So I gave her a maybe, telling her I'd have to talk with Charlie first.

She talked of nothing but the dance on the way to Spanish, continuing as if without an

interruption when class finally ended, five minutes late, and we were on our way to

lunch. I was far too lost in my own frenzy of anticipation to notice much of what she said.

I was painfully eager to see not just him but all the Cullens — to compare them with the

new suspicions that plagued my mind. As I crossed the threshold of the cafeteria, I felt

the first true tingle of fear slither down my spine and settle in my stomach. Would they be

able to know what I was thinking? And then a different feeling jolted through me —

would Edward be waiting to sit with me again?

As was my routine, I glanced first toward the Cullens ' table. A shiver of panic trembled

in my stomach as I realized it was empty. With dwindling hope, my eyes scoured the rest

of the cafeteria, hoping to find him alone, waiting for me. The place was nearly filled —

Spanish had made us late — but there was no sign of Edward or any of his family.

Desolation hit me with crippling strength.

I shambled along behind Jessica, not bothering to pretend to listen anymore.

We were late enough that everyone was already at our table. I avoided the empty chair

next to Mike in favor of one by Angela. I vaguely noticed that Mike held the chair out

politely for Jessica, and that her face lit up in response.

Angela asked a few quiet questions about the Macbeth paper, which I answered as

naturally as I could while spiraling downward in misery. She, too, invited me to go with

them tonight, and I agreed now, grasping at anything to distract myself.

I realized I'd been holding on to a last shred of hope when I entered Biology, saw his

empty seat, and felt a new wave of disappointment.

The rest of the day passed slowly, dismally. In Gym, we had a lecture on the rules of

badminton, the next torture they had lined up for me. But at least it meant I got to sit and

listen instead of stumbling around on the court. The best part was the coach didn't finish,

so I got another day off tomorrow. Never mind that the day after they would arm me with

a racket before unleashing me on the rest of the class.

I was glad to leave campus, so I would be free to pout and mope before I went out

tonight with Jessica and company. But right after I walked in the door of Charlie's house,

Jessica called to cancel our plans. I tried to be happy that Mike had asked her out to

dinner — I really was relieved that he finally seemed to be catching on — but my

enthusiasm sounded false in my own ears. She rescheduled our shopping trip for

tomorrow night.

Which left me with little in the way of distractions. I had fish marinating for dinner,

with a salad and bread left over from the night before, so there was nothing to do there. I

spent a focused half hour on homework, but then I was through with that, too. I checked

my e-mail, reading the backlog of letters from my mother, getting snippier as they

progressed to the present. I sighed and typed a quick response.

Mom,

Sorry. I've been out. I went to the beach with some friends. And I had to write a paper.

My excuses were fairly pathetic, so I gave up on that.

It's sunny outside today - I know, I'm shocked, too - so I'm going to go outside and soak

up as much vitamin D as I can. I love you,

Bella.

I decided to kill an hour with non-school-related reading. I had a small collection of

books that came with me to Forks, the shabbiest volume being a compilation of the works

of Jane Austen. I selected that one and headed to the backyard, grabbing a ragged old

quilt from the linen cupboard at the top of the stairs on my way down.

Outside in Charlie's small, square yard, I folded the quilt in half and laid it out of the

reach of the trees' shadows on the thick lawn that would always be slightly wet, no matter

how long the sun shone. I lay on my stomach, crossing my ankles in the air, flipping

through the different novels in the book, trying to decide which would occupy my mind

the most thoroughly. My favorites were Pride and Prejudice and Sense and Sensibility.

I'd read the first most recently, so I started into Sense and Sensibility, only to remember

after I began three that the hero of the story happened to be named Edward. Angrily, I

turned to Mansfield Park, but the hero of that piece was named Edmund, and that was just

too close. Weren't there any other names available in the late eighteenth century? I

snapped the book shut, annoyed, and rolled over onto my back. I pushed my sleeves up as

high as they would go, and closed my eyes. I would think of nothing but the warmth on

my skin, I told myself severely. The breeze was still light, but it blew tendrils of my hair

around my face, and that tickled a bit. I pulled all my hair over my head, letting it fan out

on the quilt above me, and focused again on the heat that touched my eyelids, my

cheekbones, my nose, my lips, my forearms, my neck, soaked through my light shirt…

The next thing I was conscious of was the sound of Charlie's cruiser turning onto the

bricks of the driveway. I sat up in surprise, realizing the light was gone, behind the trees,

and I had fallen asleep. I looked around, muddled, with the sudden feeling that I wasn't

alone.

"Charlie?" I asked. But I could hear his door slamming in front of the house.

I jumped up, foolishly edgy, gathering the now-damp quilt and my book. I ran inside to

get some oil heating on the stove, realizing that dinner would be late. Charlie was

hanging up his gun belt and stepping out of his boots when I came in.

