complications

EVERYONE WATCHED US AS WE WALKED TOGETHER TO OUR LAB TABLE. This time she didn't angle the chair to sit as far from me as the desk would allow. Instead, she sat right next to me, our arms almost touching. Her hair brushed my skin.

Mrs. Banner backed into the room then, pulling an outdated TV and VCR on a wheeled frame. It seemed like everyone in the room relaxed at the same time. I was relieved, too. I knew I wouldn't have been able to pay attention to a lecture today. I had too much to sort through inside my head already.

Mrs. Banner shoved the old tape into the VCR, then walked across the room to turn off the lights. And then suddenly, as the room went black, things got weird.

It wasn't like I wasn't already hyperaware that Edythe was right there, just an inch away from me. I wouldn't have imagined that I could be more aware of her. But in the dark, somehow… It was like an electrical current was flowing through her body into mine, like those miniature lightning bolts that jump between live circuits were dancing up and down the small gap between our bodies. Where her hair touched my arm, it was almost painful.

A crazy strong impulse to reach over and touch her—to stroke her perfect face just once in the darkness—almost overwhelmed me. What was wrong with me? You couldn't just go around touching people because the lights were off. I crossed my arms tightly over my ribs and balled my hands into fists.

The opening credits started, and the room got a fraction brighter. I couldn't stop myself from peeking over at her.

She was sitting exactly like I was—arms crossed, hands clenched, just glancing over to me. When she saw me looking, too, she smiled, almost like she was embarrassed. Even in the dark, her eyes still burned. I had to look away before I did something stupid—something that would definitely not conform to her idea of careful.

It was a very long hour. I couldn't concentrate on the movie. I didn't have any idea what it was about. I tried to act normal, to make my muscles relax, but the electrical current never let up. Now and then, I let myself take a quick glance in her direction, but she never seemed to relax, either. The feeling that I just had to touch her face also refused to go away. I kept my fists crushed safely against my ribs until my fingers were aching with the effort.

I sighed with relief when Mrs. Banner flicked the lights back on at the end of class, and stretched my arms down at my sides, flexing my stiff fingers. Edythe laughed once.

"Well, that was… interesting," she murmured. Her voice was low and her eyes were cautious.

"Umm," was all I was able to respond.

"Shall we?" she asked, on her feet in one liquid movement. She scooped her bag up with one finger.

I stood carefully, worried I wouldn't be able to walk straight after all that.

She walked with me to Gym in silence, and then paused at the door. I looked down to say goodbye but choked on the word. Her face—it was torn, almost pained, and so unbearably beautiful that the ache to touch her hit me even more intensely than it had before. It was all I could do to just stare.

She raised one hand, hesitant, conflict clear in her eyes, and then quickly brushed her fingertips across the line of my jaw. Her fingers were icy like always, but the trail they left on my skin was almost like a burn that hadn't turned painful yet.

She spun without a word and walked swiftly away from me.

I stumbled into the gym, lightheaded and unstable, and dressed down in a trance, barely aware of the other people around me. Reality didn't fully set in until I was handed a racket.

It wasn't very heavy, but I knew that didn't matter. In my hands, it was dangerous. I could see a few of the other kids eyeing me and the racket. Then Coach Clapp ordered us to choose our own partners, and I figured I was about to be the last guy up against the wall.

But I'd underestimated McKayla's loyalty. She came to stand next to me right away.

"You don't have to do this, you know," I told her.

She grinned. "Don't worry, I'll keep out of your way."

Sometimes it was really easy to like McKayla.

It didn't go smoothly. I'm not sure how I did it, but I managed to hit myself in the head with my racket and clip McKayla's shoulder on the same swing. I spent the rest of the hour in the back corner of the court, the racket held behind my back. Despite being handicapped by me, McKayla was pretty good; she won three games out of four single-handedly, then gave me an unearned high five when the coach finally blew the whistle ending class.

"So," she started as we walked off the court.

"So?"

"You and Edythe Cullen, huh?" Her tone was just slightly hostile.

"Yeah, me and Edythe Cullen," I replied. I'm sure she could hear the sound of wonder in my voice.

"I don't like it," she muttered.

