FLAVOR OF THE WEAK

ROSALIE HALE HAD NOT BEEN inside a human house in quite some time. She makes the confession softly, almost nostalgically, as she crosses the threshold. We'd gotten caught in the drizzle on our hike back, but it was starting to thicken out there. The drum of rain on the roof was slowly thudding faster. I realize this must be some sort of moment for her, watching her as she scans the space. It's like she's trying to soak it all in. Her lips twitch at something, in the living room, but I can't tell what amuses her. I don't really want to break the spell by asking.

When I return from changing out of my muddy boots and getting rid of my backpack and coat, she's waiting for me at the kitchen table. She has the window open, and her body is a little tense, but she's smiling at me. Rosalie must have noticed the way my eyes flicked to the window, where the icy air breezed freely through along with a few stray raindrops the overhang of the roof hadn't cleared. "Your scent is particularly potent at home. It's on everything."

Ah. I realized then that we'd never spent time alone anywhere that wasn't outdoors, except for her car. Even then she'd pressed the button for exterior air circulation. Somehow, home, the place I felt the safest, was apparently the most dangerous. "Is it really that difficult?" To not kill me?

"Extremely." Her liquid eyes bore into me. I can't stop the shiver. She giggled. "You did say you're not afraid of dying."

"That wasn't an invitation." I grumble, drifting toward the cabinets to make myself a cup of hot cocoa. I hadn't been able to recreate Mrs Stanley's yet, but I was determined. "What do you want to do today?"

"I didn't really think that far ahead." I catch her frowning when I glance over my shoulder, and turn back to the kettle to hide my smile. I liked that she wanted to see me when she was mad about something. That she wanted to see me at all. "Can I see your sketchbook?"

"Huh?" I had forgotten what she'd caught me doing in the woods, flushing. "It's not really great."

"I can go get it...?" But she was already getting up, and the idea of Rosalie going into my bedroom makes my eyes flash wide with panic.

"No! I mean, I'll get it." I abandon the kettle on the stove, and she looks a little startled at my outburst. There was a tiny, perfect v between her brows. I could feel the heat rise on my neck as I stalked past the stairs to my room. I knew what I had to hide first, and quickly, tearing three half-worked pages out of my sketchbook after fishing it out of my backpack. I scrunch the paper up hard, ignoring the perfect face that bore back at me, dumping the sketches into my waste basket. When I turned back around, Rosalie had just appeared at the half-open door, looking around my room with the same silent wonder as she had the house. Her lips twitched at the bed spread.

I clear my throat a little, holding the sketchbook out for her. She chuckles, crossing in deeper instead of leaving my room like I wanted her to. She helps herself to my neatly made bed, dropping back. She's taller than I am, her pretty golden hair fanning out. She flips the thin paper cover back, one hand reaching behind her to twist the latch on my window, shoving the heavy glass up with the impossible ease of lifting a feather. Her eyes are focused on the first page, eyes flicking across every stroke. I don't remember what I'd drawn.

All I can do is stare at the scene before me, soaking it in. Rosalie was lying on my bed. My bed. I had to try very hard to keep my mind clear and my heart from racing. "You're actually quite gifted."

"Thank you?" I'm confused by the surprise in her tone.

"No, some of these are very well done." She insists, flicking through faster now. Too fast. She glances up from my pillow, frowning. "Why aren't you taking Art?"

"It's the same block as Spanish." I answer, as if it were obvious. Her confusion grows. "AP Spanish looks better on my application for college."

"And you want to do an engineering degree." She remembers, looking back to the drawings. "Are you going to pursue car design?"

"No." I snort, apparently too dismissive. She didn't look happy. "I'm going to try to major in mechanical engineering. Become a mechanic."

"But you have a talent." She says as if its obvious. I try to hid my smile, folding my hands behind me as I looked down at my crossed feet. Only a rich girl would be this confused.

"Our parents aren't getting any younger." Her cute frown had grown into a pout in her utter perplexity. "Bella and I grew up a little tight around the belt. We don't want that for our kids, and well, we'll have to take care of mom and Dad separately, you know, divorced parents. She wants to study English, become a college professor somewhere. High school teacher, worst case scenario. I'm good at fixing cars. I can do that, get a degree for it so people take me more seriously. Become an engine specialist, maybe, if I'm lucky."

She smiles at that, but it's heartbreakingly sad, and I don't like the way she aims it at me. "Oh honey."

