Forks High School — After Gym (a.k.a. Bella Swan's Personal Apocalypse)
3:01 PM — Parking Lot, Fog-Covered and Drenched in Existential Dread
The final bell rang like a mercy kill.
Bella Swan limped out of the gym like a medieval heroine who'd survived a duel with gravity—and lost.
Her shoelaces were uneven, her socks were damp (somehow), and she was 95% sure her right kneecap had permanently fused with shame.
Her ponytail hung sideways, deflated and defeated like her will to play dodgeball ever again.
Gym class should be a human rights violation, she thought darkly, adjusting the strap on her backpack as the overcast sky spit drizzle into her eyes.
She spotted her truck across the lot. Rusted. Loyal. Slightly steaming from the rain. It looked like freedom.
Until she saw him.
Eric Yorkie.
Leaning against the driver's door like a background extra in a CW show desperately trying to land a spin-off.
Hair gelled, but like… too gelled.
Zip-up hoodie layered over a Led Zeppelin tee that was probably two sizes too small.
Hands shoved in his pockets. Nervous foot tapping.
Bella slowed. Her internal warning sirens started wailing.
"Oh no," she muttered. "Abort. Abort."
But it was too late.
"Hey, Bella!" Eric called, voice cracking just slightly. "Wait up!"
She didn't. But she did stop.
Reluctantly.
"Hey," she said, voice flat as the parking lot pavement.
He straightened like a lawn chair unfolding for the first time in spring. "So, uh… how was gym?"
She blinked. Once. Slowly.
"An out-of-body experience," she deadpanned. "I left my dignity somewhere between the climbing rope and the floor mats."
Eric laughed like she'd made a joke. She hadn't.
"Cool, cool," he said, nodding like a bobblehead who'd seen things. "So, listen…"
Here it comes. The Dance Talk. Cue doomsday music.
"You know the Girls' Choice dance is coming up, right?"
He looked at her like he was offering her a winning lottery ticket made of gold-plated nachos.
Bella braced herself against the emotional whiplash. "I'm aware."
Eric hesitated. Swallowed. Rubbed the back of his neck like a nervous cartoon character. "So, I was thinking—like, technically, yeah, girls ask the guys, but maybe you were just… working up to it? And if not, y'know, I'm just putting it out there—"
"Eric," Bella said, holding up a hand like a traffic cop for cringe.
He stopped mid-ramble, eyes wide behind his glasses.
"I'm going to Seattle that weekend," she said simply. "Big city. Big bookstore energy. Solo mission."
His shoulders deflated like someone had let the air out of his teen-boy hopes. "Oh. Cool. You… going alone?"
"Yes," Bella said with a sigh, fishing her keys from her jacket pocket. "I promise I'm licensed to operate a vehicle without a co-pilot."
Eric chuckled awkwardly, scratching his eyebrow. "Right, yeah. Totally. Solo road trip. Very… Lizzie McGuire Movie, but, like, grunge edition."
Bella stared at him.
"Anyway," he added, backpedaling like he'd just set off a tripwire. "Have fun. With the… bookstores."
She nodded. "I will."
He offered her a parting smile that looked like it might crack in half, then shuffled away, his backpack slumping off one shoulder like it, too, had given up on him.
Bella exhaled.
Then—chuckle.
Low. Soft. Half-muffled and unmistakably amused.
She froze.
Turned.
And there he was.
Edward Cullen.
Gliding past like a slow-motion music video in a rainstorm.
Bronze hair dampened to perfect waves, black peacoat buttoned high, jaw sharp enough to file emotional damage claims against.
Hands shoved into his pockets.
Eyes… not on her, but very much listening.
He didn't stop. But his smirk — faint, fleeting, forbidden — said enough.
Bella crossed her arms. "Find something funny?"
Edward paused, just barely, like the universe hit play on the world's slowest heartbeat.
He glanced at her sideways — lashes long, amber eyes darkened by cloudlight and whatever storm he was brooding over internally.
"Not at all," he said, voice like velvet spiked with static. "I just admire your directness."
Bella narrowed her eyes. "If this is part of a Cullen family betting pool, I want in."
He smiled. Not fully. Just a twitch at the corner of his mouth, like he was debating whether or not to say something that might matter.
