Forks High School – Cafeteria
12:13 PM – The Table Where Sanity Goes to Die
Bella Swan moved across the cafeteria like she was walking into a live-wire dream—half fog, half fire hazard. Edward Cullen sat alone at an empty table, poised like he'd been carved from starlight and Renaissance guilt, his expression unreadable, his eyes unmistakably fixed on her.
She clutched her lemonade like it was the last normal thing she had. "Okay," she said cautiously as she slid into the seat across from him, "this is weird."
Edward tilted his head. "I know."
Bella blinked. "So, why am I here? Did I win a golden ticket? Is this the Cullen version of Charlie and the Brooding Factory?"
A flicker of amusement crossed his features. "If I'm going to hell," he said softly, "I might as well do it thoroughly."
She squinted at him. "That sounds like a My Chemical Romance lyric."
He didn't respond to that. Just looked at her. Really looked. The kind of look that felt like being x-rayed and serenaded at the same time.
Bella took a sip of her lemonade, throat dry. "My friends think you hypnotized me. Jessica was about two seconds from Googling exorcists."
Edward's mouth twitched. "They're upset that I stole you."
Bella raised an eyebrow. "Stole me? Wow, okay. Strong word choice."
He leaned back slightly. "I might not give you back."
She sputtered. "Excuse me?"
He said nothing. His expression didn't change. It was unnerving and elegant and just slightly unhinged.
"Okay," she said slowly, "are you having, like, an identity crisis or something?"
His smile didn't reach his eyes. "I'm giving up."
Bella blinked. "On your goth poetry phase?"
"On staying away from you," he said, voice low and precise. "I've tried. I'm tired of being… good."
She stared at him. "Okay. That was ominous. You can't just say things like that and expect me not to ask follow-up questions."
"I'm not strong enough to stay away," he said simply. "Whatever this is—whatever's between us—I'm done pretending it isn't happening."
Bella's heart pulled a fast one-two punch in her ribcage. "So… what are you saying? We're friends now?"
He hesitated. "We can try."
She narrowed her eyes. "That sounds like a deeply irresponsible idea."
"It is," he said. "I won't be a good friend."
Bella tapped her lemonade thoughtfully. "What kind of not-good? Like forgets-your-birthday not-good? Or helps-you-bury-a-body not-good?"
Edward looked down, then back at her. His eyes darkened, but not in anger. In warning. "You'd do well to avoid me."
Bella raised an eyebrow. "You invited me to sit with you."
"I know."
"You asked me to Seattle."
"I know that too."
She leaned in. "So which is it, Cullen? Do I avoid you, or do we split a lemon tart on the Space Needle?"
He was quiet for a moment. Then, softly, "I'm dangerous, Bella."
She didn't flinch. "Everyone's dangerous. Some people drive Hummers. Some people make bad guacamole. You'll have to be more specific."
His jaw flexed. "You should be afraid of me."
She studied him. Every line of tension in his body. The way he gripped the edge of the table like he might break it. The war in his eyes.
And still, she wasn't afraid.
"Well," Bella said quietly, "I'm not."
His expression didn't change. But something behind his eyes flickered.
Not relief. Not triumph.
Something hungrier. Something lonelier. Something he didn't want her to see.
She leaned back and shrugged. "Guess that means we'll just have to be very, very bad friends."
He stared at her a beat longer.
Then finally, he nodded. "Very well."
And just like that, the table—and the world—tipped ever so slightly off its axis.
—
Bella Swan stared into her lemonade like it might answer the mysteries of the universe. Or at least, the far more confusing mystery of Edward Cullen.
Spoiler alert: it didn't.
Her thoughts swirled like the condensation on the cup—murky, circular, slightly ridiculous. She felt like she'd stepped into a Choose Your Own Paranormal Soap Opera and missed the part where the viewer gets context.
Across the table, Edward remained perfectly still. He hadn't moved once since she'd sat down. Just watched her. Patient, unnervingly calm. Like a marble statue that had accidentally learned how to brood.
Finally, he broke the silence. "What are you thinking?"
Bella glanced up at him through her lashes, then exhaled. "Honestly?"
His head tilted, almost imperceptibly. "Always."
She drummed her fingers lightly on the table. "I'm trying to figure out what you are."
Edward didn't blink. Didn't twitch. Just waited.
