Life and Death

by Stephenie Meyer

  They looked at my noisy truck as I passed them, just like everyone else. Except they weren’t anything like anyone else. I saw that the big blond guy—Royal, it must be. Figured. Anyway, Royal had his hand casually on the hip of the really tall girl with the dark curly hair, who looked like she was just as familiar with the weight room as he was. He had to be a good two inches taller than even I was, but he only had a half-inch on her. Though he was obviously pretty sure of himself, I was still kind of surprised he felt comfortable doing that. Not that she wasn’t hot—she was super, mega hot—but not … approachable. Like, not even the Rock would dare to whistle at her, if you know what I mean. The blond girl caught me looking, and the way her eyes narrowed made me turn straight ahead and punch the gas. The truck didn’t go any faster, the engine just grumbled even louder.

  The Thriftway was not far from the school, a few streets south, off the highway. It was nice to be inside the supermarket; it felt normal. I did most of the shopping at home, and I fell easily into the pattern of the familiar job. The store was big enough inside that I couldn’t hear the tapping of the rain on the roof to remind me where I was.

  When I got home, I unloaded all the groceries, reorganizing the cupboards till everything was in a place that made sense. Charlie’s system was kind of haphazard. I hoped Charlie wouldn’t mind, that he wasn’t OCD about his kitchen the way I was. Once I was satisfied with the organization, I worked on the prep for dinner.

  I kind of have a sixth sense about my mom. I realized, as I was sticking the marinade-covered steak into the fridge, that I hadn’t let her know I’d made it yesterday. She was probably freaking out.

  I ran up the stairs two at a time and fired up the old computer in my room. It took a minute to wheeze to life and then I had to wait for a connection. Once I was online, three messages showed up in my in-box. The first was from yesterday, while I was still en route.

  “Beau,” my mom wrote.

  Write me as soon as you get in. Tell me how your flight was. Is it raining? I miss you already. I’m almost finished packing for Florida, but I can’t find my pink blouse. Do you know where I put it? Phil says hi. Mom.

  I sighed, and went to the next. It was sent six hours after the first.

  Beau,

  Why haven’t you e-mailed me yet? What are you waiting for? Mom.

  The last was from this morning.

  Beaufort Swan,

  If I haven’t heard from you by 5:30 p.m. today I’m calling Charlie.

  I checked the clock. I still had an hour, but Mom was known for jumping the gun.

  Mom,

  Calm down. I’m writing right now. Don’t do anything crazy.

  Beau.

  I sent that, and then started the next, beginning with a lie.

  Everything is great. Of course it’s raining. I was waiting for something to write about. School isn’t bad, just a little repetitive. I met some okay kids who sit by me at lunch.

  Your shirt is at the dry cleaners—you were supposed to pick it up Friday.

  Charlie bought me a truck, can you believe it? It’s awesome. It’s old, but really sturdy, which is good, you know, for me.

  I miss you, too. I’ll write again soon, but I’m not going to check my e-mail every five minutes. Relax, breathe.

  I love you.

  Beau.

  I heard the front door bang open, and I hurried downstairs to take the potatoes out and put the steak in to broil.

  “Beau?” my father called out when he heard me on the stairs.

  Who else? I thought to myself.

  “Hey, Dad, welcome home.”

  “Thanks.” He hung up his gun belt and stepped out of his boots as I moved around the kitchen. As far as I was aware, he’d never shot the gun on the job. But he kept it ready. When I’d come here as a child, he would always remove the bullets as soon as he walked in the door. I guess he considered me old enough now not to shoot myself by accident, and not depressed enough to shoot myself on purpose.

  “What’s for dinner?” he asked warily. Mom was an imaginative cook, when she bothered, and her experiments weren’t always edible. I was surprised, and sad, that he seemed to remember that far back.

  “Steak and potatoes,” I answered. Charlie looked relieved.

  He obviously felt awkward standing in the kitchen doing nothing; he lumbered into the living room to watch TV while I worked. I think we were both more comfortable that way. I made a salad while the steak cooked, and set the table.

