I made my way to English in a daze. I didn't even realize when I first walked in that class had already started.

I flushed and hurried to my seat.

It wasn't till class ended that I realized Mike wasn't sitting in his usual seat next to me. I felt a twinge of guilt. But he and Eric both met me at the door as usual, so I figured I wasn't totally unforgiven. Mike seemed to become more himself as we walked, gaining enthusiasm as he talked about the weather report for this weekend. The rain was supposed to take a minor break, and so maybe his beach trip would be possible. I tried to sound eager, to make up for disappointing him yesterday. It was hard; rain or no rain, it would still only be in the high forties, if we were lucky.

"Thank you for joining us, Miss Swan," Mr. Mason said in a disparaging tone.

The rest of the morning passed in a blur. It was difficult to believe that I hadn't just imagined what Edward had said, and the way his eyes had looked. Maybe it was just a very convincing dream that I'd confused with reality. That seemed more probable than that I really appealed to him on any level.

So I was impatient and frightened as Jessica and I entered the cafeteria. I wanted to see his face, to see if he'd gone back to the cold, indifferent person I'd known for the last several weeks. Or if, by some miracle, I'd really heard what I thought I'd heard this morning. Jessica babbled on and on about her dance plans -- Lauren and Angela had asked the other boys and they were all going together -- completely unaware of my inattention.

Disappointment flooded through me as my eyes unerringly focused on his table. The other four were there, but he was absent. Had he gone home? I followed the still-babbling Jessica through the line, crushed. I'd lost my appetite -- I bought nothing but a bottle of lemonade. I just wanted to go sit down and sulk.

"Edward Cullen is staring at you again," Jessica said, finally breaking through my abstraction with his name. "I wonder why he's sitting alone today."

My head snapped up. I followed her gaze to see Edward, smiling crookedly, staring at me from an empty table across the cafeteria from where he usually sat. Once he'd caught my eye, he raised one hand and motioned with his index finger for me to join him. As I stared in disbelief, he winked.

"Does he mean you?" Jessica asked with insulting astonishment in her voice.

"Maybe he needs help with his Biology homework," I muttered for her benefit. "Um, I'd better go see what he wants."

I could feel her staring after me as I walked away.

I sat down automatically, watching him with caution. He was still smiling. It was hard to believe that someone so beautiful could be real. I was afraid that he might disappear in a sudden puff of smoke, and I would wake up.

"Why don't you sit with me today?" he asked, smiling.

"I know." He smiled again, and then he changed the subject. "I think your friends are angry with me for stealing you."

"Well…" He paused, and then the rest of the words followed in a rush. "I decided as long as I was going to hell, I might as well do it thoroughly."

When I reached his table, I stood behind the chair across from him, unsure.

"This is different," I finally managed.

I waited for him to say something that made sense. The seconds ticked by.

"You know I don't have any idea what you mean," I eventually pointed out.

He seemed to be waiting for me to say something.

"You lost me again."

"Don't worry -- I don't understand any of it," I said wryly.

"Friends…" he mused, dubious.

"Yes -- giving up trying to be good. I'm just going to do what I want now, and let the chips fall where they may." His smile faded as he explained, and a hard edge crept into his voice.

"So, in plain English, are we friends now?"

"I told you -- I got tired of trying to stay away from you. So I'm giving up." He was still smiling, but his ocher eyes were serious.

"I always say too much when I'm talking to you -- that's one of the problems."

"They'll survive." I could feel their stares boring into my back.

"I may not give you back, though," he said with a wicked glint in his eyes.

The breathtaking crooked smile reappeared.

"Giving up?" I repeated in confusion.

"No," I said, but, ridiculously, my voice broke. "Surprised, actually… what brought all this on?"

"I'm counting on that."

He laughed. "You look worried."

He grinned. "Well, we can try, I suppose. But I'm warning you now that I'm not a good friend for you." Behind his smile, the warning was real.

I gulped.

"Or not," I muttered.

"I think you've made your opinion on the subject of my intellect clear, too." My eyes narrowed.