"Well, you don't actually have to."

"So she just snaps her fingers and you heel?"

"Guess so."

She scowled at me. I turned my back on her and walked away. I knew I would be last against the wall tomorrow, but I didn't care. By the time I was dressed I'd forgotten all about McKayla. Would Edythe be outside, or should I go wait by her car? What if her family was there? She'd parked right next to Royal's car. Just thinking about Royal's face in the cafeteria had me wondering if I should walk home. Had she told them that I knew? Was I supposed to know that they knew that I knew? What was the etiquette on vampire acknowledgments? Did a nod work?

But when I walked out of the gym, Edythe was there. She stood in the shade of the gym building, though the clouds were still black, with her hands laced together in front of her. Her face was peaceful now, a small smile turning up just the corners of her lips. The thin sweater didn't look like enough, and though I knew it was stupid, I wanted to take my jacket off and wrap it around her. As I walked to her side, I felt a strange sense of harmony—like everything was right in the world as long as I was close to her.

"Hi." I could feel the huge, goofy smile on my face.

"Hello." Her answering smile was brilliant. "How was Gym?"

I was suddenly suspicious. "Fine."

"Really?" Her eyebrows shot up. "How's your head?"

"You didn't."

She started walking slowly toward the parking lot. I automatically fell into step with her.

"You were the one who mentioned how I'd never seen you in Gym—it made me curious."

"Great," I said. "Fantastic. Well, sorry about that. I don't mind walking home if you don't want to be seen with me."

She laughed musically. "It was very entertaining. Though I wouldn't have minded if you'd hit that girl just a little harder."

"What?"

As she glanced behind us, her mouth flattened into a straight line. I turned to see what she was looking at—McKayla's blond hair bobbing as she walked away.

It's been a while since someone besides family thought those kinds of words about me. I don't think I like it."

I felt a sudden pang of anxiety for McKayla.

Edythe read my expression and laughed again. "Don't worry, I wouldn't hurt your friend. If I did, who else would agree to be your badminton partner?"

It was hard to process. Edythe was just so… delicate. But when she said this, it was clear that she was more than confident in her abilities. If she wanted McKayla—or anyone—hurt, it would be very bad news for that person. She was dangerous, I knew this, but I kept running into a wall when I tried to believe it. I changed the subject.

"What kinds of words has your family been thinking about you?"

She shook her head. "It's not fair to judge people on their thoughts. Those are supposed to be private. It's actions that count."

"I don't know.… If you know someone can hear, isn't that the same thing as saying it out loud?"

"Easy for you to say." She grinned. "Controlling your thoughts is very difficult. When Royal and I butt heads, I think much worse things about him, and I do say those words out loud." She laughed her ringing laugh again.

I hadn't been watching where we were going, so I was surprised when we had to slow, blocked from Edythe's car by a crowd of kids. There was a circle around Royal's red convertible, two deep, mostly guys. Some of them looked about to drool. None of her family was around, and I wondered if she'd asked them to give her some space.

None of the car enthusiasts even looked up when I edged by them to get Edythe's door.

"Ostentatious," she muttered as she slid past me.

I hurried around to the passenger side and climbed in.

"What kind of car is that?"

"An M3," she said as she tried to back out of the space without hitting anybody.

"Um, I don't speak Car and Driver."

She carefully maneuvered her way free. "It's a BMW."

"Okay, I know that one."

We pulled away from the school and it was just the two of us. The privacy felt like freedom. There was no one watching or listening here.

"Is it later yet?" I asked her.

She didn't miss the significance in my tone.

She frowned. "I suppose it is."

I kept my expression neutral while I waited for her to explain. She watched the road, pretending like she actually needed to, and I watched her face. A few different expressions flickered across it, but they changed so fast I wasn't able to interpret them. I was starting to wonder if she was just going to ignore my question when she stopped the car. I looked up, surprised. We were already at Charlie's house, parked behind my truck. It was easier to ride with her, I decided, when I didn't look until it was over.

She was staring at me when I looked back, seeming to measure me with her eyes.

"And you want to know why you can't see me hunt?" she asked. Her voice was serious, but her expression was a little amused. Not at all like it had been in the cafeteria earlier.

