open book

I leaned back against the soft snow bank, letting the dry powder reshape itself around my weight. My skin cooled to match the air around me, and the tiny pieces of ice felt like velvet under my skin.

The sky above me was clear, brilliant with stars, glowing blue in some places, yellow in others. The stars created majestic, swirling shapes against the black universe—an astounding sight. Exquisitely beautiful. Or rather, it should have been exquisite. Would have been, if I'd been able to really see it.

It wasn't getting any better. Six days had passed, six days I'd hidden here in the empty Denali wilderness, but I was no closer to freedom than I had been since the first moment that I'd caught his scent.

When I stared up at the jeweled sky, it was as if there were an obstruction between my eyes and their beauty. The obstruction was a face, an ordinary human face, but I couldn't quite seem to banish it from my mind.

I heard the approaching thoughts before I heard the footsteps that accompanied them. The sound of movement was only a faint whisper against the powder.

I was not surprised that Taras had followed me here. I knew he'd been mulling over this coming conversation for the last few days, putting it off until he was sure of exactly what he wanted to say.

He sprang into sight about sixty yards away, leaping onto the tip of an outcropping of black rock and balancing there on the balls of his bare feet.

Taras's skin was silver in the starlight, and his long blond hair shone pale, almost pink with its strawberry tint. His amber eyes glinted as he spied me, half- buried in the snow, and his full lips stretched slowly into a smile.

Exquisite. If I'd really been able to see him. I sighed.

He crouched down on the point of the stone, his fingertips touching the rock, his body coiled.

Cannonball, he thought.

He launched himself into the air; his shape became a dark, twisting shadow as he spun gracefully between me and the stars. He curled himself into a ball just as he struck the piled snow bank beside me.

A blizzard of snow flew up around me. The stars went black and I was buried deep in the feathery ice crystals.

I sighed again, but didn't move to unearth myself. The blackness under the snow neither hurt nor improved the view. I still saw the same face.

"Edward?"

Then snow was flying again as Taras swiftly disinterred me. He brushed the powder from my unmoving face, not quite meeting my eyes.

"Sorry," he murmured. "It was a joke."

"I know. It was funny."

His mouth twisted down.

"Ivan and Kate said I should leave you alone. They think I'm annoying you."

"Not at all," I assured him. "On the contrary, I'm the one who's being rude—abominably rude. I'm very sorry."

You're going home, aren't you? He thought.

"I haven't... entirely... decided that yet."

But you're not staying here. His thought was wistful now, sad.

"No. It doesn't seem to be... helping."

He grimaced. "That's my fault, isn't it?"

"Of course not," I lied smoothly.

Don't be a gentleman.

I smiled.

I make you uncomfortable, he accused.

"No."

He raised one eyebrow, his expression so disbelieving that I had to laugh. One short laugh, followed by another sigh.

"All right," I admitted. "A little bit."

He sighed, too, and put his chin in his hands. His thoughts were chagrined.

"You're a thousand times lovelier than the stars, Taras. Of course, you're already well aware of that. Don't let my stubbornness undermine your confidence." I chuckled at the unlikeliness of that.

"I'm not used to rejection," he grumbled, his lower lip pushing out into an attractive pout.

"Certainly not," I agreed, trying with little success to block out his thoughts as he fleetingly sifted through memories of his thousands of successful conquests. Mostly Taras preferred human men—they were much more populous for one thing, with the added advantage of being soft and warm. And always eager, definitely.

"Incubus," I teased, hoping to interrupt the images flickering in his head.

He grinned, flashing his teeth. "The original."

Unlike Carlisle, Taras and his siblings had discovered their consciences slowly. In the end, it was their fondness for human men that turned them against the slaughter. Now the men they loved...lived.

"When you showed up here," Taras said slowly. "I thought that..."

I'd known what he'd thought. And I should have guessed that he would have felt that way. But I hadn't been at my best for analytical thinking in that moment.

"You thought that I'd changed my mind."

"Yes." He scowled.

"I feel horrible for toying with your expectations, Taras. I didn't mean to—I wasn't thinking. It's just that I left in...quite a hurry."

"I don't suppose you'd tell me why...?"

I sat up and wrapped my arms around my legs, curling defensively. "I don't want to talk about it."

Taras, Ivan and Kate were very good at this life they'd committed to. Better, in some ways, than even Carlisle. Despite the insanely close proximity they allowed themselves with those who should be—and once were—their prey, they did not make mistakes. I was too ashamed to admit my weakness to Taras.

"Boy troubles?" he guessed, ignoring my reluctance.

I laughed a bleak laugh. "Not the way you mean it."

He was quiet then. I listened to his thoughts as he ran through different guesses, tried to decipher the meaning of my words.

"You're not even close," I told him.

"One hint?" he asked.

"Please let it go, Taras."

He was quiet again, still speculating. I ignored him, trying in vain to appreciate the stars.

He gave up after a silent moment, and his thoughts pursued a new direction.

Where will you go, Edward, if you leave? Back to Carlisle?

"I don't think so," I whispered.

Where would I go? I could not think of one place on the entire planet that held any interest for me. There was nothing I wanted to see or do. Because, no matter where I went, I would not be going to anywhere—I would only be running from.

I hated that. When had I become such a coward?

Taras threw his leanly muscled arm around my shoulders. I stiffened, but did not flinch out from under his touch. He meant it as nothing more than friendly comfort. Mostly.

"I think that you will go back," He said, his voice taking on just a hint of his long lost Russian accent. "No matter what it is... or who it is... that is haunting you. You'll face it head on. You're the type."

His thoughts were as certain as his words. I tried to embrace the vision of myself that he carried in his head. The one who faced things head on. It was pleasant to think of myself that way again. I'd never doubted my courage, my ability to face difficulty, before that horrible hour in a high school biology class such a short time ago.