She winced. "Which, I realize, makes me sound like a conspiracy theorist who lost their tinfoil hat."
His voice was low, certain. "You're not crazy."
Bella snorted. "Great. So that makes one of us."
Edward smiled faintly, but she saw the tension in his shoulders. Controlled. Always.
She leaned forward, elbows on the table. "You're just—frustrating. Like, deeply, soul-cramp frustrating."
He raised an eyebrow. "You think I'm frustrating?"
She scoffed. "You talk in cryptic soundbites. You disappear for days, then reappear like you've been lurking in the mists of Mordor. You stop vans with your bare hands and then gaslight me about it. And today—today you invite me to Seattle, and five minutes later tell me to stay away."
Edward opened his mouth, but Bella held up a hand. She was on a roll now.
"And you stare at me like I'm both an equation you can't solve and a joke you don't get. And somehow I'm the irrational one?"
He blinked. Once. Slowly. "I didn't realize I was such a burden to your emotional clarity."
Bella narrowed her eyes. "You have no idea."
There was a long silence. Then Edward said, quietly, "You're right. About most of that."
That startled her more than it should have. She frowned. "Wait—really?"
He exhaled slowly, running a hand through his bronze hair like he was resetting a carefully structured internal monologue. "If I disappear again... I'll warn you first."
Her brow arched. "You say that like it's a habit."
"It might be."
She leaned back, suspicious but... okay, maybe slightly charmed. "Weirdly honest. But fine. I accept."
He gave her a crooked smile. "That was surprisingly civil."
"Don't get used to it."
A beat.
Then: "Your theories."
She blinked. "What?"
"You said you were trying to figure out what I am. Offer one."
Bella hesitated. "Nope. Too embarrassing."
Edward tilted his head. "That's the deal. I give a warning, you give a theory. Fair trade."
"You're really going to hold me to that?"
He nodded. "Scout's honor."
She gave him a suspicious squint. "Were you ever a scout?"
"No. But I appreciate the symbolism."
Bella sighed, muttered something under her breath, and then finally said, "Fine. One theory. But you cannot laugh."
He lifted a hand. "Swear."
She looked away, then mumbled, "Radioactive spider."
There was a beat.
And then Edward laughed.
Bella groaned. "You said you wouldn't!"
"I said I wouldn't laugh. Out loud. This is delighted amusement. Entirely different."
She rolled her eyes so hard she nearly saw yesterday. "You're the absolute worst."
His smile softened, and his voice dropped. "And yet... you're still here."
Bella looked away, but her smirk betrayed her. "Yeah. Don't remind me."
And for one impossible second, it felt like maybe the world hadn't completely lost its mind.
Just... tilted.
—
Bella squared her shoulders like she was about to storm a castle made of riddles. She met Edward's burning golden eyes head-on. "I'm going to figure you out. One way or another. You don't just wander around being this much of a walking question mark without a reason."
Edward's gaze narrowed, a flicker of something both amused and wary dancing behind those luminous eyes. "You really want to?" His voice dropped, low enough to be a warning whispered across a graveyard. "Because I'm not the hero of this story. I'm the villain."
Bella's lip curled in a half-smile, half-grimace. "Yeah, that sounds like the go-to excuse for guys who think brooding is a personality trait."
He leaned forward, voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. "Some things don't make sense until you're already too far in. You don't want to go that deep, Bella."
Her brow furrowed. "So… you are dangerous?"
Edward didn't answer. Instead, his gaze seemed to probe something inside her — like he was reading a book that hadn't been written yet. Then, finally, he looked back up, his expression a mixture of tired warning and something closer to regret.
"I'm not what you want me to be."
Bella folded her arms, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her doubt. "I don't believe you're bad."
His eyes darkened, just a shade, enough to send a chill down her spine. "You're wrong."
The room felt suddenly quieter — even the buzzing fluorescent lights seemed to hush. Bella glanced around. The cafeteria was nearly empty now, the bell about to ring.
"Looks like we're going to be late for biology," she muttered, glancing down at her watch.
Edward straightened, the weight in his posture shifting, settling back onto his shoulders like an old, familiar burden. "I'm not going," he said quietly, voice calm but distant. "Sometimes, it's healthy to skip a day. Play hooky."
Bella blinked, incredulous. "You? The king of cryptic brooding? Giving out life advice?"
