A/N: This chapter was brought to you by deeply ingrained teenage hormones and "Burgundy" by Warpaint! xD

Also, happy Thanksgiving weekend to my fellow Canadian friends! I am thankful for my loving, unendingly supportive husband (and his beautiful blue eyes, of which give me such inspiration ;)), and my two beautiful girls—who give me the strength, hope and perseverance to get through each day. Have a wonderful day tomorrow with your loved ones!

…

I walked silently beside Beau to biology. I focused on keeping myself here in the present, with the boy beside me—doing my best to keep Archie's deceitful visions from taking up space inside my head.

We passed Allen Weber on the sidewalk, lingering there to discuss an assignment with a girl from his Trigonometry class. I scanned his thoughts unthinkingly, still searching for a way I could reward him. I hadn't been expecting anything, and was surprised by the longing in his mind.

Ah. There was something he wanted. Unfortunately, it would be a tad difficult for me to cloak Becca Cheney in gift-wrap.

For one singular moment, I felt oddly on par with the boy. It was comforting to know I wasn't the only one with the hopeless yearning inside my heart. I was not the only one living out a tragic love story. Heartbreak was ever-present, whether you were of a supernatural species or not.

In the next moment, irritation gripped me firmly, because his story didn't have to be tragic. He was human, and she was human, and there was nothing stopping them from being together. There was no point in his needless heartbreak! The impossibilities he was unable to surmount inside his head were so insignificant! Why shouldn't he have what he wanted? Why shouldn't he get his happy ending?

Well, I would give him what he wanted. What he had been yearning after for years. In fact, it probably wouldn't even be very difficult, knowing what I did of the human nature. I delved quickly into the thoughts of the girl standing beside him. She didn't seem entirely uninterested, just restrained by the same insignificant problems he was having. Disheartened and reconciled, exactly the same way he was.

I wouldn't have to do much—merely plant the seed of the idea.

I composed the plan quickly, effortlessly. The hardest part about all of it would be to convince El to go along with the plan.

My mood had slightly improved when Beau and I walked into the science building—bolstered by the simple joy of serving others.

Mrs. Banner backed into the room, pulling an outdated TV and VCR on a wheeled frame. She was surpassing a unit she wasn't particularly interested in—genetic disorders—by showing a movie for the next three days. Lorenzo's Oil was not the brightest of films, but it didn't stop the general consensus of relaxation in the room.

I wasn't affected by the freedom from note-taking and tests. The only thing I ever focused on anymore was Beau.

I didn't move my chair away from his today, instead sitting as close as a human would. Closer than we sat in my car, closer than when we walked beside each other. The entire left side of my body was suddenly humming with the warmth coming off his skin.

It was a strange feeling, that familiar simultaneous excitement and nervousness, vivacity and feebleness. The sensation was a more intense one than I knew what to do with, and yet, I found I craved more of it. I wanted to be closer to him still.

And then Mrs. Banner turned out the lights.

The hyperawareness of his proximity grew exponentially. It was odd just how much of a difference the darkness made, considering it had no effect on my eyesight whatsoever. I could see with just as much clarity as I had before. I could still see every detail in the room.

So why the sudden feel of static energy in the air around me, in the dark room that was not dark to me? It felt suddenly as if we were entirely alone, the two of us, in a world far away from the other students—whose various consciousness's and attentions were already diverting.

On its own accord, my body began to shift toward him, just to loop my arm through his in the darkness, maybe lean my head against his shoulder. The material of his sweater was thick, but if the cold of my skin bothered him, he need only pull away.

I tucked my arms to my sides, folding my arms securely over my chest. I clenched my fists into balls. No errors. I could not afford them, and, more importantly, Beau could not afford them. If I looped my arm through his, I would only want more. The desire to rest my head on his shoulder hinging directly from that urge had proved as much.

The opening credits began to roll across the screen, and Beau folded his own arms across his chest, his fingers curling into fists of their own.

What are you thinking? I wanted to whisper in the darkness of the room, but it was too quiet around us, even for whispered conversation.

Beau glanced down at me, noting the stiff way I held my body—just the same as the way he held himself. His lips parted slightly, and his eyes were full of warm invitations.

I smiled shyly, a strange course of electricity jolting over the surface of my skin when I saw him looking at me in that way. The desire in his eyes was overwhelming.

His breathing caught, and he glanced away quickly, toward the old TV screen.

This, somehow, made it worse. I didn't know what he was thinking, of course, but I was suddenly very sure that he wanted to touch me. He felt this same precarious appeal, just as I did.

There was a strange power that seemed to hum between us, through the entire hour that passed. Like a continuous current, sparking the air between us. And every time he glanced down at me, with that same overpowering intensity in his eyes, it sparked even stronger.

Finally, Mrs. Banner flicked the lights back on, and I heard, and felt, the sigh of relief that exited Beau's mouth when she did so. He released his arms and stretched, flexing his fingers down his sides. It must have been difficult for him to sit so still for such an extended amount of time. It was easier for me—stillness came very naturally for a vampire.

I giggled at the potent relief on his face. "Well, that was… interesting."

"Umm," he said.

"Shall we?" I asked, rising to my feet. The residual energy still coursed through me, and I was wary of its remaining presence.

He made a slight face and got carefully to his feet, as if he was worried he was going to lose his balance.

I thought about offering him my hand, or gripping him underneath the elbow in assistance, but I didn't think it would be a very good idea at this juncture.

No mistakes, I reminded myself.

We were both quiet as I walked him to the Gym.

Surely, touching his skin once would cause no damage—as long as I was extraordinarily careful.

I could easily moderate the compression of my hand. It wasn't exactly difficult, as long as I was firmly in control of myself. My tactile sense was better developed than a human's; I could juggle a dozen crystal goblets without breaking any of them; I could stroke a soap bubble without popping it. As long as I was firmly in control...