I kissed his cheek, pulling back swiftly when he twisted his face toward mine, his lips already puckered. He smiled ruefully at my quickness.

"Thank you, Taras. I needed to hear that."

His thoughts turned petulant. "You're welcome, I guess. I wish you would be more reasonable about things, Edward."

"I'm sorry, Taras. You know you're too good for me. I just... haven't found what I'm looking for yet."

"Well, if you leave before I see you again... goodbye, Edward."

"Goodbye, Taras." As I said the words, I could see it. I could see myself leaving. Being strong enough to go back to the one place where I wanted to be. "Thanks again."

He was on his feet in one nimble move, and then he was running away, ghosting across the snow so quickly that his feet had no time to sink into the snow; he left no prints behind him. He didn't look back. My rejection bothered him more than he'd let on before, even in his thoughts. He wouldn't want to see me again before I left.

My mouth twisted with chagrin. I didn't like hurting Taras, though his feelings were not deep, hardly pure, and, in any case, not something I could return. It still made me feel less than a gentleman.

I put my chin on my knees and stared up at the stars again, though I was suddenly anxious to be on my way. I knew that Alice would see me coming home, that she would tell the others. This would make them happy—Carlisle and Esme especially. But I gazed at the stars for one more moment, trying to see past the face in my head. Between me and the brilliant lights in the sky, a pair of bewildered silver-gray eyes stared back at me, seeming to ask what this decision would mean for him. Of course, I couldn't be sure if that was really the information his curious eyes sought. Even in my imagination, I couldn't hear his thoughts. Beau Swan's eyes continued to question, and an unobstructed view of the stars continued to elude me. With a heavy sigh, I gave up, and got to my feet. If I ran, I would be back to Carlisle's car in less than an hour...

In a hurry to see my family—and wanting very much to be the Edward that faced things head on—I raced across the starlit snowfield, leaving no footprints.

"It's going to be okay," Alice breathed. Her eyes were unfocused, and Jasper had one hand lightly under her elbow, guiding her forward as we walked into the rundown cafeteria in a close group. Royal and Emmett led the way, Emmett looking ridiculously like a bodyguard in the middle of hostile territory. Roy looked wary, too, but much more irritated than protective.

"Of course it is," I grumbled. Their behavior was ludicrous. If I wasn't positive that I could handle this moment, I would have stayed home.

The sudden shift from our normal, even playful morning—it had snowed in the night, and Emmett and Jasper were not above taking advantage of my distraction to bombard me with slushballs; when they got bored with my lack of response, they'd turned on each other—to this overdone vigilance would have been comical if it weren't so irritating.

"He's not here yet, but the way he's going to come in... he won't be downwind if we sit in our regular spot."

"Of course we'll sit in our regular spot. Stop it, Alice. You're getting on my nerves. I'll be absolutely fine."

She blinked once as Jasper helped her into her seat, and her eyes finally focused on my face.

"Hmm," she said, sounding surprised. "I think you're right."

"Of course I am," I muttered.

I hated being the focus of their concern. I felt a sudden sympathy for Jasper, remembering all the times we'd hovered protectively over him. He met my glance briefly, and grinned.

Annoying, isn't it?

I grimaced at him.

Was it just last week that this long, drab room had seemed so killingly dull to me? That it had seemed almost like sleep, like a coma, to be here?

Today my nerves were stretched tight—piano wires, tensed to sing at the lightest pressure. My senses were hyper-alert; I scanned every sound, every sight, every movement of the air that touched my skin, every thought. Especially the thoughts. There was only one sense that I kept locked down, refused to use. Smell, of course. I didn't breathe.

I was expecting to hear more about the Cullens in the thoughts that I sifted through. All day I'd been waiting, searching for whichever new acquaintance Beau Swan might have confided in, trying to see the direction the new gossip would take. But there was nothing. No one noticed the five vampires in the cafeteria, just the same as before the new boy had come. Several of the humans here were still thinking of that boy, still thinking the same thoughts from last week. Instead of finding this unutterably boring, I was now fascinated.

Had he said nothing to anyone about me?

There was no way that he had not noticed my black, murderous glare. I had seen him react to it. Surely, I'd scared him silly. I had been convinced that he would have mentioned it to someone, maybe even exaggerated the story a bit to make it better. Given me a few menacing lines.

And then, he'd also heard me trying to get out of our shared biology class. He must have wondered, after seeing my expression, whether he was the cause. A normal boy would have asked around, compared his experience to others, looked for common ground that would explain my behavior so he didn't feel singled out. Humans were constantly desperate to feel normal, to fit in. To blend in with everyone else around them, like a featureless flock of sheep. The need was particularly strong during the insecure adolescent years. This boy would be no exception to that rule.

But no one at all took any notice of us sitting here, at our normal table. Beau must be exceptionally shy, if he'd confided in no one. Perhaps he had spoken to his father, maybe that was the strongest relationship... though that seemed unlikely, given the fact that he had spent so little time with him throughout his life. He would be closer to his mother. Still, I would have to pass by Chief Swan sometime soon and listen to what he was thinking.

"Anything new?" Jasper asked.

"Nothing. He... must not have said anything."

All of them raised an eyebrow at this news.

"Maybe you're not as scary as you think you are," Emmett said, chuckling. "I bet I could have frightened him better than that." I rolled my eyes at him.

"Wonder why...?" He puzzled again over my revelation about the boy's unique silence.

"We've been over that. I don't know."

"He's coming in," Alice murmured then. I felt my body go rigid. "Try to look human."

"Human, you say?" Emmett asked.

