People avoided Edythe the same way they usually did. The Cullens and the Hales sat at the same table they always sat at, not eating, talking only to each other. None of them ever glanced my way anymore.
When Edythe sat beside me in class, as far away as possible, like usual, she seemed totally unaware that I was sitting there next to her. Like my seat was empty. Only now and then, when her fists would suddenly ball up—skin stretched even whiter over her knuckles—did I wonder if she wasn’t as entirely oblivious as she seemed.
I wanted very much to continue our conversation from the hospital hallway, and the day after the accident I tried. She’d been so furious when we talked before. And, even though I really wanted to know what had actually happened and I thought I deserved the truth, I also knew I had been pretty pushy, considering that she had just saved my life and all. I didn’t think I’d thanked her properly.
She was already in her chair when I got to Biology. She didn’t turn when I sat down, just kept staring straight ahead. She showed no sign that she knew I was there.
“Hey, Edythe,” I said.
She turned her head half an inch toward me, but her eyes stayed focused on the blackboard. She gave me one little half-nod, then turned her face away from me.
And that was the last contact I’d had with her, though she was there, a foot away from me, every day. I watched her sometimes, unable to stop myself—always from a distance, though, in the cafeteria or parking lot. I watched as her golden eyes grew noticeably darker day by day (then abruptly, they were honey-colored again. And the slow progression toward black would start over). But in class I gave no more notice that she existed than she showed toward me. It was miserable. And the dreams continued.
She wished she hadn’t pushed me out of the way of Taylor’s van. I couldn’t think of any other explanation. Since she obviously preferred me dead, she was pretending that I was.
Despite my outright lies, the tone of my e-mails got my mom worked up. She called a few times, demanding to know I was okay. I tried to convince her it was just the rain that had me down.
McKayla, at least, was pleased by the obvious coolness between my lab partner and me. I guessed she’d been worried that the shared trauma would have bonded us or something. She got more confident, sitting on the edge of my table to talk before Biology class started, ignoring Edythe as completely as Edythe ignored us.
The snow washed away for good after that one dangerously icy day. McKayla complained that she’d never gotten to stage her big snowball fight, but she was happy that the beach trip would soon be possible. The rain continued heavily, though, and the weeks passed.
I hadn’t really been aware of how much time was passing. Most days looked the same—gray, green, and more gray. My stepdad had always complained that Phoenix didn’t have seasons, but as far as I could tell, Forks was much worse. I had no idea spring was anywhere near appearing until I was walking to the cafeteria with Jeremy one rainy morning.
“Hey, Beau?” he asked.
I wanted to hurry out of the rain, but Jeremy was barely shuffling forward. I slowed my pace to match his.
“What’s up, Jeremy?”
“I was just wondering if anyone’s asked you to the spring dance yet. You know, it’s girls’ choice.”
“Oh. Um, no.”
“Huh. Do you want … I mean, do you think McKayla will ask you?”
“I hope not,” I said, maybe a little too fast.
He looked up at me, surprised. “Why not?”
“I don’t do dances.”
“Oh.”
We shuffled forward for a minute in silence. He was thoughtful. I was impatient to get out of the drizzle.
“Do you mind if I tell her that?” he asked.
“No. That’s probably a good idea. I don’t want to have to tell anyone no if I don’t have to.”
“Okay.”
“When’s the dance again?”
We were close to the cafeteria now. He pointed to a bright yellow poster advertising the dance. I’d never noticed it before, but it was curling around the edges and a little washed out, like it had been up for a while.
“A week from Saturday,” he said.
I was pretty sure Jeremy had already said something when, the next morning, McKayla was not her usual bubbly self in English. At lunch she sat away from both Jeremy and me, and she didn’t say much to anyone. She stayed quiet as she walked with me to Biology, but she came over like usual to sit on the edge of my lab table. As always, I was too aware of Edythe sitting close enough to touch, but still so far away she might as well have been a product of my imagination.
