Seventeen/Nineteen
January 2007
January 4th was their last day together before the Swans left for the Pacific Coast. It was, fortuitously, the day Emmett left the Long Island Sound. Edward had offered to drive Emmett to the City – and then to take Isabella to lunch.
"Can I go, Mom?" Bella had asked perkily, with almost embarrassing enthusiasm.
"To Manhattan?" Esme cried, aghast.
"No, Ciudad Juarez," Bella repeated in deadpan, rolling her eyes.
Edward and Emmett snickered.
"It's not funny," Esme snapped. "It's – "
"The crime capital of the East Coast," Edward said, with a seriousness befitting a wake, and Bella cackled. "Chill. I'll drop Emmett off outside the Station and then we'll fucking drive. In my car."
Esme studied Edward with new, seething dislike.
"No," she snarled simply.
Despite Esme's pronouncement, Bella – with all her mobility aids in Edward's trunk – found herself in the front seat of Edward's car. Gentlemanly, Edward had offered to ride in the back.
"Thanks for letting me sit here," Bella said happily, turning in her seat towards Emmett. Beautifully, she grinned.
"Don't mention it, button," Emmett said, "Ed's finicky. It's a pain in the ass to ride co-pilot."
"Don't call him Ed," Bella warned, biting her lip to keep from giggling. On cue, Edward glowered violently as if he had just sucked on a particularly acerbic lemon. "He hates it."
As they rode away, Bella reached for Edward's wide iPod. Giddily, she settled on Edward's selection of Fleetwood Mac songs. "Doesn't let me touch his iPod," Emmett pointed out in a high-pitched whine, making Bella laugh. Bella lifted her hand to touch Edward's thigh. Gently, Edward stroked her knuckles with his thumb.
Emmett hugged her goodbye, squeezing gently, and Isabella marveled at how such a rugged man could overflow with such sweetness. "Take good care of Ed," Isabella stage-whispered into his burly shoulder.
"Will do," he promised solemnly. "See you soon, gorgeous."
At the compliment, Bella had typically turned scarlet and flustered with disbelief. But then she caught their reflection in the mirror and felt beautiful. For a split second, she felt like a beautiful girl with a beautiful boy. She allowed herself to revel in the lovely curve of her profile, the thickness of her hair, in the beauty of her doe eyes. Being in love made her glow.
"We can grab lunch," Edward suggested excitedly. "The bastards at the Fly Club are raving about a diner on Third Avenue."
"Sounds like fun," Bella had accepted pleasantly, utterly unconcerned.
"You always fucking say that," Edward muttered playfully, shaking his head.
Parking had been hellish – the handicapped spot had been taken – and Isabella opted to leave her wheelchair in the car. Crowded, the eatery itself looked old-fashioned. Matte writing was sprawled on the window, baptizing the establishment. Leading to the door, there were three steps to the entrance, with a sizeable gap between each, and no railing.
"Jesus fucking Christ, I -" Edward began to snarl, but Bella stopped him with a searing, firm look.
"You said they said it's the best pastrami sandwich in town, no?"
"Yeah, but if they can't fucking – I don't want you to – "
"It's OK," Bella crooned soothingly. "We'll figure it out."
Edward grumbled obscenities under his breath as he focused on helping her: holding out his forearm for her to grip and grabbing her right crutch. Patiently, he waited for her to lift her left knee to high enough to reach the first step. Her leg – and Edward – wobbled as they bore her weight. She pressed down hard with her arms to muster the strength her thigh did not have.
"Christ, Bee. Good job, sweetheart," Edward murmured against her temple when she reached the top. Breathily, Bella beamed.
Despite Bella's upbeat mood, Edward was furious. She could read every expression on his face like reading print ink lines on white paper. At that moment, his eyes were bright with waspish anger, his entire face dripping with aristocratic disdain worthy of his grandmother. "Table for two," Edward snarled icily at the hostess.
Bella paled again. The waitstaff moved nimbly on their feet, shifting sideways at every turn, because the tables were packed so closely together. "Close to the entrance," Edward sneered as if the hostess was an especially dim child.
"Thanks," Bella muttered.
