Everyone watched us as we walked together to our lab table. I noticedthat he no longer angled the chair to sit as far from me as the deskwould allow. Instead, he sat quite close beside me, our arms almosttouching.

　　Mr. Banner backed into the room then — what superb timing the man had —pulling a tall metal frame on wheels that held a heavy-looking, outdatedTV and VCR. A movie day — the lift in the class atmosphere was almosttangible.

　　Mr. Banner shoved the tape into the reluctant VCR and walked to the wallto turn off the lights.

　　And then, as the room went black, I was suddenly hyperaware that Edwardwas sitting less than an inch from me. I was stunned by the unexpectedelectricity that flowed through me, amazed that it was possible to bemore aware of him than I already was. A crazy impulse to reach over andtouch him, to stroke his perfect face just once in the darkness, nearlyoverwhelmed me. I crossed my arms tightly across my chest, my handsballing into fists. I was losing my mind.

　　The opening credits began, lighting the room by a token amount. My eyes,of their own accord, flickered to him. I smiled sheepishly as I realizedhis posture was identical to mine, fists clenched under his arms, rightdown to the eyes, peering sideways at me. He grinned back, his eyessomehow managing to smolder, even in the dark. I looked away before Icould start hyperventilating. It was absolutely ridiculous that I shouldfeel dizzy.

　　The hour seemed very long. I couldn't concentrate on the movie — I didn'teven know what subject it was on. I tried unsuccessfully to relax, butthe electric current that seemed to be originating from somewhere in hisbody never slackened. Occasionally I would permit myself a quick glancein his direction, but he never seemed to relax, either. The overpoweringcraving to touch him also refused to fade, and I crushed my fists safelyagainst my ribs until my fingers were aching with the effort.

　　I breathed a sigh of relief when Mr. Banner flicked the lights back on atthe end of class, and stretched my arms out in front of me, flexing mystiff fingers. Edward chuckled beside me.

　　"Well, that was interesting," he murmured. His voice was dark and hiseyes were cautious.

　　"Umm," was all I was able to respond.

　　"Shall we?" he asked, rising fluidly.

　　I almost groaned. Time for Gym. I stood with care, worried my balancemight have been affected by the strange new intensity between us.

　　He walked me to my next class in silence and paused at the door; I turnedto say goodbye. His face startled me — his expression was torn, almostpained, and so fiercely beautiful that the ache to touch him flared asstrong as before. My goodbye stuck in my throat.

　　He raised his hand, hesitant, conflict raging in his eyes, and thenswiftly brushed the length of my cheekbone with his fingertips. His skinwas as icy as ever, but the trail his fingers left on my skin wasalarmingly warm — like I'd been burned, but didn't feel the pain of ityet.

　　He turned without a word and strode quickly away from me.

　　I walked into the gym, lightheaded and wobbly. I drifted to the lockerroom, changing in a trancelike state, only vaguely aware that there wereother people surrounding me. Reality didn't fully set in until I washanded a racket. It wasn't heavy, yet it felt very unsafe in my hand. Icould see a few of the other kids in class eyeing me furtively. CoachClapp ordered us to pair up into teams.

　　Mercifully, some vestiges of Mike's chivalry still survived; he came tostand beside me.

　　"Do you want to be a team?""Thanks, Mike — you don't have to do this, you know." I grimacedapologetically.

　　"Don't worry, I'll keep out of your way." He grinned. Sometimes it was soeasy to like Mike.

　　It didn't go smoothly. I somehow managed to hit myself in the head withmy racket and clip Mike's shoulder on the same swing. I spent the rest ofthe hour in the back corner of the court, the racket held safely behindmy back. Despite being handicapped by me, Mike was pretty good; he wonthree games out of four singlehandedly. He gave me an unearned high fivewhen the coach finally blew the whistle ending class.

　　"So," he said as we walked off the court.

　　"So what?""You and Cullen, huh?" he asked, his tone rebellious. My previous feelingof affection disappeared.

　　"That's none of your business, Mike," I warned, internally cursingJessica straight to the fiery pits of Hades.

　　"I don't like it," he muttered anyway.

　　"You don't have to," I snapped.

　　"He looks at you like… like you're something to eat," he continued,ignoring me.

　　I choked back the hysteria that threatened to explode, but a small gigglemanaged to get out despite my efforts. He glowered at me. I waved andfled to the locker room.

　　I dressed quickly, something stronger than butterflies batteringrecklessly against the walls of my stomach, my argument with Mike alreadya distant memory. I was wondering if Edward would be waiting, or if Ishould meet him at his car. What if his family was there? I felt a waveof real terror. Did they know that I knew? Was I supposed to know thatthey knew that I knew, or not?

　　By the time I walked out of the gym, I had just about decided to walkstraight home without even looking toward the parking lot. But my worrieswere unnecessary. Edward was waiting, leaning casually against the sideof the gym, his breathtaking face untroubled now. As I walked to hisside, I felt a peculiar sense of release.

　　"Hi," I breathed, smiling hugely.

　　"Hello." His answering smile was brilliant. "How was Gym?"My face fell a tiny bit. "Fine," I lied.

　　"Really?" He was unconvinced. His eyes shifted their focus slightly,looking over my shoulder and narrowing. I glanced behind me to see Mike'sback as he walked away.

　　"What?" I demanded.

　　His eyes slid back to mine, still tight. "Newton's getting on my nerves.""You weren't listening again?" I was horror-struck. All traces of mysudden good humor vanished.

　　"How's your head?" he asked innocently.

　　"You're unbelievable!" I turned, stomping away in the general directionof the parking lot, though I hadn't ruled out walking at this point.