"Yes. And why you seemed so… mad when I asked."

She raised her eyebrows. "Did I frighten you?" The question sounded hopeful.

"Did you want to?"

She tilted her head to one side. "Maybe I did."

"Okay then, sure, I was terrified."

She smiled, shook her head, and then her face was serious again. "I apologize for reacting like that. It was just the thought of you being near… while we hunted." Her jaw tightened.

"That would be bad?"

She answered through her teeth. "Extremely."

"Because…?"

She took a deep breath and stared through the windshield at the thick, rolling clouds that seemed to press down, almost within reach.

"When we hunt"—she spoke slowly, unwillingly—"we give ourselves over to our senses… govern less with our minds. Especially our sense of smell. If you were anywhere near me when I lost control that way…" She shook her head, still staring unhappily at the heavy clouds.

I kept my expression empty, expecting the swift flash of her eyes to judge my reaction that followed. But our eyes held, and the silence deepened—changed. Flickers of the electricity I'd felt this afternoon began to charge the atmosphere as she gazed without blinking into my eyes. It wasn't until my head started to swim that I realized I wasn't breathing. When I drew in a jagged breath, breaking the silence, she closed her eyes.

"Beau, I think you should go inside now." Her low voice wasn't so smooth—more like raw silk now—and her eyes were on the clouds again.

I opened the door, and the arctic draft that burst into the car helped clear my head. Afraid I was so lightheaded that I might stumble, I stepped carefully out of the car and shut the door behind me without looking back. The whir of the automatic window unrolling made me turn.

"Oh, Beau?" she called after me. She leaned toward the open window with a small smile on her lips.

"Yeah?"

"Tomorrow it's my turn."

"Your turn to what?"

She smiled wider, flashing her gleaming teeth. "Ask the questions."

And then she was gone, the car speeding down the street and disappearing around the corner before I could even put my thoughts in order. I smiled as I walked to the house. It was clear she was planning to see me tomorrow, if nothing else.

That night Edythe starred in my dreams, as usual. However, the climate of my unconsciousness had changed. It thrilled with the same electricity that had charged the afternoon, and I tossed and turned restlessly, waking often. It was only in the early hours of the morning that I finally sank into an exhausted, dreamless sleep.

When my alarm went off, I was still beat, but wired at the same time. After I showered, I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror while I combed through my wet hair. I looked the same as always, and yet there was something different. My hair was dark and too thick, my skin too pale, and my bones were all shaped the same underneath, no change there. My eyes were the same light blue staring back at me… but I realized they were the culprits. I'd always thought it was the color that made them—and by extension, the rest of my face—look so uncertain, but though the color hadn't changed, the lack of resolve had. The boy who looked back at me today was determined, sure of his course. I wondered when that had happened. I thought I could probably guess.

Breakfast was the usual, quiet event I expected. Charlie fried eggs for himself; I had my bowl of cereal. I wondered if he had forgotten about this Saturday.

"About this Saturday…," he began, like he could read my mind. I was getting really paranoid about that specific concern.

"Yes, Dad?"

He walked across the kitchen and turned on the faucet. "Are you still set on going to Seattle?"

"That was the plan." I frowned, wishing he hadn't brought it up so I wouldn't have to compose careful half-truths.

He squeezed some dish soap onto his plate and swirled it around with the brush. "And you're sure you can't make it back in time for the dance?"

"I'm not going to the dance, Dad."

"Didn't anyone ask you?" he asked, his eyes focused on the plate.

"It's not my thing," I reminded him.

"Oh." He frowned as he dried his plate.

I wondered if he was worried about me being a social outcast. Maybe I should have told him I had lots of invitations. But that would obviously backfire. He wouldn't be very happy if he knew I'd turned them all down. Then I would have to tell him that there was a girl… who hadn't asked me… and obviously I didn't want to get into that.