He held up his right fist, twisting his fingers to reveal the snowball he'd saved in his palm. Of course it had not melted there. He'd squeezed it into a lumpy block of ice. He had his eyes on Jasper, but I saw the direction of his thoughts. So did Alice, of course. When he abruptly hurled the ice chunk at her, she flicked it away with a casual flutter of her fingers. The ice ricocheted across the length of the cafeteria, too fast to be visible to human eyes, and shattered with a sharp crack against the brick wall. The brick cracked, too.

The heads in that corner of the room all turned to stare at the pile of broken ice on the floor, and then swiveled to find the culprit. They didn't look further than a few tables away. No one looked at us.

"Very human, Emmett," Royal said scathingly. "Why don't you punch through the wall while you're at it?"

"It would look more impressive if you did it, baby."

I tried to pay attention to them, keeping a grin fixed on my face like I was part of their banter. I did not allow myself to look toward the line where I knew he was standing. But that was all that I was listening to.

I could hear Jessica's conversation with the new boy, who seemed to be distracted, too, standing motionless in the moving line. I saw, in Jessica's thoughts, that Beau Swan's cheeks were once more colored bright pink with blood.

I pulled in short, shallow breaths, ready to quit breathing if any hint of his scent touched the air near me.

Mike Newton was with Jessica and Beau. I heard both his voices, mental and verbal, when he asked Jessica what was wrong with the Swan boy. I didn't like the way Mike's thoughts wrapped around Beau, the flicker of already established fantasies that clouded his mind while he watched Beau start and look up from his reverie like he'd forgotten Mike was there.

"Nothing," I heard Beau say in that quiet, clear voice. It seemed to ring like a bell over the babble in the cafeteria, but I knew that was just because I was listening for it so intently.

"I'll just get a soda today," he continued as he moved to catch up with the line.

I couldn't help flickering one glance in his direction. He was staring at the floor, the blood slowly fading from his face. I looked away quickly, to Emmett, who laughed at the now pained-looking smile on my face.

You look sick, bro.

I rearranged my features so the expression would seem casual and effortless.

Jessica was wondering aloud about the boy's lack of appetite. "Aren't you hungry?"

"Actually, I feel a little sick." His voice was lower, but still very clear.

Why did it bother me, the protective concern that suddenly emanated from Mike Newton's thoughts? What did it matter that there was a possessive edge to them? It wasn't my business if Mike Newton felt unnecessarily anxious for Beau. Perhaps this was the way everyone responded to him. Hadn't I wanted, instinctively, to protect him, too? Before I'd wanted to kill him, that is...

But was Beau ill?

It was hard to judge—he looked so delicate with his ivory skin... Then I realized that I was worrying, too, just like that dimwitted Mike Newton, and I forced myself not to think about Beau's health.

Regardless, I didn't like monitoring him through Mike's thoughts. I switched to Jessica's, watching carefully as the three of them chose which table to sit at. Fortunately, they sat with Jessica's usual companions, at one of the first tables in the room. Not downwind, just as Alice had promised.

Alice elbowed me. He's going to look soon, act human.

I clenched my teeth behind my grin.

"Ease up, Edward," Emmett said. "Honestly. So you kill one human. That's hardly the end of the world."

"You would know," I murmured.

Emmett laughed. "You've got to learn to get over things. Like I do. Eternity is a long time to wallow in guilt."

Just then, Alice tossed a smaller handful of ice that she'd been hiding into Emmett's unsuspecting face.

He blinked, surprised, and then grinned in anticipation.

"You asked for it," he said as he leaned across the table and shook his ice- encrusted hair in her direction. The snow, melting in the warm room, flew out from his hair in a thick shower of half-liquid, half-ice.

"Oh, come on!" Roy complained, as he and Alice recoiled from the deluge.

Alice laughed, and we all joined in. I could see in Alice's head how she'd orchestrated this perfect moment, and I knew that the boy—I should stop thinking of him that way, as if he were the only boy in the world—that Beau would be watching us laugh and play, looking as happy and human and unrealistically ideal as a Norman Rockwell painting.

Alice kept laughing, and held her tray up as a shield. The boy—Beau must still be staring at us.

...staring at the Cullens again, I can't blame him, someone thought, catching my attention.

I looked automatically toward the unintentional call, realizing as my eyes found their destination that I recognized the voice—I'd been listening to it so much today.

But my eyes slid right past Jessica, and focused on Beau's penetrating gaze. He looked away quickly, shifting his shoulders in Jessica's direction.

What was he thinking? The frustration seemed to be getting more acute as time went on, rather than dulling. I tried—uncertain in what I was doing for I'd never tried this before—to probe with my mind at the silence around him. My extra hearing had always come to me naturally, without asking; I'd never had to work at it. But I concentrated now, trying to break through whatever shield surrounded him.

Nothing but silence.

Beau's certainly seemed to catch Edward's attention Jessica thought, almost giddy at the thought.

"Edward Cullen is staring at you," she whispered in the Swan boy's ear, giggling. There was excitement evident in her voice, like she actually thought my attention was a good thing. Laughable.

I listened, too engrossed, to Beau's response.

"He doesn't look angry, does he?" he whispered back.

So he had noticed my wild reaction last week. Of course he had.

The question confused Jessica. I saw my own face in her thoughts as she checked my expression, but I did not meet her glance. I was still concentrating on Beau, trying to hear something. My intent focus didn't seem to be helping at all.

"No," Jess told him, her internal confusion present in her voice. "Should he be?"

"I don't think he likes me," Beau whispered back, he shifted uncomfortably. I wondered why. Maybe he did feel sick.

"The Cullens don't like anybody," Jess reassured him. "Well, they don't notice anybody enough to like them." They never used to. Her thought was full of amusement. "But he's still staring at you."

"Stop looking at him," Beau said insistently.

Jessica snickered, but did as she was asked.