“So,” McKayla said, looking at the floor instead of at me. “Jeremy said that you don’t do dances.”
“Yeah, that’s true.”
She looked at me then, her expression hurt and a little angry. I hadn’t even told her no yet, and I already felt guilty.
“Oh,” she said. “I thought maybe he was making it up.”
“Uh, sorry, no. Why would he make up a story like that?”
She frowned. “I think he wants me to ask him.”
I forced a smile. “You should. Jeremy’s great.”
She shrugged. “I guess.” Then she took a deep breath and looked me straight in the eye with a quick, nervous smile. “Would this ‘I don’t dance’ thing change if I was the one asking you to go?”
From the corner of my eye, I saw Edythe’s head suddenly tilt in my direction. Like she was listening to my answer, too.
It took me a little too long to respond. I still felt guilty, but mostly distracted. Was Edythe listening?
“Um, sorry, again.”
McKayla’s face fell. “Would it change if someone else asked you?”
Did Edythe see how McKayla’s eyes flickered in her direction?
“No. It’s a moot point anyway. I’m going to be in Seattle that day.” I needed to get out of town—two Saturdays from now was the perfect time to go.
“Does it have to be that weekend?” McKayla asked.
“Yeah. But don’t worry about me. You should take Jeremy. He’s much more fun than I am.”
“Yeah, I guess,” she mumbled, and she turned to walk back to her seat. I watched her shoulders slump forward, and I felt horrible. I closed my eyes and pushed my fingers against my temples, trying to force McKayla’s dejected posture out of my head. Mrs. Banner started talking. I sighed and opened my eyes.
Edythe was staring straight at me, that familiar expression of frustration even more obvious now in her black eyes.
I stared back, surprised, expecting her to look away. She didn’t. Her eyes kept boring into mine, like she was trying to find something really important inside them. I continued to stare also, totally unable to break the connection, even if I wanted to. My hands started to shake.
“Miss Cullen?” the teacher called, looking for the answer to some question I hadn’t heard.
“The Krebs Cycle,” Edythe answered, seeming reluctant as she turned to look at Mrs. Banner.
I put my head down, pretending to stare at my book, as soon as her eyes released me. It bothered me—the rush of emotion pulsing through me, just because she’d happened to look at me for the first time in six weeks. It wasn’t normal. It was actually pretty pathetic, and probably more than that. Unhealthy.
I tried hard not to be aware of her for the rest of the class, or, since that was impossible, at least not to let her know that I was aware of her. When the bell finally rang, I turned away from her to stack up my books, expecting her to rush out as usual.
“Beau?”
Her voice shouldn’t sound so familiar, like I’d been hearing it all my life instead of just an hour here and there a few weeks ago.
I turned slowly toward her, not wanting to feel what I knew I would feel when I looked at her too-perfect face. I’m sure my expression was guarded; hers was unreadable. She didn’t say anything.
“Yes?” I asked.
She just looked at me.
/> “So … um, are you … or are you not talking to me again?”
“Not,” she said, but her lips curled up into a smile, her dimples flashing.
“Okay …” I looked away—down at my hands, then over toward the chalkboard. It was hard to concentrate when I looked at her, and this conversation wasn’t making much sense.
“I’m sorry,” she said, and there was no joke in her voice now. “I’m being very rude, I know. But it’s better this way, really.”
I looked at her again; her expression was totally serious now.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“It’s better if we’re not friends,” she explained. “Trust me.”
My eyes narrowed. I’d heard that one before.
She seemed surprised by my reaction. “What are you thinking?” she asked.
“I guess … that it’s too bad you didn’t figure this out earlier, saved yourself the regret.”
“Regret?” My answer seemed to have caught her off guard. “Regret for what?”
“For not letting Taylor’s van crush me when it had the chance.”
She looked completely shocked. She stared at me for a minute, wide-eyed, and when she finally spoke she almost sounded mad.