"Sorry, Dad, dinner's not ready yet — I fell asleep outside." I stifled a yawn.

"Don't worry about it," he said. "I wanted to catch the score on the game, anyway."

I watched TV with Charlie after dinner, for something to do. There wasn't anything on I

wanted to watch, but he knew I didn't like baseball, so he turned it to some mindless

sitcom that neither of us enjoyed. He seemed happy, though, to be doing something

together. And it felt good, despite my depression, to make him happy.

"Dad," I said during a commercial, "Jessica and Angela are going to look at dresses for

the dance tomorrow night in Port Angeles, and they wanted me to help them choose… do

you mind if I go with them?"

"Jessica Stanley?" he asked.

"And Angela Weber." I sighed as I gave him the details.

He was confused. "But you're not going to the dance, right?"

"No, Dad, but I'm helping them find dresses — you know, giving them constructive

criticism." I wouldn't have to explain this to a woman.

"Well, okay." He seemed to realize that he was out of his depth with the girlie stuff. "It's

a school night, though."

"We'll leave right after school, so we can get back early. You'll be okay for dinner,

right?"

"Bells, I fed myself for seventeen years before you got here," he reminded me.

"I don't know how you survived," I muttered, then added more clearly, "I'll leave some

things for cold-cut sandwiches in the fridge, okay? Right on top."

It was sunny again in the morning. I awakened with renewed hope that I grimly tried to

suppress. I dressed for the warmer weather in a deep blue V-neck blouse — something I'd

worn in the dead of winter in Phoenix.

I had planned my arrival at school so that I barely had time to make it to class. With a

sinking heart, I circled the full lot looking for a space, while also searching for the silver

Volvo that was clearly not there. I parked in the last row and hurried to English, arriving

breathless, but subdued, before the final bell.

It was the same as yesterday — I just couldn't keep little sprouts of hope from budding

in my mind, only to have them squashed painfully as I searched the lunchroom in vain

and sat at my empty Biology table.

The Port Angeles scheme was back on again for tonight and made all the more

attractive by the fact that Lauren had other obligations. I was anxious to get out of town

so I could stop glancing over my shoulder, hoping to see him appearing out of the blue

the way he always did. I vowed to myself that I would be in a good mood tonight and not

ruin Angela's or Jessica's enjoyment in the dress hunting. Maybe I could do a little clothes

shopping as well. I refused to think that I might be shopping alone in Seattle this

weekend, no longer interested in the earlier arrangement. Surely he wouldn't cancel

without at least telling me.

After school, Jessica followed me home in her old white Mercury so that I could ditch

my books and truck. I brushed through my hair quickly when I was inside, feeling a slight

lift of excitement as I contemplated getting out of Forks. I left a note for Charlie on the

table, explaining again where to find dinner, switched my scruffy wallet from my school

bag to a purse I rarely used, and ran out to join Jessica. We went to Angela's house next,

and she was waiting for us. My excitement increased exponentially as we actually drove

out of the town limits.

8. Port Angeles

Jess drove faster than the Chief, so we made it to Port Angeles by four. It had been a

while since I'd had a girls' night out, and the estrogen rush was invigorating. We listened

to whiny rock songs while Jessica jabbered on about the boys we hung out with. Jessica's

dinner with Mike had gone very well, and she was hoping that by Saturday night they

would have progressed to the first-kiss stage. I smiled to myself, pleased. Angela was

passively happy to be going to the dance, but not really interested in Eric. Jess tried to get

her to confess who her type was, but I interrupted with a question about dresses after a

bit, to spare her. Angela threw a grateful glance my way.

Port Angeles was a beautiful little tourist trap, much more polished and quaint than

Forks. But Jessica and Angela knew it well, so they didn't plan to waste time on the

picturesque boardwalk by the bay. Jess drove straight to the one big department store in

town, which was a few streets in from the bay area's visitor-friendly face.

The dance was billed as semiformal, and we weren't exactly sure what that meant. Both

Jessica and Angela seemed surprised and almost disbelieving when I told them I'd never

been to a dance in Phoenix.

"Didn't you ever go with a boyfriend or something?" Jess asked dubiously as we

walked through the front doors of the store.

"Really," I tried to convince her, not wanting to confess my dancing problems. "I've

never had a boyfriend or anything close. I didn't go out much."

"Why not?" Jessica demanded.

"No one asked me," I answered honestly.

She looked skeptical. "People ask you out here," she reminded me, "and you tell them

no." We were in the juniors' section now, scanning the racks for dress-up clothes.

"Well, except for Tyler," Angela amended quietly.

"Excuse me?" I gasped. "What did you say?"

"Tyler told everyone he's taking you to prom," Jessica informed me with suspicious

eyes.

"He said what ?" I sounded like I was choking.

