Sixteen/Eighteen

April 2006

On Monday, Edward was finally waiting for her by the oak tree near the entrance – returning to school after a week-long absence. Bella stopped in her tracks. Her whole face lit up into a smile, and she waved with crazy enthusiasm. She wheeled towards him a touch faster than usual, stopping where the asphalt turned into grass. Edward rushed towards her, then stopped to tuck some wayward hair behind her ear.

"Hi, Bee."

She lifted her hand to intertwine her fingers through his. "I'm glad you're back," she admitted sheepishly, peering at him through her eyelashes. "I missed you during Calc."

"Yeah?" he replied gently, lifting her backpack from the back of her chair. "Did something happen?"

Bella shrugged as he held the door open, giving the people behind them a customary glare. The crowds parted for her: people avoided staring. Nobody knocked into her; nobody hit her with a wayward backpack, and not a single soul scoffed their irritation at her necessary slowness. With Edward, Bella felt protected and visible for all the right reasons. She gnawed on her lip as she thought of how to verbalize it.

Angling her chair, she parked by her locker and locked her brakes. She opened her locker door and began to pull out her books for the day. Edward took her backpack off his shoulders and placed it gingerly in her lap. As Bella rearranged her locker books, Edward was intercepted.

"Bro! You're back," a Kevin Scott boomed, clapping Edward on the back. He completely ignored Bella at first, and Bella curled into herself, shifting in her wheelchair. Covertly, she peeked up at them. Edward had put a hand on Bella's opened locker door, and Kevin was staring at Edward stupidly starstruck in awe. "Mr. Fucking Harvard, according to Coach Clapp."

Bella peered up at Edward, unaware she had informed his football coach. The news would probably spread like wildfire.

Edward gave a noncommittal grunt. "I'm done with this hellhole," he muttered irritably, running a hand through his thick copper hair.

"She said you had the flu," Kevin continued. Used to being referred to without being acknowledged, Bella set her lips in a tight line and wheeled closer to her locker.

Edward bristled. "Her name is Isabella. Say hi to her, you fucking moron."

Bella's mouth fell open at an unprecedented defense.

First, Kevin smiled at Edward with an incredulous, mocking grin. At Edward's dark glower, Kevin scoffed. "Hi, Isabella," Kevin intoned, lips trembling with indignation, then snorted at Edward. Kevin had been her schoolmate since 1996, and this was the first time they exchanged words.

Bella barely looked up. "Hey," she said flatly.

"Now fuck off, Scotty," Edward barked, reminding Bella of his grandfather.

Bella felt cold all over. In two-and-a-half years as her schoolmate, not once had Edward asked one of his football cronies to acknowledge her. This change made her ache. Now he wanted to defend her, acknowledge her – now that he was about to leave. Now that he was six weeks away from graduation, his classmates' opinions mattered less, and Bella was finally worthy of his acknowledgment. Bella bit her lip forcefully, feeling her eyes sting.

Edward slid down the locker, knees bent. "I'm so done with these fucknuts," Edward grumbled. "All of them."

Bella shook her head wordlessly, her sadness clawing at her chest. Edward eyed her intently, clearly thinking his next sentence would cheer her up. "Why don't you sit with me at lunchtime?" It was the fifth time he asked in a single semester. Each time, she flatly rejected him.

Bella's anger flared, and she slammed her locker shut. A shiver-like spasm ran through her body. "I'm not gonna abandon Eric now that you've finally decided I'm worthy of sitting with you and your … your Regina Georges," she snapped. Besides, the thought of sitting through a whole lunch hour where Lauren Mallory hand-fed Edward Skittles made Bella want to vomit.

Instead of having the decency to look ashamed, Edward looked befuddled. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

Bella rolled her eyes so far back she was afraid her irises would turn 360 degrees.

"Ugh," Bella groaned, livid. Keeping her backpack on her lap, she unlocked the brakes on her wheelchair. Skillfully, she spun away.

