer.

"I'm, it's fine. I have some."

Edward keeps shaking his head. "Bella, can you write down her account number?"

I do. I want to help her as well. Heck, I'd give her full ownership over one of those spas if it helped her. I know, money is not always the best or the only way to help, but shit, money does help a lot if you've got no relatives or friends to turn to and you're in about as fragile situation as Rosalie is. She can have all my savings for all I care.

When we're at Jasper's, I jump out and take Emmett's gift out of the trunk. We don't even have to let Jasper know we're here before Emmett and Jasper are heading towards us under several layers of clothes. Just like us.

"Oh, look! It's my sister!" Emmett feigns surprise. I run to him, we share gifts, and he puts his in the foyer. I put mine in the trunk. What can I say? It's a tradition.

"So… You look fine. Edward said you're sick."

"Oh, just the black plague. Vomited my guts out last night."

He takes a step back. "Is it contagious?"

"Highly." I feign coughing while Emmett backs away from me. "You'll die."

"Very funny."

"I know, hardy har har."

Before we've entered the car, Edward gives me a long, meaningful look, and joins us. "Guys, can you not push Rosalie much? She's been through a lot. Alright?"

"Oh-kay," Emmett says, and it's a look so sarcastic and bullshitting (yes, I should know) I can't not make him understand the importance of this.

"Interpreting for you, Emmett: I will cut off your balls if you do anything—anything at all—to make Rosalie feel uncomfortable. Am I understood?"

Always the happy-go-lucky bastard, my brother grins. "Why are you all looking at me? I can be nice!"

I don't think he understands the magnitude of his behavior, so I find no other way to beat this into his skull but to reveal myself a bit.

"Emmett. Spring, three years ago. Michael Newton. Imagine living in a world where somebody would do what he did to me, except it's way worse and lasts for years. You either shut the fuck up when necessary or you're staying here. Got it?"

The speed with which his grin fades would be comical if I hadn't just drawn unnecessary attention to myself from Edward and Jasper. And while Jasper must know something, just nothing specific, Edward looks absolutely and completely horrified. He waits until Jasper and Emmett enter the car, and then holds both of my shoulders in his hands, trying to burn a hole into my skull with his eyes.

"What're you talking about?"

"Not important."

"Please tell me this is one of those times I just fail to understand your sense of humor."

"It's not. But it's neither the time nor the place to speak about this."

He runs a hand through his hair. "Fuck."

"What?"

"Just, fuck."

"Edward, it's fine."

"It's a fucking disaster, Bella. Two of the most important girls in my life are, apparently, way more fucked up than anyone should ever be."

I ignore the bursting ball of bliss and affection that explodes within me when he calls me one of the two most important girls in his life, and pull him into a hug. Proximity, remember? It's probably the only thing that works for him, and I can feel him rubbing his nose against my neck, pulling me tighter and tighter until I feel the anguish and upset and affection under his skin.

"Will you tell me?"

"Yes."

"Yes?"

"Likewise, you're among two of the most important guys in my life. Of course. Just not today, okay?"

I feel him nod under my scarf, and it tickles my neck.

"Just enjoy tonight, alright? Your sister and cousin are here, so is my brother, and let's just have fun tonight. What do you think?"

The kiss he leaves on my forehead lingers. "Brilliant plan."

Emmett makes me sit in the middle while Rosalie sits in the front, and not until we leave for Forks do I understand just how right Edward was when he said Rosalie is shy. She gives monosyllabic answers to anything Jasper or Emmett ask. We joke in the back, but she's quiet. I can tell there's a wordless conversation going on between the two siblings in the front, so I take it upon myself to act as silly, stupid and funny as possible to draw Emmett's attention to myself. I succeed.

Meanwhile, Edward's words have made me think. The words I said to Emmett about Rosalie suffering for years? It was just a guess. An attempt to make Emmett behave himself. Yes, I said something I thought was likely, but to which extent was I right? Edward probably knew exactly what happened to Rosalie while Emmett knew exactly what happened to me, so now Edward thought what happened to Rosalie happened to me, and Emmett thought vice versa. Eh, confusing.