But instead, he nodded once — polite, distant — and kept walking.
Bella stared at his back as he moved through the fog like some kind of beautiful, broody urban legend in boots.
Then, under her breath:
"Seriously? You shadow-lurk through half the semester, pull a drive-by smirk, and I'm supposed to what—swoon?"
She yanked open her truck door, dropped into the seat like the day had tackled her one final time, and slammed it shut behind her.
The old engine grumbled awake.
And in the rearview mirror, Edward's silhouette vanished around the corner like he'd never been there at all.
Bella muttered to herself, shaking her head.
"This is fine. Totally fine. I'll go to Seattle, buy a hardcover escape plan, and maybe a taser."
Then she drove off into the gray, the heater wheezing to life as the drizzle turned to rain — and her thoughts turned to him.
Always back to him.
—
Bella Swan slammed herself into the driver's seat of her truck like the day had just won a round in a boxing match neither of them signed up for. Her gym clothes stuck to her skin in places they absolutely should not have, and the scent of floor cleaner, humiliation, and faint rubber clung to her like a curse.
She twisted the keys in the ignition. The truck coughed awake like a grumpy old man who didn't ask to be disturbed, and the heater wheezed like a lifelong smoker being forced into a 5K.
"Okay, home," she muttered. "Hot shower. Maybe cry into my hoodie."
She shoved it into reverse.
And then — a flash of metallic black.
Bella braked just in time as the sleek, sanctimonious Volvo glided into the lane directly in front of her, moving with the casual arrogance of a cat walking across your laptop.
Her eyes narrowed.
"No. No no no. Cullen, I swear to God—"
Edward Cullen sat perfectly still in the driver's seat of his vampire Batmobile. Expression unreadable. Profile suspiciously angelic.
And then the doors opened like synchronized clockwork:
Alice skipped across the wet asphalt in boots that cost more than Bella's entire wardrobe, grinning like she was in a shampoo commercial. She slipped into the passenger seat, waving at Bella with unnerving cheer.
Rosalie followed next, stalking like she was late for her own fashion show-slash-execution. Hair flipping. Eyes judging.
Jasper drifted along like he was halfway between a Civil War reenactment and a trance.
And Emmett — oh, Emmett — practically parkoured over the Volvo's hood like a linebacker auditioning for Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dumbbell.
Bella gawked. The audacity.
Honks erupted behind her. The line of cars growing. Patience shrinking.
She flopped back against the seat. "Any other Cullen siblings wanna emerge from the mist and ruin my day? Anyone? Bueller?"
Tap tap.
She jerked.
Tyler Crowley stood at her window, leaning in like he was about to drop a mixtape. He wore his varsity jacket over a hoodie and had the kind of grin that made girls make bad decisions in teen movies.
Bella cracked her window. Rain blew in sideways.
"Look," she said before he could speak, "if this is about me blocking traffic, I'd like to formally lodge a complaint with the Unholy Lord of Volvo Backups."
Tyler chuckled, hands in his pockets. "Nah, it's chill. Honestly, I think it's kinda funny. Like watching swans try to play bumper cars."
She raised an eyebrow. "That better not be a pun."
He laughed again. "Wouldn't dream of it. So, uh…" He shifted slightly, clearly trying to strike a balance between 'suave' and 'approachable,' and landing squarely in 'teenage boy with a plan he hasn't fully thought through.' "You heard about the dance, right? Girls' choice?"
Bella slumped forward, forehead resting on the steering wheel. "Why is this my life."
"So," Tyler pressed, undeterred, "I was thinking maybe you wanted to, you know, ask someone? Like, say… someone with a cool jacket, and really good taste in mixtapes?"
She turned to look at him. Rain dripped off his nose.
"Tyler," she said, voice heavy with dread. "I'm going to Seattle. That weekend."
He blinked. Then smiled wider, like that just confirmed his long-term strategy. "Cool. Cool. We still got prom, though. Long game, right?"
Bella opened her mouth to shut him down, but he was already walking back to his car like he'd just won something. The delusion. It was inspiring, in a cautionary tale sort of way.
She slumped again. "I need a restraining order against high school dances."
Then, movement in the Volvo.
Edward Cullen's head tilted ever-so-slightly. Just enough.
His shoulders were shaking.
No.
He was laughing.
