AN: Sorry for the long delay this time! Stuff came up. Mostly good stuff, but time-consuming. Should be back on track now! Thank you so much for reading. This chapter is brought to you by beta happymelt and prereaders midsouthmama and faireyfan. There's also a banner made by a brilliant person I'll call midsouthpapa if you want to go through the trouble of replacing all these tedious dots http:/i1185 (dot) photobucket (dot) com/albums/z353/LifeInTheSnow/MSVbanner (dot) jpg Enjoy!
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Chapter 5: Three or Four Dimensions
I straighten the row of sharpened pencils on my desk. Two are usually enough, but I always make sure to have four. I confirm my wristwatch is in sync with the clock on the wall. My teammates, I'm sure, are doing the same. The room is humming with quiet, nervous energy—remarkably different from the tense, hostile energy I left behind at the Volturi complex an hour ago.
I can feel my breathing begin to even out, knowing that for the next four hours I have the chance to trade my usual mental turmoil for the steady, controlled pressure of a math tournament. These things put me into a trance, almost—a head space swarming with axioms and proofs, pulsing with the soothing rhythm of parsing and solving problems. There is comfort in these absolute values, rights and wrongs, numbers conforming to patterns, and rules that have nothing to do with loyalties or politics and everything to do with certainty.
After last night, I need the diversion. Aro's meddling had me seething with rage, and Edward decided to distract me by making me talk about the one thing that is precious and pure in all of this: Us. Him. My feelings.
Of course, I shut him down. Of course. If I ever do find a way to know what I feel or to say what I know, I want it to be as far away from Aro's world as we can get. And I need to remember we may never get very far away—not both of us. Not together.
And so when he asked me what I wanted, I stalled. And then I cried for a while. And then I gave him a safe answer. I said I wanted what was already familiar, for nothing to change, for him to be free to do his job without adding emotions into the mix. More emotions, anyways.
When I look up from my desk to see him slipping into a seat at the back of the viewing gallery, I can see his favorite neutral expression draped over his face like a mask. It's been there since last night. There's something new, though, when he meets my gaze. He looks…sheepish. I narrow my eyes at him from across the room, and he presses his lips together, shaking his head ever so slightly.
Great. Whatever it is will have to wait because I can hear the moderator tapping the podium, telling us it's almost time to start.
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The meet seems to fly by. The written portion is tough this year, but the challenge feels good—like cracking my knuckles. One boy snaps his pencil in half and storms out in the middle of it, muttering. The kids from Redmond, our only real competition, put up some good scores during timed sprints but bicker during the team heat, losing time. We're ahead by a comfortable enough margin that I purposely tank a question in the ciphering round, knowing it will put Angela up for the individual lightning finals. She can do this, and the win will help her out on her college applications. I amuse myself by watching Ben fist-pump every time Angela presses her hand-held buzzer with solution after solution.
And then it's all over. There's nothing left to do but shake hands and collect blue ribbons—and the study guides for statewide.
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Edward is waiting on the sidewalk out front. He congratulates my teammates and turns to me, smirking, as soon as they walk away toward Angela's car.
"Looks like you need to brush up on simple ciphers, Swan."
"Whatever. I didn't feel like going up for the head-to-head. Too much attention."
"You put Angela up there on purpose."
I shrug.
I follow Edward to a borrowed company car at the far side of the lot and toss my bag in the back seat. Once I settle in, I breathe a sign of relief, realizing we have the rest of our Sunday free. I think of the Cambodian decoder lens hidden in my locker at school. We could easily break in to retrieve it, but who knows what that will lead to. I just want to chill out for a while.
I call Charlie and fill him in on the highlights. He tells me he's proud of me and that he'll take me to a special dinner on his next night off. He gives me an update on Miss Violet, whom he'd picked up from the vet this morning. We hang up, and I look out the window. The road isn't familiar. I shoot a questioning look at Edward.
"I thought we'd take the long way home—up through the far side of the Sound. Is that all right?"
