Caught in the Undertow

Second Monday in Forks. I've got to stop counting the days. Way too many ahead of me for that. But actually, I'm easing in, bit by bit.

Dad and I are getting into a kind of a routine – he'll make sure there's some kind of junk food available for breakfast; for dinner either I'll cook or we'll go to the diner; then end of the day is just homework, wash up, and bed. If Uncle Billy and Jacob are going to start coming over every weekend, that could be fun.

At school, too, I have a group to hang out with, and they're nice to me. I can walk the halls without looking like a scared rabbit. I park anywhere that I please now. I have the whole lab table to myself in Biology. In P.E. everybody knows enough to keep the ball away from me, and the chicken maggots in the cafeteria aren't even half bad.

I've also finally stopped expecting Edward Cullen to appear around every random corner and doorway I walk through.

Mike is at my elbow again, piling his tray. I get a sudden thought that next year, when we're all about to graduate, this is what "old times" will feel like.

"So, we missed you at the game, Saturday," he says.

Game? What … there was a game?

"Um …" is all that I say.

Mike looks like he's expecting me to say more.

"So, who was playing?" Our team, obviously. Basketball, right? This is basketball season, or that's what's on TV anyway…

"I was," Mike replies, perhaps a little too earnestly. Okay, open mouth, insert foot.

Jessica is right on the spot. "Mike's a forward. He made fourteen points and three assists, and was two for two at the free-throw line." She looks at Mike a little triumphantly. She'd been there. And paying attention. Not like some. She likes him.

"You should come, Bella," Angela is saying, as we all make our way to a table. She glances at Eric to make sure that he's following. Pimple-under-his-chin kid, Brendan, is right behind. "It's fun," she encourages. "The cheerleaders have a great half-time show this year."

"Yeah, Lauren Mallory was showing off her new tan."

The local beauty, who has been deposed by Rosalie Hale; although apparently she did kept her seat as Homecoming Queen last November. No one would vote for a Cullen. On the other hand, no one calls Rosalie or Alice "slut" behind their backs, either – but only because they're both permanently joined at the hip with their foster brothers. People say other things about that.

Lauren is in my Biology section, although I've never spoken to her. She and Tyler Crowley have two seats right in the front. The jock and the cheerleader are pretty serious students … so much for stereotypes. And I realize that I'm starting to remember peoples' last names, too. That'll be one gold star, please.

"So, the games are like, every Saturday?" I ask.

"Next one's an away game," Jessica supplies.

"You don't have to drive your truck, come with us," Angela invites. "Tyler can squeeze you in."

They're dissing my red monster. Maximum speed 53 miles per hour, on the flat, engine roaring like thunder. Sigh. They don't know about Uncle Billy's blessing, and the good luck grass. The rustproof skin and the warm, dry inside. They wouldn't understand anyway, or else they'd think I'm crazy.

"Must be some kind of record," Jessica mumbles, through a mouth full of celery.

The conversation must have gone on without me. "Record?" I ask.

"Edward. He's ditched a whole week now." She glances at the Cullens' table very pointedly, and I find myself really wishing she wouldn't. Earlier, when we all had walked into the lunchroom, I'd seen Edward's foster brothers and sisters giving me the evil eye. Rosalie, in particular had looked ready to bite nails.

Shelley, the girl who'd called Dr. Cullen the hottest thing in a white coat, is chewing gum and eating at the same time. She twirls a lock of russet hair around one finger. "Just 'cause he's got a perfect 4.0, the teachers let him do whatever he wants."

"He ditches a lot?"

I wouldn't have asked, except for the look that his family had given me. You'd almost think that I had somehow done something to Edward – run him out of town on a rail, or killed him and hidden him in the freezer or something.

"They all do," Eric answers. "Sunny day, never see hide nor hair of any of 'em."

He looks like that had been another feature story he would have loved to do, but nobody had ever had the courage to go and get the interview. Not that there are a whole lot of sunny days in Forks. But kids cooped up in school when the sun does come out would notice – and remember – who was absent.

"Do their parents know they do that?" I promise myself that will be the last prying question I ask.

"It's their parents that take them out of school! They go camping and stuff, can you believe it?"

"Yeah, or the beach," Mike sighs.

I wonder if there are warm beaches anywhere near Forks. Is the sun ever out long enough for a beach to get warm?

"I tried that idea on my parents," Jessica huffs. "Not even!"

"Funny, this is the first time Edward's ditched all by himself," Angela muses, sneaking her own quick glance at the Cullens' table. "Usually they're like, the five musketeers or something."

And today is not sunny.

I think about how fast Edward had been driving when he'd left the school last Monday. He couldn't have gotten into an accident. My Dad would surely have mentioned it. Hell, it would be all over the school.