Beau was very much like a soap bubble… Fragile, evanescent… Temporary.

Again, I agonized over the justification of my presence in his life. How long would I be able to reason with myself? How much longer could this go on? How much time did I have? As transitory as his life was, I wondered how many chances I would get. Would I have another moment like this one? He would not always be within easy reach…

Beau stopped in front of the Gym doors and looked down at me. His eyes widened at the expression on my face, and a strange sound exited his throat—as if there had been words there, but he'd choked on them.

I saw my own reflection in the lake of his eyes, and witnessed my indecision for myself. I watched my face change, as the better side lost the argument.

My hand lifted, almost on its own accord, a very nearly unconscious action. As gently as if he were made of the thinnest crystal—silk covered in glass—I lifted my fingers to the edge of his jaw, stroking the warm, smooth skin there. It heated underneath my touch, and I could feel the smooth, gentle pulse of his blood underneath the membrane.

Enough, I demanded of myself, even as my hand wanted to curl around the back of his neck, to pull myself closer, against his chest… Enough.

It was more than difficult to pull my hand back, to halt the rampage of imaginings running through my mind—all the different ways I could touch him. To trace the perfect shape of his lips with the tip of my finger, to run my fingers through the thickness of his hair, to wind my arms around his back and hold myself against the broadness of his chest…

Enough!

I forced myself to turn and walk away without looking back. However, as my gaze stayed fixed straight ahead, my mind lingered behind.

I caught McKayla Newton's thoughts—they were the most obvious—as she watched Beau stumble through the doors, and head for the changing rooms. He was oblivious to her, his eyes unfocused, splotches of red underneath his skin. Her eyes narrowed, and suddenly my name was mingled with insults instead her head; I couldn't help grinning in response.

My fingers were tingling, and I curled my hand into my chest, pulling my fingers into a fist and then releasing it. The prickling sensation did not fade.

No, I had not hurt him, but touching him had been a mistake.

It was as if the thirst, the burning which had resided merely in my throat, had now spread like painless wildfire through the rest of my body.

Would I be able to stop myself from touching him, again, the next time I was close to him?

I forced myself to commit the feeling, the expression on his face, the feel of his skin underneath my fingers, to memory. Because I would not allow myself to do it again. This would have to be the one instant I could carry with me. Because I could not be near him if I was going to allow myself to make more errors.

I took a deep breath and ran my fingers through my hair, pushing it back from my face and shoulders, and tried to clear my mind.

Eleanor caught up with me outside the English building.

"Hey," she said. She's looking… Better. Strange… But better. She contemplated for a fraction of a second. Happy.

Did I look happy? Perhaps I did, despite the swirl of thought and emotion inside my head. "Hey, El."

Way to keep it on the down low, girl. Royal wants your head.

I sighed. "I'm so sorry. Are you mad at me?"

She thought about this. "No," she finally said, and her words echoed her thoughts, so I knew she was telling the truth, "I just wish you would have trusted me enough to tell me sooner."

"It wasn't about that," I interjected, "I just simply hadn't… Gotten around to it."

"I know," she said, forgiveness clear in her eyes. "It was only a matter of time, anyway." With what Archie sees coming…

Archie's visions were not what I wanted to focus on right now. I clenched my teeth and stared straight ahead.

I searched for a distraction, catching sight of Becca Cheney heading into the Spanish building ahead of us. Ah—here was my opportunity to gift Allen Weber his unspoken reward.

I stopped walking and grasped Eleanor's wrist. "Hold on a second."

What is it?

"I know I don't deserve it, but would you do me a favor anyway?"

Her thoughts were curious, but open.

Under my breath—and at a pace that would have made the words unintelligible to a human no matter how loud they'd been spoken—I explained to her what I wanted.

She stared at me blankly when I was done, her thoughts as vacant as her face.

"So?" I prompted, "Will you help me?"

"But… Why?"

"C'mon, El," I complained, "Be a good big sister for once. Please."

For once?! "Who are you, and what have you done to my baby sister?"

I sighed in exasperation. "Aren't you always complaining that school is so boring? Come on. This'll liven it up a bit."

She sighed through her nose and appraised me through narrowed eyes. "Okay, fine. I'll do it."

I grinned at her. "Yes! Thank you!" In a movement too swift for anyone else to catch, I stretched up on my tiptoes and kissed her on the cheek.

Eleanor didn't need time to rehearse. I whispered her lines to her on our way into the classroom.

Becca was already in her seat behind mine, stacking together her homework to hand in. Eleanor and I both copied her actions. Mr. Goff paid no attention to the simmering din of the classroom. He wasn't concerned with starting the lesson just yet, still going over quiz answers from the day former.

"So," Eleanor said, her voice a little louder than necessary, "Did Allen Weber ask you out yet?"

The rustling of papers over my shoulder came to an abrupt standstill as Becca paused, suddenly paying very close attention to our conversation.

Allen? They're talking about Allen?

Perfect. I had her attention.

"No," I said, forcing a fake note of dejection into my voice.

"Why not ask him out? Are you chicken?" El improvised, cocking an eyebrow at me.

I narrowed my eyes at her. "No. I just think… I heard he's interested in someone else."

Edythe Cullen wanted Allen to ask her out? I don't think… I like the idea of that. She's… Not right for him. Not safe.

I hadn't anticipated the magnanimity, the protective instinct. I'd been hoping for jealousy, but this worked, too.

"You're going to let that stop you?" Eleanor snorted, improvising again, "Not up for the competition?"

I glared at her once more—stop it—but made use of what she gave me. "I don't know," I mumbled, "I think he likes someone named Becca. I'm not going to be that girl. There are other guys."

The reaction in the chair behind me was charged.

Eleanor chuckled. Like a certain blue-eyed someone?

But she composed herself quickly and went back to the script. "Like who?"

"I don't know. My lab partner said it was someone named Becca Cheney. I don't really know who she is."

