"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.

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

Biology."

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

He muffled a snicker.

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

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

"Does this happen a lot?" she asked.

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

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

"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.

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

of the room.

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

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

"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."

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

"Honestly — I've seen corpses with better color. I was concerned that I might have to

avenge your murder."

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

"He absolutely loathes me," Edward said cheerfully.

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

"I saw his face — I could tell."

"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.

"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.

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

"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.

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.

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

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

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.

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

I looked up at him, bewildered.

"Trust me — go."

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

Edward right behind me.

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

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

people, like me.

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

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

He was staring at me with an unfathomable expression.

"What?" I asked.

"It's nothing."

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.

" You look better," he accused.

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

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

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

"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.

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

"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.

"I'll be there," I promised.

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

"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.

"Gym," I groaned.

"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.

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.

I heard Edward speaking softly at the counter.

"Ms. Cope?"

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

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

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

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

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

hamming it up just a bit.

"Can you walk, or do you want me to carry you again?" With his back to the

receptionist, his expression became sarcastic.

"I'll walk."

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.

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

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

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

"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. His eyes seemed

to narrow infinitesimally.

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

was invited."

I sighed. "I just invited you."

"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.

"Mike-schmike." I muttered, preoccupied by the way he'd said "you and I." I liked it

more than I should.

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

jacket,yanking me back.

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

jacketin one hand.

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

"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.

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

"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.

"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.

"You are so pushy!" I grumbled.

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

"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.

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

Bella."

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.

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

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.

"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.

"Clair deLune?" I asked, surprised.

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

"Not well," I admitted. "My mother plays a lot of classical music around the house — I

only know my favorites."

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

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.

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

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. "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.

"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.

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

"You don't seem seventeen."

His tone was reproachful; it made me laugh.

"What?" he asked, curious again.

"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.

He made a face and changed the subject.

"So why did your mother marry Phil?"

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 mother… she's very young for her age. I think Phil makes her feel even younger.