“You think I regret saving your life?” The words were quiet, just under her breath, but still pretty intense.
I glanced quickly toward the front of the room, where a couple of kids were still lingering. I caught one of them looking at us. He looked away and I turned back to Edythe.
“Yeah,” I said, just as quietly. “I mean, what else? Seems kind of obvious.”
She made the strangest sound—she exhaled through her teeth and it was like a hiss. She still looked mad.
“You’re an idiot,” she told me.
Well, that was my limit.
It was bad enough that I was so fixated on this girl, bad enough that I thought about her all the time, dreamed about her every night. I didn’t need to sit here like the moron she thought I was and just stare while she insulted me. I grabbed my books and lurched out of my chair, knowing all the while that she was right—I was an idiot, because I wanted to stay, even if all I got to hear was more abuse from her. I needed to get out of the room as fast as possible, so of course, I tripped over the threshold and half-fell through the doorway, my books scattering across the sidewalk. I stood there for a second with my eyes closed, thinking about leaving them. Then I sighed and bent to pick them up.
Edythe was there; she’d already stacked them in a pile, which she offered to me.
I took them without really looking at her.
“Thanks,” I mumbled.
“You’re welcome,” she answered. Still mad, sounded like.
I straightened up, and hurried to Gym without looking back.
Gym didn’t make my day any better. We’d moved on to basketball. On the first day, even though all of them had seen me play volleyball, the other kids still seemed to think I should be good. It didn’t take them long to figure out the truth. They never passed to me now, which was good, but with all the running I still managed to have a few accidents per game. Today was worse than yesterday, because I couldn’t concentrate on my feet. All I could think of was Edythe.
It was a relief, as usual, when I was finally free to leave. I couldn’t wait to be back inside my truck, alone. The truck was in pretty decent shape, all things considered. I’d had to replace the taillights after the accident, but that was it. If the paint job weren’t already hopeless, maybe I would have had to do something about the new scrapes. Taylor’s parents had to sell her van for parts.
I rounded the corner and nearly had a heart attack. Someone small and thin was leaning against the side of my truck. I skidded to a stop, then took a deep breath. It was just Erica. I started walking again.
“Hey, Erica,” I called.
“Hi, Beau.”
“What’s up?” I asked as I went to unlock the door. I glanced down at her, and fumbled my keys. She looked really uncomfortable.
“Um, I was wondering if you would go to the spring dance with me?”
I carefully inserted the car key into the lock.
“Sorry, Erica, I’m not going to the dance.”
I had to look at her then. Her face was down, her black hair hiding her eyes.
“Oh, okay.”
“Because I’m going to be in Seattle,” I said quickly, trying to make her feel better. “It’s the only day I can go. So, you know, oh well. I hope it’s fun and all.”
She glanced up from under her hair. “Okay,” she repeated, but her voice was slightly more cheerful now. “Maybe next time.”
“Sure,” I agreed, and then immediately regretted it. Hopefully she wouldn’t take that too literally.
“See ya,” she said over her shoulder. She was already escaping. I waved, but she didn’t see it.
I heard a low laugh.
Edythe was walking past the front of my truck, looking straight forward, her mouth not betraying even the hint of a smile.
I froze for a second. I wasn’t prepared to be so close to her. I was used to bracing myself before Biology, but this was unexpected. She kept walking. I jerked the door open and climbed in, slamming it a little too hard behind me. I revved the deafening engine twice and reversed out into the aisle. Edythe was in her car already, two spaces down, sliding out into the lane in front of me, cutting me off. She stopped there—to wait for her family, I assumed. I could see the four of them walking this way, but they were still all the way back by the cafeteria. I looked in my rearview mirror. A line was beginning to form. Right behind me, Taylor Crowley was in her newly acquired used Sentra, waving. I ducked my head and pretended I couldn’t see her.