The wait took several minutes while the hostess waited for a booth to clear – long enough for Bella's right leg to start trembling with spasms. When they were finally seated, there was no place for Isabella's crutches but resting flatly against the table. As if on cue, Edward took her hand. "You OK, love?" he asked gently.
Bella forced a perky smile. "I love the vibe," she said encouragingly.
Edward harrumphed. He scanned the space around him testily, looking defensive, ready to glower at every onlooker until –
"Edward?" Bella asked softly. "Is everything OK?"
Blood draining from his face, Edward had blanched so completely that his lips had turned chalky gray.
Clumsily, Isabella turned her neck. Her gaze landed on two young men: both their jaws were unhinged with shock. Until that very moment, Bella had never understood the expression. The blonde boy's eyes were sparkling with malicious glee – as if he had just received excellent news.
Edward looked at Bella again, eyes filling with panic. Bella understood immediately, and her stomach swirled as if beset with cramps. Edward was nauseated with a mixture of dread and embarrassment. He slinked down the glossy leather of the booth couch. Ham-handedly, he lifted a menu as if to shield his face.
"Edward?" Bella repeated, growing alarmed.
Edward winced at her, eyes swirling, looking like he wanted the earth to swallow them both. He had been rendered speechless. Recovering from his shock, the blonde boy stood. Pompously, he almost skipped with glee towards Edward and Isabella.
"Cullen," the boy said gleefully, with the graciousness of a host. Edward straightened, and the boy clapped him forcefully on the shoulder. "Who is this?"
Bella - used to being gestured at like an object – cringed.
Edward looked horrified with plain embarrassment, triggering images flickered across Bella's memory. Being called the crippled girl by Edward himself, on the day of his mother's funeral. Bumping into Tyler Crowley at Costco's – the first time Edward had been forced to acknowledge he and Isabella knew each other. Being avoided by Edward at all costs in school, as he pretended not to know her.
"Uh. She's nobody, "
"Your girlfriend?" the boy said tauntingly, and the memory of primary school stung Isabella a fresh scab tearing open.
"No," Edward snapped immediately, with face twisting with disgust, recoiling from Isabella. "No, no, she's –"
Bella felt like a wave had captured her forcefully, slamming her against jaded rock. Tears had started to sting her doe eyes.
Edward managed to regain his composure as he straightened. Though his mask of aristocratic disdain was impeccable, his eyes were still swirling with dread.
"You're volunteering for the Telethon?" the boy continued with a cackle, and his talent for wit and cruelty rendered Bella momentarily speechless.
Edward sneered a laugh, lips twisting into an awkward smile.
Something inside Isabella snapped irreparably.
She was being bullied, and the person she loved most in the world was joining in. She drew on the strength she had been building from the moment she had come into the world weighing two-and-a-half pounds exactly.
Bella opened her mouth, and Edward's eyes glazed with a cringe of dread. It was the expression he wore when Carlisle spoke about his organic homegrown vegetable garden in public. Grow up, Bella would snap at Edward, finding Carlisle's enthusiasm for heirloom tomatoes absurdly endearing.
"I'm his Aunt's stepdaughter," Bella managed, ignoring Edward's embarrassment, with more dignity than she had ever imagined she possessed. Even though her eyes were stinging with tears she wouldn't shed. Uncontrollable as ever, her whole body trembled as if she had imbibed too many doses of coffee.
Both boys finally acknowledged her with their gazes. The dark-haired boy snickered. The blonde boy schooled his features, looking at her with polite curiosity. "You're his cousin," he surmised, with a hint of haughtiness, as if explaining the concept.
"We're not related," Bella repeated sniffily, careful to enunciate every syllable. With every fiber of her being, she hoped her disdain would hurt Edward.
"And yet here you are," the blond boy said, arching an eyebrow. As if deciding Bella was worthy of personhood, he held out a hand.
"Jamie Hunter," he said, eyeing Bella curiously.
With her hand spasming, Bella shook it lightly, as if offering him a great favor. She made sure the light disdain in her face matched his.
"Isabella Swan," she snapped, feeling drained at the effort she was putting into enunciating carefully.