Beau did not look away from his table for the rest of the hour. I thought— though, of course, I could not be sure—that this was deliberate. It seemed like he wanted to look at me. His body would shift slightly in my direction, his chin would begin to turn, and then he would catch himself, take a deep breath, and stare fixedly at whoever was speaking.

I ignored the other thoughts around Beau for the most part, as they were not, momentarily, about him. Mike Newton was planning a snow fight in the parking lot after school, not seeming to realize that the snow had already shifted to rain. The flutter of soft flakes against the roof had become the more common patter of raindrops. Could he really not hear the change? It seemed loud to me.

When the lunch period ended, I stayed in my seat. The humans filed out, and I caught myself trying to distinguish the sound of his footsteps from the sound of the rest, as if there was something important or unusual about them. How stupid.

My family made no move to leave, either. They waited to see what I would do.

Would I go to class, sit beside the boy where I could smell the absurdly potent scent of his blood and feel the warmth of his pulse in the air on my skin? Was I strong enough for that? Or had I had enough for one day?

"I...think it's okay," Alice said, hesitant. "Your mind is set. I think you'll make it through the hour."

But Alice knew well how quickly a mind could change.

"Why push it, Edward?" Jasper asked. Though he didn't want to feel smug that I was the one who was weak now, I could hear that he did, just a little. "Go home. Take it slow."

"What's the big deal?" Emmett disagreed. "Either he will or he won't kill the kid. Might as well get it over with, either way."

"I don't want to move yet," Royal complained. "I don't want to start over. We're almost out of high school, Emmett. Finally."

I was evenly torn on the decision. I wanted, wanted badly, to face this head on rather than running away again. But I didn't want to push myself too far, either. It had been a mistake last week for Jasper to go so long without hunting; was this just as pointless a mistake?

I didn't want to uproot my family. None of them would thank me for that.

But I wanted to go to my biology class. I realized that I wanted to see Beau's face again.

That's what decided it for me. That curiosity. I was angry with myself for feeling it. Hadn't I promised myself that I wouldn't let the silence of the boy's mind make me unduly interested in him? And yet, here I was, most unduly interested.

I wanted to know what he was thinking. His mind was closed, but his eyes were very open. Perhaps I could read them instead.

"No, Roy, I think it really will be okay," Alice said. "It's...firming up. I'm ninety-three percent sure that nothing bad will happen if he goes to class." She looked at me inquisitively, wondering what had changed in my thoughts that made her vision of the future more secure.

Would curiosity be enough to keep Beau Swan alive?

Emmett was right, though—why not get it over with, either way? I would face the temptation head on.

"Go to class," I ordered, pushing away from the table. I turned and strode away from them without looking back. I could hear Alice's worry, Jasper's censure, Emmett's approval, and Royal's irritation trailing after me.

I took one last deep breath at the door of the classroom, and then held it in my lungs as I walked into the small, warm space.

I was not late. Mrs. Banner was still setting up for today's lab. The boy sat at my—at our table, his face down again, staring at the folder he was doodling on. I examined the sketch as I approached, interested in even this trivial creation of his mind, but it was meaningless. Just a random scribbling of loops within loops. Perhaps he was not concentrating on the pattern, but thinking of something else?

I pulled my chair back with unnecessary roughness, letting it scrape across the linoleum; humans always felt more comfortable when noise announced someone's approach.

I knew he heard the sound; he did not look up, but his hand missed a loop in the design he was drawing, making it unbalanced.

Why didn't he look up? Probably he was frightened. I must be sure to leave him with a different impression this time. Make him think he'd been imagining things before.

"Hello," I said in the quiet voice I used when I wanted to make humans more comfortable, forming a polite smile with my lips that would not show any teeth.

He looked up then, his wide gray eyes startled—almost bewildered—and full of silent questions. It was the same expression that had been obstructing my vision for the last week.

As I stared into those oddly warm gray eyes, I realized that the hate—the hate I'd imagined this boy somehow deserved for simply existing—had evaporated. Not breathing now, not tasting his scent, it was hard to believe that anyone so vulnerable could ever justify hatred.

His cheeks began to flush, and he said nothing.

I kept my eyes on his, focusing only on their questioning depths, and tried to ignore the appetizing color of his skin. I had enough breath to speak for a while longer without inhaling.

"My name is Edward Cullen," I said, though I knew he knew that. It was the polite way to begin. "I didn't have a chance to introduce myself last week. You must be Beau Swan."

He seemed confused—there was that little pucker between his eyes again. It took him half a second longer than it should have for him to respond.

"H-How do you know my name?" he demanded, and his voice shook just a little.

I must have truly terrified him. This made me feel guilty; he was just so defenseless. I laughed gently—it was a sound that I knew made humans more at ease. Again, I was careful about my teeth.

"Oh, I think everyone knows your name." Surely he must have realized that he'd become the center of attention in this monotonous place. "The whole town's been waiting for you to arrive."

He grimaced as if this information was unpleasant. I supposed, being shy as he seemed to be, attention would seem like a bad thing to him. Most humans felt the opposite. Though they didn't want to stand out from the herd, at the same time they craved a spotlight for their individual uniformity.

"No," he said. "I meant, why did you call me Beau?"

"Do you prefer Beauregard?" I asked, perplexed by the fact that I couldn't see where this question was leading. I didn't understand. Surely, he'd made his preference clear many times that first day. Were all humans this incomprehensible without the mental context as a guide?

"No, I like Beau," he answered, leaning his head slightly to one side. His expression—if I was reading it correctly—was torn between embarrassment and confusion. "But I think Charlie—I mean my dad—must call me Beauregard behind my back. That's what everyone here seems to know me as." His skin darkened one shade pinker.