I blushed. I had been vacillating during the last month between Bruce Wayne and Peter Parker. There was no way I was going to own up to that.

"So, as long as I'm being… not smart, we'll try to be friends?" I struggled to sum up the confusing exchange.

"Not too much," I admitted.

I looked up into his deep gold eyes, became befuddled, and, as usual, blurted out the truth.

"Are you having any luck with that?" he asked in an offhand tone.

His jaw tightened, but he kept his smile in place with some effort.

"You say that a lot," I noted, trying to ignore the sudden trembling in my stomach and keep my voice even.

I looked down at my hands wrapped around the lemonade bottle, not sure what to do now.

"I'm trying to figure out what you are."

"Yes, because you're not listening to me. I'm still waiting for you to believe it. If you're smart, you'll avoid me."

"That sounds about right."

He chuckled. "What are your theories?"

"What are you thinking?" he asked curiously.

He smiled apologetically.

I shook my head. "Too embarrassing."

He grimaced.

"That's really frustrating, you know," he complained.

"No," I disagreed quickly, my eyes narrowing, "I can't imagine why that would be frustrating at all -- just because someone refuses to tell you what they're thinking, even if all the while they're making cryptic little remarks specifically designed to keep you up at night wondering what they could possibly mean… now, why would that be frustrating?"

"Or better," I continued, the pent-up annoyance flowing freely now, "say that person also did a wide range of bizarre things -- from saving your life under impossible circumstances one day to treating you like a pariah the next, and he never explained any of that, either, even after he promised. That, also, would be very non-frustrating."

"Won't you tell me?" he asked, tilting his head to one side with a shockingly tempting smile.

"I don't like double standards."

"You've got a bit of a temper, don't you?"

We stared at each other, unsmiling.

He glanced over my shoulder, and then, unexpectedly, he snickered.

"I don't know who you're talking about," I said frostily. "But I'm sure you're wrong, anyway."

"I'm not. I told you, most people are easy to read."

I had to look away from the intensity of his stare. I concentrated on unscrewing the lid of my lemonade. I took a swig, staring at the table without seeing it.

"Can you do me a favor?" I asked after a second of hesitation.

"Yes. Except for you." His mood shifted suddenly; his eyes turned brooding. "I wonder why that is."

"Your boyfriend seems to think I'm being unpleasant to you -- he's debating whether or not to come break up our fight." He snickered again.

"No." I didn't feel like mentioning that my stomach was already full -- of butterflies. "You?" I looked at the empty table in front of him.

"It's not much," I assured him.

"Aren't you hungry?" he asked, distracted.

He was suddenly wary. "That depends on what you want."

"No, I'm not hungry." I didn't understand his expression -- it looked like he was enjoying some private joke.

"What?"

"Except me, of course."

"You didn't qualify, you just promised one answer," he reminded me.

"Thanks."

I looked at the lemonade bottle as I spoke, tracing the circle of the opening with my pinkie finger.

"Please?" he breathed, leaning toward me.

"That sounds fair." He was pressing his lips together to keep from laughing when I looked up.

"Please tell me just one little theory." His eyes still smoldered at me.

I blinked, my mind going blank. Holy cow, how did he do that?

He looked down, and then glanced up at me through his long black lashes, his ocher eyes scorching.

"Yes, you will." I was positive about that.

"Um, well, bitten by a radioactive spider?" Was he a hypnotist, too? Or was I just a hopeless pushover?

Whoops. "Not that one."

"I just wondered… if you could warn me beforehand the next time you decide to ignore me for my own good. Just so I'm prepared."

"Tell me one theory."

"One."

"Just one theory -- I won't laugh."

"And you've broken promises yourself," I reminded him back.

"Er, what?" I asked, dazed.

"Then can I have one answer in return?" he demanded.

He waited, guarded but curious.

"I'll figure it out eventually," I warned him.

"You're not even close," he teased.

"No spiders?"

He struggled to compose his face.

"Because…"

"None."