At around hour to midnight, under Emmett's instructions, Edward turns to a lonely-looking gravel road under the trees, and after fifteen minutes of obscure forest with no hint of civilization, we've made it to an empty field.

"Here?" Edward asks.

Emmett, Jasper and I hum an agreement, and Edward turns off the engine. We carry a giant, mattress-looking carpet to the middle of the field and set it on rows and rows of semi-rotten but flat pieces of timber. Everyone gets a blanket, but I took three for Rosalie because she's had surgery and she's—she's important. It's my turn to lie in the middle, so I instruct Edward and Rosalie to be on my left side and Emmett and Jasper on the other. I want to make Rosalie feel welcome, and as much as I understand, being squished between strange men wouldn't leave her in a comfort zone.

It's a twenty degree slope. Side by side, we lie so that our heads are aligned and upwards, pull blankets on us, and watch the stars. There's the occasional breeze, a grey cloud, a dog's howl in the distance. Other than that, it's serene.

"It's beautiful," Rosalie whispers. Others hum in agreement.

"For how long have you done this?" she asks again, super-quiet.

"Emmett and I? Since I was twelve and he was thirteen. We used to come here by bus, though, and walk the rest of the evening."

"I just joined last year," Jasper adds.

"Yeah, sometimes we'd eat and drink and talk, other times it's just the sound of wind. Sometimes it rains."

"There are two rules, though," my brother mutters, and I'm thankful he's keeping his voice down a little. "First rule, you don't yell or scream when New Year arrives. You're silent for five minutes into the next year. Second rule, you make five wishes for New Year. One of them out loud. The rest you keep for yourself."

"Why five?" Edward asks.

"One for the world, one for your friends and family and three for yourself."

"Why do you get three wishes for yourself?"

"Because change starts from within," I answer.

Edward turns his head and gives me a smile, a smile I return before we both continue to stare at the sky.

"I want to have the fifth edition for DnD," Jasper starts, and laughter follows.

"Very noble, Jasper," Edward says, clearly amused.

"DnD?" Rosalie whispers.

"Dungeons and dragons," Jasper answers. "Most awesome computer game on the planet."

Edward takes a breath. "I want wildlife conservation to flourish."

"Very noble, Edward," Jasper returns, and both chuckle.

"I want Bella's psychologist to help Bella heal," Emmett says, and I give him a long, hard look. Just like the one I feel on the back of my head.

Well, fuck.

"What?" he asks, looking left and right. "I do."

"Thanks, Emmett," I tell him. "Although you could've said it louder. I don't think they heard you in Vancouver."

"I want Bella's psychologist to help Bella!" he shouts before looking at me. "Do you think they heard me now?"

"You bastard."

He laughs. "Is everyone warm?"

Everyone agrees in words or hums.

"I want dad to be happy," I say. Emmett squeezes my wrist for a second.

Nobody pushes Rosalie to say anything. It's okay if she doesn't. But when she does, it makes me (and my wishes) feel minuscule, and I'm sure everyone else feels the same.

"I want to be alive."

There's a collective breath taken, but nobody comments. We watch as grey clouds pass, the stars twinkle, we watch as the fireworks on the horizon start to gain momentum. Nobody says a word.

I wish people will recognize and deal with bullying and domestic abuse. I wish for Edward to be happy, whoever he chooses to be happy with. I wish I'll heal—and that Rosalie will, too. I wish to be free of my sense of self-deprecation. I wish everyone by my side, Rosalie and Edward and Emmett and Jasper, never have a day in their lives when they don't feel loved.

The sounds, colors and vibrancy of fireworks reach a high point, and a particularly large, blue rocket goes off in the distance just before Emmett's wrist watch makes a silent, 'Beep, beep.'

We look at each other, smiling, but just like we agreed, nobody says a word. It's better this way. Shouting about New Year is overrated. Feeling the New Year, setting goals and wishes, is underrated.

Gradually, after five minutes have passed, we start to talk. Not yell. Just talk. We watch as the fireworks fades out until only a few infrequent rockets are left. It feels like a New Year. New choices (and mistakes) to be made, mistakes to be learned from, new goals to be set.