Bella's fury at Edward was doused like a fire by an extinguisher within hours. Edward took Intermediate French and Calculus with Isabella. Untucked shirt, hair a luxurious wild mess, he waltzed into both long after the second bell had rung. Mr. Grady glowered at him, apparently considering some kind of rebuke. However, much to Bella's relief, even Grady could tell Edward was completely defeated. His eyes were bloodshot; during the entire class period, he looked drowsy – his head kept lolling back and forth to fight back heavy sleep.

"Are you OK?" Bella whispered into his ear. Her doe eyes were huge. Gingerly, she rubbed his arm up and down, as if he could draw comfort from her.

"I'm fine," he muttered.

"Did you sleep OK?" she asked him softly.

Edward shrugged. "I'm just so fucking tired," he whispered back, proving her point with a stifled yawn. "I've been sleeping like a … I don't know. A fucking lot."

"Like a sloth?" Bella supplied innocently, feeling stupid in the next beat. His eyes were closed so he didn't see her blush.

Sleepily, his lips turned up at the corners. "You're so fucking cute sometimes."

"Faites attention!"

"Desolée, Monsieur," Bella piped quickly in excellent French. Edward chuckled.

Bella grinned at him playfully and sought his hand under the table, rubbing his thigh. He let go of her hand only when it was time for her to conjugate the passé compossé on a handout. Edward stared at his worksheet like it was a soiled napkin. "I've been to fucking France twice, nobody gives a fuck about the past participle," Edward said cockily to nobody in particular. Scoffing at him, Bella rolled her eyes.

"You still have to get your High School Diploma to go to Harvard, Edward," Mr. Grady said good-naturedly.

Surprisingly, Edward grinned a half-ashamed sheepish grin. With his index finger, he pulled his worksheet toward himself.

"If Edward can go to Harvard, you can go teach there, Isabella," Mr. Grady said dryly. Edward laughed a rusty laugh for the first time in days, and Bella turned scarlet and curled into herself.

Edward cupped her shoulder as she gathered her books and as they made their way to the parking lot, towering protectively over her as he glared at the stream of High Schoolers rushing around them. As ever, he helped her transfer her body into his old BMW and broke down her wheelchair with practiced ease. When he got into the car, he slammed his head against the headrest and closed his eyes, taking deep breaths.

"You tired?" Bella asked gently. A theory had begun to form at the corner of her mind, and Edward's exhaustion pushed it to the forefront of her mind.

Without opening his eyes, he nodded. "Let's get you home."

They drove in comfortable silence for a couple of minutes, while Bella's theory built in her mind.

The car roared to life, and Bella turned in her seat. As he drove, Bella placed her hand on his thigh, rubbing it up and down. It had taken Edward three years to feel comfortable driving. Bella had reassured him constantly of what she knew in her heart to be true: The Accident had been a freak one – a combination of an inexperienced teenage boy in a ridiculous car and awful weather.

"Um, I was – I was reading this book," she said awkwardly, in her teeniest voice.

His lips turned up tenderly at the corner; he glanced at her quickly before returning to the road. "What a shock," he teased her lightly. "What's it about?"

"Um, it's – well, I don't know – I don't know if it's believable or not," Bella said in a blurt. "But it's – well, one of the – the main character has a bit of eh – well, not a bit, quite a lot, actually – of ehrm...depression."

Edward didn't need to turn to know she was peeking at him pleadingly with her enormous doe eyes. Without responding any further, he stiffened. "Where the fuck are you going with this?" he asked her gruffly, his tone snappish.

Her voice was barely above a whisper. "Maybe you – you're – Maybe you need – Maybe you're ..."

Roughly, Edward took a turn and pulled over. He put the car in park and then turned to glower at her.

"So you think I'm fucking depressed?" Edward said, his anger growing with every word.

Bella's voice was pleading. "You've been so tired for weeks. And maybe even before…you were having difficulty sleeping at night, and you're under a lot of pressure and stress."

"My mother fucking died," Edward snarled, slamming one hand against the steering wheel.

