I'm not going to update at all in the next few weeks. I'm going back to school tomorrow so I will have no time to update. Today I'll be giving you three new chapters to hopefully get you through the next week (hopefully not month). I'm also updating my other stories today so you will all have an abundance to choose from.

Also, to my faithful reviewer jessa76, thank you for making me laugh. Your comment, "rose is to good for you fat boy" was honestly the funniest thing a reviewer has ever said. I love that you've taken to this story so passionately. You and my other reviews never fail to comment on every chapter. Since you guys love commenting on your thoughts about Emmett, while I'm gone tell me what you think Rose should do. Should she get revenge on him? If so, what should she do? What would you do in her situation? I'd love to hear what you have to say!

"I hear the birds on the summer breeze, I drive fast
I am alone in the night
Been tryin' hard not to get in trouble, but I
I've got a war in my mind
I just ride"

-Lana Del Rey, "Ride"

BPOV

"How can creative writing gain any type of truth?" I asked Mr. Carlisle. I had been helping him during his seventh block prep period for about a week. So far all I did was sit in the back of his classroom and complain about school. I learned that Mr. Carlisle was a cool guy, and I could come to him if I ever needed anything. I trusted him.

"Well," Mr. Carlisle said, tapping his pencil against his chin. "What is creative writing?"

"I don't know," I shrugged. "Writing that is also creative?"

"Get serious," Mr. Carlisle playfully scolded.

I sat up straight in my chair and thought for a moment. "Creative writing is kind of like storytelling."

"Yes!" Mr. Carlisle said. "It is kind of like storytelling. Writing is storytelling. You write to share ideas and stories."

"What do stories have to do with gaining truth?"

"Everything." Mr. Carlisle walked to the front of his desk and leaned on it. "Where do you think all of these stories came from? The author had to be inspired by something in his or her life to give them the idea to write. S. E. Hinton wrote The Outsiders after she became aware of the social divider. John Green wrote Looking for Alaska based on his time in boarding school. Tell me, Bella, what is your favorite book?"

"I don't know. I'm currently reading Jane Eyre."

"Jane Eyre has been said to be an autobiography of Charlotte Bronte. The book may not be an autobiography word for word, however; the character of Jane is Charlotte Bronte. Jane's struggles and Jane's ideas of gender equality where all Charlotte Bronte's thoughts and struggles. Writers write what they know, and that's what Charlotte Bronte knew."

"Not all stories are like that," I protested. "Some stories are just complete nonsense like Alice in Wonderland or anything by the Grimm Brothers or Hans Christian Anderson. Their only purpose is to entertain."

Mr. Carlisle chuckled. "Ah, but that's where you're wrong." Mr. Carlisle turned around to look at his bookshelf in the far left corner of his room. Walking in front of the bookshelf, he grabbed a copy of Alice in Wonderland. Turning to face me, he grinned sheepishly. "This has always been one of my favorite books. You know why? Because it's a book about nothing and everything all at once.

"The major themes and motifs in the book is the tragic and inevitable loss of childhood and also the feeling of life being meaningless. Alice goes through physical changes that makes her frustrated, sad, and uncomfortable. First she's too big and then too small to enter the garden. Then she loses control of certain body parts when her neck is enlarged. This is something a child may feel while going through puberty. There are so many themes we could be here all day talking about them. There's death, life, dreams, subversion, language. Beautiful piece of writing."

Mr. Carlisle paused and let me process all of this before continuing on. "And as for the Grimm Brothers and Hans Christian Anderson, all of the stories they wrote have underlying morals and meaning. None of their work is nonsense. Nothing is ever meaningless. Hell, even Fifty Shades of Grey has some type of meaning, whatever that may be."

I bit my lip. "Mr. Carlisle, in the beginning of this month, why did you assign us the Who Do You Think You Are essay?

Mr. Carlisle smiled. "Bella, were you even paying attention to anything I just said? Writers write what they know. I want to know what you know."

"How can I write about who I am if I don't know who I am? I'm a teenager, who the hell on this Earth knows who they are when they're a teenager? I only know my past and where I want to go. I don't know who I am as of the present. Besides, I don't want people to know who I am. I purposely perpetuate a chameleon like persona so I won't get hurt by careless people."

