Twilight Tenth Anniversary Edition

by Stephenie Meyer

  “Well, I wanted to get a few books—the library here is pretty limited—and maybe look at some clothes.” I had more money than I was used to having, since, thanks to Charlie, I hadn’t had to pay for a car. Not that the truck didn’t cost me quite a bit in the gas department.

  “That truck probably doesn’t get very good gas mileage,” he said, echoing my thoughts.

  “I know, I’ll stop in Montesano and Olympia—and Tacoma if I have to.”

  “Are you going all by yourself?” he asked, and I couldn’t tell if he was suspicious I had a secret boyfriend or just worried about car trouble.

  “Yes.”

  “Seattle is a big city—you could get lost,” he fretted.

  “Dad, Phoenix is five times the size of Seattle—and I can read a map, don’t worry about it.”

  “Do you want me to come with you?”

  I tried to be crafty as I hid my horror.

  “That’s all right, Dad, I’ll probably just be in dressing rooms all day—very boring.”

  “Oh, okay.” The thought of sitting in women’s clothing stores for any period of time immediately put him off.

  “Thanks.” I smiled at him.

  “Will you be back in time for the dance?”

  Grrr. Only in a town this small would a father know when the high school dances were.

  “No—I don’t dance, Dad.” He, of all people, should understand that—I didn’t get my balance problems from my mother.

  He did understand. “Oh, that’s right,” he realized.

  The next morning, when I pulled into the parking lot, I deliberately parked as far as possible from the silver Volvo. I didn’t want to put myself in the path of too much temptation and end up owing him a new car. Getting out of the cab, I fumbled with my key and it fell into a puddle at my feet. As I bent to get it, a white hand flashed out and grabbed it before I could. I jerked upright. Edward Cullen was right next to me, leaning casually against my truck.

  “How do you do that?” I asked in amazed irritation.

  “Do what?” He held my key out as he spoke. As I reached for it, he dropped it into my palm.

  “Appear out of thin air.”

  “Bella, it’s not my fault if you are exceptionally unobservant.” His voice was quiet as usual—velvet, muted.

  I scowled at his perfect face. His eyes were light again today, a deep, golden honey color. Then I had to look down, to reassemble my now-tangled thoughts.

  “Why the traffic jam last night?” I demanded, still looking away. “I thought you were supposed to be pretending I don’t exist, not irritating me to death.”

  “That was for Tyler’s sake, not mine. I had to give him his chance.” He snickered.

  “You…” I gasped. I couldn’t think of a bad enough word. It felt like the heat of my anger should physically burn him, but he only seemed more amused.

  “And I’m not pretending you don’t exist,” he continued.

  “So you are trying to irritate me to death? Since Tyler’s van didn’t do the job?”

  Anger flashed in his tawny eyes. His lips pressed into a hard line, all signs of humor gone.

  “Bella, you are utterly absurd,” he said, his low voice cold.

  My palms tingled—I wanted so badly to hit something. I was surprised at myself. I was usually a nonviolent person. I turned my back and started to walk away.

  “Wait,” he called. I kept walking, sloshing angrily through the rain. But he was next to me, easily keeping pace.

  “I’m sorry, that was rude,” he said as we walked. I ignored him. “I’m not saying it isn’t true,” he continued, “but it was rude to say it, anyway.”

  “Why won’t you leave me alone?” I grumbled.

  “I wanted to ask you something, but you sidetracked me,” he chuckled. He seemed to have recovered his good humor.

  “Do you have a multiple personality disorder?” I asked severely.

  “You’re doing it again.”

  I sighed. “Fine then. What do you want to ask?”

  “I was wondering if, a week from Saturday—you know, the day of the spring dance—”

  “Are you trying to be funny?” I interrupted him, wheeling toward him. My face got drenched as I looked up at his expression.

  His eyes were wickedly amused. “Will you please allow me to finish?”

  I bit my lip and clasped my hands together, interlocking my fingers, so I couldn’t do anything rash.