"Edward's busy volunteering," Bella managed to sneer by way of polite dismissal. She offered them a saccharine smile as false as Edward's every declaration of love. In that moment, she felt very much like her mother's daughter. Elegant and dignified in the face of humiliation.
"Right, I hope you don't mind. I was joking," Jamie Hunter said.
"No offense taken," Bella said dryly.
"Well then," Jamie said, and the sparkle of glee returned to his eye. "We will leave you be. Cullen, see you around."
Face blank, Bella studied Jamie Hunter and his unnamed crony as they left. The door opened and slammed behind him. When it did, Bella's face whipped towards the window – away from Edward's face. As if Edward had slapped her. She stared past the lettering on the window as tears slipped down her cheeks.
"Bella," Edward whispered, pleadingly. His voice was impossibly meek. In her mind's eye, she could imagine his head hanging with shame. The sound of his voice made Bella sob, and she slammed a fist against her mouth to keep them in. She could feel the tears flowing down her cheeks leaving trails of salted residue.
"Bella, I'm so sorry," Edward said desperately. "I wasn't thinking. I – I freaked out."
Wordless with pain, Bella whipped her face towards Edward. She couldn't speak – the sobs inside her throat were constraining her windpipe. The feelings inside her rose into a crescendo frighteningly like hate.
"Bella," Edward repeated, pleadingly, his voice cracking. "Bella, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."
And Isabella couldn't look at him. Frustration welled inside her. What the fuck was she supposed to do? Isabella wouldn't be able to open the door, not by herself, and she wouldn't be able to go down stupid stairs, not by herself, because she was in this body that was so broken and so fundamentally disgusting, and she was stuck in the City because she had trusted Edward blindly with her safety, and she could not imagine getting in a car with him, and not now, and possibly never again.
Isabella needed air.
Instinctively, she reached for her crutches. Her body was burning with adrenaline and sadness. How she managed to wiggle out of the booth was both a miracle and a blur. She could hear Edward pleading her name, apologizing like a litany, like a prayer. Isabella's legs wobbled unsteadily, but she put one crutch in front of the other regardless. Click, thump, click, thump, drag. Edward followed behind her, but the world was whirling around her.
"Where are you going? Bella, please. Please."
She stood by the door to the diner for several excruciating minutes. Open-mouthed, the hostess was staring at them. An elderly couple was shamelessly studying them, shifting around her unsteadily. A young couple – perhaps a decade older than she was – were giving them a wide berth. "Bee, where are you going? Bella, please, love."
Shakily, Bella took several deep breaths. Sobs escaped with every shaky breath she took, until she finally said, looking at the hostess -
"Excuse me," Bella piped squeakily. "Do you think I could get some help going down the stairs?"
"Bella, please let me help you."
For the first time in her life, she felt stifled by Edward, whom she could feel hovering behind her. Crutches wobbling underneath her, Isabella turned slowly towards him. Her right leg was buckling, as ever, and she feared she was on the verge of falling. "Please leave me alone, Edward," Isabella said firmly, despite the weight of sorrow crushing her every syllable. It was the last thing she would say to him for an excruciatingly long time.
At her words, Edward's shoulders and knees buckled. The sorrow in his eyes matched hers, but Bella felt pitiless.
"I'll help you down, honey," the elderly man offered, and Bella managed to smile kindly. He was roughly Bella's size and wizened with age, but Bella found beauty in the creases on his face.
"Thank you," Bella said sniffily, offering her loveliest smile. "That's so kind. Thank you so much."
Somehow, she and the elderly gentleman – who introduced himself as Howard – made it to the pavement in one piece. It was clumsy and awkward – he grabbed her arm firmly, but that did not offer the support and stability she needed. Her left knee croaked as it bore her weight. But once they made it to the pavement, Bella felt overwhelmed with gratitude.
Bella balanced precariously on one crutch to touch a hand to his arm, thanking him again. Howard beamed at her as he headed back up.
Then Bella found herself feeling alone, a deep sense of abandonment welling in her stomach. The cacophony of the city welled around her. She wanted to go home, but her phone was in Edward's car, and there was no way she could ever possibly hope to outgrow Edward, and she hated her body more than she had ever hated it before, and her frustration at her cerebral palsy welled inside her, and she wished she could fucking run off into the subway.