"Dang," I sighed.

"I'm sorry, that's all I've got," I said, miffed.

"But not bad," I whispered, shaking my head. "No, I don't believe that you're bad."

"What if I'm not a superhero? What if I'm the bad guy?" He smiled playfully, but his eyes were impenetrable.

"And no radioactivity?"

He just looked at me, eyes full of some emotion I couldn't comprehend.

"Oh," I said, as several things he'd hinted fell suddenly into place. "I see."

"I wish you wouldn't try." He was serious again.

"That's not very creative," he scoffed.

"You're not supposed to laugh, remember?"

"Nope."

"Kryptonite doesn't bother me, either," he chuckled.

"Do you?" His face was abruptly severe, as if he were afraid that he'd accidentally said too much.

"You're dangerous?" I guessed, my pulse quickening as I intuitively realized the truth of my own words. He was dangerous. He'd been trying to tell me that all along.

"I'm not going to class today," he said, twirling the lid so fast it was just a blur.

The silence lasted until I noticed that the cafeteria was almost empty.

I jumped to my feet. "We're going to be late."

"You're wrong." His voice was almost inaudible. He looked down, stealing my bottle lid and then spinning it on its side between his fingers. I stared at him, wondering why I didn't feel afraid. He meant what he was saying -- that was obvious. But I just felt anxious, on edge… and, more than anything else, fascinated. The same way I always felt when I was near him.

"Why not?"

"It's healthy to ditch class now and then." He smiled up at me, but his eyes were still troubled.

"Well, I'm going," I told him. I was far too big a coward to risk getting caught.

He turned his attention back to his makeshift top. "I'll see you later, then."

I hesitated, torn, but then the first bell sent me hurrying out the door -- with a last glance confirming that he hadn't moved a centimeter.

As I half-ran to class, my head was spinning faster than the bottle cap. So few questions had been answered in comparison to how many new questions had been raised. At least the rain had stopped.

"Okay, guys, I want you all to take one piece from each box," he said as he produced a pair of rubber gloves from the pocket of his lab jacket and pulled them on. The sharp sound as the gloves snapped into place against his wrists seemed ominous to me. "The first should be an indicator card," he went on, grabbing a white card with four squares marked on it and displaying it. "The second is a four-pronged applicator --" he held up something that looked like a nearly toothless hair pick " -- and the third is a sterile micro-lancet." He held up a small piece of blue plastic and split it open. The barb was invisible from this distance, but my stomach flipped.

I was lucky; Mr. Banner wasn't in the room yet when I arrived. I settled quickly into my seat, aware that both Mike and Angela were staring at me. Mike looked resentful; Angela looked surprised, and slightly awed.

Mr. Banner came in the room then, calling the class to order. He was juggling a few small cardboard boxes in his arms. He put them down on Mike's table, telling him to start passing them around the class.

"I'll be coming around with a dropper of water to prepare your cards, so please don't start until I get to you." He began at Mike's table again, carefully putting one drop of water in each of the four squares. "Then I want you to carefully prick your finger with the lancet…" He grabbed Mike's hand and jabbed the spike into the tip of Mike's middle finger. Oh no. Clammy moisture broke out across my forehead.

"Put a small drop of blood on each of the prongs." He demonstrated, squeezing Mike's finger till the blood flowed. I swallowed convulsively, my stomach heaving.

He continued through the room with his water drops. I put my cheek against the cool black tabletop and tried to hold on to my consciousness. All around me I could hear squeals, complaints, and giggles as my classmates skewered their fingers. I breathed slowly in and out through my mouth.

"The Red Cross is having a blood drive in Port Angeles next weekend, so I thought you should all know your blood type." He sounded proud of himself. "Those of you who aren't eighteen yet will need a parent's permission -- I have slips at my desk."

"And then apply it to the card," he finished, holding up the dripping red card for us to see. I closed my eyes, trying to hear through the ringing in my ears.

"Bella, are you all right?" Mr. Banner asked. His voice was close to my head, and it sounded alarmed.