"That's my fucking point!" Bella yelled back.

The retort died in his throat: Bella rarely cursed. For minutes, they were silent. Each breathed heavily in their corner, glaring daggers at the other.

It was Bella who broke the silence finally. "There's really nothing to be ashamed of," she said softly, imploringly. Her doe eyes began to well with tears. "I think there's a lot of stigma around it. Going to a therapist is like… Like when I go to physiotherapy for my legs." At this, a blush spread across her cheeks. For some incomprehensible reason, Bella was deeply ashamed of needing physiotherapy.

The reminder of her vulnerability dampened Edward's anger. "It's not the same thing at all," Edward snapped. "What – your – your, erh, your thing isn't your fault."

Bella's eyes welled with tears as she turned towards him. "Neither is yours!"

At this, Bella's worry and anxiety burst free with her tears. She let out a wail – a sob. Growing agitated made Bella's body – itself unruly - harder to control. She started to tremble - tremors that came as part and parcel of her cerebral palsy. As the tempo of her sobs grew, so did her trembling. Edward cringed.

"Fuck. Bella, don't cry. Please don't fucking cry. I hate it when you cry," he begged in an irritable snap, growing so agitated he started to fidget. Bella sniffed, wiping at her face with her sleeves. His tone made her angry.

Her words grew slurred. "I can't help it!" she growled. The sentence would be unintelligible to anybody that hadn't spent time with her.

Edward tugged at his hair violently, apparently exploding with irritation at everybody – including himself. He pulled at the skin of his cheekbones as if meaning to pull it off. "I know, I know. I know, love."

If her spasming had allowed it, Bella would have frozen in shock. Instead, she blinked at him as her treacherous body continued to rattle like a timer going off. He had never called it love before. She continued to tremble in a mixture of spasms and sobs, feeling her back contorting painfully.

Edward's irritation-tinged desperation grew. He'd been with Bella during episodes when her tremors became uncontrollable. After a second of panic, his protective instincts kicked in. Finally, Edward settled for stroking her hair, making a comforting, shushing sound. "I'm sorry," he murmured, in a tone he reserved for the things he whispered into her neck late at night. "You're OK, You're OK. You're OK, angel. I promise I'll… I promise I'll deal with it."

Bella blinked at him pleadingly, then started to settle.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled finally, sniffing, words still slurring, still trembling. "I didn't mean to freak out like that. I think that's over."

"Thank fuck," Edward breathed. "You scared me."

Bella hoped she could school her face into looking as apologetic as she felt. "I'm sorry."

Edward nodded as he stood to his feet.

"Fuck, no. I'm sorry," he said, turning to her in a split second, his face split with remorse. "I know you're trying to – to help."

Bella took another shaky breath. "Let's go home?"

Remorsefully, he tucked wayward hair behind her ear. "Sorry," he repeated.

"Yeah. Home," Edward agreed, turning the engine back on.

May 2006

Every lunchtime since the ninth grade, Isabella Swan and Eric Yorkie had sat at a table in the cafeteria's west wing. Their spot was furthest away from where the popular kids sat – by the window. Their spot was a corner table – often left without a matching chair - that gave way to the heat of the dish pit's noises and moist heat. Bella had embraced their spot. She was now friends with the busboy – a man named Gilberto – and she greeted him every day.

Both Eric and Isabella had been outcasts since Middle School. However, whereas Isabella was ostracized for an obvious disability, Eric was ostracized for social ineptitude that – years later – Bella would come to suspect was Asperger's syndrome. Whereas Isabella had bloomed into delicate cheekbones and porcelain skin, Eric had faced a … difficult puberty. His skin shone with grease and was heavily pox-marked with nodules and cysts. Every week, he seemed to sport new clusters of papules and pustules – which Bella always forcefully pointed out to Edward was "not from a lack of hygiene." Adding insult to injury, Eric was attempting to nurture his peach fuzz into an unfortunate beard. Edward gleefully described it as "pubes strung together."