  I called him in when dinner was ready, and he sniffed appreciatively as he walked into the room.

  “Smells good, Beau.”

  “Thanks.”

  We ate in silence for a few minutes. It wasn’t awkward. Both of us like quiet. In some ways, we were good roommates.

  “So, how did you like school? Make any friends?” he asked as he was taking seconds.

  “Well, I have a few classes with this guy named Jeremy. I sit with his friends at lunch. And there’s this girl, McKayla, who’s friendly. Everybody seems pretty nice.” With one outstanding exception.

  “That must be McKayla Newton. Nice girl—nice family. Her dad owns the sporting goods store just outside of town. He makes a good living off all the backpackers who come through here.”

  We ate in silence for a minute.

  “Do you know the Cullen family?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

  “Dr. Cullen’s family? Sure. She’s a great woman.”

  “They—the kids—are a little … different. They don’t seem to fit in very well at school.”

  I was surprised to see Charlie’s face get red, the way it does when he’s angry.

  “People in this town,” he muttered. “Dr. Cullen is a brilliant surgeon who could probably work in any hospital in the world, make ten times the salary she gets here,” he continued, getting louder. “We’re lucky to have her—lucky that her husband wanted to live in a small town. She’s an asset to the community, and all of those kids are well behaved and polite. I had my doubts, when they first moved in, with all those adopted teenagers. I thought we might have some problems with them. But they’re all very mature—I haven’t had one speck of trouble from any of them. That’s more than I can say for the children of some folks who have lived in this town for generations. And they stick together the way a family should—camping trips every other weekend… . Just because they’re newcomers, people have to talk.”

  It was the longest speech I’d ever heard Charlie make. He must feel strongly about whatever people were saying.

  I backpedaled. “They seemed nice enough to me. I just noticed they kept to themselves. They’re all very attractive,” I added, trying to be more complimentary.

  “You should see the doctor,” Charlie said, laughing. “It’s a good thing she’s happily married. A lot of the hospital staff have a hard time concentrating on their work with her around.”

  We lapsed back into silence as we finished eating. He cleared the table while I started on the dishes. He went back to the TV, and after I finished washing the dishes by hand—no dishwasher—I went upstairs to work on my math homework. I could feel a tradition in the making.

  That night it was finally quiet. I fell asleep fast, exhausted.

  The rest of the week was uneventful. I got used to the routine of my classes. By Friday I was able to recognize, if not name, almost all the kids at school. In Gym, the people on my team learned not to send the ball my direction. I stayed out of their way.

  Edythe Cullen didn’t come back to school.

  Every day, I watched, pretending I wasn’t looking, until the rest of the Cullens entered the cafeteria without her. Then I could relax and join in the conversation. Mostly it centered around a trip to the La Push Ocean Park in two weeks that McKayla was putting together. I was invited, and I agreed to go, more out of politeness than a strong urge to hit the beach. I believed beaches should be hot, and—aside from the ocean—dry.

  By Friday I was totally comfortable entering my Biolo
gy class, no longer worried that Edythe would show. For all I knew, she’d dropped out of school. I tried not to think about her, but I couldn’t totally erase the worry that I was responsible for her continued absence, ridiculous as it seemed.

  My first weekend in Forks continued without incident. Charlie worked most of the time. I wrote my mom more fake cheerful e-mails, got ahead on my homework, and cleaned up the house—obviously OCD wasn’t a problem for Charlie. I drove to the library Saturday, but I didn’t even bother to get a card—there wasn’t anything interesting I hadn’t read; I would have to visit Olympia or Seattle soon, and find a good bookstore. I wondered idly what kind of gas mileage the truck got … and winced at the thought.

  The rain stayed soft over the weekend, quiet, so I was able to sleep.

  People greeted me in the parking lot Monday morning. I didn’t know all their names, but I smiled at everyone. It was colder this morning, but at least it wasn’t raining. In English, McKayla took her now-normal seat by my side. We had a pop quiz on Wuthering Heights. It was straightforward, very easy.