A ghost of a smirk flickered on his lips. "Consider it a rare gift."
She stood, slinging her bag over one shoulder. "Your kind of break sounds like it requires a recovery period."
Edward turned away, then glanced back once more — a moment frozen in time. "Goodbye, Bella."
She swallowed, voice catching on the word. "Goodbye, Edward."
As she walked away, the air between them hummed with unanswered questions and fragile truths, the world tilting ever so slightly off its axis.
—
Bella burst into the classroom like she'd just escaped a dramatic monologue. Which, okay, emotionally speaking, she had. Her heart was still jackhammering from her cafeteria run-in with Edward Cullen—who, apparently, had traded in "emotionally unavailable" for "existentially terrifying."
She dropped into her seat with all the grace of a stunned squirrel and barely had time to exhale before Mr. Banner strolled in carrying a cardboard box that might as well have been labeled Welcome to Your Villain Origin Story: Blood Edition.
"Okay, class," he announced cheerily, like this was a Disney Channel moment and not a low-level horror flick, "today we're doing blood typing!"
Bella blinked at the label on the box: Biotech Lab Kit: Blood Typing. The words looked like they'd been printed in murder font.
Of course. Because today wasn't done being a joke yet.
"We'll be using alcohol wipes, lancets, and reagents," Mr. Banner continued, opening the box and setting out trays of tiny circular wells and suspiciously sharp-looking pokey things. "This is completely safe. All you need is one drop of blood. No big deal."
No big deal, Bella thought grimly. Unless your entire body decides to shut down the second you see blood.
Mr. Banner handed out the kits, chatting away about antigens like this wasn't Forks High's Unofficial Trauma Lab. Bella already felt the nausea rising as the scent of antiseptic hit her nose—fake citrus and metallic dread.
The sound of a glove snapping made her flinch. Two tables over, Lauren Mallory shrieked softly when her lab partner jabbed himself a little too confidently. Blood beaded on his fingertip like a drop of doom.
Bella looked away.
Big mistake.
Because then she smelled it—that sharp, unmistakable coppery scent that punched her in the throat—and suddenly the world tilted 45 degrees.
She dropped her head onto the cool desk like it was a fainting couch and she was the lead in a Victorian melodrama. "Nope," she whispered. "Hard pass."
"Miss Swan?" Mr. Banner's voice floated over to her like he was speaking through cotton. "Are you feeling alright?"
"I know my blood type," Bella mumbled into the desk. "I'm, like… O-something. Whichever one means I'd rather not pass out in front of Lauren Mallory."
A pause. Then the rustle of teacher panic.
"I'll take her!"
Of course.
Mike Newton's voice rang out like he'd just gotten drafted into the NFL. She felt him slide out of his chair with unnecessary flair, already halfway across the room before Banner could answer. His hand was suddenly hovering in the air near her elbow like she was an endangered bird he wasn't sure how to touch.
"I got this," Mike said. "Really. I've got great reflexes. I've caught my sister mid-fall before. True story."
Bella groaned. Not from dizziness this time. "Mike. I'm not a fainting goat. You don't have to catch me."
Mr. Banner looked torn between amused and mildly horrified. "Alright, Mike. Walk her slowly. And Bella, if you feel like you're going to faint—"
"Too late," she muttered.
Mike reached out again, then pulled back like he'd remembered she had personal space. "Do you, uh, need me to carry you?"
She cracked one eye open and gave him a look so flat it could've ironed his shirt. "If you try, I swear I will vomit on your Vans."
He blinked. "Okay. Walking it is."
Bella stood slowly, gripping the desk like it was the only thing tethering her to reality. Her knees wobbled in a way that was just dramatic enough to make Mike hover like a wannabe lifeguard.
"See?" he said brightly. "Not so bad. Nurse's office is like, what, fifty feet away? Tops."
"To you," Bella muttered. "To me it's Everest."
As they exited the classroom, Mike stuck close enough that Bella was half-certain he was trying to memorize her walking pace. She could feel him gearing up for small talk.
"So…" he said, not even waiting until they turned the corner. "Tough day?"
Bella snorted. "You could say that."
"First Edward Cullen invites you to sit with him, and now you're bleeding-adjacent? Pretty wild lunch period, huh?"
She side-eyed him. "Wow. Really subtle."