"Oh," I said lamely, and quickly looked away from his face.

I'd just realized what his questions meant: I had slipped up—made an error. If I hadn't been eavesdropping on all the others that first day, then I would have addressed him initially by his full name, just like everyone else. He'd noticed the difference.

I felt a pang of unease. It was very quick of him to pick up on my slip. Quite astute, especially for someone who was supposed to be terrified by my nearness.

But I had bigger problems than whatever suspicions about me he might be keeping locked inside his head.

I was out of air. If I were going to speak to him again, I would have to inhale.

It would be hard to avoid speaking. Unfortunately for him, sharing this table made him my lab partner, and we would have to work together today. It would seem odd—and incomprehensibly rude—for me to ignore him while we did the lab. It would make him more suspicious, more afraid...

I leaned as far away from him as I could without moving my seat, twisting my head out into the aisle. I braced myself, locking my muscles in place, and then sucked in one quick chest-full of air, breathing through my mouth alone.

Ahh!

It was genuinely painful. Even without smelling him, I could taste him on my tongue. My throat was suddenly in flames again, the craving every bit as strong as that first moment I'd caught his scent last week.

I gritted my teeth together and tried to compose myself.

"Get started," Mrs. Banner commanded.

It felt like it took every single ounce of self-control that I'd achieved in ninety years of hard work to turn back to the boy, who was staring down at the table, and smile. "After you, partner?" I offered.

He looked up at my expression and his face went blank, his eyes wide. Was there something off in my expression? Was he frightened again? He didn't speak. "Or, I could start, if you wish," I said quietly.

"No," he said, and his face went from white to red again. "I'll go ahead."

I stared at the equipment on the table, the battered microscope, the box of slides, rather than watch the blood swirl under his skin—his beautiful skin. I took another quick breath, through my teeth, and winced as the taste made my throat ache.

"Prophase," he said after a quick examination. He started to remove the slide, though he'd barely examined it.

"Do you mind if I look?" Instinctively—stupidly, as if I were one of his kind—I reached out to stop his hand from removing the slide. For one second, the heat of his skin burned into mine. It was like an electric pulse—surely much hotter than a mere ninety-eight point six degrees. The heat shot through my hand and up my arm. He yanked his hand out from under mine.

"I'm sorry," I muttered through my clenched teeth. Needing somewhere to look, I grasped the microscope and stared briefly into the eyepiece. He was right.

"Prophase," I agreed.

I was still too unsettled to look at him. Breathing as quietly as I could through my gritted teeth and trying to ignore the fiery thirst, I concentrated on the simple assignment, writing the word on the appropriate line on the lab sheet, and then switching out the first slide for the next.

What was he thinking now? What had that felt like to him, when I had touched his hand? My skin must have been ice cold—repulsive. No wonder he was so quiet.

I glanced at the slide.

"Anaphase," I said to myself as I wrote it on the second line.

"Mind if I look?" he asked.

I looked up at him, surprised to see that he was waiting expectantly, one hand half-stretched toward the microscope. He didn't look afraid. Did he really think I'd gotten the answer wrong?

I couldn't help but smile at the hopeful look on his face as I slid the microscope toward him.

He stared into the eyepiece with an eagerness that quickly faded. The corners of his mouth turned down.

"Slide three?" he asked, not looking up from the microscope, but holding out his hand. I dropped the next slide into his hand, not letting my skin come anywhere close to his this time. Sitting beside him was like sitting next to a heat lamp. I could feel myself warming slightly to the higher temperature.

He did not look at the slide for long. "Interphase," he said nonchalantly— perhaps trying a little too hard to sound that way—and pushed the microscope to me. He did not touch the paper, but waited for me to write the answer. I checked—he was correct again.

We finished this way, speaking one word at a time and never meeting each other's eyes. We were the only ones done—the others in the class were having a harder time with the lab. Mike Newton seemed to be having trouble concentrating—he was trying to watch Beau and me.

Wish he'd stayed wherever he went, Mike thought, eyeing me sulfurously. Hmm, interesting. I hadn't realized the boy harbored any ill will towards me. This was a new development, about as recent as Beau's  arrival it seemed. Even more interesting, I found—to my surprise—that the feeling was mutual.

I looked down at Beau again, bemused by the wide range of havoc and upheaval that, despite his gentle, unthreatening appearance, he was wreaking on my life.

It wasn't that I couldn't see what Mike was going on about. He was actually rather attractive... in an unusual way. Better than being handsome, his face was interesting. Not quite symmetrical—his chin out of balance with his wide cheekbones, but complimenting his jaw; extreme in the coloring—the light and dark contrast of his skin and his hair; and then there were those beautiful eyes, brimming over with silent secrets...

Eyes that were suddenly boring into mine.

I stared back at him, trying to guess even one of those secrets.

"Did you get contacts?" he asked abruptly.

What a strange question. "No." I almost smiled at the idea of improving my eyesight.

"Oh," he mumbled. "I thought there was something different about your eyes."

I felt suddenly colder again as I realized that I was apparently not the only one attempting to ferret out secrets today.

I shrugged, my shoulders stiff, and glared straight ahead to where the teacher was making her rounds.

Of course there was something different about my eyes since the last time he'd stared into them. To prepare myself for today's ordeal, today's temptation, I'd spent the entire weekend hunting, satiating my thirst as much as possible, overdoing it really. I'd glutted myself on the blood of animals, not that it made much difference in the face of the outrageous flavor floating on the air around him. When I'd glared at him last, my eyes had been black with thirst. Now, my body swimming with blood, my eyes were a warmer gold. Light amber from my excessive attempt at thirst-quenching.

Another slip. If I'd seen what he'd meant with his question, I could have just told him yes.