I bit back my smile. Only the snobby Cullens could get away with not knowing everyone in the school.

Becca's thoughts were a confused snarl. Me? Me… Over Edythe Cullen? But… Why? What does he see in me?

"Edythe," Eleanor warned in a lower tone, rolling her eyes toward the girl in the desk behind me. "She's right behind you." She mouthed the words so obviously that the human would be able to read the words easily.

"Oh," I muttered.

I turned in my seat and glanced at the girl behind me. For a second, the dark brown eyes behind the spectacles looked frightened, but then she stiffened and squared her narrow shoulders, insulted by my clearly condescending appraisal. Her chin lifted half an inch and an angry flush rose up underneath her pretty golden-brown skin.

"Oops," I said primly, lifting a snobbish eyebrow at her, and turned back around.

Oh, she thinks she's so much better than me… But Allen likes me—not her. I'll show her…

I smirked to myself. This couldn't have gone anymore perfectly.

"Didn't you say he took Erica to that Sadie Hawkins thing?" She injected her own snotty tone into the words.

"I think that was a group thing," I said, wanting to make sure Becca clearly understood this. "Allen's shy. If B—well, if a girl can't work up the nerve to ask him out, I don't think he'd ever ask her."

"You like shy guys," Eleanor said, back to improvisation. I glared a warning at her, but she ignored it. Quiet guys. Guys like, hmm… I don't know, that kid Beau Swan?

I grinned at her, a smile that was much too wide to be pegged a smile. "Precisely." Then I returned to the show. "Maybe Allen will take his interest somewhere else. Maybe I'll flirt with him—convince him to ask me to the prom."

Oh, no you won't, Becca thought, straightening in her seat. So what if he's shorter than me? If he doesn't care, then neither do I. He's the cutest, smartest, nicest boy in this school… and he wants me.

I liked this girl. She seemed intelligent and well-meaning. Maybe even worthy of a boy like Allen.

Mr. Goff stood and greeted the class.

Okay, okay, she admitted, I'll admit it—that was sorta fun.

I smiled to myself, delighted that I'd been able to shape one love story's happy ending. I was positive that Becca would follow through, and Allen would receive my anonymous gift. My debt was repaid.

How silly humans were, to let a six inch height differential confound their happiness.

I settled into my seat, in a better mood now. I prepared myself to be regaled—after all, Beau had so graciously pointed out, I had never seen him in action during Gym class before.

McKayla's thoughts were getting surprisingly effortless to pin-point now, something I wasn't entirely happy about, but what could I do? I resigned myself to listen to them.

I clued in just in time for her to offer to be his badminton partner. She did not, however, voice the other possible partnerings for them she had in mind. I ground my teeth and reminded myself that murdering the girl with her nail file was not a viable option.

"You don't have to do this, you know."

"Don't worry, I'll keep out of your way."

They both grinned at each other, chuckling nervously, and various incidents flashed through her mind—all involving Beau and some piece of sports equipment.

I sat forward in my seat, becoming more and more intrigued as each second passed.

McKayla took the lead to begin with, while Beau hung back at the rear of the court. He held his racket with some variance of trepidation, as if he were holding a weapon, and not a two pound piece of weightless metal and plastic. Then Coach Clapp noticed his lack of involvement, and ordered him to play.

Oh no, McKayla thought as Beau stepped reluctantly forward. He sighed and held his racket up at an awkward angle.

Jackson Ford stepped forward and sent the birdie sailing right at Beau's face, a smug twist to his thoughts.

McKayla saw Beau lunge toward it, his racket swinging in a wide arc that was miles off the target, and she jumped in to volley the birdie back, hoping to save it before it hit the floor.

I watched the course of Beau's swing with unease. Sure enough, it caught the tautly strung net, tangling momentarily so that the inanimate object tore the racket from Beau's hand. It sprung back at him, clipping him in the forehead before it twisted out to attack McKayla's arm with a hollow, metallic thung.

Ouch! Yikes, that's gonna leave a mark. Ow…

Beau was rubbing his forehead. It proved difficult for me to stay where I was when I knew that he was hurt, but it didn't seem so serious, after all. I hesitated, half my weight out of my seat. If he insisted on continuing to play, I was going to have to come up with some sort of excuse to pull him out of class.

Coach Clapp laughed, amused. "Sorry, McKayla!" she called, gamely. Man alive, that kid's a menace! I shouldn't release his wrath on the others but… Humor overtook her as she chuckled again.

She diverted her attention on purpose, so that behind her turned back, Beau could return to his former spectator role.

Ow, that really hurts, McKayla griped again, rubbing her shoulder.

"Are you okay?" Beau asked her, sounding absolutely mortified.

"Yeah, are you?" Gosh, I don't want to sound like a little girl but—that hurts! I think I'm bleeding.

"I'm fine."

Mm. Of course he was.

McKayla swung her arm in a circle, wincing.

"I'll just… hang out over here," Beau was saying, embarrassment and guilt on his face, rather than pain. Maybe McKayla had taken the brunt of the incident. I certainly hoped that was the case. Either way, he wasn't playing anymore, and that was fine by me.

I had to disguise my laugh as fake coughing.

What's so funny? Eleanor inquired, displeased by being left out of the joke.

"Tell you later," I whispered.

Beau did not try his hand again, and Coach Clapp ignored him and let McKayla handle the game on her own.

I flew through the quiz at the end of the hour, and Mr. Goff let me leave early. I was listening intently to McKayla's thoughts as I crossed campus toward the Gym. She had decided to confront Beau about me.

Jeremy seemed pretty sure that they were dating. Why did he have to pick her? What's so special about Edythe Cullen? I mean, sure, she's pretty—if you're into that weird, alien sort of pretty. I bet I'm much more interesting than she is…

I was stumped, too—I didn't know why he'd chosen me.

"So."

"So?"