He gave her a sheepish grin. "Hey, I'm just saying—it's okay to talk about it. If he said something weird, or like, cryptic... or stared at you in that intense, I might be a serial killer but a hot one kind of way..."
Bella raised a hand. "Please stop. Before I pass out from secondhand embarrassment."
Mike laughed, clearly pleased with himself, and bumped her shoulder lightly. "What? I'm just saying. The guy's intense. You deserve normal. Like—earth-shatteringly average."
She didn't answer. Because the truth was, she didn't want normal.
And Edward Cullen was anything but.
As they walked to the nurse's office, Bella realized she wasn't dizzy anymore.
Just very, very confused.
—
By the time they made it halfway down the corridor, Bella's limbs felt like overcooked spaghetti on a sad cafeteria tray.
"Okay," she mumbled, gripping the water fountain like it might whisper life advice. "I need to sit. Or lie down. Or evaporate. Honestly, any option that involves not standing is on the table right now."
"Totally," Mike said, looking as panicked as a golden retriever in a thunderstorm. "Yeah, sure. Sit. Let's sit. Sit is good."
She slid down the wall with all the elegance of a wounded Victorian heroine, her knees giving out until her back hit the tile and then—gravity took the wheel. Her cheek pressed against the cold floor. It was merciful. Quiet. Unjudging.
"Floor therapy," Bella mumbled into the tile. "Highly underrated."
Mike crouched beside her, his expression caught somewhere between concern and puberty. "Want me to get you water? Or crackers? Protein? My mom says protein's like, a miracle cure for wooziness."
"I want the Earth to stop spinning like a Windows 98 screensaver."
"So… no crackers?"
She groaned. "Mike."
"Right. Sorry."
Then, footsteps.
Bella didn't have to look to know who it was. The air practically changed temperatures. She heard the shift in Mike's breathing first—sharp inhale, then something like resentment wrapped in polyester.
"What happened?"
The voice. Smooth. Polished. Low enough to crawl into her spine.
Edward.
She opened one eye.
Edward Cullen stood a few feet away, dressed like heartbreak and Renaissance paintings, all sharp lines and haunted restraint. His bronze hair glinted under the flickering hallway light. His eyes, those molten topaz eyes, locked straight onto Mike like he'd just interrupted a crime scene.
"Oh," Mike said, clearly trying to play it cool and failing spectacularly. "It's you."
Edward didn't blink. "Is she hurt?"
Mike gestured vaguely. "Nah, she just got dizzy. It's the blood thing. You know. Biology. Classic trauma."
Edward's jaw flexed, and his gaze flicked down to Bella. Concern. Calculation. Something else she couldn't quite name—like he was fighting the urge to run. Or stay forever.
"She didn't even get to the lancet," Mike added helpfully. "Didn't lose a drop. Just the idea of it. Poof. Floor time."
Edward took a step forward.
Bella raised a weak hand. "Still here. Still horizontal."
"I'll take her," Edward said.
Mike blinked. "Wait, what?"
Edward's expression didn't shift. "She shouldn't stay on the floor. I'll take her to the nurse."
"Mr. Banner said I could—"
"I heard him." Edward crouched beside her like a fallen prince, and before she could so much as sass him, he was scooping her up into his arms.
Bella gasped. "Oh my God. Is this happening?"
"Yes," he said simply, as if this wasn't the most embarrassing thing to ever happen in a school hallway.
"I'm fine. I can walk."
"You can't. You're trembling."
"I'm trembling from the sheer dramatic weight of this moment," she snapped. "Put me down before Mike starts writing fanfiction."
"Too late," Mike muttered.
Edward ignored them both, turning down the hallway like he carried students daily.
"You're going to give the entire junior class an aneurysm," Bella said.
"Let them talk."
"They will. And blog. And probably start a MySpace thread."
Edward glanced down, just enough for her to see the tightness in his jaw. "Let them write whatever they want."
"Ugh," Bella groaned, dropping her head against his shoulder. "I'm going to be the banner headline on ForksNet by sixth period."
"Then I'll make sure it's a good picture."
She shot him a look. "Are you—was that a joke? Did you just make a joke?"
He didn't answer.
But his lips twitched.
And for one fragile moment, the hallway felt like the eye of a storm—just them, and whatever impossible thing was happening between them, suspended in 2005's worst lighting and an ocean of teenage rumors.