Mr. Carlisle walked back to his desk and sat down. He calmly folded his hands on his desk, pondering my childish speech. Finally he looked at me and smiled, leaning forward. "You need to find something to inspire you. Only then will your answers come."

"How do I become inspired?"

"Get some experience."

. . .

So I did.

Jasper, Alice, Rosalie, Edward, and I went for a drive in Edward's car out to the middle of nowhere. It was an uncharacteristically sunny and warm day in Forks. The green trees and green plants around us shone bright emerald under the sun's rays. The sky was a warm indigo. The birds were singing high above us in the air. My friends were just as jubilant as the birds, but were not as good at singing as the birds. Alice sang Lana Del Rey and Taylor Swift at the top of her lungs, Rosalie occasionally joining. Edward sat in the driver's seat, laughing and singing and joking along with us. Jasper sat next to him, and would occasionally would joke around with me. Jasper and I got along just fine after the break up. It was as if we never dated.

I was happy. This is where I belonged. I belonged out on the open road with the best people I know and no definite destination ahead of us. Feeling uncharacteristically free and happy, I rolled down the window and stuck my head outside. The wind pulled my hair behind my head and caressed my cheeks. I closed my eyes and let out a scream. I screamed for joy. I screamed for happiness. I screamed because I could.

I pulled my head back inside and joined my friends in laughter. It felt like a high, being together again. It was just like the old days, minus Emmett. It reminded me of the first summer we spent together before all of the drama of relationships and growing up complicated things. For once nothing was complicated. The shackles of life were unlocked, allowing us the freedom we had been deprived of for so long. I now know what true freedom feels like.

. . .

Eventually we had to stop for some gas. Alice and Rosalie had to go to the bathroom, and Jasper went inside to buy us all snacks, leaving me alone with Edward. I leaned on the side of Edward's car as he filled the tank with gas. Silence filled the air between us. I looked up from the strand of hair I was playing with and noticed Edward staring at me. "Enjoying the view?"

Edward smiled and looked away. "Of course. You look beautiful today, more beautiful than usual. You have a certain glow to you."

"Maybe it's the liberating feeling I have," I shrugged. "I feel ten pounds lighter."

"I like this new, unstressed look." We fell into another silence. This time, however it felt awkward. Finally Edward spoke. "I like you. I like you a lot."

"I know," I replied softly.

Silence.

"I know this is going to sound stupid," Edward laughed humorously. "But what do you think of me liking you?"

"Well," I sighed. "I've always known you liked me. I don't think of you as anything more than a brother."

"Because you don't want to get hurt?" Edward asked while putting the gas pump back in its place and closing his gas tank. He refused to look at me.

"Yes," I admitted. We were silent for a while before I continued. "I saw what happened to Rosalie when she dated and got hurt by her best friend. I don't want that to happen to me or you. I don't want to lose my shoulder to cry on."

Edward closed the space between us. He was so close I could feel his body heat and feel his breath on my face. I studied his face. Never before had I noticed how much of a man this boy had grown into. His eyes drew me in. "I would never hurt you the way Emmett did to Rosalie."

I looked away, feeling the familiar burning in the pit of my stomach. "Emmett promised to never hurt Rosalie. Look how well that went."

Edward grabbed my chin softly and made me look at him. His eyes were burning and intense. "But I'm not Emmett. I wouldn't turn on you or any of my friends just for fifteen minutes of popularity. I'm not easily swayed."

"That's probably why we're a perfect match," I blurted out. Goddamn word vomit.

Edward smiled. "Glad you see it too." He let go of my chin and touched my cheek, rubbing soft circles with his thumb. "Bella-"

"Edward, I'm not ready to be with you," I interrupted. I took a deep breath and slowly let it out. "I'm damaged right now. I don't trust anyone, I don't trust the sun, and I don't know how to let anyone behind the walls I built. I wish I could be everything you need in a girl, but that's not me. At least not who I am now."

Edward's thumb stopped. He studied my face for a long time before he smiled crookedly. "I can wait."