"You and Edythe Cullen, huh?" You and the Black Widow. Apparently, she hadn't come up with the nickname on her own. I mean, I guess if that appeals to you… I bet it's 'cause she has money…

"Yeah, me and Edythe Cullen," he repeated.

Crap. He didn't deny it. That means it's probably true… Double crap!

"I don't like it," she muttered.

"Well, you don't actually have to."

Why can't he see what a circus sideshow she is? Like they all are. The way she stares at him… Like he's her little pet or something. "So she just snaps her fingers and you heel?"

My teeth clenched together at the degrading assumption.

"Guess so."

Whatever. It's his life… I mean, I'll take him back if he comes crawling back after that creepy spider takes a bite out of him, but still…

She stormed off, fuming with jealousy.

I leaned against the outside wall of the Gym and attempted to regain some control over myself.

McKayla saw Beau as this sort of whipped puppy, and me, his relentless, unfeeling master. How could she assume I had that much power over him—that kind of influence over him? This was his choice, I was making sure of that. Who else saw our relationship in this light? Did Beau? I hoped not, though he'd been quick to agree to McKayla's deduction.

And then, suddenly, my mood was soaring, because Beau had just walked out of the building. His eyes were troubled, but when he saw me, his face broke into the most adorable, goofiest grin I had ever seen.

"Hi."

I could not resist the urge to answer that smile with one of my own. That, and I was remembering the Gym incident. "Hello. How was Gym?"

I saw the suspicion swim into his eyes. "Fine?"

"Really?" I lifted my eyebrows. "How's your head?"

Now his eyes narrowed as he stared down at me. "You didn't." His tone was low and accusatory, but he wasn't really mad.

Oh, I most certainly did.

Without another word, I spun on my heel and started walking toward the parking lot. He fell into step with me without asking any questions.

"You were the one who mentioned how I'd never seen you in Gym—it made me curious," I told him as we walked.

"Great," he groaned, "Fantastic. Well, sorry about that. I don't mind walking home if you don't want to be seen with me."

I laughed. How could someone be so charming when they were mortified? "It was very entertaining."

And then a deep shadow drifted in front of my bright sun. McKayla's thoughts were undeniably loud as she exited the Gym.

I hate her. I wish she would just… Get lost. Pitch that shiny car and herself right off a cliff. Why can't she just leave him alone? Go manipulate someone else with her evil bitchy-ness.

"Though I wouldn't have minded if you'd hit that girl just a little harder."

"What?" he said.

I glanced over my shoulder, finding McKayla's retreating shiny blonde head in the crowd.

"It's been a while since someone besides family thought those kinds of words about me. I don't think I like it." Okay, so Royal had never wished me dead, nevertheless…

Beau's eyes were still on McKayla's retreating back, and I saw the sudden anxiety on his face.

I laughed to hide my irritation—or, rather, it was beyond mere irritation—at the girl. "Don't worry," I assured him, "I wouldn't hurt your friend. If I did, who else would agree to be your badminton partner?"

"What kinds of words has your family been thinking about you?"

I shook my head at him. "It's not fair to judge people on their thoughts. Those are supposed to be private. It's actions that count." Sometimes I had to work very hard to remember this—regarding Royal, in particular.

"I don't know," Beau disagreed, "If you know someone can hear, isn't that the same thing as saying it out loud?"

"Easy for you to say," I goaded, grinning. "Controlling your thoughts is very difficult. When Royal and I butt heads, I think much worse things about him, and I do say those words out loud." I laughed again, thinking of some of my more… Creative inventions.

He came to a sudden halt when he noticed the crowd of kids—mostly male—jostling around the car. Not mine, however.

I wonder how fast they've gone in this thing...

Look at the SMG shift paddles. I've never seen those outside of a magazine... Nice side grills...

Sure wish I had sixty thousand dollars lying around...

This was exactly why it was better for Royal to use his car out of town.

I began to wind my way through the deep crowds, careful not to touch anybody. After a moment of hesitation, Beau followed suit, rushing to get my door.

"Ostentatious," I muttered as I slipped past him and into my seat.

"What kind of car is that?" he wondered when he was in, too.

"An M3." I edged my way out of the parking spot, careful not to hit anyone.

"Um, I don't speak Car and Driver."

I had to lock eyes with a few of the boys who didn't want to move out of my way. A half-second of eye contact solved that issue quickly. "It's a BMW."

"Okay, I know that one."

I turned left out of the parking lot, and then we were alone. Beau was silent for a beat.

"Is it later yet?" he asked then, bringing to mind our unfinished conversation from lunch.

I frowned. "I suppose it is."

I focused on the road ahead, as if I actually needed to, while I thought through how to explain… without making my violent animosity too evident; without frightening him… Or was it wrong—to hide my wickedness?

I pulled up behind Beau's truck and put the car in park.

He was looking out the window when I turned my eyes on him, and I waited until he looked at me to explain.

"And you want to know why you can't see me hunt?"

"Yes," he requested, "And why you seemed so… mad when I asked."

This intrigued me, and I felt my eyebrows lift in surprise. "Did I frighten you?" I was certain of his coming answer.

"Did you want to?"

That wasn't a no… "Maybe I did."

"Okay then, sure, I was terrified."

I tried not to smile and failed, shaking my head. "I apologize for reacting like that. It was just the thought of you being near… while we hunted." My jaw closed together like a vice.

"That would be bad?"

The mental image was too overwhelming, and I shied away from it… Beau, alone and so vulnerable in the forest's empty darkness; me, governed completely by my senses, totally out of control…

"Extremely."

"Because…?" he prodded.

I took in a lungful of air—air that was saturated with his essence, and I focused on that for a moment, on the burn, proving my authority over it. I would never allow it to control me again. I would keep him safe from my monstrosity. I stared at the gathering clouds, wishing my will alone could be enough, wishing it would make any difference if I crossed his scent while hunting.