"Sure. Can we get some lunch, too? Chowder, maybe?"
He smiles. "That sounds genius."
We're both quiet for a long while. For once, it doesn't feel like we're biting our tongues, afraid of being overheard. It just feels restful. Fog mists the windshield from time to time. Columns of evergreens rush by on both sides, blurring into a velvety blanket of mossy green. We go for miles without passing a single house; when we do, I find myself wondering what it's like to live in this isolated place. Are these people hermits and misanthropes? Or are they hiding in some way?
When we tromp through the door of a little chowder house in one of the port towns, I giggle, imagining how we look to people. I'm in my math contest apparel—a comfortable, plain skirt and cardigan with tights and flats—while Edward is in filthy jeans, a trucker hat, and a mis-buttoned flannel shirt.
It's a little brisk out, but we ask to be seated on the open-air terrace, near the noisy and scenic marina. Edward squints at me after we place our orders. "What are you thinking about?"
"I'm thinking the two of us probably look like a schoolgirl and a juvenile delinquent on the run."
"Hmm. Aren't we, though?" He seems amused.
I look over his shoulder to where a row of small boats bob and sway at the dock. A feeling of intense yearning comes over me all at once. And I must have used up all my discipline this morning at the math tournament because I suddenly blurt out what I'm thinking.
"We could be, you know." I cast my eyes around the area quickly, then lean in to whisper, "We could be in Canada by nightfall. Leave the car. Jack a boat. I know how to pilot one of those things."
He looks down to where my hand is gripping his, then glances up at my face again, sighing. "Bella. You're not serious."
"Why can't I be?" I don't even really care who might be listening. This type of tantrum—and that's what it feels like—is more or less expected of Sundial kids.
"You know why. A thousand reasons. Charlie. Miss Violet. Looking over our shoulders for the rest of our lives."
He's right, of course. But I feel stubborn in this moment, and I don't want to let it drop. "Don't you ever just want to say 'so what?' Teenagers do impulsive things all the time."
"Teenagers might, but we don't." He grimaces and leans in closer. "Look, I get it. You don't have to prove your point, all right?"
I frown. "What point am I proving?"
"That we shouldn't let…strong emotions mix us up. I thought more about it after you went to bed, and you're right. We would make stupid decisions if we were…you know. Swept up." He flaps a hand around in the air when he says this. "It wouldn't be safe."
He sits bolt upright, and I realize a server is hovering over us with our lunch order. I have no idea how long she's been standing there. He lifts an eyebrow at me as if to say See what I mean?
I barely care. I concentrate on my chowder, waiting out the swirl of emotions swarming inside me right now. It occurs to me that my hormones are out of whack due to yesterday's Depo shot, which is cause for yet another surge of bile.
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Back in the car, Edward fills me in on what I missed in the morning briefing. There's been some new activity disturbing the supply lines feeding three big pharma corporations, which Aro suspects is the work of healthcare rights vigilantes. There are more and more of them now that the boomers have reached retirement age—or chronic disease age, as Aro puts it. He's assigned Jake and Leah on a chemical forensics detail, having them trace the source of the tainted materials.
Sam and Emily have one final job as partners sometime in the next few weeks, after which she'll transition out. Sam will go solo at that point but will serve as Bree's mentor. In the meantime, Bree is moving closer to active status.
Edward clears his throat. "So…um. Aro observed her in the field this weekend and decided she was ready for her first assignment. Like, now." He takes his eyes off the road to read my expression.
I shake my head. "That's ridiculous. She's too young. Is he talking simple surveillance, or…you know?"
"I feel the same way. I think he meant something big. He used the phrase baptism by fire."
The creep. I can just picture his gleeful expression. Edward glances back and forth between me and the road a few times, not saying anything more. This is what he does when he's waiting for me to draw my own conclusions. When it comes to me, I sigh.
"You volunteered to take the assignment, didn't you? This is what you looked so guilty about this morning."