Neither jibe had landed well with Bella.

Edward's otherwise inexplicable jealousy, however, was not unfounded. It had become increasingly – and uncomfortably – evident to Bella that Eric Yorkie was in love with her. He never really touched her, but he stared at her a lot. Bella caught him staring often, English, Biology, and Spanish class. In all instances, the intensity – the unmuted fascination - of his staring makes her blush. The Eric Situation, as Esme delicately called it, made Bella anxious.

"You don't have to feel pressured to like that little boy back," Esme had cautioned, incapable of hiding her distaste. "You're under no obligation to him."

"I am," Bella retorted. "He's been my only friend for 10 years, Mom."

Esme had pursed her lips. "Yes, but you're not obliged. Especially not to be his girlfriend, which is obviously what he wants."

Bella had rolled her eyes.

Watching him eat, Bella understood Esme's trepidation. He had used all ten fingers to dismember his Luncheable sandwich, eating with the nervous anxiety of a famished dog. He had balled two napkins next to him, and there was mayonnaise smeared down his chin.

Daintily, Bella took a bite of her own sandwich. Bella was virtually allergic to everything, so Esme carefully inspected the school's weekly menu. If Esme had the faintest impression Bella would have an allergic reaction, she packed her daughter's lunch –gorgeous sandwiches, salads, and fruit. Bella was biting into sourdough bread with pesto, fresh mozzarella, and sliced turkey. On occasion, Isabella brought – and shared - chocolate turtles and snickerdoodles with Eric.

"You've been really quiet," Eric said in his strange intoning, midbite. Despite herself, Bella wrinkled her nose at the sight of the half-chewed pretzel and gooey chocolate in his mouth.

Bella shook her head. "You have mayo dripping down to your chin, E," she said sweetly, offering him another fresh napkin. Esme, who had seen Eric eat – with such horror she had almost wept at the end of the meal – sent Bella lunch with a large wad of napkins. Bella tapped the right side of her chin in illustration. Eric stared intently at the corner of Bella's lip before wiping his own.

"Why are you so quiet?" Eric insisted agitatedly, bouncing his knee.

"I'm just thinking."

"OK," he said monotonically, eyeing her fishily. "Can I keep telling you about Silent Hill?"

Bella nodded and plastered a smile on her face. She hoped the exhaustion in her eyes would remain hidden, sucking in a sigh. She was used to play-by-plays of horror movies from Eric. Anything other than enthusiastic nodding would end in an interrogation about her body language. Sometimes, frankly, Bella preferred talking to Gilberto to talking to Eric.

Eric's play-by-play of Silent Hill came to a screeching halt, along with every other conversation. The usual clamor of the cafeteria was stopped abruptly by deafening noise: a cacophony of plastic clattering and glass smashing, followed by a wet thud. Eric – along with others – stood, making it impossible for Bella to see the commotion.

"You fucking prick," Lauren Mallory screeched, in a voice so shrill that Isabella winced.

Suddenly worried for Edward – and overflowing with evil glee at what the screech heralded -, Bella unlocked her chair brakes and pulled away from the table. Some eyes turned to her, including Eric, who felt the need to claw at Isabella's hair. Irritated, Bella wheeled faster to the widest path between tables. She cringed at the confirmation of her fears. Edward – her Edward - was drenched in a combination of meatloaf and clam chowder. Huffing indignantly, Edward was cradling his nose in his hand.

"You crazy – " Edward thundered back. "You broke my nose."

Lauren stomped her foot and turned on her heel. Her icy blue eyes fell squarely on Bella, who froze with terror. Her every instinct told her she would be the next target of Lauren's fury. Doe eyes wide, Bella did the only stupid thing available to her – she wheeled away from Lauren's line of vision. At this, Lauren let out a cackle – a shrieked laugh like a bucket of cold water.