Bella gripped the steering wheel like she was mentally calculating her odds in a vehicular manslaughter case.
"What are the chances," she muttered, "that my truck gets out of this without a scratch… if I just, like, gently push his smug ass down the hill?"
In her rearview, Hadrian and Daenerys lounged on Hadrian's crimson motorcycle like they'd been plucked from the pages of GQ: Mythic Edition.
Hadrian cocked an eyebrow at her.
Daenerys winked. Actually winked.
Bella sighed. "Of course. You guys think this is funny too."
To the side, Elizabeth and Katherine stepped into their red Corvette with synchronized, casual grace that said we absolutely run a secret crime syndicate. Elizabeth tossed her hair and shot Bella a wave.
Bella waved back, mildly terrified and deeply tired.
She honked. Twice.
Edward finally moved.
Not quickly. Not apologetically. Just enough to open a path.
Bella rolled forward. Glared at him as she passed.
He didn't look over.
But in the side mirror—
That smirk.
Still there.
Bella rolled her eyes so hard she saw last Tuesday. Then drove off into the mist.
Seattle couldn't come fast enough.
—
Swan Residence – Bella's Kitchen
5:47 PM – The Culinary Distraction That Almost Worked
The house was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that dared you to reflect on every bad decision you'd made that day. Bella Swan, however, was not in the mood for introspection.
She was elbow-deep in the remains of a rotisserie chicken, yanking meat off the bone with surgical precision and the simmering rage of someone who'd nearly rammed a Volvo full of vampires an hour ago. Her hair was clipped up in a messy bun, strands sticking to her forehead from the steam rising off the stovetop.
Death Cab for Cutie floated out of her CD player—the actual disc kind—and she let the lo-fi sadness wash over her as she diced onions like they were Edward Cullen's smirking little secrets.
"Okay, Bella," she muttered, tossing garlic into the pan like it owed her money. "You're doing great. Totally normal. Just a girl. Cooking dinner. Not thinking about his stupid hair. Or his stupid smirk. Or the fact that he thinks he's so above the rest of us with his perfect bone structure and existential traffic blocking."
The smell of cumin hit her nose like a warm, edible hug. She breathed it in. Centered herself. Began assembling the enchiladas with the silent desperation of someone using Tex-Mex as emotional therapy.
The phone rang.
She flinched. Stared at it like it had insulted her mother. Then wiped her hands furiously on a dishtowel and snatched it off the wall.
"What."
"Bella!" Jessica Stanley's voice exploded through the receiver like a confetti cannon of teenage excitement. "OH MY GOD, GUESS WHO JUST SAID YES."
Bella closed her eyes. Counted to three. "Mike."
"MIKE!" Jessica shrieked, nearly blowing out the speaker. "He said yes! He said, and I quote, 'I'd love to go with you, Jessica.' With a smile! Eye contact. Like, Mike Newton—Forks' very own leading man—looked at me like I was the last pair of Ugg boots on Black Friday."
Bella smirked, sliding the enchilada dish into the oven with a satisfying clatter. "Congratulations. You've peaked. Everything after this is downhill."
"Right?!" Jessica gasped. "Oh, and you should've seen Lauren's face. It was like she smelled expired mascara."
"Not the expired mascara," Bella deadpanned. "The horror."
"She's so fake, Bella. Like, those shiny boots? American Eagle. Last season. And she was totally hovering around Mike before gym. But he picked me. Me!"
Bella leaned against the counter, twirling the phone cord around her finger like a lasso. "Good for you, Jess. Real Cinderella story. Do we know if Eric's been asked yet?"
"Eric? Uhhh, I don't think so. Why?"
Bella opened the oven door a crack and peeked inside like she was checking on world peace. "Angela should. They're both polite, semi-awkward, and deeply committed to extra credit. It's fate."
Jessica squealed again. "Bella! You're a matchmaker! Like Jane Austen with a 3G flip phone!"
"I prefer to think of myself as the benevolent puppet master of this tragic high school theatre," Bella replied dryly.
"Okay, okay," Jess said between giggles. "What about Tyler? I heard he tried to ask you too. That's, like, three guys now, B. You're gonna need a rotation chart."
Bella groaned. "Tyler pre-reserved prom. I didn't even RSVP to the dance of doom, and he's out here playing wedding planner."