  All in all, I was feeling a lot more comfortable than I had thought I would feel by this point. More comfortable than I had ever expected to feel here.

  When we walked out of class, the air was full of swirling bits of white. I could hear people shouting excitedly to each other. The wind was freezing against my cheeks, my nose.

  “Wow,” McKayla said. “It’s snowing.”

  I looked at the little cotton fluffs that were building up along the sidewalk and swirling erratically past my face.

  “Ugh.” Snow. There went my good day.

  She looked surprised. “Don’t you like snow?”

  “Snow means it’s too cold for rain.” Obviously. “Besides, I thought it was supposed to come down in flakes—you know, each one unique and all that. These just look like the ends of Q-tips.”

  “Haven’t you ever seen snow fall before?” she asked incredulously.

  “Sure I have.” I paused. “On TV.”

  McKayla laughed. And then a big, wet ball of dripping snow smacked into the back of her head. We both turned to see where it came from. I suspected Erica, who was walking away, her back toward us—in the wrong direction for her next class. McKayla had the same idea. She bent over and began scraping together a pile of white mush.

  “I’ll see you at lunch, okay?” I kept walking as I spoke. The last thing I wanted was a wad of dirty ice melting down my neck the rest of the day.

  She just nodded, her eyes on Erica’s back.

  I kept a sharp lookout on the way to the cafeteria with Jeremy after Spanish. Mush balls were flying everywhere. I had a binder in my hands, ready to use it as a shield. Jeremy thought I was hilarious, but something in my expression kept him from lobbing a snowball at me himself.

  McKayla caught up to us as we walked in the doors, laughing, her usually sleek hair turning frizzy from the wet. She and Jeremy were talking animatedly about the snow fight as we got in line to buy food. I glanced toward that table in the corner out of habit. And then I froze where I stood. There were five people at the table.

  Jeremy pulled on my arm.

  “Hey? Beau? What do you want?”

  I looked down; my ears were hot. I had no reason to feel selfconscious, I reminded myself. I hadn’t done anything wrong.

  “What’s with Beau?” McKayla asked Jeremy.

  “Nothing,” I answered. I grabbed a soda bottle as I caught up to the end of the line.

  “Aren’t you hungry?” Jeremy asked.

  “Actually, I feel a little sick,” I said.

  He shuffled a few steps away from me.

  I waited for them to get their food, and then followed them to the table, my eyes anywhere but the back corner of the cafeteria.

  I drank my soda slowly, stomach churning. Twice McKayla asked, with a concerned tone that seemed a little over the top, how I was feeling. I told her it was nothing, but I was wondering if I should play it up and escape to the nurse’s office for the next hour.

  Ridiculous. I shouldn’t have to run away. Why was I being such a coward? Was it so bad to be glared at? It wasn’t like she was actually going to stab a knife in me.

  I decided to allow myself one glance at the Cullen family’s table. Just to read the mood.

  I kept my head turned away and glanced out of the side of my eye. None of them were looking this way. I turned my head a little.

  They were laughing. Edythe, Jessamine, and Eleanor all had their hair entirely saturated with melting snow. Archie and Royal were leaning away as Eleanor flipped her dripping hair toward them, leaving a wide arc of splatters across the front of their jackets. They were enjoying the snowy day, just like everyone else—only they looked more like a scene from a movie than the rest of us.

  But, aside from the laughter and playfulness, there was something different, and I couldn’t quite figure out what that difference was. I examined Edythe, comparing her to my memory of last week. Her skin was less pale, I decided—flushed from the snow fight maybe—the circles under her eyes much less noticeable. Her hair was darker, wet and slicked down against her head. But there was something else. I forgot to pretend I wasn’t staring as I tried to put my finger on the change.

  “What are you staring at, Beau?” Jeremy asked.

  At that precise moment, Edythe’s eyes flashed over to meet mine.

  I turned my head completely toward Jeremy, shifting my shoulders in his direction, too. Jeremy leaned away, surprised by my sudden invasion of his personal space.

  I was sure, though, in the instant our eyes had met, that she didn’t look angry or disgusted as she had the last time I’d seen her. She just looked curious again, unsatisfied in some way.

