Morning

I dreamed of a red fish, with hooked, black mouth and silver scales, swimming against the stream. The sun was shining down on it, through the bright water, and the scales gleamed back, with the color of the moon. But then, as I watched, the scales all fell away. They fell like snowflakes, like raindrops. And I saw that they turned into minnows, more than I could count: turning and schooling in the water there, their silver sides flashing. Then they wheeled, like darts of light, and raced each other to the sea.

In the dream I couldn't speak. I couldn't breathe. My chest was filled with tears, and I don't even know why.

Knock three times on the ceiling

if you wa-ant me

Twice on the pipe - *clink, clink*

if the answer is no-o-o

Oh, Dad.

He's got the oldies station blasting away from the clock radio in his room. It's his way of making sure I get up in time, just in case I sleep through my own alarm.

*Thump, thump, thump* - means you'll meet me

in the ha-allway

This song was old when my dad was a kid … maybe even when my grandma was.

Twice on the pipe - *clink, clink*

means you ain't gonna sho-o-ow

Well, maybe not. Grandma was pretty old – forty-something – when she had Dad. That's why she's already gone, now, I guess. Dad said she came from around here, but left when she was young. Never came back until after she had him. I never heard anything about a grandpa.

I'd asked, wasn't Swan my grandpa's name? But Dad had said no. Grandma never took any man's name. Swan was the name she'd been born with. I wonder if that was hard for my dad, growing up, to not even have a father's name. Maybe that's why he's so tight with Uncle Billy. Uncle Billy's not that much older than my dad. But old enough to be a big brother … I wonder if that was a problem for my mom, too … marrying her mother-in-law's name.

Why am I trying to unravel this now? It's not mine to unravel. Except that I guess single parenting must run in my family.

I roll over and put my head under the pillow.

And there's Edward's medicine recipe, all folded up, right next to my face. Reminding me what I did yesterday. And how much I wish I hadn't. What is wrong with me?

It had seemed like a good idea when I was writing the words. Nothing fancy, just 'thank you'. But written on the paper that he'd wrapped the medicine in. And then folded, just like he had folded his. Actions. Because I don't know how to do it with words. But that made the two little words look so bare on the page, so, I thought … a little decoration.

I should never have put it in his locker. All that hesitation for three days was a message. I should have listened. Should have just kept it here with me. Mine and his, keeping each other company under my pillow.

Or over my thumping heart.

My face is all hot, now. He's going to think I'm the Luna Lovegood of Forks. I hope he won't find it. But I know he will. Maybe he already has.

I don't want to go to school today. Not that he would actually ever say anything to me, but … I ball myself up in the quilts and try to disappear. Try to find my way back to the dream I was dreaming, just before 'knock three times' woke me up. I have an ache in my chest and a lump in my throat, and I think, if only I could see the fish again, if only I could figure out what it all means, then I might feel better.

It's no use. The dream is gone, now, and morning is here instead.

I'm still hearing a clinking sound. It's not the song. It's the radiator in my room, under the window. Yes, this house has really old-fashioned hot water radiators for heat. This used to be my grandma's house, actually, although I don't have any memory of her in it. All of my memories of her are living in a little condo type place in an old people's village, out by Neah Bay. I think I can actually count on my fingers how many times I ever saw her in my whole life.

It must have gotten colder overnight for the pipes to be knocking like they are. I crawl out of bed with my quilts all around me, and take a look out the window. Can't see much, because it's still pretty dark, but I can hear the rain clicking and scratching against the panes.

I try to forget my stupidity with Edward by concentrating on my same old routine. Bathroom, get dressed, turn off the radio, grab all my stuff, and head downstairs. I can smell the coffee down in the kitchen. There's just a little hint of cinnamon down there, too. My dad never said anything about it. I guess I should be glad that I never had to tell him any lies, but now the medicine is all finished, and I've thrown away the dregs of the herbs. This last lingering scent of it just makes me feel sad.

"Morning, Dad!" I call.

No answer.

"Dad?"

There's no one in the kitchen, just the coffee smell and an empty cup in the sink.

Did he go to work already? I go out to the porch to check. It's six thirty and starting to get light at this hour, now, and I realize I've been in Forks for almost a month.

The cruiser is right there in the driveway.

"Dad … ?"

Nothing. Just the rain clicking and swishing all around.

This is weird. I run inside.

He's not upstairs. Bathroom's empty. So is his bedroom. So is my room. (Why would I even look for him there?) I check every room in the house, even go down, bent over double, in the damp and nasty crawlspace, with the light bulb swinging and shadows jumping, and remembering every slasher movie I ever chickened out on watching.

"Dad?"

By the time I'm back in the kitchen, I'm fully panicked, and so I just run out of the house.

"Dad?"

Down the porch stairs, barely take two steps on the concrete walk, and both feet fly out from under me. I land, hard, on my butt. It hurts.

I hear the rumbling of my monster rolling into the driveway. The engine cuts, then my dad's voice –

"Bella!"

In an instant he's next to me.

"Bella! What happened?"