"Well," Jess said, drawing it out like she was about to drop a social bomb, "Lauren might ask him."
Bella paused. Then smiled slowly. "Perfect. Let the chaos gods feast."
"Bella. You're evil."
"I'm logical," Bella corrected, pulling out two plates. "Besides, I'm going to Seattle that weekend. Books. Lattes. A place where the Cullen family doesn't cause traffic disruptions with their vampire runway walks."
Jessica snorted. "You're gonna miss so much drama."
"That's the plan."
The oven timer beeped. Bella winced.
"Gotta go. Enchiladas wait for no girl. Give Angela a pep talk and let Lauren throw herself at Tyler. And Jess? Enjoy the Newton glow-up."
"Operation High School Rom-Com is a GO," Jessica declared proudly before hanging up.
Bella replaced the phone and pulled the enchiladas from the oven with a flourish that felt weirdly triumphant.
She stared down at the bubbling, cheesy masterpiece. Then sighed.
"You did good, Swan," she told herself. "Survived gym class, dodged a traffic war, deflected two teenage suitors, and still made dinner."
And for a single, deliciously peaceful moment—there was no Edward Cullen.
Just her, cheesy carbs, and a brief illusion of normalcy.
—
Swan Residence — Kitchen Table
6:43 PM — Where Cheese Meets Existential Debate
The enchiladas were suspiciously gooey.
Charlie stabbed into one with the kind of cautious suspicion he usually reserved for late-night calls from the station.
He took a bite, chewed, then narrowed his eyes across the table at Bella like she might confess to a felony at any moment.
"These are good," he said finally. "Like... really good."
Bella looked up from her rice. "Don't sound so shocked. I can follow instructions. Mostly."
He held up a hand. "Hey, I'm just saying. You don't usually cook something with... this much enthusiasm. There's a lot of cheese here, Bells."
"I like cheese. It's the only thing that loves me back."
Charlie squinted at her. "...Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," she deadpanned. "I just took all my teen angst, sprinkled it with pepper jack, and baked it at 375 degrees until emotionally golden brown."
Charlie blinked. "That a line from one of those vampire books you're always reading?"
She rolled her eyes. "No. It's called being a functioning introvert with unresolved gym trauma."
He grunted and reached for the Tabasco. "Still don't trust this."
Bella stabbed at her rice. Now or never.
"So... I was thinking," she said, trying for casual but landing somewhere around guilty Labrador retriever, "I might head down to Seattle next Saturday."
Charlie's chewing slowed. "Seattle?"
"Yep."
"Next Saturday?"
"Yep."
His gaze shifted to the kitchen calendar pinned above the microwave. The one with fish on it. The one that had Forks High Spring Fling — GIRLS' CHOICE! circled in red marker. (Thanks, PTA.)
He looked back at her, squinting. "That's the day of the dance."
Bella nodded, already regretting everything. "So I've heard."
Charlie set his fork down. Hard. "You're not going."
She blinked. "To the dance? No. Obviously not."
Pause.
A long, awkward, uncomfortable dad-pause.
"…Did nobody ask you?" he asked, voice a mix of concern and quiet horror, like he wasn't sure which answer he feared more.
Bella stared at him, fork halfway to her mouth. "What?"
"I'm not saying it matters," he added quickly, defensive now. "It's just... you're a pretty girl, Bella. Guys are stupid, but not that stupid. I just thought maybe—"
"Charlie."
"I mean—" He gestured vaguely, like "teen boys" was a haunted forest and he was trying to guide her through it. "It's fine if nobody—"
"Charlie."
He went quiet.
Bella folded her arms. "Okay. First of all: yikes. Second of all: it's a girls' choice dance. Third of all: have you met me?"
Charlie looked confused. "You mean like... in general?"
"I mean, I'm basically a walking caution sign. I've dislocated my shoulder trying to reach for cereal. There's no universe in which I voluntarily dance in public without the fire department getting involved."
Charlie made a noise that might have been agreement or repressed panic. Possibly both.
"Plus," she added, jabbing her enchilada like it owed her money, "I already told Eric Yorkie I wasn't asking him. And Tyler. And—ugh, don't even get me started on the Cullen situation."
Charlie raised a brow. "The... Cullen situation?"