"When we hunt… We give ourselves over to our senses… govern less with our minds. Especially our sense of smell. If you were anywhere near me when I lost control that way…" I shook my head while the anguish crashed over me like a tidal wave.

I heard the spike in his heartbeat, and I turned to look at him. Beau's face was expressionless—he wore a mask again.

As I stared into his eyes, the atmosphere changed—taking on that strange, electric impulse it had in the darkened Biology room. I fought the sudden urge to lean across the console so that I could be closer to him, to grip him by the lapels of his jacket and pull him to me…

Beau's pupils dilated, though the lighting had not changed.

I heard my breath accelerate. The current jumped back and forth between us again, and for a singular moment, my urge to touch him was stronger than my desire for his blood.

The throbbing energy made it feel like I was human again, as if I had a pulse. I struggled against the warring desires, but I could not stop imagining it—how it might feel to have his warm, soft lips pressed to mine… I grappled for the strength it would take to succeed at that, to put my mouth so close to his skin.

He pulled in a loud breath, breaking the silence, and I closed my eyes, pulling into myself, in an attempt to break the spell.

I could not make any more mistakes.

"Beau, I think you should go inside now." I stared at the clouds again, purposefully avoiding his gaze.

There was nothing I wanted more in this moment to be human again. I would stand in fire for a century—two—if that was what it took.

Obediently, he pushed his door open and swung his long body out of the car, hiking his bag over his shoulder.

I wondered, briefly, if it hurt him to leave as much as it hurt me to watch him go. The only thing that pacified me was that I knew I would see him soon—sooner than he would see me. I smiled at that, and then rolled the window down, leaning across the console so he could see my face. I could speak to him safely, now that the overwhelming temptation of his body was outside my car.

"Oh, Beau?"

He turned, curious.

Still curious, though I'd answered so many of his questions today. And my curiosity had been left unsatisfied. I'd gleaned so little of him, and I found that unfair.

"Yeah?"

"Tomorrow it's my turn."

"Your turn to what?"

I smiled at the prospect. Tomorrow, when we were in a public place, surrounded by witnesses, I would get my answers. "Ask the questions."

I forced myself to turn away, put the gearshift in drive, and accelerate down the street. I sighed, feeling like I was always either running full-speed toward Beau, or away from him. There was no in-between, no middle ground, and if I were going to ensure any peace at all, I would have to find a solution.

…

It was well after midnight when I eased myself through the small opening of Beau's bedroom window.

I had known it a habit wise to curb, but I was somehow unable to stop it. It made me anxious to be away from him, and no matter how much I told myself he was safe during the day, I always found myself here, night after night.

Maybe it wasn't solely due to my anxiety for his safety—maybe it was simply because I wanted to be close to him. As irresponsible and reckless as my specter-ish nightly visits were, I could not find the self-control to stop them.

In the small bed across the room, Beau did not sleep peacefully. He lay on his stomach, one arm over his head, the other hanging over the side of the bed. The sheets and duvet were curled and snared around various limbs, and his hair was surprisingly unkempt. I found my lips unconsciously curling into a smile at the sight of it. Messy haired Beau was delectable.

I wanted to go to him, and correct the twisted sheets, to spread them evenly over his body, but then he rolled onto his back, face turning toward me with such conviction, I swore he could tell I was there.

I went motionless, and forced myself to think of his reaction, if he found me standing here in the middle of his bedroom in the dead of night. What would he think?

He moaned softly, and the soft sound stirred up unfamiliar reactions in me. My stomach, once more, did the strange twisting butterfly motion.

"Edythe," he breathed, and as my name fell from his lips, that familiar energy encased me. My fingers tingled, and my stomach felt suddenly heavy with sensation. The surface of my skin felt alive with tension.

I had known it would be an especial risk coming here tonight, after the events of yesterday had taken place, but I could not resist the magnetic pull this sleeping boy held for me.

I wanted to kneel by his bed, and smooth down his messy hair. I wanted to rest my head against his chest and listen to the smooth rhythms of his lungs and heart. In the most basic way, I wanted to be near him. To have him hold me and never let go.

But that would be too risky. I forced myself into the rocking chair in the corner and watched from there, feeling marginally safer.

I drew a deep, searing breath in through my nose. As always, Beau's room was saturated with his scent, humid and warm. Automatically, I felt my muscles coil in on themselves, felt the extra moisture of flowing venom in my mouth. I closed my eyes and inhaled again, meditating on my vow not to hurt the boy, meditating on the promise I had made to keep him safe. I did this again, and again until my body relaxed, just by a minuscule measure. But it was progress. I reminded myself again of the dominion I had over my thirst for his blood. I would control this.

If I wanted Saturday to end well, I had to.

…

When dawn began to push at the horizon, I left Beau's room. As I ran back to my home to change my clothes and retrieve my car, I thought over the night. It had only been in the weakest hours of the morning that Beau had fallen into a more peaceful sleep.

He'd tossed and turned most of the night. He had spoken my name several times, which pleased me, and once, he'd murmured, 'You're beautiful' with such adoration it would have made me blush if I'd been human.

I drove into town and crawled through neighborhood streets aimlessly while awaiting Chief Swan's departure. I was filled with new energy this morning, an almost buoyant attitude.

Today was my day to ask the questions, and I would be able to fulfill the desires I had kept conserved for so long. I would find out more about Beau, what made up his character, what had formed and molded him to be the way he was today. I wondered about his mother, and based on the qualities Beau had already given me, what kind of person she was.

Charlie and Renee, I already knew, were two of the most wonderful people in the world, to have conceived and raised a young man as brilliant as Beau Swan.

I began cataloguing questions for him, organizing them into an easy to follow list, overwhelmed by the sheer amount of things I had yet to discover about him. There were not enough hours in the day to unearth all the things I wanted to know.