While I was sitting there, focusing all my efforts on not staring at the driver in front of me, I heard a knock on my passenger side window. It was Taylor. I glanced in my mirror again, confused. Her Sentra was still running, the door left open. I leaned across the cab to crank the window down. It was stiff. I got it halfway there, then gave up.
“Sorry, Taylor, I can’t move. I’m pinned in.” I gestured to the Volvo. Obviously there was nothing I could do.
“Oh, I know—I just wanted to ask you something while we’re trapped here.” She grinned.
What was with this school? Was this some kind of practical joke? Hazing the new guy?
“Will you go to the spring dance with me?” she continued.
“I’m not going to be in town, Taylor.” I realized I sounded too sharp. I had to remember it wasn’t Taylor’s fault that McKayla and Erica had already used up my patience.
“Yeah, McKayla told me that,” she admitted.
“Then why—”
She shrugged. “I was hoping you were just letting her down easy.”
Okay, it was totally her fault.
“Sorry, Taylor,” I said, not feeling nearly as bad as I had with McKayla and Erica. “I’m not going to the dance.”
“That’s cool,” she said, unfazed. “We still have prom.”
Before I could say anything, she was walking back to her car. I could feel the red patches staining my face. Straight ahead, Archie, Royal, Eleanor, and Jessamine were all sliding into the Volvo. In the rearview mirror, I could see Edythe’s eyes—staring at me. They were crinkled around the edges, and her shoulders were shaking with laughter. It was like she’d heard everything Taylor had said, and found my splotchy reaction hilarious. I revved my engine, wondering how much damage it would do to the Volvo and the black car beside it if I just muscled my way through and made my escape. I was pretty sure my truck could win that fight.
But they were all in, and Edythe was speeding away with her nearly silent engine.
I tried to concentrate on something else—anything else—as I drove home. Would McKayla ask Jeremy to the dance? Would he blame me if she didn’t? Was Taylor serious about the prom? What would be my excuse for that one? Maybe I could work out a visit to my mom, or maybe she could come here. What was I going t
o make for dinner? We hadn’t had chicken in a while.
But each time I finished answering my own question, my mind went right back to Edythe.
By the time I got home, I’d run out of new questions, so I gave up trying to think about something else. I decided to make chicken enchiladas because it would keep me busy for a while and I didn’t have that much homework. It also forced me to concentrate on all the dicing—chicken, chilies, onions. All the while, though, I kept running through Biology class again, trying to analyze every word she’d spoken to me. What did she mean, it was better if we weren’t friends?
My stomach dropped when I realized the only thing she could have meant. She must know how obsessed I was with her—it wasn’t like I was hiding it very well. She didn’t want to lead me on … so we couldn’t even be friends … because she didn’t want to hurt my feelings the way I’d hurt McKayla and Erica today. (Taylor seemed fine.) Edythe didn’t want to have to feel that guilt. Because she wasn’t interested in me at all.
Which made perfect sense, obviously, because I wasn’t interesting.
My eyes were starting to sting and tear from the onions. I grabbed a dish towel, ran it under the faucet, and then rubbed it across my eyes. It didn’t really help.
I was boring—I knew this about myself. And Edythe was the opposite of boring. This wasn’t about her secret, whatever it was, if I even remembered any of that insane moment clearly. At this point, I almost believed the story I’d told everyone else. It made a lot more sense than what I thought I’d seen.
But she didn’t need a secret to be out of my league. She was also brilliant and mysterious and beautiful and completely perfect. If she was, in fact, able to lift a full-sized van with one hand, it really didn’t matter. Either way, she was fantasy and I was the very most mundane kind of reality.
And that was fine. I could leave her alone. I would leave her alone. I would get through my self-imposed sentence here in purgatory, and then hopefully some school in the Southwest, or possibly Hawaii, would offer me a scholarship.
I tried to think about palm trees and sun while I finished dinner.
Life and Death Page 7