Mike towed me slowly across campus. When we were around the edge of the cafeteria, out of sight of building four in case Mr. Banner was watching, I stopped.

"Can someone take Bella to the nurse, please?" he called.

"Yes, sir," I muttered, internally kicking myself for not ditching when I had the chance.

"I already know my blood type, Mr. Banner," I said in a weak voice. I was afraid to raise my head.

"Yes," I whispered. Just let me get out of here, I thought. I'll crawl.

"And whatever you do, keep your hand in your pocket," I warned. I was still so dizzy. I slumped over on my side, putting my cheek against the freezing, damp cement of the sidewalk, closing my eyes. That seemed to help a little.

"Just let me sit for a minute, please?" I begged.

Mike seemed eager as he put his arm around my waist and pulled my arm over his shoulder. I leaned against him heavily on the way out of the classroom.

I didn't have to look up to know that it would be Mike who volunteered.

"Can you walk?" Mr. Banner asked.

"Are you feeling faint?"

He helped me sit on the edge of the walk.

"Wow, you're green, Bella," Mike said nervously.

"I'll take her," Edward said. I could hear the smile still in his voice. "You can go back to class."

He chuckled.

"I was taking her to the nurse," Mike explained in a defensive tone, "but she wouldn't go any farther."

"Bella?" a different voice called from the distance.

"Put me down!" Please, please let me not vomit on him. He was walking before I was finished talking.

"What's wrong -- is she hurt?" His voice was closer now, and he sounded upset. I wasn't imagining it. I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping to die. Or, at the very least, not to throw up.

"Bella." Edward's voice was right beside me, relieved now. "Can you hear me?"

Suddenly the sidewalk disappeared from beneath me. My eyes flew open in shock. Edward had scooped me up in his arms, as easily as if I weighed ten pounds instead of a hundred and ten.

Mike seemed stressed. "I think she's fainted. I don't know what happened, she didn't even stick her finger."

No! Please let me be imagining that horribly familiar voice.

"No," Mike protested. "I'm supposed to do it."

"No," I groaned. "Go away."

"Put me back on the sidewalk," I moaned. The rocking movement of his walk was not helping. He held me away from his body, gingerly, supporting all my weight with just his arms -- it didn't seem to bother him.

"Hey!" Mike called, already ten paces behind us.

Edward ignored him. "You look awful," he told me, grinning.

I didn't answer. I closed my eyes again and fought the nausea with all my strength, clamping my lips together.

"So you faint at the sight of blood?" he asked. This seemed to entertain him.

"And not even your own blood," he continued, enjoying himself.

"Oh my," I heard a female voice gasp.

I don't know how he opened the door while carrying me, but it was suddenly warm, so I knew we were inside.

"She fainted in Biology," Edward explained.

I opened my eyes. I was in the office, and Edward was striding past the front counter toward the nurse's door. Ms. Cope, the redheaded front office receptionist, ran ahead of him to hold it open. The grandmotherly nurse looked up from a novel, astonished, as Edward swung me into the room and placed me gently on the crackly paper that covered the brown vinyl mattress on the one cot. Then he moved to stand against the wall as far across the narrow room as possible. His eyes were bright, excited.

He muffled a snicker.

"You can go back to class now," she told him.

"Just lie down for a minute, honey; it'll pass."

"I usually am -- but about what in particular this time?"

"Sometimes," I admitted. Edward coughed to hide another laugh.

"I'll go get you some ice for your forehead, dear," she said to me, and then bustled out of the room.

"I'm supposed to stay with her." He said this with such assured authority that -- even though she pursed her lips -- the nurse didn't argue it further.

"You were right," I moaned, letting my eyes close.

"She's just a little faint," he reassured the startled nurse. "They're blood typing in Biology."

"Does this happen a lot?" she asked.

"I know," I sighed. The nausea was already fading.

"Ditching is healthy." I practiced breathing evenly.