Finally, Chief Swan headed off for his workday. I waited until he drove around the corner, and then parked my car in his spot in the driveway. I listened to the sounds inside the house: Running water, the zip of a bag, the trampling of feet down the stairs—if I was hearing right, he was skipping them three at a time, and I frowned disapprovingly. I didn't want him to hurt himself.

Then he was out the door and walking over to me. He paused for just a second before pulling open the passenger door and climbing inside.

"Good morning. How are you today?" I greeted him warmly. I noted the bags underneath his eyes, and deduced that he had not slept deeply enough last night.

"Good, thank you."

"You look tired." The crescents beneath his eyes were shaded in purple.

"I couldn't sleep," he admitted.

I giggled. "Neither could I."

I turned the key in the ignition, and we were off.

"I guess that's right. I probably did get more sleep than you."

"I would wager you did." I wondered what he had dreamed of, what had spurred him to speak my name the five times that he did. What had he meant by those words 'You're beautiful'? Who had he been speaking to in his nocturnal realms? I so desired that I was the object of those dreams…

"So what did you do last night?"

I glanced sideways at him. Did he suspect the nature of my nocturnal trespassings? Was I not as stealthy as I thought I was? Eleanor would surely find the joke in that. Regardless, I intended to stand my ground. Today was my day.

I laughed. "Not a chance. It's my day to ask questions."

"Oh, that's right." His forehead creased with worry. "What do you want to know?" Why was he wary?

I consulted the first query on my list. "What's your favorite color?"

He shrugged, non-committal. "It changes."

So he was going to be difficult. "What is it today?" I prodded.

"Um, probably… gold, I guess."

Gold. That had been unexpected. I had put my money on red or blue… But he'd chosen a jewel color. The color of precious treasure, the color of royalty, the color of… My eyes, when I was fed… Was I putting too much hope in this simple answer of his?

"Is there anything material behind your choice, or is it random?"

He cleared his throat, embarrassed. "It's the color of your eyes today. If you asked me in a week, I'd probably say black."

Ah. So I had been right in my wonderings. Equal amounts of pleasure and disapproval filled me. But more pleasure than anything else. Maybe it had been me he'd been calling beautiful in his sleep last night…

I moved on. "What music is in your CD player right now?"

He had to mull this over for a second. "Linkin Park's newest album. Uh… Meteora."

I grinned at the impossible circumstance. Reaching forward, I pressed the release for the hatch underneath the CD player and selected the same CD he'd just named.

"Debussy to this?"

He laughed. "Well, look at that."

Again, I walked Beau to his first class, resolute on leaving him untouched. My fingers tingled where I had touched him yesterday, aching to do it again, but I clenched my fist inside my pocket, managing to restrain myself. No more errors on my part. I would not allow them to happen.

To distract myself from the strange physical yearning, I continued down my list of questions between classes and all through the lunch hour. Nothing was too insignificant about Beau Swan's life. I wanted to know every detail; I hung on every word. Every bit of it enthralled me. His favorite movies, and the ones he hated. The places he'd travelled, and the ones he had yet to visit. The former on that was appallingly small, and I entertained the idea of taking him some of the places he named before I quickly extinguished that fire. I couldn't think that far ahead. We hardly knew if we had anything past Saturday… I quashed that fear, too.

I asked him about his favorite books, what he'd learned from them, how he thought they'd shaped his character. Which were his favorites. I was not surprised to hear that Twenty Thousand Leagues Under The Sea was his most-read title.

Finally, the first bell after the lunch hour sounded.

Beau exhaled heavily, and I wondered what that was about. But I didn't have to ask, for he explained right away.

"There's one question you haven't asked me yet."

"More than one, actually," I corrected—I wasn't halfway through my list. "But which specific one are you looking for?"

"The most embarrassing thing I've ever done."

I grinned in anticipatory amusement. "Is it a spectacular story?"

"I'm not sure yet," he said, confusing me, "I'll tell you in five minutes."

Then he shoved away from the table. I followed his movements, curious and intrigued. What was going on? Where was he going? I felt a brief flicker of disappointment when he turned his back on me, but then my mouth fell open in genuine shock when I saw the target of his trajectory.

Jeremy noticed Beau's approach first. They were all just getting up, preparing to go to their next classes. His eyes narrowed immediately, and his thoughts were suspicious.

What does he want? Then his eyes flashed over to me, where I was still sitting at our table, rapt with fascination, Why isn't his new girlfriend with him?

"Taylor, can I have a minute?" Beau asked. His voice rose easily above the din, and I thought this was on purpose. His shoulders were set in an odd, unnatural way, his chest puffed out.

I was going insane with curiosity. There hadn't been a moment up until now that I had wondered what was going on in Beau's head more.

Taylor was standing in the middle of the crowd, and she glanced up, thrown.

Did he say my name? Ohmigod, is he actually going to ask me to prom?

Back off, dude. Logan Mallory's thoughts were acidic in nature. What? Edythe Cullen not enough? You have to have what's mine, too?

I didn't like the propietal nature to his thoughts.

"Sure, Beau," Taylor said. She was beginning to doubt Beau's intentions when she caught that metallic glint of hard emotion in his eyes.

Crap. Is he mad at me? She wobbled mentally, unsure. This was a change for Taylor. Usually, she was much more confident than this.

"Look," Beau said now, his voice still loud. Was he speaking at this volume for my benefit? Did he think I wouldn't be able to hear if he spoke in normal volume and dialect? "I can't do this anymore."

All at once, the grouping of them fell absolutely quiet. The majority of the group's minds were stunned blank.

He couldn't have done this in private? McKayla thought, offended and embarrassed for her friend.

Taylor's mind was still blank with shock. "What?"