Which got me thinking about prom and Taylor and the dress she already had and Logan's attitude toward me and that whole mess. I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do. In any universe, I wasn't going to prom. In a universe where Edythe Cullen existed, I wasn't going to be interested in any other girl. It wasn't fair to just go along with Taylor's plan when my heart wasn't in it. The problem was figuring out how.…

Charlie left then, with a goodbye wave, and I went upstairs to brush my teeth and gather my books. When I heard the cruiser pull away, I could only wait a few seconds before I had to look out of my window. The silver car was already there, waiting in Charlie's spot on the driveway. I took the stairs three at a time and was out the door in seconds. I wondered how long this strange routine would continue. I never wanted it to end.

She waited in the car, not appearing to watch as I shut the door behind me without bothering to lock the deadbolt. I walked to the car, then hesitated for just a second before I opened the door and climbed in. She was smiling, relaxed—and, as usual, so perfect it was painful.

"Good morning. How are you today?" Her eyes roamed over my face, like the question was something more than simple courtesy.

"Good, thank you." I was always good—much more than good—when I was close to her.

Her gaze lingered on the circles under my eyes. "You look tired."

"I couldn't sleep," I admitted.

She laughed. "Neither could I."

The engine purred quietly to life. I was getting used to the sound. The roar of my truck would probably scare me the next time I drove it.

"I guess that's right," I said. "I probably did get more sleep than you."

"I would wager you did."

"So what did you do last night?"

She laughed. "Not a chance. It's my day to ask questions."

"Oh, that's right." My forehead creased. I couldn't imagine anything about me that would be interesting to her. "What do you want to know?"

"What's your favorite color?" she asked, totally serious.

I shrugged. "It changes."

"What is it today?"

"Um, probably… gold, I guess."

"Is there anything material behind your choice, or is it random?"

I cleared my throat self-consciously. "It's the color of your eyes today. If you asked me in a week, I'd probably say black."

She gave me a look that I didn't entirely understand, but before I could ask, she was on to her next question.

"What music is in your CD player right now?"

I had to think about that one for a second, until I remembered that the last thing I'd listened to was the CD Phil had given me. When I said the name of the band, she smiled and opened a hatch under the car's CD player. She pulled out one of the dozens of CDs that were packed into the small space, and handed it to me. It was the same CD.

"Debussy to this?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

It continued like that for the rest of the day. While we walked between classes and all through the lunch hour, she questioned me without a break. She wanted to know about every insignificant detail of my existence. Movies I'd liked and hated, the few places I'd been and the many places I wanted to go, and books—so many questions about books.

I couldn't remember the last time I'd talked so much. I felt self-conscious the whole time, knowing I had to be boring her. But she always seemed on the edge of her seat waiting for my answers, she always had a follow-up question, she always wanted more. So I went along with the psychoanalysis, since it seemed to matter to her.

When the first bell rang, I sighed deeply. It was time. "There's one question you haven't asked me yet."

"More than one, actually, but which specific one are you looking for?"

"The most embarrassing thing I've ever done."

She grinned. "Is it a spectacular story?"

"I'm not sure yet. I'll tell you in five minutes."

I shoved away from the table. Her eyes were bright with curiosity.

At my usual table, my friends were all just getting to their feet. I walked toward them.

Patches of red flared in my cheeks, but that was probably okay. I was supposed to look emotional. Anyway, the pretty guy in the melodramatic soap my mom used to watch religiously looked fired up when he did this scene. Thanks to him, at least I had a general outline for my script, embellished by something I'd once thought about Edythe; I wanted to keep this flattering.

Jeremy noticed me first, and his eyes were speculative. They flashed from my red face to where Edythe was and back to me.

"Taylor, can I have a minute?" I said as I walked up to her. I didn't say it quietly.

She was right in the very middle of the cluster. Logan turned to glower at me with his fishy green eyes.

"Sure, Beau," Taylor said, looking confused.

"Look," I said, "I can't do this anymore."

Everyone fell silent. Jeremy's eyes got all round. Allen looked embarrassed. McKayla shot me a critical glance, like she couldn't believe I was doing it this way. But she didn't know exactly what I was doing, or why I needed this audience.

Taylor was shocked. "What?"

I scowled. It was easy—I was pretty angry right now that I hadn't talked myself out of this, or come up with a better way. But it was too late for improv now.