"You're – really?" Lauren barked incredulously, in a screech that bounced off the walls. "Really, Edward? You fucking freak." The last thing Bella heard was wood creaking against the linoleum. She didn't hear a sound during the ensuing commotion; she genuinely felt like vomiting. She wheeled back against the wall. People's stares stung like mosquito bites on her skin. Bella never turned to look, but she felt Lauren's icy stare like ice trickling down her back.

It was only after school that Bella understood the extent of the commotion. When she spotted him, at first, she squinted, unconvinced. Half of Edward's face had turned an ugly, beetroot purple. The length from his pronounced cheekbones, through the bridge of his aquiline nose, was badly bruised. Bella winced in horror, unable to hide the desolation in her voice.

"Is your nose broken?" she gasped mournfully.

"Not according to the nurse," Edward mumbled darkly, opening the car to toss his bookbag in the backseat.

"Edward," Bella murmured, desolate. She craned her neck up, arching her entire body towards him. "Oh, Edward."

"I'm fine, Bella," Edward half-snapped, emotionlessly. He sounded drained again - like he had for well over three weeks now. He sounded and looked exhausted like he hadn't slept well. Bella knew the exact opposite to be true. Edward had been sleeping like a baby, often for what seemed like entire day. "Can we fucking go, now?"

Feeling like a toddler, Bella gestured for him to move closer. He rolled his eyes, lips taut with stress, and finally knelt in front of her. Bella gasped again at the bruising, her eyes welling with tears. Despite the softness of her touch, he still winced when she applied light pressure with the pads of her fingers. "What happened?" she croaked.

"Lauren threw a plate at me," Edward muttered dryly.

Tears pooled around her bottom eyelashes. "Edward, Lauren assaulted you."

Edward took in a sharp breath that seemed to hurt and squared his shoulders. "Whatever."

"Edward – " she insisted, with an almost hysterical screech.

He shook his head in a single, well-measured motion, and then pressed his fingers to her mouth. "Let's talk about it in the car – not fucking here."

Bella bit back her hysteria and put her hands on the wheels. She wheeled past the door so Edward could crank it open; he held it open while she pivoted from the wheelchair to the car seat. Once Bella was safely in the passenger seat, he slammed the door and folded her chair up with rough movements. When he got into his driver's seat, he took a deep, sobering breath.

"Listen, Bella," he said solemnly. "I want you to stay as far away from Lauren Mallory as you can. Like… Make sure you're never alone in a room with her. Keep your distance."

"I already do that," Bella bit back. "Edward, we need to tell someone – "

"I'm not going to tattletale on a girl," he snapped.

"Edward, this is really serious," Bella insisted, agitatedly. "Look at your face!"

"Bella, I've been punched before. This is not a big fucking deal."

Bella huffed. She folded her arms across her chest, eying him scornfully.

"Could you at least tell me why Lauren Mallory pitched a plate at your face?"

Edward groaned a long-winded groan. "Jesus fucking Christ, Bell, it doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does," Bella snapped back testily. "Tell me."

Edward snorted in breaths like an enraged bull. "Fine," he spat.

Surprising Bella, he took a questionable left turn and pulled over. He folded his arms across his chest, looking rather like a petulant fourth grader. "Lauren was under the mistaken impression that … Lauren thought she and I were boyfriend and girlfriend – "

"Geez, I wonder why," Bella deadpanned acidly, and Edward glared at her.

"She thought I was taking her to fucking prom or something."

Bella snorted dryly, digesting the information. She couldn't resist teasing him, in no small measure to hide the jealousy – the aching sense of inadequacy - tearing her innards open. "Who are you taking to prom? That college girl from Puget Sound you slept with last month?"

Edward's mouth fell open in sheer bewilderment. "How the fuck do you know about that?"

Bella felt like a plate had been pitched at her stomach. "It's true?" she croaked, in a tinny voice, her teasing bravado eviscerated painfully. Every confirmation that he slept around like a jackrabbit in heat felt like a brand-new cut on her skin. He looked at her curiously, intently studying the expression on her face. Feeling foolish, Bella schooled her expression and steeled her spine.