"You scared me for a minute there," he admitted after a pause. His tone made it sound like he was confessing a humiliating weakness. "I thought Newton was dragging your dead body off to bury it in the woods."

The nurse nodded sagely. "There's always one."

"Poor Mike. I'll bet he's mad."

"Ha ha." I still had my eyes closed, but I was feeling more normal every minute.

"I think I'm fine," I said, sitting up. Just a little ringing in my ears, no spinning. The mint green walls stayed where they should.

"Here you go, dear." She laid it across my forehead. "You're looking better," she added.

"How did you see me? I thought you were ditching." I was almost fine now, though the queasiness would probably pass faster if I'd eaten something for lunch. On the other hand, maybe it was lucky my stomach was empty.

"Honestly -- I've seen corpses with better color. I was concerned that I might have to avenge your murder."

"I saw his face -- I could tell."

"I was in my car, listening to a CD." Such a normal response -- it surprised me.

I heard the door and opened my eyes to see the nurse with a cold compress in her hand.

"He absolutely loathes me," Edward said cheerfully.

"You can't know that," I argued, but then I wondered suddenly if he could.

I could see she was about to make me lie back down, but the door opened just then, and Ms. Cope stuck her head in.

"We've got another one," she warned.

And then Mike staggered through the door, now supporting a sallow-looking Lee Stephens, another boy in our Biology class. Edward and I drew back against the wall to give them room.

I handed the compress back to the nurse. "Here, I don't need this."

"Oh no," Edward muttered. "Go out to the office, Bella."

I hopped down to free up the cot for the next invalid.

"People can't smell blood," he contradicted.

"What?" I asked.

He was staring at me with an unfathomable expression.

"I smelled the blood," I said, wrinkling my nose. Lee wasn't sick from watching other people, like me.

"It's nothing."

I spun and caught the door before it closed, darting out of the infirmary. I could feel Edward right behind me.

"Well, I can -- that's what makes me sick. It smells like rust… and salt."

Mike came through the door then, glancing from me to Edward. The look he gave Edward confirmed what Edward had said about loathing. He looked back at me, his eyes glum.

"Trust me -- go."

I looked up at him, bewildered.

"You actually listened to me." He was stunned.

"Just keep your hand in your pocket," I warned him again.

"Yeah, I guess… So are you going this weekend? To the beach?" While he spoke, he flashed another glare toward Edward, who was standing against the cluttered counter, motionless as a sculpture, staring off into space.

"You look better," he accused.

"It's not bleeding anymore," he muttered. "Are you going back to class?"

I tried to sound as friendly as possible. "Sure, I said I was in."

"I'll be there," I promised.

"Are you kidding? I'd just have to turn around and come back."

"We're meeting at my dad's store, at ten." His eyes flickered to Edward again, wondering if he was giving out too much information. His body language made it clear that it wasn't an open invitation.

"See you," I replied. He looked at me once more, his round face slightly pouting, and then as he walked slowly through the door, his shoulders slumped. A swell of sympathy washed over me. I pondered seeing his disappointed face again… in Gym.

"I'll see you in Gym, then," he said, moving uncertainly toward the door.

"Gym," I groaned.

I heard Edward speaking softly at the counter.

That wasn't a challenge; I was always pale, and my recent swoon had left a light sheen of sweat on my face. I sat in one of the creaky folding chairs and rested my head against the wall with my eyes closed. Fainting spells always exhausted me.

"Yes?" I hadn't heard her return to her desk.

Actually, I was thinking I should take her home now. Do you think you could excuse her from class?" His voice was like melting honey. I could imagine how much more overwhelming his eyes would be.

I nodded weakly, hamming it up just a bit.

"No, I have Mrs. Goff, she won't mind."

"Do you need to be excused, too, Edward?" Ms. Cope fluttered. Why couldn't I do that?

"Ms. Cope?"

"I can take care of that." I hadn't noticed Edward moving to my side, but he spoke now in my ear. "Go sit down and look pale," he muttered.

"Bella has Gym next hour, and I don't think she feels well enough.