"Don't worry about it," she muttered. "Too sparkly for words."
He watched her for a moment, trying to dad-analyze her like she was a case file he didn't quite understand. Then:
"You're going to Seattle. Alone."
"Yup."
"You've got gas money?"
"Yup."
"You'll drive slow?"
"Slower than dial-up."
"You'll call when you get there?"
"Yes."
"You'll call if anything happens?"
"Obviously."
"You'll—"
"Charlie."
He stopped. Sheepish.
Bella softened. Just a little. "Look, I just want to get out of this Twilight Zone for one day. Hit a real bookstore. Listen to music that isn't about tractors or heartbreak. Drink coffee that doesn't come in a Styrofoam cup."
Charlie stared at his enchilada like it might give him wisdom. Then he sighed and leaned back in his chair, mustache twitching.
"…Alright," he said gruffly. "But only if you promise not to join a cult or fall in love with a barista."
Bella smirked. "No promises."
He gave her a look.
"Fine," she said. "I solemnly swear to keep all romantic entanglements and cult activities within Forks city limits."
"That's what I'm afraid of."
They ate in silence after that. The good kind. The kind where you don't have to say anything because the person across from you already knows what you're not saying.
Bella glanced up once and caught Charlie watching her—not with suspicion, but with that quiet, low-burning protectiveness he didn't always know how to express.
She offered him a small smile.
He gave her a grunt in return.
It was the closest thing to "I love you, be careful" she was gonna get.
And it was enough.
—
Forks High School – Parking Lot
7:48 AM – A Morning That Should Be Illegal
Bella Swan parked at the farthest edge of the school lot, somewhere between the county line and Narnia. She slammed her truck into park, arms crossed as she stared out at the gleaming black Volvo like it had personally wronged her in a past life.
Nope. Not today.
She grabbed her bag, popped the door open, and reached for her keys—just as they slipped from her hand and dropped with a melodramatic plop into a puddle the size of Lake Superior.
"Of course," she muttered, voice flat as the overcast sky.
She crouched, sighing, already bracing for her knees to soak through, when a hand beat her to it. Pale. Elegant. And holding her dripping keys like they were a peace offering forged from annoyance.
Bella looked up.
Edward Cullen.
Of course.
He stood over her like a painting someone had accidentally animated. Damp curls framed his face, bronze hair darker in the rain. His eyes—not black, not gold, but something like stormlight through amber honey—studied her with the intensity of someone pretending not to be intense.
He said nothing.
Bella grabbed the keys. "Do you always lurk in the fog like a Victorian ghost, or is that just a Monday thing?"
Edward smirked. Barely. "You dropped these."
She stood, brushing off her jeans. "Yeah. I noticed. Just didn't expect the Fog Phantom to retrieve them for me."
He shrugged, casual like it didn't take every ounce of willpower in the hemisphere for him to stand this close to her. "You're welcome."
Bella squinted at him. "What were you doing yesterday?"
He raised an eyebrow. "You'll have to narrow it down. I do a lot of things that seem to bother you."
She leveled a finger at him. "You stopped your car directly in front of mine. Then staged a family ensemble entrance like it was the red carpet at the MTV Movie Awards."
Edward chuckled under his breath. "Tyler deserved a moment."
Bella stared at him. "A moment to what? Tap on my window like he was about to pitch me a timeshare?"
His lips twitched. "You weren't in danger."
"Not unless you count secondhand embarrassment," she shot back, stepping past him toward the school.
"Bella," he said, catching up in two strides because of course he did.
"Don't you have a crypt to brood in?" she muttered.
"You're being irrational."
She stopped so fast he nearly walked into her. "Irrational? Edward, you are quite literally haunting my school experience. This is psychological warfare."
He smirked. "You're absurd."
"You're smug."
"You're impossible."
"You're tall."
He blinked. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"I don't know," she grumbled. "I'm out of comebacks. Haven't had coffee."
He smiled. Genuinely this time. And that was somehow worse.
She narrowed her eyes. "Why are you even talking to me today?"
He hesitated. Then, calmly: "I wanted to ask you something."
Bella crossed her arms. "Let me guess. Do I have a moment to discuss our Lord and Savior, Volvo Jesus?"