The words wash over me, and I try to figure out what that look meant. I'd never been looked at that way before. But just when the moment gets too intense, I'm saved by the whistling of the kettle. I escape a little too fast to be cool. I'm stirring in cocoa and milk when I hear the familiar spluttering rev of an engine. In the kitchen window, I watch Adam drive up over the curbside with a might jostle, absolutely destroying the nice patch of front lawn Charlie mowed ritualistically. In the now pouring rain, I could see mud flying everywhere before he killed the ignition.

I was already getting my jacket. When I opened the front door he was already jogging across, clothes absolutely drenched. I'm momentarily too distracted by the fresh, wet buzzcut to notice the waterlogged singular red rose he was gripping too hard in his hand. "What are you..."

He stops in the shade of the porch, panting, lips stretching into that pretty smile. Water drips from his now too-short hair down his face and off his stubbled jaw. "Sorry."

I melt.

We move at the same time, and I don't care how wet and cold he is. We hug tightly, my fingers clutching fistfuls of his clinging long-sleeve. He breathes deeply in my hair, arms rigid around me.

Rosalie's gone when I bring him in from the rain, fussing over him getting sick. It's like she was never even there. Belatedly, I remember there was no other car in front of the house. I don't know if I have the time to feel a little hurt that she left without saying goodbye, already nagging Adam and helping him tug off his shirt. It's half-hearted, I'm too happy he's here. "I couldn't stop thinking about you."

"Yeah?" I smile, pulling the front door open so I could wring his shirt out over the porch.

"I couldn't sleep." He tells me, and his voice is soft now. Like it was when we were alone. "I'm sorry I hurt your feelings baby, I didn't mean it like that. I didn't ever mean to make you cry."

"You could've called." I remember how horrible yesterday had been. I shouldn't forgive him that easy.

"I was too mad at myself." He shook his head. "And then you weren't at school today, and your sister said you were sick but she's a really crap liar." He chuckled.

I made him drink the hot cocoa to warm up. He grimaced at it, so I knew I'd messed up, but he drained it all anyway and I was glad for it. As if the drink would singularly repel hypothermia. That might have been an overdramatic fear but I didn't really know what getting caught in the rain meant in weather like this. I make him strip down and give him a pair of my pajama flannels, which he tries to argue against, taking all his wet clothes to the tumble dryer.

We lie in my tiny bed together after that, cuddling. This was the first time Adam had been in my room, too, but I didn't feel the same protective nature over my personal space as I had when a certain blonde had laid there just moments before. It was just nice to be in his arms again. I drew stars with my fingertip over the hard ridges of his pale muscles, and he watches me, propped up against my pillows, with a soft crooked smile. "I don't think I've ever loved someone as much as I love you, Grace Swan."

I turn up to him, off his chest, smiling at that. And then my eyes drift up to his hair. "I can't believe you shaved your head."

"You don't like it?" His expression falters, the nerves shining through as he reaches his free arm up to wipe a hand over it. I'm curious about how it feels, but I'm too comfy to move.

"No, it looks good." I decide, still staring. "But I'll miss running my fingers through your hair."

"It'll grow back." He smiles again, pleased I approved. "Figure it'll look better in a suit anyway."

A frog enters my throat. "We don't have to go tomorrow."

He sighs. "Baby, I told you—"

"No. It's fine. I don't want to make you do something you don't want to." I tell him. "We can do something else instead."

He lights up. "Yeah?"

I nod, smiling again, leaning just enough to kiss him so he knows we're all right. "As long as I'm with you, it doesn't really matter."

I can tell how much that means to him. I feel a little guilty then, that I've never said I love you back. I had a feeling he'd noticed. If my ego had been hurt when we'd had our fight, I could only imagine what I'd been doing to him ever since that day at the beach. "You know I like you more than anybody else, right?"

The guilt grew. I wasn't sure if that was entirely true. He smiles anyway. "I know."

I sigh, looking back down and cuddling more against him. He wraps both arms securely around me, anchoring me to him, lifting the quilt up over us both. "You can sleep if you want to."

"No." I mumble against his skin, eyes shut. I can feel his chuckle against my ear. And then his large fingers move up to my hair, stroking through, and I know I'm fighting the inevitable. "Stay?"

"I'm not going anywhere." He promised, voice soft. I feel his lips against the top of my head, and then his chin, tucking up on top as he shifted down a little. "Ever."

Bella came home first. I drifted half-awake at the sound of the front door slamming shut, and then I heard the muffled call for both Adam and I. She knocks lightly on the door, and she must've opened it because I hear Adam whisper 'she's asleep'. I drift back deep after that.

When he shakes me awake, it's getting dark out. I panic at what that means — Charlie would be home soon, and a half-naked Adam was in my bed. He laughs tiredly at my immediate alarm and my rush to get him out, and I can tell from the rings under his eyes that he hadn't slept a wink.