"I told you it wasn't true," Angela murmured to Jessica.

I was silent, still lost in shock that was quickly turning to irritation. But we had found

the dress racks, and now we had work to do.

"That's why Lauren doesn't like you," Jessica giggled while we pawed through the

clothes.

I ground my teeth. "Do you think that if I ran him over with my truck he would stop

feeling guilty about the accident? That he might give up on making amends and call it

even?"

"Maybe," Jess snickered. '"If that ’s why he's doing this."

The dress selection wasn't large, but both of them found a few things to try on. I sat on

a low chair just inside the dressing room, by the three-way mirror, trying to control my

fuming.

Jess was torn between two — one a long, strapless, basic black number, the other a

knee-length electric blue with spaghetti straps. I encouraged her to go with the blue; why

not play up the eyes? Angela chose a pale pink dress that draped around her tall frame

nicely and brought out honey tints in her light brown hair. I complimented them both

generously and helped by returning the rejects to their racks. The whole process was

much shorter and easier than similar trips I'd taken with Renée at home. I guess there was

something to be said for limited choices.

We headed over to shoes and accessories. While they tried things on I merely watched

and critiqued, not in the mood to shop for myself, though I did need new shoes. The

girls'-night high was wearing off in the wake of my annoyance at Tyler, leaving room for

the gloom to move back in.

"Angela?" I began, hesitant, while she was trying on a pair of pinkstrappy heels — she

was overjoyed to have a date tall enough that she could wear high heels at all.

Jessica had drifted to the jewelry counter and we were alone.

"Yes?" She held her leg out, twisting her ankle to get a better view of the shoe.

I chickened out. "I like those."

"I think I'll get them — though they'll never match anything but the one dress," she

mused.

"Oh, go ahead — they're on sale," I encouraged. She smiled, putting the lid back on a

box that contained more practical-looking off-white shoes.

I tried again. "Um, Angela…" She looked up curiously.

"Is it normal for the…Cullens" — I kept my eyes on the shoes — "to be out of school a

lot?" I failed miserably in my attempt to sound nonchalant.

"Yes, when the weather is good they go backpacking all the time — even the doctor.

They're all real outdoorsy," she told me quietly, examining her shoes, too. She didn't ask

one question, let alone the hundreds that Jessica would have unleashed. I was beginning

to really like Angela.

"Oh." I let the subject drop as Jessica returned to show us the rhinestone jewelry she'd

found to match her silver shoes.

We planned to go to dinner at a little Italian restaurant on the boardwalk, but the dress

shopping hadn't taken as long as we'd expected. Jess and Angela were going to take their

clothes back to the car and then walk down to the bay. I told them I would meet them at

the restaurant in an hour — I wanted to look for a bookstore. They were both willing to

come with me, but I encouraged them to go have fun — they didn't know how

preoccupied I could get when surrounded by books; it was something I preferred to do

alone. They walked off to the car chattering happily, and I headed in the direction Jess

pointed out.

I had no trouble finding the bookstore, but it wasn't what I was looking for. The

windows were full of crystals, dream-catchers, and books about spiritual healing. I didn't

even go inside. Through the glass I could see a fifty-year-old woman with long, gray hair

worn straight down her back, clad in a dress right out of the sixties, smiling welcomingly

from behind the counter. I decided that was one conversation I could skip. There had to

be a normal bookstore in town.

I meandered through the streets, which were filling up with end-of-the-workday traffic,

and hoped I was headed toward downtown. I wasn't paying as much attention as I should

to where I was going; I was wrestling with despair. I was trying so hard not to think about

him, and what Angela had said… and more than anything trying to beat down my hopes

for Saturday, fearing a disappointment more painful than the rest, when I looked up to see

someone's silver Volvo parked along the street and it all came crashing down on me.

Stupid, unreliable vampire, I thought to myself.

I stomped along in a southerly direction, toward some glass-fronted shops that looked

promising. But when I got to them, they were just a repair shop and a vacant space. I still

had too much time to go looking for Jess and Angela yet, and I definitely needed to get

my mood in hand before I met back up with them. I ran my fingers through my hair a

couple of times and took some deep breaths before I continued around the corner.

I started to realize, as I crossed another road, that I was going the wrong direction. The

little foot traffic I had seen was going north, and it looked like the buildings here were

mostly warehouses. I decided to turn east at the next corner, and then loop around after a

few blocks and try my luck on a different street on my way back to the boardwalk.

A group of four men turned around the corner I was heading for, dressed too casually to

be heading home from the office, but they were too grimy to be tourists. As they

approached me, I realized they weren't too many years older than I was. They were

joking loudl y among themselves, laughing raucously and punching each other's arms. I

scooted as far to the inside of the sidewalk as I could to give them room, walking swiftly,

looking past them to the corner.