Edward rolled his eyes. "I'm going to Seattle next Saturday. I thought we might ride together."
Her brain short-circuited.
"…What?"
"A ride," he repeated, with infuriating calm. "To Seattle."
"Why?"
He shrugged. "I have my reasons."
Bella laughed. One sharp, stunned sound. "You don't even like me."
"I never said that."
"You said we shouldn't be friends."
"We shouldn't," he agreed. "But I'm tired of pretending I don't want to be."
That silenced her.
He stepped closer. Close enough for her to feel the cold rising off his skin, like snow about to fall.
"Come with me," he said softly. "To Seattle. Please."
She stared at him, torn between screaming and swooning.
But before she could answer, he turned away.
"Just one thing," he added, glancing back over his shoulder.
Bella raised an eyebrow.
He looked her straight in the eyes. "Stay away from me."
And then he walked off.
Bella stood frozen, keys clenched in her hand, the puddle behind her still rippling from the moment.
She looked up at the sky. "I am officially in a relationship with confusion."
—
Forks High School – Main Hallway
8:04 AM – Late, Confused, and Accidentally Popular
Bella Swan stumbled into the main hallway like she'd been punted into an alternate universe where everything was slightly more surreal and damp than usual. Her boots squeaked on the linoleum, a damp soundtrack to the fog that still clung to her brain like a wool blanket soaked in bad decisions.
Edward Cullen had asked her to Seattle.
And then told her to stay away.
What kind of emotional sudoku was that?
She barely noticed when the bell rang—her body flinched more out of muscle memory than actual awareness. She was too busy replaying every moment of their conversation like a deranged director running test footage.
Was it a real invitation? Was it a trap? Did he want to eat her or not?
She drifted into Calculus three minutes late, sliding into her seat with the grace of a ghost. Her bag hit the floor with a soft thud.
Mike glanced at her. Smile: tentative. Eyes: searching.
Eric gave a barely-there nod, then returned to his notes like his mechanical pencil had personally wronged him.
Bella blinked slowly.
Okay. Weird.
Had word already gotten around that she had spoken—gasp!—to Edward Cullen before first period? Was that even newsworthy in Forks? Probably. Right up there with the barometric pressure.
Class passed in a blur of mitosis diagrams and stolen side-eyes. When the bell finally rang again, she snapped her notebook shut with unnecessary force and stuffed it into her bag like it owed her money.
She was just about to make a clean getaway to the cafeteria when Mike Newton materialized in the doorway like he'd been standing guard.
"Hey, Bella," he said, scratching the back of his neck in that way that said, I rehearsed this and forgot my lines halfway through.
His blond hair was slightly tousled, like he'd spiked it earlier and then second-guessed the aesthetic halfway through second period. He wore a Billabong hoodie and that classic Froy Gutierrez sheepish-charm smirk that could probably sell a soda commercial.
Bella blinked. "Hey."
"So, uh," Mike started, voice cracking ever-so-slightly, "a bunch of us were thinking about hitting La Push this Saturday. Y'know, beach trip. Supposed to be warm. Ish. For here."
She tilted her head. "La Push?"
"Yeah," he nodded quickly. "Sand. Bonfire. Maybe some volleyball if Eric doesn't chicken out again. We're bringing coolers and stuff. Jess is coming. Angela. Probably Tyler, too."
Bella hesitated. She really hadn't expected this level of… friendliness? Invitation-ness? Whatever it was, it caught her off guard.
"I kinda already made plans for Saturday," she said gently. "Seattle thing."
"Oh," Mike replied, the word landing somewhere between brave smile and deflated pool toy. "Right. Yeah. Of course. No problem. Seattle's cool. Super cool."
Bella offered him a soft smile, trying not to feel like she'd just kicked a golden retriever.
"Maybe another time," she offered.
His face lit up slightly. "Yeah! Totally. Another time."
He stepped aside, letting her pass. "Later, Bella."
"Later, Mike."
As she walked past, she caught a glimpse of Eric trailing a few steps behind, giving her a vague nod before disappearing into the crowd like he wanted to ask something but had been beaten to the punch.
Bella exhaled.
It was barely mid-morning, and already she felt like she needed a nap, a therapy session, and maybe another tray of enchiladas.
She slung her bag higher on her shoulder and made her way to the cafeteria, mentally bracing for round two of Forks High: Teen Edition.