"I'm tired of being a pawn in your game, Taylor. Do you even realize that I have feelings of my own? And all I can do is watch while you use me to make someone else jealous." Beau glanced pointedly at Logan, whose mind went up in flames with outraged humiliation. What was this, some sort of monologue? He had to have stolen this from some movie or a TV show. I sat glued to my seat with a strange mix of horrified, impressed, and amused amazement. "You don't care if you break my heart in the process." Yes, he had definitely stolen this from somewhere. I was willing to bet soap opera. "Is it being beautiful that's made you so cruel?"

Taylor's responding thoughts were muddled and incoherent—but there was a hint of pleasure. He thinks I'm beautiful? She stared at Beau wide-eyed, with her mouth open.

"I'm not going to play anymore," Beau said in a hard voice, "This whole prom charade? I'm out. Go with the person you really want to be with." His eyes lingered a little longer on Logan this time.

And then he spun on his heel with surprising grace, taking long, sure strides until he crashed through the cafeteria doors.

I grabbed my bag and was at his side in a heartbeat.

"That was truly spectacular."

His heart was pounding like a freight train, and his ears were crimson with the blood that had rushed there. He drew in a deep breath. "Maybe a little over the top. Did it work?"

"Like a charm," I assured him, "Taylor's feeling quite the femme fatale, and she's not even sure why. If Logan doesn't ask her to prom by Monday, I'll be surprised."

"Good."

"And now back to you…"

I had nearly forgotten about Mrs. Banner's convenient lack of a lesson plan, I was so distracted with Beau's interview.

When she dragged the decrypt TV stand into the room again, I tensed. I knew what would happen when she turned the lights out, and in an effort to dull the strange magnetic pull, I put a little more distance in between my chair and Beau's, just before the lights clicked off.

The distance did not help. As soon as the lights were out, my senses rocketed into high gear, and that pulsing, electric life engulfed me. Even from this distance, I could practically feel each one of Beau's heartbeats press against my frame, and the urge to touch him once more was inescapable.

I locked down my muscles, forcing myself to stay where I was, no matter how much I desired to shift my chair closer to his. And then, just as I had the thought, he shifted, scooting his chair closer to mine. He leaned in slow, measured movements to the side until his arm came into contact with my shoulder.

I couldn't move. The humming tingle of energy jolted like a very pleasant electric shock through my body, curling up in my stomach, leaving it aching in a very strange way. I wanted to press closer, curl myself up against his chest and loop my arms around waist. I wanted to feel the living pulse of his body against mine, wanted to contour my shape to the forgiving width of his chest…

He broke our contact then, slumping forward until his chin was resting on his folded arms on top of the table. I did not miss his long fingers curl around the edge of the table, gripping so hard all the blood drained away from his knuckles.

Perhaps he was faring better than me, but not by much.

That small bit of contact had my skin glowing with vitality, and there was a strange vibration in my chest. Instincts, strange impulses that I had never before encountered, attempted to jostle their way into my mind, to override my body.

I realized how easy it would be to submit to these urges, to allow them to govern my body. But I wondered what connection it held to my hunting instinct—they both felt so similar. This felt… different, less anchored to any specific purpose, and it frightened me. I did not let my mind wander in that strange, impulsive direction for even an instant, paralyzed by the harm I might do to him if I succumbed to it.

When the hour had finished and the lights went back up, Beau sighed, stretching much the same way as he had done yesterday. When he flexed his fingers, the strained cartilage between his knuckles creaked and popped.

We walked, silent, to the Gym together, and as much as I had promised myself I would make no more errors, the pull inside me demanded to be recognized. I wasn't doing anything wrong by touching him in this way, was I? As long as I didn't allow it to go beyond casual caresses, I would justify my actions.

So I reached up, this time to stroke the entire length of his face, from temple to chin, with the back of my hand. As I did so, I memorized the feel of his skin, the warmth of the pure vitality pumping underneath. But more than that, the reaction in his eyes as he gazed down at me.

When I turned away, I could have sworn I saw his hand twitch after me.

I walked to Spanish as quickly as was acceptable, berating myself for my slip-up. I struggled toward some sort of middle ground. I tried to appease both sides of my consciousness by reasoning that Beau had wanted the physical contact. After all, he had been the one to inch closer and rest his arm to my shoulder. He had craved it, and how could I deny giving him anything he wanted?

McKayla was even surlier toward Beau today. She was affronted for her friend, and the humiliation she had assumed had ensued. Little did she know, Taylor was rather glowy underneath the headline Beau had created for her. McKayla's bad mood was needless, and I found myself frowning at the way she avoided him all through class.

It displeased me, the way she was treating him. For one instant, I wondered if I preferred her over-friendliness in paradox to this aloof coolness, but then decided that I didn't.

But if she hurt him in any way… She would have me to answer to.

I strode toward the Gym quickly when Spanish was over. Eleanor cast a glance at me, eyes on my retreating back.

Poor girl, she's got it bad.

So maybe I did. If this newfound joy and energy and contentedness were bad, I would take it.

When Beau walked out of Gym and saw me, he smiled so wide it lit up his entire face. My answering grin was automatic.

I didn't waste anytime at all launching back into my questions. These ones I had saved for the end of the day, knowing he wouldn't be pressed for time trying to answer them. I knew they would require more reflection on his part.

I had heard him talk about home and his mother more than once in his sleep, and I wanted to know about that. I wanted to discover more about the relationship between him and his mother—as unusual as it was sweet. The way Beau treated his mother, the way he perceived her, would have melted my heart if I'd had one. He was so sweet when he talked about her, and I was reminded again of just how selfless and kind he truly was. I asked him about home, knowing he had hailed from Phoenix, but not knowing much about the city or the state of Arizona for obvious reasons.

I was surprised when the words poured freely from him. I had assumed this topic would be difficult for him to speak of, but this seemed a sort of comfort zone to him, and I sat in rapture, listening to him talk in the quietness of my car for hours. I listened to him attempt to describe the scent of creosote, and the sound of cicadas in summer. He detailed the large, feathery palm trees, the wide expanse of clear, azure sky—this was the one thing I found familiarity in, for that ever-present sky was always here, despite the constant cloud coverage. It was in his eyes, always.