I'd sat beside humans for two years now at this school, and he was the first to examine me closely enough to note the change in my eye color. The others, while admiring the beauty of my family, tended to look down quickly when we returned their stares. They shied away, blocking the details of our appearances in an instinctive endeavor to keep themselves from understanding. Ignorance was bliss to the human mind.

Why did it have to be this boy who would see too much?

Mrs. Banner approached our table. I gratefully inhaled the gush of clean air she brought with her before it could mix with his scent.

"So, Edward," she said, looking over our answers, "didn't you think Beauregard should get a chance with the microscope?"

"Beau," I corrected her reflexively. "Actually, he identified three of the five."

Mrs. Banner's thoughts were skeptical as she turned to look at the boy. "Have you done this lab before?"

I watched, engrossed, as he smiled, looking slightly embarrassed. "Not with onion root."

"Whitefish blastula?" Mrs. Banner probed.

"Yeah."

This surprised her. Today's lab was something she'd pulled from a more advanced course. She nodded thoughtfully at the boy. "Were you in an advanced placement program in Phoenix?"

"Yes."

He was advanced then, intelligent for a human. This did not surprise me.

"Well," Mrs. Banner said, pursing her lips. "I guess it's good you two are lab partners." She turned and walked away mumbling, "So the other kids can get a chance to learn something for themselves," under her breath. I doubted the boy could hear that. He began scrawling loops across his folder again.

Two slips so far in one half hour. A very poor showing on my part. Though I had no idea at all what the boy thought of me—how much did he fear, how much did he suspect?—I knew I needed to put forth a better effort to leave him with a new impression of me. Something to better drown his memories of our ferocious last encounter.

"It's too bad about the snow, isn't it?" I said, repeating the small talk that I'd heard a dozen students discuss already. A boring, standard topic of conversation. The weather—always safe.

He stared at me with obvious doubt in his eyes—an abnormal reaction to my very normal words. "Not really," he said, surprising me again.

I tried to steer the conversation back to trite paths. He was from a much brighter, warmer place—his skin seemed to reflect that somehow, despite its fairness—and the cold must make him uncomfortable. My icy touch certainly had...

"You don't like the cold," I guessed.

"Or the wet," he agreed.

"Forks must be a difficult place for you to live." Perhaps you should not have come here, I wanted to add. Perhaps you should go back where you belong.

I wasn't sure I wanted that, though. I would always remember the scent of his blood—was there any guarantee that I wouldn't eventually follow after him? Besides, if he left, his mind would forever remain a mystery. A constant, nagging puzzle.

"You have no idea," he said in a low voice, glowering past me for a moment.

His answers were never what I expected. They made me want to ask more questions.

"Why did you come here, then?" I demanded, realizing instantly that my tone was too accusatory, not casual enough for the conversation. The question sounded rude, prying.

"It's... complicated."

He blinked his wide eyes, leaving it at that, and I nearly imploded out of curiosity—the curiosity burned as hot as the thirst in my throat. Actually, I found that it was getting slightly easier to breathe; the agony was becoming more bearable through familiarity.

"I think I can keep up," I insisted. Perhaps common courtesy would keep him answering my questions as long as I was rude enough to ask them.

He stared down silently at his hands. This made me impatient; I wanted to gently put my hand under his chin and tilt his head up so that I could read his eyes. But it would be foolish of me—dangerous—to touch his skin again.

He looked up suddenly. It was a relief to be able to see the emotions in his eyes again. He spoke in a rush, hurrying through the words.

"My mother got remarried."

Ah, this was human enough, easy to understand. Sadness passed through his clear eyes and brought the pucker back between them.

"That doesn't sound so complex," I said. My voice was gentle without my working to make it that way. His sadness left me feeling oddly helpless, wishing there was something I could do to make him feel better. A strange impulse. "When did that happen?"

"Last September." He exhaled heavily—not quite a sigh. I held my breath as his warm breath brushed my face.

"And you don't like him," I guessed, fishing for more information.

"No, Phil is fine," he said, correcting my assumption. There was a hint of a smile now around the corners of his full lips. "Too young, maybe, but nice enough."

This didn't fit with the scenario I'd been constructing in my head.

"Why didn't you stay with them?" I asked, my voice a little too curious. It sounded like I was being nosy. Which I was, admittedly.

"Phil travels a lot. He plays ball for a living." The little smile grew more pronounced; this career choice amused him.

I smiled, too, without choosing to. I wasn't trying to make him feel at ease. His smile just made me want to smile in response—to be in on the secret.

"Have I heard of him?" I ran through the rosters of professional ball players in my head, wondering which Phil was his...

"Probably not. He doesn't play well." Another smile. "Strictly minor league. He moves around a lot."

The rosters in my head shifted instantly, and I'd tabulated a list of possibilities in less than a second. At the same time, I was imagining the new scenario.

"And your mother sent you here so that she could travel with him," I said. Making assumptions seemed to get more information out of him than questions did. It worked again. His chin jutted out, and his expression was suddenly stubborn.

"No, she didn't send me here," he said, and his voice had a new, hard edge to it. My assumption had upset him, though I couldn't quite see how. "I sent myself."

I could not guess at his meaning, or the source behind his pique. I was entirely lost.

So I gave up. There was just no making sense of the boy. He wasn't like other humans. Maybe the silence of his thoughts and the perfume of his scent were not the only unusual things about him.

"I don't understand," I admitted, hating to concede.

He sighed, and stared into my eyes for longer than most normal humans were able to stand.

"She stayed with me at first, but she missed him," he explained slowly, his tone growing more forlorn with each word. "It made her unhappy... so I decided it was time to spend some quality time with Charlie."

The tiny pucker between his eyes deepened.

"But now you're unhappy," I murmured. I couldn't seem to stop speaking my hypotheses aloud, hoping to learn from his reactions. This one, however, did not seem as far off the mark.