He flexes his jaw. "Sorry. I forgot it would affect you, too. I just did it without thinking."
This makes me smile in spite of myself. "I don't mind. Do you even know the details?"
"We'll find out this week."
"And nothing more about our long job?"
"I think it involves infiltrating a hospital or government agency. He sent some new sets of FauxPrint fingertips for both of us."
"So, something with a background check, then."
"I guess. And he asked for our major test dates and things so we can schedule around that stuff."
"That was considerate of him." I shake my head and huff. Edward looks wary again, chewing on the inside of his cheek. I have to laugh—he's so exasperating. "What, dude? What else?"
"I asked him not to schedule us anything that conflicts with prom, okay?" He rolls his eyes at himself. "I think we should go."
After everything else the weekend has brought, I can only giggle at this. My life is officially absurd. "Edward Cullen, did you just ask me to prom? Because maybe I should hold out for someone sluttier, you know? Someone I know will put out."
He mock-glares at me, the color rising in his cheeks. And it makes me want to needle him more.
"It's kind of a time-honored rite of passage, losing your virginity on prom night."
He blinks rapidly. "Don't remind me."
"I know, I know—typical teenagers are typical."
"Something like that." He scowls.
"Yes, I'll go to prom with you. Please make it a wrist corsage." I know at least this much from Rose. What will the girls think when I tell them? A strange feeling settles in the pit of my stomach—a combination of fluttery excitement and regret at admitting I care about something like prom. "And no carnations."
"Brat."
"Oh, stop. You love me."
"You have no idea. Now will you pass me my wallet for the bridge toll?"
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Edward stops in to say hello to Miss Violet when he drops me off. She's energetic and excitable, her pink tongue lolling out of her mouth as she prances in place. I scoop her up.
"Wow. She looks better," Edward says.
I suddenly remember that I haven't told Edward what I pieced together about the mice in the basement. "Let's take her for a walk."
Charlie's friend Harry at the end of the block has a woodshop in his garage, and he often works with the door wide open. Miss Violet loves to chase the curlicue wood shavings when he blows them with his compressed air gun; the white noise comes in handy for me. I give Edward the rundown of events—the street construction project that seemed to be followed by my mouse problem, and Miss Violet's tick bite predating all of it.
"What do you think it means?"
"I guess we should just start by looking around in the basement? See if there's a little hole where mice can get in?"
He nods slowly. "And…what's so secret that we're talking about this out in the street? Do you think Volturi is using mice as henchmen now?"
"I'm just paranoid, I guess." I shift back and forth from one foot to the other, keeping my head close to his. "If they are involved…if they deliberately did this to my dog…I don't think I can get past it."
"So, you can tolerate being injected with hormones without your knowledge—but this is the thing that puts you over?"
"At least Aro believes he's justified in pumping me full of Depo as misguided as he is. But if they would go after an innocent little dog—and for what, to remind me they have control?—there's no limit to what they would do."
Miss Violet starts yipping at something down the street, and I turn to see a car pulling up in front of my house. Charlie is home.
"Your dad."
"My dad."
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In the morning at school, Edward seeks me out between first and second period. He looks rested and cleaned up, and he's wearing the sort of grin that takes over his whole face. He pulls me by the elbow into a stairwell at the end of the hallway.
He pulls the old clunker laptop out of his backpack and hands it over, newly configured for maximum anonymity. My made-up username, NiceBoots, is written on a post-it. He shows me a second post-it, with my password: bieberbaby.
"You're such an ass! I can change it, right?"
He chuckles, tearing up the note. He knows I know perfectly well I can change it. "Why is that a problem, but not the username?"
"Whatever." I shove him lightly. Why do the weirdest things fluster me?
"Hey, gimme some credit. It's the perfect password that no one would guess."
The second bell rings, and the hallways quiet down. We're both officially late for class by now.
There's something thrilling about the idea that we'll be using these laptops for nothing but standard chitchat—away from prying eyes. I shove the laptop in my bag and hand Edward the decoder lens I've retrieved from my locker.