"Maybe he's sick," I venture. Nobody hears me because Brendan is speaking over me.

"He prob'ly cut an artery by mistake!" Everybody but Angela laughs at that. I feel sick to my stomach.

He can't be cutting. Why would he?

Everything that the kids had said about the Cullen family last week floods back into my ears.

"They're all dating each other."

"Edward's gay."

"No, no, he's doing it with mommy and daddy!"

I don't want to believe any of it. But kids have cut themselves for less.

No! He wasn't wearing any of those wide-band wristwatches, or handkerchiefs, like cutters do.

Except that real cutters don't go for the wrist. They do it where you can't see. On their thighs, or stomachs. Thin, red cross-hatching. And a boy's name. Shallow, oozing. Kelli in 9th grade had shown me hers.

"Finding Emo!"

My insides shiver. You have to really dig to get an artery anyplace else but the wrist. I see Edward's fist clenched white-knuckle tight on his thigh; his leg unclothed; pale, smooth skin over taut muscle; a horribly deep gash, red blood gushing and spurting. Keep your eyes open, look at your food, anything. Anything to put a different image in my head. Don't throw up.

"Nah, he's prob'ly just gone clubbing in Seattle."

"Yeah, on his knees!"

I can't stand it. I have to leave. The pictures are running crazy, like a bad movie behind my eyes.

Edward on his knees. Horrible men doing horrible things to him. Making him do horrible things. White-skinned Edward bleeding out red on cold white tile somewhere.

I want to run, but there's no place to go to. No one to go to.

"Oh, hell," I lie. "I left my Trig homework in my locker. Catch you guys in class."

Girls' bathroom again. How pathetic is that?

In the end, I decide to use my mother's paranoia about birth control to try to get my Dad to talk about the Cullen family. Well, sort of. Our dinner conversation goes like this:

"Mom's worried that I don't have a doctor here in Forks. You know, in case I break my arm or something." (Hey, that could happen.)

Dad frowns, and I'm afraid that I'm busted right here.

"If anything like that happened, I guess I'd be sure it was Carlisle that saw you."

Uh oh. Who's 'Carlisle'?

I guess Dad sees my puzzled look.

"That would be Dr. Cullen to you, kiddo," he says with a grin.

Pounce!

"He's good?"

"Best there is, for my money. When the Wheeler boys were in that wreck last year, it was Carlisle put them back together again. Man's a miracle worker."

A sudden thought comes to me. "Did he take care of Uncle Billy?"

Dad shakes his head. "I wish he would've. Billy might still be walking today if he'd of let Carlisle touch him."

What does that mean? "Why didn't he?"

"I love your Uncle Billy, Bella, but he's a superstitious man. Stubborn, too."

"Oh."

Dad isn't biting. I'd have to pry to get more. I need to get to Dr. Cullen's family first, before my Dad clams up altogether. Maybe Jacob will tell me more about his Dad … some other time.

"Dr. Cullen has kids in school, I think…"

"Yeah, I think one or two are in your grade."

"They kind of keep to themselves … or … that's what I've heard."

Dad gives me a sharp look. Almost angry. "I'm sure you've heard more than that, Bella."

"Kinda …"

"Forks is a small town, baby. Folks here sometimes just aren't used to seeing people who have as much going for them as the Cullens do, especially outsiders. Looks, talent, money – sometimes it seems like too much good luck for one family to have all to themselves. So some folks go looking to find fault. Makes 'em feel better, I guess. But Carlisle is a brilliant surgeon. Best I've ever seen. And I guess I've seen a few."

Dad gets quiet for a second. I don't dare breathe. He and Uncle Billy never talk about their time over there.

"Point is, he could name his hospital and name his price. UCLA, Mayo, Johns Hopkins, you name it. But he chose to come to Forks. And work for the same pay as the rest of the staff here. He and Esme are good people, Bella. Generous. That's why they took in those kids."

"I'll admit, when they first came to town – five teenagers all in one household, and system kids at that – I had my thoughts. Maybe I had my eye on them a little. It's my job. But they're good students, every one of 'em. Never been in a lick of trouble, this whole two years. Polite, too. Look you straight in the eye when they talk."

"And Esme's a born mother. She can't have kids of her own, but she and Carlisle are doing right by these five."

I can't believe my Dad said all that. All by himself.

"So, I guess I shouldn't believe everything I hear …"

"No you shouldn't." He gives me another long look. "But if something's bothering you, you can tell me, Bells, you know that."

"Thanks, Dad." I already have, and I have a feeling he maybe knows, though no one is letting on.

"Yeah, well, go do your homework then. I'm gonna watch the news before I turn in."

I give him a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

"G'night, Dad."

It isn't that hard at all.

I go upstairs to my room.

And hang on to my Dad's words like a life raft the rest of the night.