And she still hadn't even seen Edward again.
Yet.
—
Forks High School – Cafeteria 12:09 PM – Where's My Emotionally Confusing Vampire?
The rest of the morning blurred past Bella like she was watching her own life through a foggy bus window. Teachers talked. Books opened. Pencils scratched. Bella, however, might as well have been underwater. Every second was prelude to lunch, and her thoughts kept circling the same anxious drain: would Edward show up? Would he pretend nothing had happened? Would he pull another disappearing act like a particularly dramatic magician?
By the time the lunch bell rang, her nerves were a riot. Her hands were cold, her stomach was tight, and her brain was staging an overdramatic adaptation of Twilight: The Musical complete with interpretive dance.
She trudged toward the cafeteria like she was marching to her own execution, only to pause just inside the door, eyes darting to the Cullen table.
Hadrian, Daenerys, Alice, Jasper, Emmett, Rosalie, Katherine, and Elizabeth were all seated in their usual untouchable formation. Cool, poised, beautiful. Like the cast of a vampire fashion spread in Vogue: Eternal Edition.
But no Edward.
Bella's heart plummeted somewhere around her Converse.
Great. So maybe he had been joking. Maybe the Seattle thing was just his version of emotional dodgeball. Or maybe he was halfway to Canada by now because being near her was apparently a health hazard.
Trying to ignore the twisty pit in her chest, she bought a lemonade and headed toward Jessica, who was already holding court at a table near the vending machines.
"There you are," Jessica said as Bella dropped her tray. "I thought maybe Edward Cullen had spirited you away in his sparkly Volvo."
Bella flinched. "Funny."
Jessica leaned in conspiratorially. "You have been acting weird today. Like, spacing out. Not talking. Even Angela noticed. Are you guys—"
Then Jessica stopped.
Bella blinked. "What?"
Jessica hissed under her breath, eyes wide. "Don't look now. But Edward Cullen is so staring at you."
Bella froze. "What?"
"He's sitting alone," Jessica whispered, eyebrows practically climbing into her hairline. "Like, over there. Right corner. Corner-corner. And he's looking at you like you're a calculus problem he actually wants to solve."
Bella slowly turned her head—as casually as humanly possible—and met Edward's gaze.
He was indeed sitting alone.
And staring.
His golden eyes locked onto hers with laser precision. Bella's pulse skipped. And then—because of course—he lifted one hand.
And crooked a single finger in her direction.
Like some kind of marble-carved prince inviting her to the world's most dangerous tea party.
Bella inhaled sharply.
"Is he—is he calling you over?" Jessica stage-whispered.
"I think so," Bella said, heart suddenly in her throat.
Jessica's jaw dropped. "Girl. Go. Before he changes his mind or combusts or whatever Cullen boys do."
Bella stood, clutching her tray like a life raft. "Tell Angela I'll be back. Maybe."
Jessica gave her a dramatic thumbs-up. "If you disappear mysteriously, I'm checking the woods first."
Bella turned and made her way across the cafeteria, every step feeling like it echoed. She could feel the eyes on her. Whispered curiosity buzzed around her like static.
But all she could see was Edward.
Sitting there.
Waiting.
---
Hey fellow fanfic enthusiasts!
I hope you're enjoying the fanfiction so far! I'd love to hear your thoughts on it. Whether you loved it, hated it, or have some constructive criticism, your feedback is super important to me. Feel free to drop a comment or send me a message with your thoughts. Can't wait to hear from you!
If you're passionate about fanfiction and love discussing stories, characters, and plot twists, then you're in the right place! I've created a Discord server dedicated to diving deep into the world of fanfiction, especially my own stories. Whether you're a reader, a writer, or just someone who enjoys a good tale, I welcome you to join us for lively discussions, feedback sessions, and maybe even some sneak peeks into upcoming chapters, along with artwork related to the stories. Let's nerd out together over our favorite fandoms and explore the endless possibilities of storytelling!
Click the link below to join the conversation:
Can't wait to see you there!
If you appreciate my work and want to support me, consider buying me a cup of coffee. Your support helps me keep writing and bringing more stories to you. You can do so via PayPal here:
Or through my Buy Me a Coffee page:
Thank you for your support!