"And?" he said, as if this was not even an aspect to be considered.

I continued to stare into his eyes, feeling that I'd finally gotten my first real glimpse into his soul. I saw in that one word where he ranked himself among his own priorities. Unlike most humans, his own needs were far down the list.

He was selfless.

As I saw this, the mystery of the person hiding inside this quiet mind began to thin a little.

"That doesn't seem fair," I said. I shrugged, trying to seem casual, trying to conceal the intensity of my curiosity.

He laughed, but there was no amusement to the sound. "Hasn't anyone ever told you? Life isn't fair."

I wanted to laugh at his words, though I, too, felt no real amusement. I knew a little something about the unfairness of life. "I believe I have heard that somewhere before."

He stared back at me, seeming confused again. His eyes flickered away, and then came back to mine.

"So that's all," he told me.

But I was not ready to let this conversation end. The little V between his eyes, a remnant of his sorrow, bothered me. I wanted to smooth it away with my fingertip. But, of course, I could not touch him. It was unsafe in so many ways.

"You put on a good show." I spoke slowly, still considering this next hypothesis. "But I'd be willing to bet that you're suffering more than you let anyone see."

His made a face, his eyes narrowed. I hoped he would say something, instead he merely shrugged. He didn't like it when I guessed right. He wasn't the average martyr—he didn't want an audience to his pain.

"Am I wrong?"

"Why does it matter to you?" his gray eyes bore straight into mine.

The intensity—the braveness—of his gaze caught me off-guard. "I don't entirely understand you, that's all." I raised an eyebrow at him, more surprised by my own honest answer than anything.

He frowned, as if this perplexed him. "Why would you want to?"

"That's a very good question," I admitted, more to myself than to answer him. His discernment was better than mine—he saw right to the core of things while I floundered around the edges, sifting blindly through clues. The details of his very human life should not matter to me. It was wrong for me to care what he thought. Beyond protecting my family from suspicion, human thoughts were not significant.

I was not used to being the less intuitive of any pairing. I relied on my extra hearing too much—I clearly was not as perceptive as I gave myself credit for.

Then he sighed and stared toward the front of the classroom. Something about his frustrated expression was humorous. The whole situation, the whole conversation was humorous. No one had ever been in more danger from me than this boy—at any moment I might, distracted by my ridiculous absorption in the conversation, inhale through my nose and attack him before I could stop myself—and he was irritated because I hadn't answered his question.

"Am I annoying you?" I asked, smiling at the absurdity of it all.

He glanced at me quickly, and then his eyes seemed to get trapped by my gaze.

"Not exactly," he told me. "I'm more annoyed at myself. My face is so easy to read—my mother always calls me her open book." He shrugged again, disgruntled.

I stared at him in amazement. The reason he was upset was because he thought I saw through him too easily. How bizarre. I'd never expended so much effort to understand someone in all my life—or rather existence, as life was hardly the right word. I did not truly have a life.

"On the contrary," I disagreed, feeling strangely... wary, as if there were some hidden danger here that I was failing to see. I was suddenly on edge, the premonition making me anxious. "I find you very difficult to read."

"You must be a good reader then," he guessed, making his own assumption that was, again, right on the mark.

"Usually," I agreed.

I smiled at him widely then, letting my lips pull back to expose the rows of gleaming, razor sharp teeth behind them.

It was a stupid thing to do, but I was abruptly, unexpectedly desperate to get some kind of warning through to the boy. His body was closer to me than before, having shifted unconsciously in the course of our conversation. All the little markers and signs that were sufficient to scare off the rest of humanity did not seem to be working on him. Why did he not cringe away from me in terror? Surely he had seen enough of my darker side to realize the danger, intuitive as he seemed to be.

I didn't get to see if my warning had the intended effect. Mrs. Banner called for the class's attention just then, and he turned away from me at once. He seemed a little relieved for the interruption, so maybe he understood unconsciously.

I hoped he did.

I recognized the fascination growing inside me, even as I tried to root it out. I could not afford to find Beau Swan interesting. Or rather, he could not afford that. Already, I was anxious for another chance to talk to him. I wanted to know more about his mother, his life before he came here, his relationship with his father. All the meaningless details that would flesh out his character further. But every second I spent with him was a mistake, a risk he shouldn't have to take.

Absentmindedly, he ran his fingers through his thick hair just at the moment that I allowed myself another breath. A particularly concentrated wave of his scent hit the back of my throat.

It was like the first day—like the wrecking ball. The pain of the burning dryness made me dizzy. I had to grasp the table again to keep myself in my seat. This time I had slightly more control. I didn't break anything, at least. The monster growled inside me, but took no pleasure in my pain. He was too tightly bound. For the moment.

I stopped breathing altogether, and leaned as far from the boy as I could.

No, I could not afford to find him fascinating. The more interesting I found him, the more likely it was that I would kill him. I'd already made two minor slips today. Would I make a third, one that was not minor?

As soon as the bell sounded, I fled from the classroom—probably destroying whatever impression of politeness I'd halfway constructed in the course of the hour. Again, I gasped at the clean, wet air outside like it was a healing attar. I hurried to put as much distance between myself and the boy as was possible.

Emmett waited for me outside the door of our Spanish class. He read my wild expression for a moment.

How did it go? He wondered warily.

"Nobody died," I mumbled.

I guess that's something. When I saw Alice ditching there at the end, I thought...

As we walked into the classroom, I saw his memory from just a few moments ago, seen through the open door of his last class: Alice walking briskly and blank-faced across the grounds toward the science building. I felt his remembered urge to get up and join her, and then his decision to stay. If Alice needed his help, she would ask...