—
Bella Swan wasn't sure if she was lightheaded from the not-quite-fainting spell or from the fact that Edward Cullen — the boy who looked like he belonged in an arthouse vampire film scored by The Smiths — was currently carrying her like she was a plot twist in a melodrama.
"You know," she said, squinting up at him from the crook of his arm, "this is very dramatic."
"You fainted," Edward said, voice smooth as velvet and just as impenetrable.
"I almost fainted," Bella corrected. "Very different vibe."
"You were on the floor," he replied.
She made a vague gesture with her fingers. "I was communing with the tile. As one does."
Edward glanced down at her, the corners of his mouth tugging in the tiniest not-smile. "Voluntary floor collapse. Right."
"I have a system," she muttered. "Anyway, it wasn't even the blood. It was the smell."
His brow furrowed slightly. "The smell?"
Bella nodded. "That metallic scent? Like iron pennies and trauma? That's what gets me. Not the sight, just... that coppery doom stench."
Edward blinked. "Humans can't smell blood."
Bella gave him a sideways look. "Uh, this one can. Congratulations. I'm broken."
Edward's lips twitched again, amused despite himself. "That's... unusual."
"Gee, thanks," she deadpanned. "Every girl dreams of being medically quirky."
He shook his head, murmuring mostly to himself. "No, it's just..." He trailed off, unreadable. "Never mind."
"What?" she asked.
"Nothing," he said quickly. "We're here."
—
The school nurse looked up from her desk, her expression shifting from mild boredom to full scandal in less than a second.
"Oh my stars," she gasped. "Is she—"
"Fine," Edward said smoothly. "Blood typing in Biology. She almost fainted."
The nurse sighed, immediately calming. "Oh. That. Happens every year. Usually around lunch."
She waved him over to the cot against the wall. "Put her here."
Bella tried to wriggle free. "I can walk. I'm not a Victorian heroine."
"You're shaking," Edward said, not even glancing down. "Stay still."
He set her down with absurd gentleness, like she might shatter. Bella burned under the nurse's watchful gaze.
The nurse handed Bella a tiny cup of water and a lemon-flavored glucose tab. "Here, sweetheart. This usually helps. Chew it."
Bella obeyed mostly to avoid talking. Edward smelled like pine forests and Greek tragedy.
"Alright, Romeo," the nurse said, turning to Edward. "You can go back to class."
He didn't move. "Mr. Banner asked me to stay with her."
Bella looked up sharply. "He did?"
Edward didn't blink. "He was concerned."
The nurse squinted at them both. "You kids dating or something?"
Bella almost choked on the glucose.
"No," Edward said. Instantly. Like it was a reflex.
"Right," the nurse said, clearly not buying it. "Fine. Stay. But if you leave or start kissing, I'm calling your parents."
Edward nodded solemnly. "Understood."
Bella turned her face into the pillow and groaned.
He pulled a chair up next to her cot and sat like he was auditioning for a 19th-century oil painting. Regal posture. Tortured soul. Zero chill.
"This is officially the weirdest school day I've ever had," Bella muttered.
Edward glanced at her. "It won't be the last."
She gave him a look. "You really know how to comfort a girl."
A beat.
"So," she said, staring at the ceiling. "If I can smell blood and humans supposedly can't... what does it smell like to you?"
Edward hesitated. "Rust. Salt. Something... more."
Bella blinked. "That sounds horrifying."
"It is," he said quietly.
"Cool. So I'm a walking hazard. Love that."
Edward met her gaze. "You don't even know what you're triggering."
The words fell into the silence like stones.
Bella swallowed. "...Should I be scared?"
His eyes softened, faintly.
"Probably."
She stared at him for a long moment, then whispered, "Too late."
—
Bella sat on the cot, pretending the ice pack against her cheek was working some kind of emotional miracle. In reality, she was just using it to avoid looking directly at Edward Cullen, who sat beside her in a chair like he was posing for a Renaissance painting called Boy With All The Secrets.
The silence was deafening. The kind of silence that felt like it should have background music. Something by Death Cab for Cutie.
Then the door creaked open.
Nurse Browning returned, her scrubs a cheery mint green that clashed aggressively with the mood in the room. In one hand, she held a blue gel ice pack that looked like it had been microwaved, frozen, and wept on since 1987.