  “I heard you say you were going to Seattle that day, and I was wondering if you wanted a ride.”

  That was unexpected.

  “What?” I wasn’t sure what he was getting at.

  “Do you want a ride to Seattle?”

  “With who?” I asked, mystified.

  “Myself, obviously.” He enunciated every syllable, as if he were talking to someone mentally handicapped.

  I was still stunned. “Why?”

  “Well, I was planning to go to Seattle in the next few weeks, and, to be honest, I’m not sure if your truck can make it.”

  “My truck works just fine, thank you very much for your concern.” I started to walk again, but I was too surprised to maintain the same level of anger.

  “But can your truck make it there on one tank of gas?” He matched my pace again.

  “I don’t see how that is any of your business.” Stupid, shiny Volvo owner.

  “The wasting of finite resources is everyone’s business.”

  “Honestly, Edward.” I felt a thrill go through me as I said his name, and I hated it. “I can’t keep up with you. I thought you didn’t want to be my friend.”

  “I said it would be better if we weren’t friends, not that I didn’t want to be.”

  “Oh, thanks, now that’s all cleared up.” Heavy sarcasm. I realized I had stopped walking again. We were under the shelter of the cafeteria roof now, so I could more easily look at his face. Which certainly didn’t help my clarity of thought.

  “It would be more… prudent for you not to be my friend,” he explained. “But I’m tired of trying to stay away from you, Bella.”

  His eyes were gloriously intense as he uttered that last sentence, his voice smoldering. I couldn’t remember how to breathe.

  “Will you go with me to Seattle?” he asked, still intense.

  I couldn’t speak yet, so I just nodded.

  He smiled briefly, and then his face became serious.

  “You really should stay away from me,” he warned. “I’ll see you in class.”

  He turned abruptly and walked back the way we’d come.

  5. BLOOD TYPE

  I MADE MY WAY TO ENGLISH IN A DAZE. I DIDN’T EVEN REALIZE WHEN I first walked in that class had already started.

  “Thank you for joining us, Miss Swan,” Mr. Mason said in a disparaging tone.

  I flushed and hurried to my seat.

  It wasn’t till class ended that I realized Mike wasn’t sitting in his usual seat next to me. I felt a twinge of guilt. But he and Eric both met me at the door as usual, so I figured I wasn’t totally unforgiven. Mike seemed to become more himself as we walked, gaining enthusiasm as he talked about the weather report for this weekend. The rain was supposed to take a minor break, and so maybe his beach trip would be possible. I tried to sound eager, to make up for disappointing him yesterday. It was hard; rain or no rain, it would still only be in the high forties, if we were lucky.

  The rest of the morning passed in a blur. It was difficult to believe that I hadn’t just imagined what Edward had said, and the way his eyes had looked. Maybe it was just a very convincing dream that I’d confused with reality. That seemed more probable than that I really appealed to him on any level.

  So I was impatient and frightened as Jessica and I entered the cafeteria. I wanted to see his face, to see if he’d gone back to the cold, indifferent person I’d known for the last several weeks. Or if, by some miracle, I’d really heard what I thought I’d heard this morning. Jessica babbled on and on about her dance
plans—Lauren and Angela had asked the other boys and they were all going together—completely unaware of my inattention.

  Disappointment flooded through me as my eyes unerringly focused on his table. The other four were there, but he was absent. Had he gone home? I followed the still-babbling Jessica through the line, crushed. I’d lost my appetite—I bought nothing but a bottle of lemonade. I just wanted to go sit down and sulk.

  “Edward Cullen is staring at you again,” Jessica said, finally breaking through my abstraction with his name. “I wonder why he’s sitting alone today.”

  My head snapped up. I followed her gaze to see Edward, smiling crookedly, staring at me from an empty table across the cafeteria from where he usually sat. Once he’d caught my eye, he raised one hand and motioned with his index finger for me to join him. As I stared in disbelief, he winked.