He's long gone before Charlie's cruiser pulls up, but of course my Police Chief father spots the mud tracks torn through his lawn immediately. I'm pretty sure he's upset, the way his fluffy brows are furrowed lower than usual over his eyes, but he's placated when he finds out Adam's made it up to me. I can tell he's decided not to like Adam after that whole fiasco, but he's happy I'm happy at least.

I'm in a good mood. I cook Bella and Charlie steaks my way, with garlic parsley potatoes and a salad Bella insists on to balance the meal. I call Jess after dinner, telling her I'm not going to see her at the dance because Adam and I were going to go somewhere nice together instead. She's eager at the revelation we've made up, and she wants to hear every detail but I use Charlie as an excuse again. I know that by the time I go to school on Monday, the whole school will have heard that Adam and I are fine and I won't have to face the embarrassment of all the piteous stares.

Bella insisted on doing the rest of the laundry after I was done with my call. She seemed upset that I'd done any of it at all, and I couldn't comprehend why. I had schoolwork and homework to catch up on from what I missed today, so I got on that at my desk, hoping to keep tomorrow as free as possible for Adam. It wasn't until I got to my desk that I saw Rosalie had left my sketchbook there. It was folded open to a blank page, her familiar beautifully looped handwriting running across the paper.

You are capable of everything, Grace. Don't waste your life.

My vision blurs, and I realize too late that the words have choked me up. There was a deep sting in my chest, and it made breathing hard as I grew frustrated at myself for crying again. I tear the page off and crush it furiously, tossing it carelessly into the waste bin.

I didn't notice it was empty.

I slept late that night, blasting music in my CD Player until my head was clear enough to tackle my workload. I felt well rested when I woke, better than I'd felt in a long time. I stretched out in bed and smiled, staring out the window for a while, watching the dust motes dance in the shaft of light that cast over my legs. The forest looked greener somehow, like a Disney movie. I could even hear faint birdsong.

I realized why a moment later. The window latch was undone, a tiny gap creeping still-cold air through to raise the tiny hairs on my arm. I frowned. I didn't remember feeling cold last night. Rosalie must have forgotten to do the latch when she closed the window. Had she left through it, when Adam showed up yesterday? We didn't have a back door. The idea of her sneaking out of my room like a lover in the night made me blush, shaking away the stupid daydream.

Charlie was already gone when I came out . Bella was still asleep, so I brought my cereal with me to my room. When I came back out again she was already gone. With nothing left to do until Adam showed up like he said he would, I focused on potential outfit choices. We didn't have a plan yet, but I was hoping he would surprise me. I ignored the little stab at my chest when I saw the bag with my mint green dress at the bottom, eventually settling on a short white halter dress. It wasn't nearly warm enough, despite the sun, but I was willing to brave it to look nice for him.

I went back up to the bathroom and took my time, a luxury I usually wasn't afforded sharing in the mornings with Charlie and Bella. I shaved more meticulously than usual, deep conditioned my hair. An hour later my nails had dried, after several attempts to make certain the ruby red was as perfect as could be, gleaming. I caught myself glancing at the clock on my wall a few times. It was getting close to ten, I knew that was too early to worry yet but the fresh fear I'd be stood up lingered. I admonished myself for thinking the worst so soon.

By the time Adam showed up, well past noon, I had fallen asleep trying to read Fitzgerald on my bed in full makeup. I cursed, rushing to my mirror to fix my coiffed hair, shouting out 'in a minute!' when I heard the doorbell ring before realizing he couldn't hear me. The old house was sturdier than it looked.

Ignoring the biting cold, I kept my jacket over my arm so it wouldn't ruin the look. Adam let out a low whistle as I opened the door, taking me in long and slow from where he leaned on the doorway with one arm up. I giggled, letting him tug me in to greet me with a sweet kiss, delighted I got the reaction I'd wanted. "Hi."

"Hi." He smiled between kisses. "Stunning."

Maybe I could fall in love with Adam Wexler.

We listened to Weezer in the car, making me laugh at the little inside joke. He hadn't dressed any different, or brought flowers, but I knew I couldn't pick at that. That was just Adam. The rose from yesterday was still in a beer bottle filled with water on my bookshelf — it was droopy this morning, and I didn't know if it would recover from getting crushed and all that rain. As I thought back to the rose, I began to hope he'd get me more flowers from now on. Maybe the effort I put in today would remind him that just because I was already his girlfriend didn't mean he couldn't still do cute stuff sometimes.

That hope faded when I saw where we were heading. I tried not to let my disappointment show, pulling up in his paved driveway. The boys were already setting up in the garage, and like Adam, they whistled when I climbed out of the Camaro. I felt uncomfortably overdressed.