So she put one crutch in front of the other and walked. Click, click, thump, drag. Click, click, thump drag.
"Bee," Edward half-yelped behind her. "What are you doing? Bee, I know I fucked up. Bee, I didn't really mean a single word, love -"
Directionless, but determined as she had ever been, Isabella walked. She walked until Edward grew quiet and until her feet ached. She walked, intensely focused on her every movement. She walked, focused every crack, trough, and crest in the pavement. A decade later, she returned to New York City, and retraced her steps on an App that did not exist in 2007. Chagrined, she would realize that she walked for 300 feet without falling flat on her face.
Isabella walked until she spotted a Yellow Cab. She decided that she would hail a cab to Oyster Bay, and she tried to hail them by standing dangerously close to the edge of the curb.
"I'll call it for you," Edward said behind her. His voice was achingly gentle, and he sounded like he had been crying. The sound made her heart squeeze. "I'll call it for you. Make sure you get on it. I won't follow you or anything. I promise."
A barb drowned in her throat. Wordlessly, she nodded in a motion so slight that it could have been mistaken for a spasm. Edward hailed the cab and paid the cab driver 200 dollars, pulling hundred dollar bills out of his wallet as if handling pennies.
January 2007
From the eighth grade onwards, Isabella had attended Dewey Day School - a private college preparatory academy, with a price tag of $15,000 a year. Garlfied High, the public school in the district was nothing like Dewey. At Garfield, textbooks were handed out in the yard a week before school started - textbooks that were doodled over, or falling apart at the spine. Isabella's backpack, overflowing with tattered textbooks, hung from the back of her were thousands of students at Garfield: at Dewey, graduating classes were of 100 kids at most. Among a sea of students, Bella had spent all morning drowning in the familiar torment of being notoriously invisible. People gawked, leered, whispered - but never saw her face or bothered to approach her.
Esme had notified the school that Isabella used a wheelchair, and the school had responded promptly. The vice principal herself, Mrs. Nguyen - a rail-thin woman with sharp dark eyes - escorted Isabella from the school gate to her homeroom classroom.
"This is Claire Young. She'll be your buddy, Isabella. She'll help you get settled."
Bashfully, Bella smiled, peeking up at Claire from underneath her eyelashes. "Hi, Claire," she said squeakily, feeling dumb. Claire smiled back, and Bella - who was sweating with stress - felt a wave of relief.
Claire, Bella thought, looked kind. She had thick, dark, jet-black hair that fell to her waist. Dark-skinned, Claire was of medium height and brown-eyed. She wore a pair of gray sweatpants and a plain, purple t-shirt.
"Hey, Isabella," Claire said warmly, holding out a hand. She was the first person to speak to Bella all morning, and for that, Bella felt intense gratitude. Unlocking her chair wheels, Bella rolled forward and held out her hand.
"Hey, Claire," Bella repeated bashfully.
An awkward silence fell between them, but Claire kept smiling in an increasingly forceful way.
"That's a nice sweater," Claire commented kindly.
Bella blushed again. Oddly, she felt overdressed. She wore a lacy, long-sleeved blouse under a thick, mustard-yellow cardigan. Instead of her regular orthopedic shoes, she wore suede ankle boots. Abercrombie and Fitch was the a uniform of choice at Dewey.
"Thanks. It's really warm," Bella said stupidly. Courtesy of her cerebral palsy, each word was punctuated by a tremor. Despite her embarrassment, she offered Claire her loveliest smile.
Shifting awkwardly from foot to foot, Claire asked the next question. "What's your next class?"
"Oh, I have erm... AP Calculus," Bella said, grabbing the sweat-drenched piece of paper sandwiched between the cushion of her wheelchair and her thigh.
"Damn, girl," Claire whistled, raising both eyebrows.
"I like Math," Bella admitted glumly, the way one might admit to a proclivity to murder.
"And you're good at it," Claire surmised admiringly.
"I can walk you over," Clare offered, after a beat of awkward silence. "Sorry, sorry - take you."