After an hour has passed, we start to pack our stuff. But in the middle of carrying her blankets as well as mine, Rosalie comes up to me, looking shy about something. I throw the blankets in the trunk and take her a couple of feet (or twenty) away from the others to make her feel comfortable when she's talking to me.

"I, um, can I speak to you alone for a second?"

Edward eyes us.

"Edward, can you guys wait for us for a second?" I shout. "We just need to pee!"

The guys laugh. They heard.

Rosalie and I start to walk towards the middle of the field again. She looks up at the stars, hums and takes a deep, deliberate breath. The winds blows in her face, and there a tiny smile on her face, like she's relishing the moment. She looks like an angel.

"I'll never forget this New Year," she mutters, locking eyes with me. "It's amazing."

"Neither will I," I agree. "One of the best."

Rosalie takes another breath, motioning for me to walk with her.

"So, I have a surgery in New York."

"I thought you weren't sure yet."

"Oh, I'm sure, I'm just… preparing Edward."

"For what? That word freaks me out."

"No reason to," she says, sending me this fragile yet strong smile. "I want you to promise me. To promise me that no matter, no matter what happens, you'll be here for Edward. It's difficult to express how much finding out that you're adopted affects you, and he's kind of lost. No, I didn't have it easy, either, jumping back and forth between families, but at least I had time to get used to the idea. He hasn't had that yet. Finding that you don't really belong anywhere… it consumes more of you than he lets on. I think that's part of the reason he's so incredibly touchy-feely with people. Especially you. If you accept him, he belongs. I don't care if you're his best friend or girlfriend, just don't leave him during the next few months, alright?"

"Rosalie, you talk like—don't talk like that."

"I just want him to be with you if I—should I, you know."

"Rosalie, I'm—you'll be fine."

"No, listen, Bella. Listen good. Life is short, and the fraction of it that I've experienced, neither quality nor quantity of it, is what anyone deserves. I have faith, though, that if I finally have the chance to be healthy, at least I'll know how to live each day like it's my last. I don't know you well, Bella, but from what I've seen and heard, that's exactly what you're good at. Edward needs that spirit and sheer enthusiasm for life you have. He thinks you're the best thing that's ever happened to him. He thinks you're amazing."

"I'm not really all that. He's just being nice."

She ignores me. "He doesn't know this surgery is important. I want him to think it's just a bump in the road. But it's crucial. The survival rate is so, it's so—" her voice cracks, and she delivers an old, folded envelope. Frankly, I'm surprised I'm not bawling my eyes out yet. "Should—should the worst happen, give this to him. Please. You're so authentic, Bella. Never lose that. And I know, I know it's a lot to ask. But please. If it happens, it's just for one time, and he'll always remember it coming from someone he loves."

I'm crying. "You'll survive, Rosalie. I know you will. But just to make you happy, I'll take it and keep it until you're back. Alright?"

"Thank you." She smiles through her tears. "One more thing—if he ends up searching for our mom, he'll only find dead ends. That's because she died a couple of years ago. I haven't found our dad yet. So when I'm no longer here to tell him this, please be the one to tell him."

"Fuck."

She lets out a teeny-tiny, humorless chuckle. She takes another one of those gasping-for-life breaths, raising her eyes to look at the stars, and she really does look like an angel.

"I feel like we could've been really good friends, Bella. There's just something about you, you know? You make everyone feel special."

"But we can be. Stop talking like you're already gone. You're here, you're alive, you're amazing."

"I am, huh?" She lets out a sweet little laugh, like it's a wonderful, amazing, unexpected thought. "We are." Our eyes lock, we're both crying, but I smile for the sweet, shy, fucking strong human being I've only just barely gotten to know who feels she might not be with us in a few weeks.

Gently, carefully, I put my hand over her shoulder as we start walking back. Slowly, she looks up to me (because I am a giant of a girl), and laughs through her tears.

"I think we're in desperate need for some two thousand and thirteen ice cream."