  “Does he mean you?” Jessica asked with insulting astonishment in her voice.

  “Maybe he needs help with his Biology homework,” I muttered for her benefit. “Um, I’d better go see what he wants.”

  I could feel her staring after me as I walked away.

  When I reached his table, I stood behind the chair across from him, unsure.

  “Why don’t you sit with me today?” he asked, smiling.

  I sat down automatically, watching him with caution. He was still smiling. It was hard to believe that someone so beautiful could be real. I was afraid that he might disappear in a sudden puff of smoke, and I would wake up.

  He seemed to be waiting for me to say something.

  “This is different,” I finally managed.

  “Well…” He paused, and then the rest of the words followed in a rush. “I decided as long as I was going to hell, I might as well do it thoroughly.”

  I waited for him to say something that made sense. The seconds ticked by.

  “You know I don’t have any idea what you mean,” I eventually pointed out.

  “I know.” He smiled again, and then he changed the subject. “I think your friends are angry with me for stealing you.”

  “They’ll survive.” I could feel their stares boring into my back.

  “I may not give you back, though,” he said with a wicked glint in his eyes.

  I gulped.

  He laughed. “You look worried.”

  “No,” I said, but, ridiculously, my voice broke. “Surprised, actually… what brought all this on?”

  “I told you—I got tired of trying to stay away from you. So I’m giving up.” He was still smiling, but his ocher eyes were serious.

  “Giving up?” I repeated in confusion.

  “Yes—giving up trying to be good. I’m just going to do what I want now, and let the chips fall where they may.” His smile faded as he explained, and a hard edge crept into his voice.

  “You lost me again.”

  The breathtaking crooked smile reappeared.

  “I always say too much when I’m talking to you—that’s one of the problems.”

  “Don’t worry—I don’t understand any of it,” I said wryly.

  “I’m counting on that.”

  “So, in plain English, are we friends now?”

  “Friends…,” he mused, dubious.

  “Or not,” I muttered.

  He grinned. “Well, we can try, I suppose. But I’m warning you now that I’m not a good friend for you.” Behind his smile, the warning was real.

  “You say that a lot,” I noted, trying to ignore the sudden trembling in my stomach and keep my voice even.

  “Yes, because you’re not listening to me. I’m still waiting for you to believe it. If you’re smart, you’ll avoid me.”

  “I think you’ve made your opinion on the subject of my intellect clear, too.” My eyes narrowed.

  He smiled apologetically.

  “So, as long as I’m being… not smart, we’ll try to be friends?” I struggled to sum up the confusing exchange.

  “That sounds about right.”

  I looked down at my hands wrapped around the lemonade bottle, not sure what to do now.

  “What are you thinking?” he asked curiously.

  I looked up into his deep gold eyes, became befuddled, and, as usual, blurted out the truth.

  “I’m trying to figure out what you are.”

  His jaw tightened, but he kept his smile in place with some effort.

  “Are you having any luck with that?” he asked in an offhand tone.

  “Not too much,” I admitted.

  He chuckled. “What are your theories?”

  I blushed. I had been vacillating during the last month between Bruce Wayne and Peter Parker. There was no way I was going to own up to that.

  “Won’t you tell me?” he asked, tilting his head to one side with a shockingly tempting smile.

  I shook my head. “Too embarrassing.”

  “That’s really frustrating, you know,” he complained.

  “No,” I disagreed quickly, my eyes narrowing, “I can’t imagine why that would be frustrating at all—just because someone refuses to tell you what they’re thinking, even if all the while they’re making cryptic little remarks specifically designed to keep you up at night wondering what they could possibly mean… now, why would that be frustrating?”

  He grimaced.

  “Or better,” I continued, the pent-up annoyance flowing freely now, “say that person also did a wide range of bizarre things—from saving your life under impossible circumstances one day to treating you like a pariah the next, and he never explained any of that, either, even after he promised. That, also, would be very non-frustrating.”

  “You’ve got a bit of a temper, don’t you?”