Used to people stumbling over words around her, Bella just shrugged. "That's so sweet," Bella beamed earnestly. "Thank you so much."
As she and Claire made their way to Bella's classroom, Isabella could feel the staring. People's leering punctured her skin like mosquito bites, making her heart hammer in her throat.
"Someone get the harpoon," a boys hollered, to a chorus of woolfish howling.
Like a rabbit trained to detect predators, Bella froze. She could tell who the bully boys were in any situation. There was just such a duo, standing three yards from Bella and Clare.
Claire tried as hard as she could to curl into herself, squeezing her arms in front of her. Bella was forced to acknowledged what her mind had been explicitly avoiding: the fact that pear-shaped Claire was as wide as she was tall. Curtains of thick skin dangled from her arms, and rolls of soft, dense fat circulated around her stomach.
Bella sped up her wheeling and touched a hand to Clare's wrist.
"That's so mean," Bella snapped. Her statement was belied by her spasming. "Knock it off."
Had Edward been there, she would have received a congratulatory whoop of "Fuck, yeah."
Bella turned her nose snootily into the air, and spun away. The bullies in question burst into mocking snickers and jeers: she could hear them calling her hot wheels behind her back. Having heard a lot worse just recently, Isabella was unperturbed. She and Claire parted outside the math classroom.
"That took balls," Claire said. She had raised a hand to dab at her forehead.
"Don't mention it," Bella said, grinning. Then, she blurted, "See you after class?"
Overcome with bashfulness, Bella looked down at her lap. Her face felt like a furnace.
"Sure thing."
Relieved, Bella wheeled uncertainly into the math classroom. Her stomach was completely knotted with nerves. The math classroom consisted of rows of tightly packed one-armed desks. Her face drained of color. The seats at the front were all taken, and the spaces in between each row were too narrow for her to navigate in her wheelchair. Majorly, Isabella was screwed.
"Do you need help?"
Isabella turned her head. Sweat was building on her forehead.
The boy behind her was so tall that she had to arch her neck to see his face. A head taller than Edward, Isabella surmised, which was no mean feat. Dark-skinned, lean, and tall, the boy behind her was very cute - in a boyish kind of way. With jet black hair that he wore in a ponytail, he had amber-colored eyes that crinkled at the corners.
"Um. Yeah, actually, I do," Isabella squeaked.
"Quill, move," the boy commanded, in a tone so droll and easy-going that it sounded like a request. Shyly, Bella thanked the boy who was sitting in a first row desk, by the wall. Uncertainly, Bella inched forward, then locked her chair wheels. Wobbly, she held on to the desk tabletop itself, and transferred into it. Her right leg refused to cooperate, and her steps were slight and awkward. She swayed back and forth as if about to trip, but finally managed to sit. She took her backpack from the back of her wheelchair and hung it behind the desk.
Breathing a sigh of relief, she looked up at the boy that had come to her rescue.
"D'you want me to fold that up?" he asked breezily.
Gratefully, Isabella nodded, explaining the process squeakiky. Startlingly, the boy was folding up her wheelchair with surprising expertise. When he was done, he plopped down two seats from her.
The first bell had yet to ring.
"Hey, do you have a pen? I'm outta pens."
Bella turned, fishing out a pen from a denim pencil pouch. Hand trembling with spasms, she held a blue ballpoint pen out towards the boy that had so gallantly saved her.
"What's your name?" he asked after thanking her.
Bella gulped. "Isabella Swan." Politely, she held out a clammy hand.
The boy took her hand and grinned - an easy, unencumbered, and boyish grin. "Jacob Black."
Jacob Black invited her to lunch after math class, and oddly, dread spread from Bella's stomach to the tip of her toes. Blanching, she nodded, and gnawed at her fingernail.
"Hey, we're cool, OK?" Jacob said, with a wink. "I promise we don't bite."
Claire Young offered to walk her over to the cafeteria. Together, the two girls walked into the cafeteria - a raucous room that reminded Isabella of a zoo. If the cafeteria at Dewey scared her, the cafeteria at Garfield horrified her.
