fallen tree — I knew it was recent because it wasn't entirely carpeted in　　moss — rested against the trunk of one of her sisters, creating a　　sheltered little bench just a few safe feet off the trail. I stepped over　　the ferns and sat carefully, making sure my jacket was between the damp　　seat and my clothes wherever they touched, and leaned my hooded head back　　against the living tree.　　This was the wrong place to have come. I should have known, but where　　else was there to go? The forest was deep green and far too much like the　　scene in last night's dream to allow for peace of mind. Now that there　　was no longer the sound of my soggy footsteps, the silence was piercing.　　The birds were quiet, too, the drops increasing in frequency, so it must　　be raining above. The ferns stood higher than my head, now that I was　　seated, and I knew someone could walk by on the path, three feet away,　　and not see me.　　Here in the trees it was much easier to believe the absurdities that　　embarrassed me indoors. Nothing had changed in this forest for thousands　　of years, and all the myths and legends of a hundred different lands　　seemed much more likely in this green haze than they had in my clear-cut　　bedroom.　　I forced myself to focus on the two most vital questions I had to answer,　　but I did so unwillingly.　　First, I had to decide if it was possible that what Jacob had said about　　the Cullens could be true.　　Immediately my mind responded with a resounding negative. It was silly　　and morbid to entertain such ridiculous notions. But what, then? I asked　　myself. There was no rational explanation for how I was alive at this　　moment. I listed again in my head the things I'd observed myself: the　　impossible speed and strength, the eye color shifting from black to gold　　and back again, the inhuman beauty, the pale, frigid skin. And more —　　small things that registered slowly — how they never seemed to eat, the　　disturbing grace with which they moved. And the way be　　sometimes spoke, with unfamiliar cadences and phrases that better fit the　　style of a turn-of-the-century novel than that of a twenty-first-century　　classroom. He had skipped class the day we'd done blood typing. He hadn't　　said no to the beach trip till he heard where we were going. He seemed to　　know what everyone around him was thinking… except me. He had told me he　　was the villain, dangerous…　　Could the Cullens be vampires?　　Well, they were something. Something outside the possibility of rational　　justification was taking place in front of my incredulous eyes. Whether　　it be Jacob's cold ones or my own superhero theory, Edward Cullen was　　not… human. He was something more.　　So then — maybe. That would have to be my answer for now.　　And then the most important question of all. What was I going to do if it　　was true?　　If Edward was a vampire — I could hardly make myself think the words —　　then what should I do? Involving someone else was definitely out. I　　couldn't even believe myself; anyone I told would have me committed.　　Only two options seemed practical. The first was to take his advice: to　　be smart, to avoid him as much as possible. To cancel our plans, to go　　back to ignoring him as far as I was able. To pretend there was an　　impenetrably thick glass wall between us in the one class where we were　　forced together. To tell him to leave me alone — and mean it this time.　　I was gripped in a sudden agony of despair as I considered that　　alternative. My mind rejected the pain, quickly skipping on to the next　　option.　　I could do nothing different. After all, if he was something… sinister,　　he'd done nothing to hurt me so far. In fact, I would be a dent in　　Tyler's fender if he hadn't acted so quickly. So quickly, I argued with　　myself, that it might have been sheer reflexes. But if it was a reflex to　　save lives, how bad could he be? I retorted. My head spun around in　　answerless circles.　　There was one thing I was sure of, if I was sure of anything. The dark　　Edward in my dream last night was a reflection only of my fear of the　　word Jacob had spoken, and not Edward himself. Even so, when I'd screamed　　out in terror at the werewolf's lunge, it wasn't fear for the wolf that　　brought the cry of "no" to my lips. It was fear that he would be harmed —　　even as he called to me with sharp-edged fangs, I feared for him.　　And I knew in that I had my answer. I didn't know if there ever was a　　choice, really. I was already in too deep. Now that I knew — if I knew —　　I could do nothing about my frightening secret. Because when I thought of　　him, of his voice, his hypnotic eyes, the magnetic force of his　　personality, I wanted nothing more than to be with him right now. Even　　if… but I couldn't think it. Not here, alone in the darkening forest. Not　　while the rain made it dim as twilight under the canopy and pattered like　　footsteps across the matted earthen floor. I shivered and rose quickly　　from my place of concealment, worried that somehow the path would have　　disappeared with the rain.　　But it was there, safe and clear, winding its way out of the dripping　　green maze. I followed it hastily, my hood pulled close around my face,　　becoming surprised, as I nearly ran through the trees, at how far I had　　come. I started to wonder if I was heading out at all, or following the　　path farther into the confines of the forest. Before I could get too　　panicky, though, I began to glimpse some open spaces through the webbed　　branches. And then I could hear a car passing on the street, and I was　　free, Charlie's lawn stretched out in front of me, the house beckoning　　me, promising warmth and dry socks.　　It was just noon when I got back inside. I went upstairs and got dressed　　for the day, jeans and a t-shirt, since I was staying indoors. It didn't　　take too much effort to concentrate on my task for the day, a paper on　　Macbeth that was due Wednesday. I settled into outlining a rough draft　　contentedly, more serene than I'd felt since… well, since Thursday　　afternoon, if I was being honest.　　That had always been my way, though. Making decisions was the painful　　part for me, the part I agonized over. But once the decision was made, I　　simply followed through — usually with relief that the choice was made.　　Sometimes the relief was tainted by despair, like my decision to come to　　Forks. But it was still better than wrestling with the alternatives.　　