  “I don’t like double standards.”

  We stared at each other, unsmiling.

  He glanced over my shoulder, and then, unexpectedly, he snickered.

  “What?”

  “Your boyfriend seems to think I’m being unpleasant to you—he’s debating whether or not to come break up our fight.” He snickered again.

  “I don’t know who you’re talking about,” I said frostily. “But I’m sure you’re wrong, anyway.”

  “I’m not. I told you, most people are easy to read.”

  “Except me, of course.”

  “Yes. Except for you.” His mood shifted suddenly; his eyes turned brooding. “I wonder why that is.”

  I had to look away from the intensity of his stare. I concentrated on unscrewing the lid of my lemonade. I took a swig, staring at the table without seeing it.

  “Aren’t you hungry?” he asked, distracted.

  “No.” I didn’t feel like mentioning that my stomach was already full—of butterflies. “You?” I looked at the empty table in front of him.

  “No, I’m not hungry.” I didn’t understand his expression—it looked like he was enjoying some private joke.

  “Can you do me a favor?” I asked after a second of hesitation.

  He was suddenly wary. “That depends on what you want.”

  “It’s not much,” I assured him.

  He waited, guarded but curious.

  “I just wondered… if you could warn me beforehand the next time you decide to ignore me for my own good. Just so I’m prepared.” I looked at the lemonade bottle as I spoke, tracing the circle of the opening with my pinkie finger.

  “That sounds fair.” He was pressing his lips together to keep from laughing when I looked up.

  “Thanks.”

  “Then can I have one answer in return?” he demanded.

  “One.”

  “Tell me one theory.”

  Whoops. “Not that one.”

  “You didn’t qualify, you just promised one answer,” he reminded me.

  “And you’ve broken promises yourself,” I reminded him back.

  “Just one theory—I won’t laugh.”

  “Yes, you will.” I was positive about that.

  He looked down, and then glanced up at me through his long black lashes
, his ocher eyes scorching.

  “Please?” he breathed, leaning toward me.

  I blinked, my mind going blank. Holy crow, how did he do that?

  “Er, what?” I asked, dazed.

  “Please tell me just one little theory.” His eyes still smoldered at me.

  “Um, well, bitten by a radioactive spider?” Was he a hypnotist, too? Or was I just a hopeless pushover?

  “That’s not very creative,” he scoffed.

  “I’m sorry, that’s all I’ve got,” I said, miffed.

  “You’re not even close,” he teased.

  “No spiders?”

  “Nope.”

  “And no radioactivity?”

  “None.”

  “Dang,” I sighed.

  “Kryptonite doesn’t bother me, either,” he chuckled.

  “You’re not supposed to laugh, remember?”

  He struggled to compose his face.

  “I’ll figure it out eventually,” I warned him.

  “I wish you wouldn’t try.” He was serious again.

  “Because…?”

  “What if I’m not a superhero? What if I’m the bad guy?” He smiled playfully, but his eyes were impenetrable.

  “Oh,” I said, as several things he’d hinted fell suddenly into place. “I see.”

  “Do you?” His face was abruptly severe, as if he were afraid that he’d accidentally said too much.

  “You’re dangerous?” I guessed, my pulse quickening as I intuitively realized the truth of my own words. He was dangerous. He’d been trying to tell me that all along.

  He just looked at me, eyes full of some emotion I couldn’t comprehend.

  “But not bad,” I whispered, shaking my head. “No, I don’t believe that you’re bad.”

  “You’re wrong.” His voice was almost inaudible. He looked down, stealing my bottle lid and then spinning it on its side between his fingers. I stared at him, wondering why I didn’t feel afraid. He meant what he was saying—that was obvious. But I just felt anxious, on edge… and, more than anything else, fascinated. The same way I always felt when I was near him.

  The silence lasted until I noticed that the cafeteria was almost empty.

  I jumped to my feet. “We’re going to be late.”

  “I’m not going to class today,” he said, twirling the lid so fast it was just a blur.