　　He kept up with me easily.

　　"You were the one who mentioned how I'd never seen you in Gym — it mademe curious." He didn't sound repentant, so I ignored him.

　　We walked in silence — a furious, embarrassed silence on my part — to hiscar. But I had to stop a few steps away — a crowd of people, all boys,were surrounding it.

　　Then I realized they weren't surrounding the Volvo, they were actuallycircled around Rosalie's red convertible, unmistakable lust in theireyes. None of them even looked up as Edward slid between them to open hisdoor. I climbed quickly in the passenger side, also unnoticed.

　　"Ostentatious," he muttered.

　　"What kind of car is that?" I asked.

　　"An M3.""I don't speak Car and Driver.""It's a BMW." He rolled his eyes, not looking at me, trying to back outwithout running over the car enthusiasts.

　　I nodded — I'd heard of that one.

　　"Are you still angry?" he asked as he carefully maneuvered his way out.

　　"Definitely."He sighed. "Will you forgive me if I apologize?""Maybe… if you mean it. And if you promise not to do it again," Iinsisted.

　　His eyes were suddenly shrewd. "How about if I mean it, and I agree tolet you drive Saturday?" he countered my conditions.

　　I considered, and decided it was probably the best offer I would get.

　　"Deal," I agreed.

　　"Then I'm very sorry I upset you." His eyes burned with sincerity for aprotracted moment — playing havoc with the rhythm of my heart — and thenturned playful. "And I'll be on your doorstep bright and early Saturdaymorning.""Um, it doesn't help with the Charlie situation if an unexplained Volvois left in the driveway."His smile was condescending now. "I wasn't intending to bring a car.""How —"He cut me off. "Don't worry about it. I'll be there, no car."I let it go. I had a more pressing question.

　　"Is it later yet?" I asked significantly.

　　He frowned. "I supposed it is later."I kept my expression polite as I waited.

　　He stopped the car. I looked up, surprised — of course we were already atCharlie's house, parked behind the truck. It was easier to ride with himif I only looked when it was over. When I looked back at him, he wasstaring at me, measuring with his eyes.

　　"And you still want to know why you can't see me hunt?" He seemed solemn,but I thought I saw a trace of humor deep in his eyes.

　　"Well," I clarified, "I was mostly wondering about your reaction.""Did I frighten you?" Yes, there was definitely humor there.

　　"No," I lied. He didn't buy it.

　　"I apologize for scaring you," he persisted with a slight smile, but thenall evidence of teasing disappeared. "It was just the very thought of youbeing there… while we hunted." His jaw tightened.

　　"That would be bad?"He spoke from between clenched teeth. "Extremely.""Because… ?"He took a deep breath and stared through the windshield at the thick,rolling clouds that seemed to press down, almost within reach.

　　"When we hunt," he spoke slowly, unwillingly, "we give ourselves over toour senses… govern less with our minds. Especially our sense of smell. Ifyou were anywhere near me when I lost control that way…" He shook hishead, still gazing morosely at the heavy clouds.

　　I kept my expression firmly under control, expecting the swift flash ofhis eyes to judge my reaction that soon followed. My face gave nothingaway.

　　But our eyes held, and the silence deepened — and changed. Flickers ofthe electricity I'd felt this afternoon began to charge the atmosphere ashe gazed unrelentingly into my eyes. It wasn't until my head started toswim that I realized I wasn't breathing. When I drew in a jagged breath,breaking the stillness, he closed his eyes.

　　"Bella, I think you should go inside now." His low voice was rough, hiseyes on the clouds again.

　　I opened the door, and the arctic draft that burst into the car helpedclear my head. Afraid I might stumble in my woozy state, I steppedcarefully out of the car and shut the door behind me without lookingback. The whir of the automatic window unrolling made me turn.

　　"Oh, Bella?" he called after me, his voice more even. He leaned towardthe open window with a faint smile on his lips.

　　"Yes?""Tomorrow it's my turn.""Your turn to what?"He smiled wider, flashing his gleaming teeth. "Ask the questions."And then he was gone, the car speeding down the street and disappearingaround the corner before I could even collect my thoughts. I smiled as Iwalked to the house. It was clear he was planning to see me tomorrow, ifnothing else.

　　That night Edward starred in my dreams, as usual. However, the climate ofmy unconsciousness had changed. It thrilled with the same electricitythat had charged the afternoon, and I tossed and turned restlessly,waking often. It was only in the early hours of the morning that Ifinally sank into an exhausted, dreamless sleep.

　　When I woke I was still tired, but edgy as well. I pulled on my brownturtleneck and the inescapable jeans, sighing as I daydreamed ofspaghetti straps and shorts. Breakfast was the usual, quiet event Iexpected. Charlie fried eggs for himself; I had my bowl of cereal. Iwondered if he had forgotten about this Saturday. He answered my unspokenquestion as he stood up to take his plate to the sink.

　　"About this Saturday…" he began, walking across the kitchen and turningon the faucet.

　　I cringed. "Yes, Dad?""Are you still set on going to Seattle?" he asked.

　　"That was the plan." I grimaced, wishing he hadn't brought it up so Iwouldn't have to compose careful half-truths.

　　He squeezed some dish soap onto his plate and swirled it around with thebrush. "And you're sure you can't make it back in time for the dance?""I'm not going to the dance, Dad." I glared.

　　"Didn't anyone ask you?" he asked, trying to hide his concern by focusingon rinsing the plate.

　　I sidestepped the minefield. "It's a girl's choice.""Oh." He frowned as he dried his plate.

　　I sympathized with him. It must be a hard thing, to be a father; livingin fear that your daughter would meet a boy she like............