I feel like an idiot. What was I so scared of? And why didn't I notice that my truck was gone?

"Sorry, Dad, I just …" can't seem to stay upright even on solid ground that isn't moving at all.

My dad helps me up and dusts me off, puts his sheriff hat on me for good measure, to keep me dry. I get a sudden memory of his hat on me, so big that it comes down over my eyes, and me, proud as can be. The air is still stinging my hands, and I realize that it's sleet, not rain, that's falling.

"I got chains on your tires."

He's ushering me back inside with both hands.

"You eat yet?"

"Um …"

He grabs some cereal out of the pantry for me.

"You still got time. Go easy on the roads when you leave. It's pretty slick out there."

"Thanks, Dad." The adrenaline crash is making me tear up. God, I don't want him to see. I get real busy with my cereal.

"Gotta head out, Bells. Power plant guard over in Mason turned up dead this morning."

Well that got my attention!

He sees that I'm rattled. "Guys on the scene think it was some kind of animal. They've asked me to help out."

"Animal … ?" I can't help thinking of the snowboarder. I'd never even asked if they'd found her ok. They must have. Dad would have said something. Wouldn't he?

"Fred 'n I are heading over with the dogs, see if we can catch a trail before it goes cold." He pulls a twenty out of his wallet. "You get yourself something at Bessie's after school. Don't go wanderin' off."

Now he's taking his hat off my head and putting it back on his. I follow him out to the door.

"Don't wait up for me, Bells. It's gonna be a long day."

"Ok, Dad." I'm hanging on the porch post as he climbs into the cruiser. "Be careful."

"Always am."

And he's gone.

It's light, now, by the time I get to school, and so I can see Edward Cullen, standing by his silver Volvo. Scowling. If it were sunny, the bright ice coats on all the trees would be sparkling, just like the fish scales in my dream. That's something I've never seen, actually, except in pictures. Every twig and branch transformed into a prism of light. I'm not going to see it today, either. The sky is low and misty and grey; and Edward is scowling.

He's found my little 'thank you' note in his locker. I'm sure of it. And I'm just as sure that he didn't like it. At all. Because, as I very carefully pull into a spot away from everybody else in the ice-coated parking lot, I can see that he is scowling at me.

And I'm right back to not understanding him at all. Even if my note was stupid and dorky, it was also completely private. If he didn't like it, all he had to do was rip it up and throw it away. No one would ever even know. So what is there to be so mad about? And if he really hates me so much, why did he bring me medicine in the first place? What does he want from me?

It's my fault. With every jumbled minute of this morning running around in my head, and feeling Edward's eyes on me, I'm not paying attention. I've got my backpack on the hood of the truck, and I'm rummaging through it, because I have a sinking suspicion that my English notes are in my other binder: the one that's still in my room. I don't hear the screeching sound. I don't turn around. Until it's too late. Much too late.

My gaze crosses Edward's as I turn. He's standing there by his car with his mouth open. Now all I can see is Tyler's van. Big, and dark and green, and skidding straight for me. His mouth is open, too. He's trying to turn the van away from me, but that only makes it worse. The back end is swinging around. I'm going to be squished between the side of Tyler's van and the side of my truck. Nothing matters any more. Not me. Not Edward's scowl. Not the two pieces of paper: one under my pillow; the other … who knows where.

I'm hit.

I'm down.

With a human roll cage wrapped around me.

It's Edward. He's got me. His body is so hard. There's no more room. The van is right on top of us. I'm tucked up tight against Edward's side. He's holding me with one arm. The other one is out straight. I'm going to be sick. Two thousand pounds of metal are screaming in against Edward's outstretched hand, and I'm going to see all of it: the bones splintering, the weight of the van telescoping his wrist to his shoulder. I scream. The metal screams. I hear breaking glass and we're both showered with flying hail.

I open my eyes. Edward's arm is fine. Tyler's van is stopped, stove in on the side. Edward is holding me close, right up against him. He's cold. I'm sure I am, too. I don't know where all my blood went, but it's sure as hell not in my face. Right now, I'm numb, but I'll be getting the shakes soon enough.

Edward's face is right next to mine. His beautiful, beautiful face. White as death, just like me; oh, but his lips are still red. I would give my life. I really would. Our eyes meet again. He's staring. What does it mean? His eyes are not black like I remember. They're golden, like the sun. Like a cat's eye. Like topaz. Wide, and fierce, and fearful. With his arm tight around me.

Stay, I think. Stay. Hold me forever.

Until the mourning dove sings.

And that's when he lets go of me. Stands up. Vaults over the back of my truck, light as a feather.

And he's gone.

The world comes back.

The sleet.

The shouting.

"Call 911! Somebody call 911!" They're yelling it over and over.

"Bella's in there! I saw Bella! She was standing next to her truck!"

Tyler is hanging half out of the passenger window of his van. It's been pretty much shattered, because the doorframe is stove in. He doesn't look good. He has a lot of blood on his face. He looks groggy, but he's starting to come around.

"I'm sorry, Bella. I'm really sorry."