I lower my voice. "Here. Did you bring the book? Should we take a look?"
"Let's—oh, shit. Someone's coming." He pulls me close to him so the decoder is trapped between us, and all I can feel is his face, warm and bristly, against my face and the pressure of his arms around me. I realize I know how to do this—it's easy, really. I attack his mouth with mine, not even thinking about it. His breath is hot. He lifts a knee in between my legs and pulls me closer, mauling me with his lips like—well, like a teenager making out. Page three, section B in our manual. Christ, he's good at this. He even groans a little.
I hear the squeak of sneakers on the stairs and muffled giggling. Whoever it is passes us by, muttering Get a room with exaggerated annoyance.
When they're out of earshot, after what seems like forever, he lifts his head and releases a puff of breath. "I thought we were busted."
I can feel his heart beating in his chest. It feels good. A little too good. "Yeah. Close call. You can let go of me, I think."
He nods but doesn't release me. "Actually, I need a minute, okay? Let me, um, calm down." He closes his eyes, eyebrows clustering together.
"Calm—oh." I freeze, suddenly very aware that he's holding my hips still, away from his body.
"It's just…the friction." The sound of his voice just now does something strange to me; it's so quiet and defenseless.
"Sure. Okay." I press my fingertips to my lips. They feel puffy.
He opens one eye, searching my face. "We might need to practice this. You know—acclimate." Only the tiny quirk at the corner of his mouth lets me know he's teasing.
"Nice try." I wiggle my hand that's trapped between us, still holding the lens decoder. "We have work to do."
It's too late to make it to class now. Edward points to the top of the staircase, where we can be relatively certain of being undisturbed until third period.
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The pool is usable, finally, but nobody knew to bring swimwear today. Instead, we get a lecture on pool safety and rules. The whole class stands around on the damp, cool tile, barefoot, our jeans rolled up Tom Sawyer-style. The air is tangy with chlorine.
Rose stares at the placid surface of the water, mesmerized. "It's so weird to think this much water is just sitting here in our school, you know? All day long. A huge cube of water."
Alice chuckles. Edward catches my eye, quirking an eyebrow. He knows if he were to ask, I'd say it's roughly 11,700 cubic feet of water. So what.
He turns to Rose. "Know how to swim?"
"Yeah." Rose juts her chin toward Alice, who is chewing her lip. "This one needs to learn."
"Me, too." He shrugs.
I'm not the only one surprised by this news. I wonder if it's true. I've waded in chin-deep water with him, but I've never seen him swim.
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Back at my place, Edward tosses aside the Hemingway book and switches off my UV light. "Nothing."
After finding no encoded messages at all this morning, we decided to try combining the decoder lens with different spectrums of light, but none of it has panned out.
He laughs lightly, stretching his arms above his head. He turns up the volume on my noise machine. "We've been inventing conspiracies, I think. Someone should do a psychological study on the effects of being a teenage agent."
"I'm sure we're already the unwitting subjects. Come on. To the basement, now." We might as well follow up on all the dangling threads. He gets to his feet and lumbers down the stairs after me.
We don't find any more dead mice, nor any evidence of live mice. Miss Violet sniffs around while Edward and I check for gaps in the concrete foundation. Nothing. There's a drain in the floor of the laundry room, and Edward speculates that mice might have gotten in that way. It seems plausible to me. He asks me if we ever get flooding in the basement and begins checking for water stains on an old Persian rug covering the floor in the storage area.
Before I even realize what's happening, he folds a corner back and starts peeling the rug away from the floor. Beneath it is a second rug. I can hear my pulse in my ears. Beneath that second rug is a large slide bolt. In the floor. Goosebumps spring up across my bare arms.
Edward looks at me, his eyes wide. "Holy shit."
Embedded there, mottled and stained with what looks like a decade's worth of corrosion, a dozen feet below where Charlie watches the Mariner's game and a yard away from where I do my laundry, is a three-foot by four-foot hatch door.
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