"Okay, it's all taken care of. You feel better, Bella," she called to me.

"Thanks," I said as he followed me out. "It's almost worth getting sick to miss Gym."

"I'll walk."

"Can you walk, or do you want me to carry you again?" With his back to the receptionist, his expression became sarcastic.

"So are you going? This Saturday, I mean?"

"Anytime." He was staring straight forward, squinting into the rain.

I was hoping he would, though it seemed unlikely. I couldn't picture him loading up to carpool with the rest of the kids from school; he didn't belong in the same world. But just hoping that he might gave me the first twinge of enthusiasm I'd felt for the outing.

I stood carefully, and I was still fine. He held the door for me, his smile polite but his eyes mocking. I walked out into the cold, fine mist that had just begun to fall. It felt nice -- the first time I'd enjoyed the constant moisture falling out of the sky -- as it washed my face clean of the sticky perspiration.

"Where are you all going, exactly?" He was still looking ahead, expressionless.

"Down to La Push, to First Beach." I studied his face, trying to read it.

Something caught my jacket, yanking me back.

"What condition? And what about my truck?" I complained.

"Didn't you hear me promise to take you safely home? Do you think I'm going to let you drive in your condition?" His voice was still indignant.

I sighed. "I just invited you."

I was confused. "I'm going home."

We were near the parking lot now. I veered left, toward my truck.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asked, outraged. He was gripping a fistful of my jacket in one hand.

His eyes seemed to narrow infinitesimally.

"Mike -- sch mike." I muttered, preoccupied by the way he'd said "you and I."I liked it more than I should.

He glanced down at me from the corner of his eye, smiling wryly. "I really don't think I was invited."

"Let's you and I not push poor Mike any further this week. We don't want him to snap." His eyes danced; he was enjoying the idea more than he should.

"I'll have Alice drop it off after school." He was towing me toward his car now, pulling me by my jacket. It was all I could do to keep from falling backward. He'd probably just drag me along anyway if I did.

"You are so pushy!" I grumbled.

"It's open," was all he responded. He got in the driver's side.

"Let go!" I insisted. He ignored me. I staggered along sideways across the wet sidewalk until we reached the Volvo. Then he finally freed me -- I stumbled against the passenger door.

He lowered the automatic window and leaned toward me across the seat. "Get in, Bella."

I tried to maintain what dignity I could as I got into his car. I wasn't very successful -- I looked like a half-drowned cat and my boots squeaked.

"I am perfectly capable of driving myself home!" I stood by the car, fuming. It was raining harder now, and I'd never put my hood up, so my hair was dripping down my back.

"I'll just drag you back," he threatened, guessing my plan.

I didn't answer. I was mentally calculating my chances of reaching the truck before he could catch me. I had to admit, they weren't good.

"This is completely unnecessary," I said stiffly.

He didn't answer. He fiddled with the controls, turning the heater up and the music down. As he pulled out of the parking lot, I was preparing to give him the silent treatment -- my face in full pout mode -- but then I recognized the music playing, and my curiosity got the better of my intentions.

"You know Debussy?" He sounded surprised, too.

"It's one of my favorites, too." He stared out through the rain, lost in thought.

"Clair de Lune?" I asked, surprised.

"Not well," I admitted. "My mother plays a lot of classical music around the house -- I only know my favorites."

I listened to the music, relaxing against the light gray leather seat. It was impossible not to respond to the familiar, soothing melody. The rain blurred everything outside the window into gray and green smudges. I began to realize we were driving very fast; the car moved so steadily, so evenly, though, I didn't feel the speed. Only the town flashing by gave it away.

"I have too much Charlie in me. She's more outgoing than I am, and braver. She's irresponsible and slightly eccentric, and she's a very unpredictable cook. She's my best friend." I stopped. Talking about her was making me depressed.

I glanced over to see him studying me with curious eyes.

"She looks a lot like me, but she's prettier," I said. He raised his eyebrows.

"What is your mother like?" he asked me suddenly.

"You don't seem seventeen."