Feeling shy and nauseous, Isabella explained to Claire that she had a standing invitation to join Jacob Black.
"Jacob Black?" Claire gasped, as if Isabella were having lunch with a Jonas Brother.
"Mmh."
"He's friends with Quil Ateara," Claire explained with a hiss, making Bella smile.
"Would you like to join?" Isabella said, careful to articulate each of her words. In Biology, and later, her American History class, Isabella had faced the same challenge - the one-armed desks were a challenge to get into, forcing her to leave her wheelchair on the side, or to work directly from it. At that point, she was jittery, red-faced and blotchy. Her spasming was out of control.
Jacob Black waved when he saw her, in a face so friendly that Isabella smiled. Growing breathless with effort, she wheeled towards him.
"Hey, Isabella," Jacob Black said, fresh-faced and with genuine enthusiasm. Toothily, Isabella grinned back. As faces turned towards her – staring overtly, not covertly -, Isabella curled into herself, blushing.
"Hi," Bella mumbled bashfully.
"This is my friend, Claire," Bella gulped, feeling presumptuous. Being articulate was taking every ounce of effort in her body, and she missed Edward like an ache. "Can she sit with us?"
"Sure, sure," Jacob Black said easily, and Claire's jaw dropped. Uncertainly, Isabella squeezed into the seats between Jacob and his friend. Underneath Claire, the wood of the lunch table – picnic style – croaked with stress. Presumptuously, Bella patted Claire's hand, as Claire curled into herself with shame.
Starving, Bella pawed at her lunchbox and pulled out her sandwich-containing Tupperware. Her mouth had grown dry with thick embarrassment, at the thought of making conversation. Articulating carefully took almost as much effort as walking.
Jacob Black eyed her curiously.
"That is the most beautiful sandwich I've ever seen," one of Jacob's friends said, as Bella lifted it uncertainly from the tupper. Her hand spasmed, and the sandwich fell back into the tupper with a soft, mushy thud. Made of sourdough slices, the sandwich overflowed with thick slices of turkey, tomato, and Provolone.
"Would you like half?" Bella offered immediately, holding out the Tupperware with a trembling hand.
The asking boy eyed it hungrily, but then smiled widely. "You serious?"
Earnestly, Bella nodded, offering a toothy smile. "Please," she said. "Go ahead."
Jacob Black loved cars. The very first thing Isabella learned about him – three weeks into the semester - was that he was remodeling an old Rabbit.
"A Rabbit?" she'd asked stupidly, wrinkling her nose with mild confusion. J
Jacob Black grinned lopsidedly. "A Volkwsagen Rabbit," he explained.
When Bella blushed, he winked at her kindly, making her giggle.
"Oh. Oh. My… Eh, my – " she fumbled out her words, unsure how to explain Edward. " – my – I have a relative that likes cars."
Edward had torn the car apart - as if trying to tear the the piece of machinery the way he had been.
"He remodeled a …" Bella paused. She had never cared for the particulars of the car in question, but she knew there was a world of difference between a Volkswagen and a BMW. "Well, I don't remember the brand," Bella finished dumbly, a hint of apology in her voice.
"I think the model matters as much as the brand," Jacob continued, self-importantly, starting to explain why he had difficulty with certain pieces of the car.
Though Isabella kept nodding politely, genuinely interested – Jacob Black was important to her – she felt like she was going through a language listening exam. The words he was using felt as foreign as German, and she let herself miss Edward.
Returning home, Bella – drained and exhausted – fell immediately into a dreamless, heavy slumber. Her dream was very simple.
In her dream, she had forgiven Edward, because there had been nothing to forgive. Nothing had changed. As he had so many times, he was sitting across from her, on her same ivory bedspread, leaning against a bedpost.
"Edward?"
"Yeah, baby?"
"What was a drivetrain again?"
When she woke, night had already fallen. Groggily, Isabella blinked. Her dark hair was plastered against her face; drool had dribbled from her mouth and into her hair. A buzzing had woken her. With a clammy hand, Bella lifted the lid from her flip phone and studied its screen.
She had two missed calls and a solitary text in courier font: I hope your first day went great. How was it? I miss you. I love you. I'm sorry.