  “Edythe Cullen is staring at you,” Jeremy said, looking over my shoulder.

  “She doesn’t look angry, does she?” I couldn’t help asking.

  “No.” Jeremy looked confused, then he suddenly smiled. “What did you do, ask her out?”

  “No! I’ve never even talked to her. I just … don’t think she likes me very much,” I admitted. I kept my body angled toward Jeremy, but the back of my neck had goose bumps, like I could feel her eyes on me.

  “The Cullens don’t like anybody … well, they don’t notice anybody enough to like them. But she’s still staring at you.”

  “Stop looking at her,” I insisted.

  He snickered, but finally looked away.

  McKayla interrupted us then—she was planning an epic battle of the blizzard in the parking lot after school and wanted us to join. Jeremy agreed enthusiastically. The way he looked at McKayla left little doubt that he would be up for anything she suggested. I kept silent. I wondered how many years I would have to live in Forks before I was bored enough to find frozen water exciting. Probably much longer than I planned to be here.

  For the rest of the lunch hour I very carefully kept my eyes at my own table. Edythe didn’t look like she was planning to murder me anymore, so it was no big thing to go to Biology. My stomach twisted at the thought of sitting next to her again.

  I didn’t really want to walk to class with McKayla as usual—she seemed to be a popular target for snowballs—but when we got to the door, everyone besides me groaned in unison. It was raining, washing all traces of the snow away in clear, icy ribbons down the side of the walkway. I pulled my hood up, hiding my smile. I would be free to go straight home after Gym.

  McKayla kept up a string of complaints on the way to building four.

  Once inside the classroom, I was relieved that Edythe’s chair was still empty. It gave me a minute to settle myself. Mrs. Banner was walking around the room, distributing one microscope and box of slides to each table. Class still had a few minutes before it started, and the room buzzed with conversation. I kept my eyes away from the door, doodling idly on the cover of my notebook.

  I heard very clearly when the chair next to me moved, but I kept my eyes focused on the pattern I was drawing.

 
“Hello,” said a quiet, musical voice.

  I looked up, shocked that she was speaking to me. She was sitting as far away from me as the desk allowed, but her chair was angled toward me. Her hair was dripping wet, tangled—even so, she looked like she’d just finished shooting a commercial. Her perfect face was friendly, open, a slight smile on her full, pink lips. But her long eyes were careful.

  “My name is Edythe Cullen,” she continued. “I didn’t have a chance to introduce myself last week. You must be Beau Swan.”

  My mind was whirling with confusion. Had I made up the whole thing? She was totally polite now. I had to say something; she was waiting. But I couldn’t think of anything normal to say.

  “H-how do you know my name?” I stammered.

  She laughed softly. “Oh, I think everyone knows your name. The whole town’s been waiting for you to arrive.”

  I frowned, though it wasn’t as if I hadn’t guessed as much.

  “No,” I persisted like an idiot. “I meant, why did you call me Beau?”

  She seemed confused. “Do you prefer Beaufort?”

  “Absolutely not,” I said. “But I think Charlie—I mean, my dad—must call me that behind my back—that’s what everyone here seemed to know me as.” The more I tried to explain, the more moronic it sounded.

  “Oh.” She let it drop. I looked away awkwardly.

  Luckily, Mrs. Banner started class at that moment. I tried to concentrate as she explained the lab we would be doing today. The slides in the box were out of order. Working as lab partners, we had to separate the slides of onion root tip cells into the phases of mitosis they represented and label them accordingly. We weren’t supposed to use our books. In twenty minutes, she would be coming around to see who had it right.

  “Get started,” she commanded.

  “Ladies first, partner?” Edythe asked. I looked up to see her smiling a dimpled smile so perfect that I could only stare at her like a fool.

  She raised her eyebrows.

  “Uh, sure, go ahead,” I sputtered.

  I saw her eyes flash to the splotches blooming across my cheeks. Why couldn’t my blood just stay in my veins where it belonged?

  She looked away sharply, yanking the microscope to her side of the table.