"We can go for lunch at Carver after practice?" Adam offered, reaching across to tangle our fingers as we walked around the front of his car. He smiled, sheepish, as if he'd realized his mistake. "It won't take long, promise."

But it did. By nightfall, I was wearing one of Adam's sweatshirts over my dress, fiddling with one of Toby's electric guitars. Johnny had taught me how to play the drums, but Adam was the lead singer. I didn't actually know if he could play anything. I got a little curious, enjoying the way the metal strings thrummed and trembled under my fingertips.

"Gracie?"

I looked up. Adam was on the phone. "Cheese or pepperoni?"

Great. We weren't going for dinner either, then. "Cheese, thanks."

"You wanna share some garlic bread?"

"No thanks."

Right now, everyone would be at the dance. I thought about it wistfully. What kind of decorations would the dance committee have decked out? Would Mike pull the courage to finally kiss Jess like I'd told him to? Did Ben Cheney ever ask Angela to Prom? Maybe he would make a move at the dance, ask her in front of Eric. Jolt Yorkie into realizing he could do more than just mope over my very unavailable sister.

And that made me think of Edward, and Bella. My heart jolted into quick panic. What if Rosalie had been right? What if something went wrong? Would I even know if my sister had died? Maybe she would just go missing. I doubted they would leave evidence before they vanished. Sheer terror ran down my spine that I might never see Bella again.

But she was in her bedroom when I got home, looking very flushed when I opened the door. I'm confused, before I understand that I forgot to knock in my growing paranoia. I had thought of little else on the quiet drive home.

"Sorry." I blush, though my lips twitch with amusement. I'd never had to worry about giving Bella privacy before. I was half convinced my twin didn't know what hormones even were. "I guess the date went well."

"I—"

"Night Bells." I shut the door quickly, fighting snickers. I was weirdly a little proud of my sister, and oddly proud of Edward. He had more control than Rosalie gave him credit for.

The nausea crashed over me as I turned away from her door, apparently too fast. The room swayed. I squeezed my eyes shut and clenched my fists, willing the bile to go back down with a hard swallow. I thought I was safe, opening my eyes and taking a singular step forward before I was bolting left for the tiny bathroom. I barely made it to the toilet seat.

Bella must have heard me, because a moment later she was there. "Gracie?"

I felt her clammy hands pulling my hair back away from my face as I wretched again, my nostrils burning and hot tears streaming down my eyes. I'd thought that pizza had smelled a little off.

"Bella?" Dad had heard me from downstairs, over the loud noise of the TV. Great.

"Gracie's sick!" Bella hollered down through the open door as my stomach heaved again. One last wretch, this time of acid and bile, and I was panting blindly for breath. The wind feels knocked out of me, and I can't remember the last time I'd gotten this violently sick out of nowhere without a trace of alcohol. "You're okay, here."

She tries to help me clean up but I push her away, wanting privacy more than anything. "I'm fine. Thanks."

Bella waits outside for me, and Charlie's halfway up the stairs with worry written all over his face. I give them a weak smile, still a little green. "I'm fine, I think I just had a bad slice."

"You want me to run by the hospital, get some pills?" Charlie offers, but I can see how exhausted he is from his fishing trip. I couldn't believe he was still awake.

"I'll be fine, it'll pass." I wave off, pulling myself together. "Let the bathroom air out, I kept the window open. Good night."

"I'll get a bucket." Bella offers knowingly, but I shake my head.

"I don't have anything left." I promise her.

"Just in case." She insists, and then she's going down the staircase past Charlie. He watches me with a funny expression, before deciding I'm fine enough for now. And then he nods, shuffling down too.

I knocked out very easily that night, though I wished it stayed that way. In my exhausted dreams, Rosalie was there, and the scene was different. We were in the woods, and we were side by side, talking, laughing, though I couldn't catch any words. And then we were here, in my bedroom. And she was sat beside me on my bed —

I woke up and turned straight for the bucket in the dark, grasping blindly for it. Twice more, I would half-wake in the night to heave nothing over and over, forcing myself awake enough to switch on the lights and clean myself up. I didn't dare go up the creaky stairs, I remembered not wanting to wake Bella or Charlie up. The kitchen was fine, and it meant I could refill my glass of water only for it to end up in the bucket again hours later. By the second time, I was hardly coherent.

But I dreamt of cold fingers soothing my sweaty hair back, taking the nausea away in the trail they left down my back, seeping through my t-shirt. I dreamt of hushed whispers that I would be fine. And easily, I drifted into the darkness without a third incident.