This decision was ridiculously easy to live with. Dangerously easy.　　And so the day was quiet, productive — I finished my paper before eight.　　Charlie came home with a large catch, and I made a mental note to pick up　　a book of recipes for fish while I was in Seattle next week. The chills　　that flashed up my spine whenever I thought of that trip were no　　different than the ones I'd felt before I'd taken my walk with Jacob　　Black. They should be different, I thought. I should be afraid — I knew I　　should be, but I couldn't feel the right kind of fear.　　I slept dreamlessly that night, exhausted from beginning my day so early,　　and sleeping so poorly the night before. I woke, for the second time　　since arriving in Forks, to the bright yellow light of a sunny day. I　　skipped to the window, stunned to see that there was hardly a cloud in　　the sky, and those there were just fleecy little white puffs that　　couldn't possibly be carrying any rain. I opened the window — surprised　　when it opened silently, without sticking, not having opened it in who　　knows how many years — and sucked in the relatively dry air. It was　　nearly warm and hardly windy at all. My blood was electric in my veins.　　Charlie was finishing breakfast when I came downstairs, and he picked up　　on my mood immediately.　　"Nice day out," he commented.　　"Yes," I agreed with a grin.　　He smiled back, his brown eyes crinkling around the edges. When Charlie　　smiled, it was easier to see why he and my mother had jumped too quickly　　into an early marriage. Most of the young romantic he'd been in those　　days had faded before I'd known him, as the curly brown hair — the same　　color, if not the same texture, as mine — had dwindled, slowly revealing　　more and more of the shiny skin of his forehead. But when he smiled I　　could see a little of the man who had run away with Renée when she was　　just two years older than I was now.　　I ate breakfast cheerily, watching the dust moats stirring in the　　sunlight that streamed in the back window. Charlie called out a goodbye,　　and I heard the cruiser pull away from the house. I hesitated on my way　　out the door, hand on my rain jacket. It would be tempting fate to leave　　it home. With a sigh, I folded it over my arm and stepped out into the　　brightest light I'd seen in months.　　By dint of much elbow grease, I was able to get both windows in the truck　　almost completely rolled down. I was one of the first ones to school; I　　hadn't even checked the clock in my hurry to get outside. I parked and　　headed toward the seldom-used picnic benches on the south side of the　　cafeteria. The benches were still a little damp, so I sat on my jacket,　　glad to have a use for it. My homework was done — the product of a slow　　social life — but there were a few Trig problems I wasn't sure I had　　right. I took out my book industriously, but halfway through rechecking　　the first problem I was daydreaming, watching the sunlight play on the　　red-barked trees. I sketched inattentively along the margins of my　　homework. After a few minutes, I suddenly realized I'd drawn five pairs　　of dark eyes staring out of the page at me. I scrubbed them out with the　　eraser.　　"Bella!" I heard someone call, and it sounded like Mike.　　I looked around to realize that the school had become populated while I'd　　been sitting there, absentminded. Everyone was in t-shirts, some even in　　shorts though the temperature couldn't be over sixty. Mike was coming　　toward me in khaki shorts and a striped Rugby shirt, waving.　　"Hey, Mike," I called, waving back, unable to be halfhearted on a morning　　like this.　　He came to sit by me, the tidy spikes of his hair shining golden in the　　light, his grin stretching across his face. He was so delighted to see　　me, I couldn't help but feel gratified.　　"I never noticed before — your hair has red in it," he commented,　　catching between his fingers a strand that was fluttering in the light　　breeze.　　"Only in the sun."　　I became just a little uncomfortable as he tucked the lock behind my ear.　　"Great day, isn't it?"　　"My kind of day," I agreed.　　"What did you do yesterday?" His tone was just a bit too proprietary.　　"I mostly worked on my essay." I didn't add that I was finished with it —　　no need to sound smug.　　He hit his forehead with the heel of his hand. "Oh yeah — that's due　　Thursday, right?"　　"Um, Wednesday, I think."　　"Wednesday?" He frowned. "That's not good… What are you writing yours on?"　　"Whether Shakespeare's treatment of the female characters is　　misogynistic."　　He stared at me like I'd just spoken in pig Latin.　　"I guess I'll have to get to work on that tonight," he said, deflated. "I　　was going to ask if you wanted to go out."　　"Oh." I was taken off guard. Why couldn't I ever have a pleasant　　conversation with Mike anymore without it getting awkward?　　"Well, we could go to dinner or something… and I could work on it later."　　He smiled at me hopefully.　　"Mike…" I hated being put on the spot. "I don't think that would be the　　best idea."　　His face fell. "Why?" he asked, his eyes guarded. My thoughts flickered　　to Edward, wondering if that's where his thoughts were as well.　　"I think… and if you ever repeat what I'm saying right now I will　　cheerfully beat you to death," I threatened, "but I think that would hurt　　Jessica's feelings."　　He was bewildered, obviously not thinking in that direction at all.　　"Jessica?"　　"Really, Mike, are you blind?"　　"Oh," he exhaled — clearly dazed. I took advantage of that to make my　　escape.　　"It's time for class, and I can't be late again." I gathered my books up　　and stuffed them in my bag.　　We walked in silence to building three, and his expression was　　distracted. I hoped whatever thoughts he was immersed in were leading him　　in the right direction.　　When I saw Jessica in Trig, she was bubbling with enthusiasm. She,　　Angela, and Lauren were going to Port Angeles tonight to go dress　　shopping for the dance, and she wanted me to come, too, even though I　　didn't need one. I was indecisive. It would be nice to get out of town　　with some girlfriends, but Lauren would be there. And who knew what I　　could be doing tonight… But that was definitely the wrong path to let my　　mind wander down. Of course I was happy about the sunlight. But that　　wasn't completely responsible for the euphoric mood I was in, not even　　close.　　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