"Here," she said, handing it to Bella. "If you still feel dizzy, this should help."
"Thanks," Bella muttered, switching out her already-warm one. "Nice to know my face is now vintage-cooled."
Edward said nothing. But she could feel him not saying it. His silence had texture.
The nurse was about to sit back down when the desk phone buzzed. She picked it up. "Nurse Browning."
A pause. Her eyebrows rose.
"Great," she sighed. "Send him down. Try to keep the artery intact."
She hung up and turned to them with the long-suffering expression of a woman who'd seen too much fake fainting during dodgeball season. "We've got another one incoming from Biology. Bleeding this time."
Edward shifted. Just barely. But Bella saw it. The flicker of tension. The air tightened.
Thirty seconds later, the door burst open. Mike Newton charged in, half-carrying a gangly sophomore who looked like he was about to cry.
Bella blinked. "Oh God. Is that Jacob Filmore?"
Mike scowled, wrestling Jacob upright. "Yeah. Genius jabbed himself trying to impress Lauren. Didn't even get a number out of it."
Jacob clutched a bloody tissue to his thumb. "I thought I was supposed to go through the side."
"You stabbed your nail bed, bro," Mike muttered.
The nurse was already on her feet. "Bring him here. Sit him down. Deep breaths, Jacob."
Bella stood, brushing imaginary lint off her jeans. "Okay. My turn's over."
The nurse glanced at her. "You sure you're good?"
Bella nodded. "Yep. Ice therapy and existential dread. I'm cured."
But Edward had risen from his chair. Tense. Still. His eyes weren't on Bella. They were locked on Jacob. On the blood.
Then, very softly, he said, "Leave."
Bella paused. "Come again?"
His gaze snapped to hers. Golden and sharp.
"Now," he said, low and firm. Not harsh, but definite. Urgent in a quiet way. "Go."
The nurse looked over. "She's fine, Cullen. If she wants to stay—"
But Bella wasn't listening to her. She was watching him.
Edward was frozen in that barely-contained way, like someone trying not to move too fast near a landmine. His jaw was tight. His eyes darker than they were a minute ago. His hands clenched on the edge of the chair.
The smell of blood.
She realized it then. What it was doing to him.
"Right," she said quickly, grabbing her bag. "Yep. Fresh air sounds great. Very necessary."
"You sure?" Mike called after her. "I can walk you to your truck or—"
"Nope!" she called back. "I'm basically an Olympic athlete now. Watch me go."
She shot one last glance at Edward. But he wasn't looking at her.
He was still. Locked. Holding himself together with ancient, fraying thread.
Bella slipped out the door.
And for once, the dizziness had nothing to do with blood.
It was the boy.
—
Bella didn't get far. Just around the corner, past the defunct payphone and the Coke machine humming like it had a grudge against society. The fluorescent lights above her buzzed like bad techno. She leaned against the wall, trying to pretend she hadn't just fled from a supernatural crisis disguised as a teenage boy.
"Bella!"
She closed her eyes. Two seconds. That's all she wanted. Two seconds without someone asking if she needed a glass of water or a paper bag.
Mike Newton skidded around the corner, all concerned-boyfriend energy wrapped in Hollister cologne and gelled hair.
"Are you okay?" he asked, breathless. "You looked kinda out of it in there. Like—like you were gonna pass out."
Bella turned, arms folded, one eyebrow raised like a sarcastic phoenix. "Wow. You move fast for a guy who just wrestled a bleeder."
Mike flushed. "Yeah, well. I wanted to make sure you were okay." His eyes skimmed over her face. "You, uh… you look better."
"I moisturized with fear," she said flatly. "Clears the skin right up."
He laughed, a little too loudly. "Seriously though—are you heading back to class?"
Bella snorted. "Yeah, no. If I go back in there, I'll probably faint again. Only this time I'll aim for someone's lap. Preferably Coach Clapp's. I hear he breaks the fall nicely."
Mike grimaced. "Yikes. Gym is next, right?"
"Sadly. Nothing like being forced into polyester and humiliation right after a near-death swoon. Classic Wednesday."
Mike rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, uh… if you're not going back, maybe you could, like, take it easy? Go home? Or hang in the library?"