"Are you finished?" Beau inquired when he had finished detailing his old room in Phoenix. I had stopped asking questions to tune in on Charlie's incoming mental voice. He was hungry, his thoughts filled with anticipation, and there was something else—some distraction I couldn't quite decode.

"Not even close," I said now, "But your father will be home soon."

In the time we'd sat together like this, in front of Charlie's house, in the small space of my car, I had almost been able to convince myself that I could be just as human as he was. I had allowed myself to become enmeshed in his stories, had allowed myself to imagine what it would be like, if the impossible were possible. What it would be like to walk down a dirt road somewhere, craggy red cliffs on either side of us, to be able to hold his hand without worrying about the chill of my skin, or how easily I could crush every bone in his hand if I allowed my attention to wander for even a moment. I had allowed myself to imagine what the dry, blazing Arizona sun might feel like on my hair, my skin… What Beau's eyes might look like in the sunshine…

What I wouldn't give, I thought again, to be human. To be able to give him all the things I wanted more than anything to give him.

"How late is it?" he asked, seeming surprised as he glanced at the clock on the dash. He had been oblivious to the slow descent of the sun. Now it hid behind hazy lilac clouds, steadily sinking.

His words broke me from my impossible daydream. "It's twilight." I stared at the hazy, purple clouds a moment longer and then turned my eyes on Beau. He had been staring at me, but he did not look away now. "It's the safest time of day for us," I said in response to the unspoken question in his eyes, "The easiest time. But also the saddest, in a way… the end of another day, the return of the night. Darkness is so predictable, don't you think?" I smiled wistfully, hoping it would dull the seriousness of my words.

"I like the night. Without the dark, you'd never see the stars." He frowned. "Not that you see them here much."

Had he realized I'd been speaking in soliloquy? Did I hide the ache of what I could never have well enough?

I laughed, choosing to focus on his words. I appreciated his high regard for darkness, at any rate. "Charlie will be here in a few minutes," I warned him, "So, unless you want to tell him that you'll be with me Saturday…" I watched his face hopefully for a moment, knowing what his response would be, but wishing he'd say yes anyway. It felt safer to have witnesses, to have someone know that I'd taken him. For a brief instant, I thought about detaining Beau, forcing him to have that very crucial conversation with his father. But I wouldn't. It was, after all, his choice.

"Thanks, but no thanks," he said. He scooped his books up, moving stiffly—I remembered that it was uncomfortable for humans to sit still for so long, and chided myself for being so thoughtless. "So is it my turn tomorrow then?"

"Certainly not!" I feigned indignation. "I told you I wasn't done, didn't I?"

"What more is there?"

I grinned. "You'll find out tomorrow."

For a minute, he just stared at me, and I wondered what I'd done wrong. His heart stuttered unevenly, his breathing accelerating, and I mused, for just one moment… Hypnotism by dimples? Could it be?

His heart was pounding inside his chest, his breaths coming in low, shallow gasps. Though my reflexes were much quicker than his, I was distracted by the fire in his eyes, and didn't notice until it was nearly too late.

His scent engulfed me as his hand came up, as if to cradle my profile, and his face inclined toward me.

I jerked away, defying the sinister thoughts that begged me to let the boy come closer, that would have liked me to run my nose up the column of his neck.

"Sorr—"

"Mom, seriously, please don't embarrass me in front of Beau. I'm begging you."

"What? You mean, don't tell him you're gaga for him?"

"Please do not say that again."

"What? Gaga? Don't tell Beau my sweet little Julie is completely gaga over him?"

"Mom!"

My head whipped forward toward the sound of the approaching voices, discernable beneath the rattle of an old Sedan engine.

This was the last thing we needed right now. Julie Black and her mother. Emily Black's descendants. Bonnie Black was an elder of the tribe, and she was very much aware of who and what I was. She could not be here, I could not be in the same place as her. It breached everything the treaty stood for, and I hated to do it, but I knew I would have to leave.

"Oh no."

"What's wrong?" Beau demanded, confused.

"Another complication."

I reached over to push his door open, hoping to urge him from the car faster. Beau's heart rate accelerated into high speed, and I leaned back again, as far away from his overwhelming heat and fragrance as I could.

"Hurry."

The car approached, pulling up to the curb facing us, its headlights wheeling across the hood of my car and lighting up Beau's pale face. But I only saw that out of my periphery. I glared straight ahead, into the face of the woman in the passenger seat. Bonnie Black. Her skin was worn and weathered, sagging down around her face. Her eyes were blackest black, and they were fixed somewhere near my face. She was still waiting for her eyes to focus past the glare of my headlights.

What's this? Beau's got a new friend…?

"No!" she gasped out loud, horror struck, when she saw me clearly, "How dare she come here! How dare they—!"

"Mom!" the younger one protested, laying a hand on her mother's suddenly trembling hand. She was frightened by the palpable outrage her mother was abruptly exuding. "What is it?"

Beau pulled his hood up against the lashing rain, glancing back and forth between me and the black car.

But I didn't look at him. I glared with fierce defiance at the woman in the sedan, who was still just as angry with me as I was with her. She was worried for Beau's and Charlie's safety, worried about their well-being. But my reaction to their closeness was more than the old feud between families. There was something instinctual about seeing them here, something that woke a deeper reflex inside my mind.

I pulled out and sped away down the street, my tires squealing in protest against my sudden acceleration.

…

A/N: Phew! So I was totally under the impression, for some odd reason, that I had one more chapter before I was left on my own—but alas, I stumbled over the cliff and into nothingness unexpectedly. Can you tell where SM's lovely guidance left off, and I was left to swim on my own? This is where I need your feedback more than ever, guys and gals! I want to know if I'm doing this justice! See ya next time! xo