"Hey, there!" one of them called as they passed, and he had to be talking to me since no

one else was around. I glanced up automatically. Two of them had paused, the other two

were slowing. The closest, a heavyset, dark-haired man in his early twenties, seemed to

be the one who had spoken. He was wearing a flannel shirt open over a dirty t-shirt, cut-

off jeans, and sandals. He took half a step toward me.

"Hello," I mumbled, a knee-jerk reaction. Then I quickly looked away and walked

faster toward the corner. I could hear them laughing at full volume behind me.

"Hey, wait!" one of them called after me again, but I kept my head down and rounded

the corner with a sigh of relief. I could still hear them chortling behind me.

I found myself on a sidewalk leading past the backs of several somber-colored

warehouses, each with large bay doors for unloading trucks, padlocked for the night. The

south side of the street had no sidewalk, only a chain-link fence topped with barbed wire

protecting some kind of engine parts storage yard. I'd wandered far past the part of Port

Angeles that I, as a guest, was intended to see. It was getting dark, I realized, the clouds

finally returning, piling up on the western horizon, creating an early sunset. The eastern

sky was still clear, but graying, shot through with streaks of pink and orange. I'd left my

jacketin the car, and a sudden shiver made me cross my arms tightly across my chest. A

single van passed me, and then the road was empty.

The sky suddenly darkened further, and, as I looked over my shoulder to glare at the

offending cloud, I realized with a shock that two men were walking quietly twenty feet

behind me.

They were from the same group I'd passed at the corner, though neither was the dark

one who'd spoken to me. I turned my head forward at once, quickening my pace. A chill

that had nothing to do with the weather made me shiver again. My purse was on a

shoulder strap and I had it slung across my body, the way you were supposed to wear it

so it wouldn't get snatched. I knew exactly where my pepper spray was — still in my

duffle bag under the bed, never unpacked. I didn't have much money with me, just a

twenty and some ones, and I thought about "accidentally" dropping my bag and walking

away. But a small, frightened voice in the back of my mind warned me that they might be

something worse than thieves.

I listened intently to their quiet footsteps, which were much too quiet when compared to

the boisterous noise they'd been making earlier, and it didn't sound like they were

speeding up, or getting any closer to me. Breathe, I had to remind myself. You don't know

they're following you. I continued to walk as quickly as I could without actually running,

focusing on the right-hand turn that was only a few yards away from me now. I could

hear them, staying as far back as they'd been before. A blue car turned onto the street

from the south and drove quickly past me. I thought of jumping out in front of it, but I

hesitated, inhibited, unsure that I was really being pursued, and then it was too late.

I reached the corner, but a swift glance revealed that it was only a blind drive to the

back of another building. I was half-turned in anticipation; I had to hurriedly correct and

dash across the narrow drive, back to the sidewalk. The street ended at the next corner,

where there was a stop sign. I concentrated on the faint footsteps behind me, deciding

whether or not to run. They sounded farther back, though, and I knew they could outrun

me in any case. I was sure to trip and go sprawling if I tried to go any faster. The footfalls

were definitely farther back. I risked a quick glance over my shoulder, and they were

maybe forty feet back now, I saw with relief. But they were both staring at me.

It seemed to take forever for me to get to the corner. I kept my pace steady, the men

behind me falling ever so slightly farther behind with every step. Maybe they realized

they had scared me and were sorry. I saw two cars going north pass the intersection I was

heading for, and I exhaled in relief. There would be more people around once I got off

this deserted street. I skipped around the corner with a grateful sigh.

And skidded to a stop.

The street was lined on both sides by blank, doorless, windowless walls. I could see in

the distance, two intersections down, streetlamps, cars, and more pedestrians, but they

were all too far away. Because lounging against the western building, midway down the

street, were the other two men from the group, both watching with excited smiles as I

froze dead on the sidewalk. I realized then that I wasn't being followed.

I was being herded.

I paused for only a second, but it felt like a very long time. I turned then and darted to

the other side of the road. I had a sinking feeling that it was a wasted attempt. The

footsteps behind me were louder now.

"There you are!" The booming voice of the stocky, dark-haired man shattered the

intense quiet and made me jump. In the gathering darkness, it seemed like he was looking

past me.

"Yeah," a voice called loudly from behind me, making me jump again as I tried to hurry

down the street. "We just took a little detour."

My steps had to slow now. I was closing the distance between myself and the lounging

pair too quickly. I had a good loud scream, and I sucked in air, preparing to use it, but my

throat was so dry I wasn't sure how much volume I could manage. With a quick

movement I slipped my purse over my head, gripping the strap with one hand, ready to

surrender it or use it as weapon as need demanded.

The thickset man shrugged away from the wall as I warily came to a stop, and walked

slowly into the street.

"Stay away from me," I warned in a voice that was supposed to sound strong and

fearless. But I was right about the dry throat — no volume.