"I'm tired of being a pawn in your game, Taylor. Do you even realize that I have feelings of my own? And all I can do is watch while you use me to make someone else jealous." My eyes darted quickly to Logan, whose mouth was hanging open, and back to Taylor. "You don't care if you break my heart in the process. Is it being beautiful that's made you so cruel?"

Taylor's eyes were wide, her mouth open in a little o.

"I'm not going to play anymore. This whole prom charade? I'm out. Go with the person you really want to be with." A longer glare this time at Logan.

And then I stalked away, slamming through the cafeteria doors in what I hoped was a dramatic way.

I was never going to live this down.

But at least I was free. Probably worth it.

Suddenly Edythe was right next to me, keeping pace like we'd been walking together all along.

"That truly was spectacular," she said.

I took a deep breath. "Maybe a little over the top. Did it work?"

"Like a charm. Taylor's feeling quite the femme fatale, and she's not even sure why. If Logan doesn't ask her to prom by Monday, I'll be surprised."

"Good," I grunted.

"And now back to you…"

Edythe kept up the quiz until we were in Biology and Mrs. Banner arrived, dragging the audiovisual frame again. When she was finished with her prep and turned toward the light switch, I saw Edythe slide her chair a half-inch farther away from mine. It didn't help. As soon as the room was dark, there was that same electric tension, the same restless craving to stretch my hand across the short space and touch her cold, smooth skin.

It was like an itch that just got more and more demanding. I couldn't pay attention to anything else. Hopefully whatever movie it was that we were watching wouldn't be on the final.

After a little while, maybe fifteen minutes—or maybe it was only two and it just felt so long because of the electricity—I shifted my chair over and slowly leaned to the side until my arm was just touching her shoulder. She didn't move away.

I thought that little contact would help, that it would take away the nagging want, but it kind of backfired. The little frisson of electricity got stronger, changed into bigger jolts. I was suddenly dying to put my arm around her, to pull her into my side and hold her against me. I wanted to run my fingers down the length of her hair, to bury my face in it. I wanted to trace the shape of her lips, the line of her cheekbone, the length of her throat.…

Not really appropriate for a classroom full of people.

I leaned forward, folding my arms on the table and gripping under the edge with my fingers, trying to hold myself in place. I didn't look at her, afraid that if she was looking back at me, it would only make self-control that much harder. I tried to make myself watch the movie, but the patches of color just wouldn't resolve into coherent images.

I sighed in relief again when Mrs. Banner hit the lights, and then finally I looked at Edythe; she was staring back, her eyes ambivalent.

Like yesterday, we walked toward the gym in silence. And also like yesterday, she touched my face wordlessly—this time with the back of her cool hand, stroking once from my temple to my jaw—before she turned and walked away.

Gym passed quickly. To save time, Coach Clapp told us to keep the same partners, so McKayla was forced to be my teammate again. I watched her one-woman badminton show without participating—for both our safety. She didn't talk to me, but whether that was because of the scene in the cafeteria, or our falling-out yesterday, or because my expression was so vacant, I didn't know. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I felt bad about that. But I couldn't concentrate on her any more than I could make sense of the movie in Biology.

I felt the same sense of harmony when I walked out the gym door and saw Edythe in the shadow of the gym. Everything was right in my world. A wide smile spread automatically across my face. She smiled back, then launched into more cross-examination.

Her questions were different now, not as easily answered. She wanted to know what I missed about my home, insisting on descriptions of anything she wasn't familiar with. We sat in front of Charlie's house for hours, as the sky darkened and rain plummeted around us in a sudden cloudburst.

I tried to describe impossible things like the scent of creosote—bitter, kind of resinous, but still pleasant—the high, keening sound of the cicadas in July, the gaunt, feathery trees, the enormous sky, extending white-blue from horizon to horizon. The hardest thing to explain was why it was so beautiful to me—to justify a beauty that didn't depend on the spiny vegetation that mostly looked half dead, a beauty that had something to do with the exposed shape of the land, with the shallow bowls of valleys between the craggy hills, and the way they held on to the sun. I found myself using my hands as I tried to describe it to her.

Her quiet, probing questions kept me talking freely, forgetting to be embarrassed for monopolizing the conversation. Finally, when I had finished detailing my old room at home, she paused instead of responding with another question.