"It's not," he lied quickly, and pointlessly. The expression in his eyes told Bella he realized his mistake in answering so impulsively.

Bella scoffed.

"Your football friends thought you were a hero for it," Bella almost sneered. "They weren't exactly discreet about it."

Edward's face darkened. "I'm not going to talk to you about my sex life with other girls," Edward finally said evenly. "You and my sex life are entirely separate spheres."

That, Bella thought, was the most painful thing she had ever heard from his mouth.

"Right," she mumbled, lowering her gaze to hide the pain in her eyes. She was glad she'd been crying. "You're right. Let's just… let's just go."

Edward's irritability became uncontainable. "Seriously, Isabella," he snapped. "Stop gossiping about my goddamned sex life. Christ."

For months, Bella's self-esteem had been lifted in her heart of hearts by Edward's evident love. She felt giggly, airy, like floating – like she could burst into vibrant dance – with his every casual touch and every term of endearment from his lips. That self-esteem had been slashed with a single blow in the form of a single sentence. Salting the wound was Edward's admission of his sex life with other girls. Bella was so devastated that she'd crawled into her bedroom after a muted greeting to her mother. She'd clutched her giant stuffed Winnie the Pooh, until she remembered Edward had bought her entire 100 Acre Woods collection for Christmas in 2005. The goddamned stuffed animals were proof that Edward loved her.

On top of everything, Bella felt grievously alone. Edward was her best friend, and Eric, was her most steadfast one. The turmoil of her thoughts was for her, and for her alone, to dissect. Neither would be good at listening to this particular problem. Isabella couldn't admit she wanted to make corny movie love to Edward himself, not when the feeling was obviously so one-sided. After all, in Edward's mind, she was a sexless blob.

The following day, consequently, she had every intention of giving Edward a muted silent treatment. Her plans were foiled by Edward's apparent absence. Reaching her locker, she noticed Eric – not Edward – waiting. Internally, she groaned.

"Hey, E," Bella said sweetly instead, speeding up her wheeling.

Eric looked at her with huge, glassy-eyed awe. "Hey-o," he said, managing to sound both stiff and overenthusiastic.

Bella forced an uncomfortable smile. "Could you let me, eh – get my books?"

She angled her chair towards her locker and pried the door open. As she stuffed her books into her bookbag, she felt Lauren's iciness prickling her back. Eric scurried away from Lauren like a rodent under a hawk's gaze, bumping into Bella's knee. On cue, the leg began to spasm and contort, making Bella bite back an embarrassed cringe. She was glad she was belted into her wheelchair.

Lauren snorted loudly and kept on walking.

Bella let out a relieved breath. "It feels like the eighth grade all over again," Bella told Eric, attempting to sound droll.

"Could you come to prom with me?" Eric blurted breathily in a single sentence,

Bella's jaw fell open. "I beg your pardon?"

Bella's response appeared to upset Eric. "I said," he repeated slowly, placing emphasis on each syllable. "Could you come to prom with me?"

Rendered momentarily speechless, Bella just blinked stupidly. "I – I … I can't dance," she pointed out awkwardly. I can barely walk, she added mentally.

"That's not the point of prom," Eric insisted edgily, convincing nobody.

"I, ah, eh, um…right," Bella said stupidly. Above all else, she did not want to hurt Eric's feelings. She was feeling the sting of rejection so sharply that all she wanted to do was curl up into a little ball – and Bella had not held her heart out like Eric was doing at that moment. She gnawed at her lip, wondering if her expression conveyed the ache in her heart.

"You'll see I'm right," Eric muttered eerily, to nobody in particular, as he pushed to his feet. His gaze was unfocused and glassy. "You'll see."

"I'll think about it, OK?" she squeaked, offering an uncertain and altogether stiffly polite smile. "Let's, eh.. Let's have lunch?"