Bella gave him a tired smile. "Unless the Dewey Decimal System learned CPR, I don't think that'll help."
There was a beat of silence, heavy with awkwardness and unspoken crushes.
"You're still coming to the beach Saturday, right?" Mike asked suddenly, voice brightening like a golden retriever sensing a leash.
Bella nodded. "Oh, absolutely. Sand, sun, and overcooked hot dogs? I live for it."
Mike looked like he might break into a musical number. "Cool. Awesome. I mean—we'll carpool, maybe? If you need a ride, I—"
He froze mid-sentence, eyes darting past her.
Bella didn't need to turn. She felt him before she saw him.
Edward Cullen.
Walking down the hallway like a Greek tragedy in a fitted thermal.
He looked… better. Calmer. But there was still a crackle around him, like static before a storm. Bella felt it in her chest. In her knees. In her decision-making capacity.
Mike's smile died a slow, awkward death.
He shot Edward a glare so sharp it could've been filed under "H" for haterade. It was the visual equivalent of: back off, glitter boy.
Bella groaned internally. "Subtle," she muttered.
"What?" Mike blinked.
"Nothing." She slung her backpack onto one shoulder. "I've got gym next."
Mike winced in sympathy. "That's brutal. You could always, uh—"
"I can fix that," Edward said, voice smooth as glass and twice as cold.
Mike jumped like someone had goosed him. Bella didn't flinch. Of course he was there. He probably materialized through the air vents like some kind of hot cryptid.
"You can?" she asked, arching an eyebrow.
Edward's eyes twinkled just a little. "Sit. Look pale."
Bella crossed her arms. "Edward, I am pale."
"Then you're halfway there."
Before she could respond with something appropriately snarky, he was already gliding toward the front office.
Bella gave Mike a helpless shrug and followed. "He does this," she whispered. "You get used to it."
Mike looked like he very much did not want to get used to it.
—
Bella plopped herself down on the cracked vinyl bench outside the front office and did her best impression of someone on the verge of fainting. Which, honestly, wasn't a stretch. She just tilted her head, let her limbs go limp, and summoned her inner damsel in distress. It was method acting, Kristen Stewart–style.
Inside the office, she could see it play out like a soap opera: Ms. Cope, the school secretary, rising from behind her desk with all the slow, practiced grace of a porn star in a 'naughty teacher' costume.
Red curls bounced around her shoulders. Her blouse was one tight button away from being NSFW.
"Edward," she breathed, her voice syrupy with effort. "Is something wrong?"
Bella couldn't hear his words clearly, but she saw the way he leaned in, all careful angles and heartbreak eyes.
"Bella's not well," he said softly, like the line had been written by Nicholas Sparks. "She had a fainting episode. I'd like to take her home."
Ms. Cope clutched her cleavage like it might offer her strength. "Oh… oh my. Yes. Of course. You're so responsible."
Bella rolled her eyes. If she had said that, she'd be told to sit down, hydrate, and stop being dramatic.
"And you?" Ms. Cope said, biting her lip like she was waiting for a very different kind of answer. "Do you need to be excused from class, too? I mean—if you're driving her…"
Edward smiled, just enough to short-circuit at least three office appliances. "My teachers don't mind. I'm ahead in everything."
Ms. Cope let out a dreamy sigh that sounded like it belonged in a scented bubble bath commercial. "Of course you are."
Bella watched her scribble their names on a slip of pink paper with a glittery heart sticker on it. That sticker hadn't been there before. Bella was sure of it.
—
Edward reappeared, slip in hand, and offered it like a relic.
"You're officially excused," he said.
Bella stood, brushing imaginary lint off her jeans. "You know, I've never seen anyone charm their way out of school that fast. You should teach a class."
"I'm fairly certain Ms. Cope would sponsor it."
Edward raised an eyebrow, unbothered.
As they stepped out into the light, Bella slanted a glance his way. "So… how much do I owe you for getting me out of gym?"
He looked at her, soft and unreadable. "Just your company for the ride home."
Bella blinked. "That's it?"
A half-smile touched his lips. "For now."
She stared at him for a beat too long, heat creeping up her neck.
"Okay," she muttered. "But I get to pick the music. And if you judge my playlist, I'm jumping out of the car."
Edward's eyes sparkled. "Understood."
And somehow, that was way more terrifying than any gym class.
---
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