A/N: I hope I'm not too far off, if I am, I stand firmly behind the use of my artistic liberties. I did research some & it seemed like it's a broad disorder & affects people differently. So, just pretend, and step back into this little world I have created...

"You can't read? Wha… What? Why?"

It sounds like such a stupid question, but he's right, I don't understand.

"I'm dyslexic. I wasn't diagnosed until I was in the third grade, and my reading has never caught up. Last time I was tested, I was reading on an intermediate sixth grade level, and that was eight months ago." His voice is shaky and unsure.

I think Edward's waiting on me to judge him or to ridicule him. I can tell he's definitely uptight and uncomfortable talking to me about this. I grab his hand and pull him over to the bed to sit with me.

"Explain it to me, Edward. How does it affect you? How you take test and read passages and… graduate?"

"I can read; it's just a really slow process but the main problem is my brain doesn't understand what it reads. By the time I get to the end of a sentence, I don't remember what I just read. But reading aloud," he shakes his head, "I've never been able to do that. It's like the sensors between my eyes and my mouth and my brain never connect. Bella, I'm sorry." He won't look at me and his shame is heavy and thick around us, it weighs and pulls on my soul. I feel horrible.

"You don't need to apologize to me Edward. I just want to understand it. Your teachers know though, right?"

"Yes, my teachers know. They pass down all my assignments to my tutors. I have a couple of them that I meet with three or four days a week depending on what's due." He takes a deep breath.

So that's why he doesn't ever do his work in class. I feel like a judgmental ass.

"Why even show up to your classes? Why not be home schooled?"

"Have you honestly not noticed? School is not exactly my thing. My parents know this, my tutors know this, and they let me lead, but it's expected for me to graduate. They don't push me too hard. I do what I have to do to scrape by. I sleep well at night with my C average. But my mother always thought it was important for me to feel accepted and …normal, I guess. She didn't want me to feel like there was something wrong with me or that I was dumb, so she's always insisted I attend public schools. Unfortunately, attendance happens to be one-fourth of my grade, so I at least show up enough to pass."

I can tell he's starting to relax, he's even grinning a little again.

My wheels start to turn, there has to be a way I can work this out for him. "And how exactly do you study and do your assignments?"

"Hmm, what's the easiest way to explain this? Fist, my classes are all remedial and basic. We finally figured out that to compensate for the lack of comprehension my brain has to read words, my memory excelled in remembering things that I've heard. Like lyrics to a song, I can hear a song twice and instantly know every single word. So my tutors read aloud my lessons and record them. They email them to me and I listen to them on my iPod. When we meet in person, they either read aloud the questions I need to answer in my homework, or read aloud the instructions and questions of my tests so I can answer them. Writing is a slow go for me, but it's a cinch compared to reading."

"Let me get this straight—they just talk and read into a microphone what you would normally read for yourself and for the most part, you understand the context and retain it? That's kind of amazing."

He shrugs and his cheeks stain pink in the faintest way.

I hesitate to admit it's adorable.

Then he stands up quickly off my bed and his mood goes back to serious and sour. "But Bella, look at this." He holds up a copy of the play. "This play is... long and I just can't get up there every day with all those people and try to read from this script. And it would take days to record all this and then weeks for me to memorize it. That would eat up most of our rehearsal time and I don't think that's being very fair to you."

I nod and agree, but I'm not ready to give up yet.

"I'll figure something out Edward, but I won't keep you from graduating if you promise to somehow help me make this play as successful as possible." I reach out my hand for him to shake it.

He grabs my hand, but he doesn't shake it, he just holds it firm in his. "You can't talk to anyone about this, Bella. My learning disability is nobody's business. Only the ones who have to know about it know. I want to keep it that way. None of my friends…" He shakes his head and the fear that I see painted all over his face breaks my heart a little.

I cut him off. "Of course Edward, I would never tell. I swear it."

He takes a step closer to me, his hand loosening its grip on mine. I see that look in his eyes again, the look that I can't quite define. The look that's intense and deep and hypnotizing.

His fingers slide across my open palm, the wake of his touch slowly radiates up my arm, like the tickle of the tip of a feather. He leans forward as he raises the back of my hand toward his lips.

There's a small explosion in my gut, it feels like the grand finale at the Fourth of July fireworks show. It's slow then fast, some silent, some loud, and just when you think it's over, another flame shoots upward and it begins all over again.

His lips touch my skin, so innocently. I can't decide whether to focus on the warmth of his lips or the look in his eyes. Then the feel of my hand in his is just as distracting as the eruption of excitement that now fills my veins.

"Thank you," he says again, so quiet he's almost mouthing the words.

I don't answer. I still haven't figured what in the world is happening right now.

"I should go." Our hands slowly drop from their raised position and he takes a step back.

All at once a wall of guilt and anger and realization builds right in front of me and for the life of me, I don't understand any of it.

"Yeah. It's a Friday night after all." I say and sarcasm rears its ugly head. Of course, he has big plans which I'm sure talking about the history of England doesn't fit into.

"Can I see your cell phone? I'll put my number in there and when you figure out what you need me to do, you can call me?"

I nod and dig through my bag to find my cell. I hand it to him and try to smile, but I don't think it works.

There are so many foreign emotions taking up residence inside me, that I'm highly pissed off, I think...

I should care less what Edward "The Player" Cullen is about to go and do on his Friday night.

I should be mad that he actually thought it was acceptable to kiss my hand.

I should feel guilty that I've spent the past hour with another guy and not my boyfriend who's laid up in pain.

I shouldn't want to cry like I do, or help Edward like I do, or wonder about how his kiss would feel somewhere other than my hand… but I do.

And I don't like it.

"Are you okay?" He hands me my phone back and I nod. "I think I may be getting a migraine, that's all." I lie.

"Well, get some rest and I'll talk to you soon?" he asks. I'm sure by now he thinks I'm some moody psycho chick.

"Yeah, as soon as I figure out how to handle this." I say it referring to everything, not just my play.

"Bye Bella."

I pretend to busy myself as he walks away. "Bye." I respond, so softly, he may not have heard.

"Jacob, call me and we'll get together and I will kick your tail playing Zombie Island."

"You bet your balls, Edward! I'm going to set us up a match and it'll be on!" Jacob yells back at Edward.

When I think the coast is clear I plop down on my bed, exhausted from the roller coaster ride I just got off of.

"Bella, wake up. I'm home." My dad says as he shakes my bed. "You need to get up and eat your dinner, hon."

"I'm awake, I'm awake!" I roll over and stretch. I'm surprised I dozed off that easily after…

Edward.

I jump up and look at my clock, I've only been asleep thirty minutes. The night is still young.

I pick up my file of play materials and head toward the kitchen. "Mom, Dad, Jacob, I need your help!"

"The best thing one can do when it's raining is to let it rain." ~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Twitter: Mrs_Robward