I closed my eyes in horror and disgust as I slumped into my seat. "I hadn't realized that it was that close. I didn't think I was going to...I didn't see that it was that bad," I whispered.

It wasn't, he reassured me. Nobody died, right?

"Right," I said through my teeth. "Not this time."

Maybe it will get easier.

"Sure."

Or, maybe you kill him. He shrugged. You wouldn't be the first one to mess up. No one would judge you too harshly. Sometimes a person just smells too good. I'm impressed you've lasted this long.

"Not helping, Emmett."

I was revolted by his acceptance of the idea that I would kill the boy, that this was somehow inevitable. Was it his fault that he smelled so good?

I know when it happened to me..., he reminisced, taking me back with him half a century, to a country lane at dusk, where a middle-aged woman was taking her dried sheets down from a line strung between apple trees. The scent of apples hung heavy in the air—the harvest was over and the rejected fruits were scattered on the ground, the bruises in their skin leaking their fragrance out in thick clouds. A fresh-mowed field of hay was a background to that scent, a harmony. He walked up the lane, all but oblivious to the woman, on an errand for Royal. The sky was purple overhead, orange over the western trees. He would have continued up the meandering cart path and there would have been no reason to remember the evening, except that a sudden night breeze blew the white sheets out like sails and fanned the woman's scent across Emmett's face.

"Ah," I groaned quietly. As if my own remembered thirst was not enough.

I know. I didn't last half a second. I didn't even think about resisting.

His memory became far too explicit for me to stand.

I jumped to my feet, my teeth locked hard enough to cut through steel.

"Esta bien, Edward?" Mrs. Goff asked, startled by my sudden movement. I could see my face in her mind, and I knew that I looked far from well.

"Me perdona," I muttered, as I darted for the door.

"Emmett—por favor, puedas tu ayuda a tu hermano?" she asked, gesturing helplessly toward me as I rushed out of the room.

"Sure," I heard him say. And then he was right behind me.

He followed me to the far side of the building, where he caught up to me and put his hand on my shoulder.

I shoved his hand away with unnecessary force. It would have shattered the bones in a human hand, and the bones in the arm attached to it.

"Sorry, Edward."

"I know." I drew in deep gasps of air, trying to clear my head and my lungs.

"Is it as bad as that?" he asked, trying not to think of the scent and the flavor of his memory as he asked, and not quite succeeding.

"Worse, Emmett, worse."

He was quiet for a moment.

Maybe...

"No, it would not be better if I got it over with. Go back to class, Emmett. I want to be alone."

He turned without another word or thought and walked quickly away. He would tell the Spanish teacher that I was sick, or ditching, or a dangerously out of control vampire. Did his excuse really matter? Maybe I wasn't coming back. Maybe I had to leave.

I went to my car again, to wait for school to end. To hide. Again.

I should have spent the time making decisions or trying to bolster my resolve, but, like an addict, I found myself searching through the babble of thoughts emanating from the school buildings. The familiar voices stood out, but I wasn't interested in listening to Alice's visions or Royal's complaints right now. I found Jessica easily, but the boy was not with her, so I continued searching. Mike Newton's thoughts caught my attention, and I located Beau at last, in gym with him. Mike was unhappy, because I'd spoken to Beau today in biology. He was running over Beau's response when he'd brought the subject up...

I've never seen him actually talk to anyone for more than a word here or there. Of course he would decide to find Beau interesting. I don't like the way he looks at Beau. But he didn't seem too excited about Cullen. What did Beau say? 'Wonder what was with him last Monday.' Something like that. Didn't sound like he cared. It couldn't have been much of a conversation...

He talked himself out of his pessimism in that way, cheered by the idea that Beau had not been interested in his exchange with me. This annoyed me quite a bit more than was acceptable, so I stopped listening to him.

I put a CD of violent music into the stereo, and then turned it up until it drowned out other voices. I had to concentrate on the music very hard to keep myself from drifting back to Mike Newton's thoughts, to spy on the unsuspecting boy...

I cheated a few times, as the hour drew to a close. Not spying, I tried to convince myself. I was just preparing. I wanted to know exactly when he would leave the gym, when he would be in the parking lot. I didn't want him to take me by surprise.

As the students started to file out of the gym doors, I got out of my car, not sure why I did it. The rain was light—I ignored it as it slowly saturated my hair.

Did I want him to see me here? Did I hope he would come to speak to me? What was I doing?

I didn't move, though I tried to convince myself to get back in the car, knowing my behavior was reprehensible. I kept my arms folded across my chest and breathed very shallowly as I watched him walk slowly toward me, his mouth turning down at the corners. He didn't look at me. A few times he glanced up at the clouds with a grimace, as if they offended him.

I was disappointed when he reached his car before he had to pass me. Would he have spoken to me? Would I have spoken to him?

He got into a faded red Chevy truck, a rusted behemoth that was older than his father. I watched him start the truck—the old engine roared louder than any other vehicle in the lot—and then hold his hands out toward the heating vents. The cold was uncomfortable to him—he didn't like it. He ran his fingers through his thick hair. I imagined what the cab of that truck would smell like, and then quickly drove out the thought.

He glanced around as he prepared to back out, and finally looked in my direction. He stared back at me for only half a second, and all I could read in his eyes was surprise before he tore his eyes away and jerked the truck into reverse. And then squealed to a stop again, the back end of the truck missing a collision with Erin Teague's compact by mere inches.

He stared into his rearview mirror, his mouth hanging open with chagrin. When the other car had pulled past him, he checked all his blind spots twice and then inched out the parking space so cautiously that it made me grin. It was like he thought he was dangerous in his decrepit truck.

The thought of Beau Swan being dangerous to anyone, no matter what he was driving, had me laughing while the boy drove past me, staring straight ahead.