"Are you finished?" I asked in relief.

"Not even close—but your father will be home soon."

"How late is it?" I wondered out loud as I glanced at the clock. I was surprised by the time.

"It's twilight," Edythe murmured, looking toward the western horizon, hidden behind the clouds. Her voice was thoughtful, as if her mind were far away. I stared at her as she stared out the windshield.

I was still staring when her eyes suddenly shifted back to mine.

"It's the safest time of day for us," she said, answering the unspoken question in my eyes. "The easiest time. But also the saddest, in a way… the end of another day, the return of the night. Darkness is so predictable, don't you think?" She smiled wistfully.

"I like the night. Without the dark, you'd never see the stars." I frowned. "Not that you see them here much."

She laughed, and the mood abruptly lightened.

"Charlie will be here in a few minutes. So, unless you want to tell him that you'll be with me Saturday…" She looked at me hopefully.

"Thanks, but no thanks." I gathered my books, stiff from sitting still so long. "So is it my turn tomorrow, then?"

"Certainly not!" She pretended to be outraged. "I told you I wasn't done, didn't I?"

"What more is there?"

She displayed the dimples. "You'll find out tomorrow."

I stared at her, a little dazed, as usual.

I'd always thought I didn't really have a type; my former crowd back home all had something—one liked blondes and one only cared about the legs and one had to have blue eyes. I'd thought I was less particular; a pretty girl was a pretty girl. But I realized now that I must have been the most difficult to please of them all. Apparently, my type was extremely specific—I'd just never known it. I hadn't known my favorite hair color was this metallic shade of bronze, because I'd never seen it before. I hadn't known I was looking for eyes the color of honey, because I'd never seen those, either. I didn't know a girl's lips had to be curved just this way and her cheekbones high under the long slash of her black lashes. All along, there had only been one shape, one face that would move me.

Like an idiot, warnings forgotten, I reached for her face, leaning in.

She recoiled.

"Sorr—" I started to say as my hand dropped.

But her head whipped forward, and she was staring into the rain again.

"Oh no," she breathed.

"What's wrong?"

Her jaw was clenched, her brows pulled down into a hard line over her eyes. She glanced at me for one brief second.

"Another complication," she told me glumly.

She leaned across me and flung my door open in one quick movement—her proximity sent my heart racing in an uneven gallop—and then she almost cringed away from me.

Headlights flashed through the rain. I looked up, expecting Charlie and a bunch of explanations to follow, but it was a dark sedan I didn't recognize.

"Hurry," she urged.

She was glaring through the downpour at the other vehicle.

I jumped out immediately, though I didn't understand. The rain lashed against my face; I pulled my hood up.

I tried to make out the shapes in the front seat of the other car, but it was too dark. I could see Edythe illuminated in the blaze of the new car's headlights; she was still staring ahead, her gaze locked on something or someone I couldn't see. Her expression was a strange mix of frustration and defiance.

Then she revved the engine, and the tires squealed against the wet pavement. The Volvo was out of sight in seconds.

"Hey, Beau," called a familiar, husky voice from the driver's side of the little black car.

"Jules?" I asked, squinting through the rain. Just then, Charlie's cruiser swung around the corner, his lights shining on the occupants of the car in front of me.

Jules was already climbing out, her wide grin visible even through the darkness. In the passenger seat was a much older woman, an imposing woman with an unusual face—it was stern and stoic, with creases that ran through the russet skin like an old leather jacket. And the surprisingly familiar eyes, set deep under the heavy brows, black eyes that seemed at the same time both too young and too ancient to match the face. Jules's mother, Bonnie Black. I knew her immediately, though in the more than five years since I'd seen her last I'd managed to forget her name when Charlie had spoken of her my first day here. She was staring at me, scrutinizing my face, so I smiled tentatively at her. Then I processed more—that her eyes were wide, as if in shock or fear, her nostrils flared—and my smile faded.

Another complication, Edythe had said.

Bonnie still stared at me with intense, anxious eyes. Had Bonnie recognized Edythe so easily? Could she really believe the impossible legends her daughter had scoffed at?

The answer was clear in Bonnie's eyes. Yes. Yes, she could.