"How old are you, Bella?" His voice sounded frustrated for some reason I couldn't imagine. He'd stopped the car, and I realized we were at Charlie's house already. The rain was so heavy that I could barely see the house at all. It was like the car was submerged under a river.

"What?" he asked, curious again.

"I'm seventeen," I responded, a little confused.

He made a face and changed the subject.

"So why did your mother marry Phil?"

His tone was reproachful; it made me laugh.

I was surprised he would remember the name; I'd mentioned it just once, almost two months ago. It took me a moment to answer.

"My mom always says I was born thirty-five years old and that I get more middle-aged every year." I laughed, and then sighed. "Well, someone has to be the adult." I paused for a second. "You don't seem much like a junior in high school yourself," I noted.

"My mother… she's very young for her age. I think Phil makes her feel even younger. At any rate, she's crazy about him." I shook my head. The attraction was a mystery to me.

"No one too scary then," he teased.

I thought for a moment, wondering whether the truth or a lie would go over better. I decided to go with the truth. "Hmmm… I think you could be, if you wanted to."

"What's your definition?"

But he ignored my question and asked me another. "Do you think that I could be scary?" He raised one eyebrow, and the faint trace of a smile lightened his face.

"What?"

"Does it matter?" I countered. "I want her to be happy… and he is who she wants."

"Are you frightened of me now?" The smile vanished, and his heavenly face was suddenly serious.

I grinned in response. "What do you mean by scary? Multiple facial piercings and extensive tattoos?"

"I-I think so," I stuttered. "But she's the parent, after all. It's a little bit different."

"That's one definition, I suppose."

"That's very generous… I wonder," he mused.

"Would she extend the same courtesy to you, do you think? No matter who your choice was?" He was suddenly intent, his eyes searching mine.

"Do you approve?" he asked.

"No." But I answered too quickly. The smile returned.

He was instantly cautious. "What do you want to know?"

"My brother and sister, and Jasper and Rosalie for that matter, are going to be quite upset if they have to stand in the rain waiting for me."

I hesitated for a moment. "What happened to your parents?"

"Yes."

"And you love them." It wasn't a question. It was obvious in the way he spoke of them.

He glanced at the clock on the dashboard.

"Oh, sorry, I guess you have to go." I didn't want to get out of the car.

"Yes." He smiled. "I couldn't imagine two better people."

"So, now are you going to tell me about your family?" I asked to distract him. "It's got to be a much more interesting story than mine."

"You're very lucky."

"I know I am."

"I'm sorry," I mumbled.

"And your brother and sister?"

"They died many years ago." His tone was matter-of-fact.

"The Cullens adopted you?" I verified.

"I don't really remember them that clearly. Carlisle and Esme have been my parents for a long time now."

I remembered Charlie had said the Cullens went camping frequently.

The helplessness had faded as he spoke. I glared at him.

"What are you going to do?" A friend could ask that, right? I hoped the disappointment wasn't too apparent in my voice.

He was still smiling as he drove away.

He laughed, and there was an edge to his laughter.

"Won't I see you tomorrow?"

I nodded helplessly.

"Oh, well, have fun." I tried to sound enthusiastic. I don't think I fooled him, though. A smile was playing around the edges of his lips.

"I'm sure he's already heard. There are no secrets in Forks." I sighed.

"Will you do something for me this weekend?" He turned to look me straight in the face, utilizing the full power of his burning gold eyes.

"No. Emmett and I are starting the weekend early."

"I'll see what I can do," I snapped as I jumped out into the rain. I slammed the door behind me with excessive force.

"We're going to be hiking in the Goat Rocks Wilderness, just south of Rainier."

"Don't be offended, but you seem to be one of those people who just attract accidents like a magnet. So… try not to fall into the ocean or get run over or anything, all right?" He smiled crookedly.

"And you probably want your truck back before Chief Swan gets home, so you don't have to tell him about the Biology incident." He grinned at me.

"Have fun at the beach… good weather for sunbathing." He glanced out at the sheeting rain.