As the preceding minutes became intelligible to Bella, her blushing intensified. A strange sense of gleeful self-satisfaction – tinged with frighteningly malevolent arrogance - flared up in her stomach. For a split second, Bella felt a mischievously evil delight at what had happened. Bella felt powerful. Somebody – Eric – liked her, in a prom-going way. Smirking to herself, Bella popped her books into her backpack, slammed her locker shut, and wheeled to Bio.

Four hours later, Eric intercepted her en route to the cafeteria. Rather ham-handedly, he grabbed the handles of her wheelchair. Annoyed, Bella squealed and turned. She craned her neck up to sneer at Eric angrily. "It's really not OK to grab somebody's wheelchair like that," she said acidly, spinning her chair.

Eric ignored her. "Can we have lunch out by the grass?" he asked her, with puppyish enthusiasm.

Bella blinked stupidly at Eric. "Um, eh… Yeah," Bella muttered. "We can have lunch outside. Just, you know. The grass. I'm allergic."

"Right. Eh… We can have lunch behind the library."

Bella grimaced. Having lunch in the alleyway behind the library was hardly her idea of fun.

Despite her trepidation, she found herself sitting opposite Eric Yorkie, sitting opposite him. It was an enclosed, high-walled space behind the library: it consisted of pale-peach walls that rose high up. It had a single, wood table bench that had grown textured, mossy, and rickety with age. Uncertainly, Bella parked her chair perpendicular to the table's bench and pulled out her lunch. Esme had packed Bella a smoked salmon sandwich on rye bread.

Opposite her, Eric pulled out an egg salad sandwich. Still eyeing her with an eerie intensity, Eric took a bite of his sandwich as Bella took a bite of hers.

After ten long-winded bites of relentless chewing, Bella turned to an easy topic of conversation. She forced herself to keep her tone light. "I caught the last episode of Malcolm in the Middle last night," Bella said breezily. With Edward – but that was a detail Eric did not need to know. "It's such a great show. I'm really going to miss it."

Eric finished his sandwich in another two bites and nodded at her absently.

"Did you eh – did you watch the episode?" she asked uncertainly.

Eric shook his head. Awkwardly, Bella shifted in her chair.

"Listen, Eric, I – about the prom thing, I just – eh. I can't dance, and I think it'd just be – eh, embarrassing for you," Bella blurted squeakily.

"I wouldn't be embarrassed," Eric said.

"You wouldn't?" Bella asked incredulously. "Why?"

Audibly, Eric gulped. With slow, robotic moments, he inched over. Involuntarily, Bella inched backward into her wheelchair. The silence stretches around them as Eric summoned the courage and Bella predicted what would happen next with growing dread.

"You'rethemostbeautifulgirlintheentireschool," he breathed out in a garbled, fetid breath. Then, he leaped across the space between them. Ham-handled, he placed both of his hands on the back of Isabella's head and proceeded to lap up her entire mouth. He sucked on her lip greedily, and then searched for her lips with a dangling tongue. Isabella's shock was so intense that it took her several moments to finally push him away, hands on his shoulders. For minutes, she froze in place, horrified at the wetness of the ordeal that was her first kiss.

"Stop, stop," Bella croaked weakly as she pulled away. She couldn't hide her grimace. Her sandwich was churning in her stomach. He smelled like dried sweat and his tongue tasted like onion and egg yolk. She gazed up at him, big brown eyes threatening tears.

"Eric, I — "

"You didn't like it," Eric accused her, with a half-horrified, half-angry look in her direction.

"No, I – " Bella blurted, her instinctive politeness overwhelming her horror.

"You didn't like it," Eric repeated lividly, growing breathy with agitation. Tugging at his hair furiously, Eric turned on his heel and ran.

Bella wanted to cry.

Like a balloon, she deflated back onto her chair, staring mindlessly at the fadingly peach-colored wall in front of her. Blinking back tears, feeling both victimized and bitchy, Bella grabbed her backpack. Desperately, she looked for a breath mint in it's front pocket. Relieved, she popped it in her mouth.

The taste and feel of the kiss would linger.