"So that's all," I insisted, wondering why he was still staring at me that way.

His gaze became appraising. "You put on a good show," he said slowly. "But I'd be

willing to bet that you're suffering more than you let anyone see."

I grimaced at him, resisting the impulse to stick out my tongue like a five-year-old, and

looked away.

"Am I wrong?"

I tried to ignore him.

"I didn't think so," he murmured smugly.

"Why does it matter to you ?" I asked, irritated. I kept my eyes away, watching the

teacher make his rounds.

"That's a very good question," he muttered, so quietly that I wondered if he was talking

to himself. However, after a few seconds of silence, I decided that was the only answer I

was going to get.

I sighed, scowling at the blackboard.

"Am I annoying you?" he asked. He sounded amused.

I glanced at him without thinking… and told the truth again." Not exactly. I'm more

annoyed at myself. My face is so easy to read — my mother always calls me her open

book." I frowned.

"On the contrary, I find you very difficult to read." Despite everything that I'd said and

he'd guessed, he sounded like he meant it.

"You must be a good reader then," I replied.

"Usually." He smiled widely, flashing a set of perfect, ultrawhite teeth.

Mr. Banner called the class to order then, and I turned with relief to listen. I was in

disbelief that I'd just explained my dreary life to this bizarre, beautiful boy who may or

may not despise me. He'd seemed engrossed in our conversation, but now I could see,

from the corner of my eye, that he was leaning away from me again, his hands gripping

the edge of the table with unmistakable tension.

I tried to appear attentive as Mr. Banner illustrated, with transparencies on the overhead

projector, what I had seen without difficulty through the microscope. But my thoughts

were unmanageable.

When the bell finally rang, Edward rushed as swiftly and as gracefully from the room

as he had last Monday. And, like last Monday, I stared after him in amazement.

Mike skipped quickly to my side and picked up my books for me. I imagined him with

a wagging tail.

"That was awful," he groaned. "They all looked exactly the same. You're lucky you had

Cullen for a partner."

"I didn't have any trouble with it," I said, stung by his assumption. I regretted the snub

instantly. "I've done the lab before, though," I added before he could get his feelings hurt.

"Cullen seemed friendly enough today," he commented as we shrugged into our

raincoats. He didn't seem pleased about it.

I tried to sound indifferent. "I wonder what was with him last Monday."

I couldn't concentrate on Mike's chatter as we walked to Gym, and RE. didn't do much

to hold my attention, either. Mike was on my team today. He chivalrously covered my

position as well as his own, so my woolgathering was only interrupted when it was my

turn to serve; my team ducked warily out of the way every time I was up.

The rain was just a mist as I walked to the parking lot, but I was happier when I was in

the dry cab. I got the heater running, for once not caring about the mind-numbing roar of

the engine. I unzipped my jacket, put the hood down, and fluffed my damp hair out so the

heater could dry it on the way home.

I looked around me to make sure it was clear. That's when I noticed the still, white

figure. Edward Cullen was leaning against the front door of the Volvo, three cars down

from me, and staring intently in my direction. I swiftly looked away and threw the truck

into reverse, almost hitting a rusty Toyota Corolla in my haste. Lucky for the Toyota, I

stomped on the brake in time. It was just the sort of car that my truck would make scrap

metal of. I took a deep breath, still looking out the other side of my car, and cautiously

pulled out again, with greater success. I stared straight ahead as I passed the Volvo, but

from a peripheral peek, I would swear I saw him laughing.