blood type

I followed him all day through other people's eyes, barely aware of my own surroundings.

Not Mike Newton's eyes, because I couldn't stand any more of his offensive fantasies, and not Jessica Stanley's, because her rambling thoughts were almost too difficult for even I to follow. Angela Weber was a good choice when her eyes were available; she was kind—her head was an easy place to be. And then sometimes it was the teachers who provided the best view.

I was surprised, watching him stumble through the day—tripping over cracks in the sidewalk, stray books, and, most often, his own feet—that the people I eavesdropped on thought of Beau as clumsy.

I considered that. It was true that he often had trouble staying upright. I remembered him stumbling into the desk on that first day, sliding around on the ice before the accident, falling over the low lip of the doorframe yesterday… How odd, they were right. He was clumsy.

I don't know why this was so funny to me, but I laughed out loud as I walked from American History to English and several people shot me wary looks. How had I never noticed this before? Perhaps because there was something very graceful about him in stillness, the way he held his head, the arch of his neck…

There was nothing graceful about him now. Mr. Varner watched as he caught the toe of his boot on the carpet and literally fell into his chair.

The time moved with incredible sluggishness while I waited for my chance to see him with my own eyes. Finally, the bell rang. I strode quickly to the cafeteria to secure my spot. I was the first one there. I chose a table that was usually empty, and was sure to remain that way with me seated here.

When my family entered and saw me sitting alone in a new place, they were not surprised. Alice must have warned them.

Royal stalked past me without a glance.

Idiot.

Royal and I had never had an easy relationship—I'd offended him the very first time he'd heard me speak, and it was downhill from there—but it seemed like he was even more ill-tempered than usual the last few days. I sighed. Royal made everything about himself.

Jasper gave me half a smile as he walked by.

Good luck, he thought doubtfully.

Emmett rolled his eyes and shook his head.

Lost his mind, poor kid.

Alice was beaming, her teeth shining too brightly.

Can I talk to Beau now??

"Keep out of it," I said under my breath.

Her face fell, and then brightened again.

Fine. Be stubborn. It's only a matter of time.

I sighed again.

Don't forget about today's biology lab, she reminded me.

I nodded. No, I hadn't forgotten that.

While I waited for Beau to arrive, I followed him in the eyes of the freshman who was walking behind Jessica on his way to the cafeteria. Jessica was babbling about the upcoming dance, but Beau said nothing in response. Not that Jessica gave him much of a chance.

The moment Beau walked through the door, his eyes flashed to the table where my siblings sat. He stared for a moment, and then his forehead crumpled and his eyes dropped to the floor. He hadn't noticed me here.

He looked so… sad. I felt a powerful urge to get up and go to his side, to comfort him somehow, only I didn't know what he would find comforting. I had no idea what made him look that way. Jessica continued to jabber about the dance. Was Beau sad that he was going to miss it? That didn't seem likely…

But that could be remedied, if he wished.

He bought a drink for his lunch and nothing else. Was that right? Didn't he need more nutrition than that? I'd never paid much attention to a human's diet before.

Humans were quite exasperatingly fragile! There were a million different things to worry about…

"Edward Cullen is staring at you again," I heard Jessica say. "I wonder why he's sitting alone today?"

I was grateful to Jessica because Beau's head snapped up and his eyes searched until they met mine.

There was no trace of sadness in his face now. I let myself hope that he'd been sad because he'd thought I'd left school early, and that hope made me smile.

I motioned with my finger for him to join me. He looked so startled by this that I wanted to tease him again.

So I winked, and his mouth fell open.

"Does he mean you?" Jessica asked, her shock too apparent.

"Maybe he needs help with his Biology homework," he said in a low, uncertain voice. "Um, I'd better go see what he wants."

This was another yes.

He stumbled twice on his way to my table, though there was nothing in his way but perfectly even linoleum. Honestly, how had I missed this before? I'd been paying more attention to his silent thoughts, I supposed… What else had I missed?

Keep it honest, keep it light, I chanted to myself.

He stopped behind the chair across from me, hesitating. I inhaled deeply, through my nose this time rather than my mouth.

Feel the burn, I thought dryly.

"Why don't you sit with me today?" I asked him.

He pulled the chair out and sat, staring at me the whole while. He seemed nervous, but his physical acceptance was yet another yes.

I waited for him to speak.

It took a moment, but, finally, he said, "This is different."

Well…" I hesitated. "I decided as long as I was going to hell, I might as well do it thoroughly."

What had made me say that? I supposed it was honest, at least, if not light in the slightest. And perhaps he'd hear the unsubtle warning my words implied. Maybe he would realize that he should get up and walk away as quickly as possible…

He didn't get up. He stared at me, waiting, as if I'd left my sentence unfinished.

"You know I don't have any idea what you mean," he said when I didn't continue.

That was a relief. I smiled.

"I know."

It was hard to ignore the thoughts screaming at me from behind his back—and I wanted to change the subject anyway.

"I think your friends are angry at me for stealing you."

This did not appear to concern him. "They'll survive."

"I may not give you back, though." I didn't even know if I was trying to be honest now, or just trying to tease him again. Being near him made it hard to make sense of my own thoughts.

Beau's breath seemed to catch.

I laughed at his expression. "You look worried." It really shouldn't be funny… He should worry.

"No." He was a bad liar; it didn't help that his voice broke. "Surprised, actually… What brought this on?"

"I told you," I reminded him. "I got tired of trying to stay away from you. So I'm giving up." I held my smile in place with a bit of effort. This wasn't working at all—trying to be honest and casual at the same time.

"Giving up?" he repeated, baffled.

"Yes—giving up trying to be good." And, apparently, giving up trying to be casual. "I'm just going to do what I want now, and let the chips fall where they may." That was honest enough. Let him see my selfishness. Let that warn him, too.

"You lost me again."

I was selfish enough to be glad that this was the case. "I always say too much when I'm talking to you—that's one of the problems."

A rather insignificant problem, compared to the rest.

"Don't worry," he reassured me. "I don't understand any of it."

Good. Then he'd stay. "I'm counting on that."

"So, in plain English, are we friends now?"

I pondered that for a second. "Friends…" I repeated. I didn't like the sound of that. It wasn't enough.

"Or not," he offered, looking slightly disappointed.

Did he think I didn't like him that much?

I smiled. "Well, we can try I suppose. But I'm warning you now that I'm not a good friend for you."

I waited for his response, torn in two—wishing he would finally hear and understand, thinking I might die if he did. How melodramatic. I was turning into such a human.

His heart beat faster. "You say that a lot."

"Yes, because you're not listening to me," I said, too intense again. "I'm still waiting for you to hear me. If you're smart, you'll avoid me."

Ah, but would I be able to accept that, if he tried?

His smiled then, I couldn't stop my own smile from widening in response. "I thought we'd already come to the conclusion that I'm… what was it? Absurd. I suppose… not smart isn't far behind."

He was sharp, I was somehow always surprised by him. I smiled apologetically, realizing how unkind my previous words had been.

"So," he said slowly. "As long as I' being absurdly unintelligent," I laughed at his wry wit, he continued, "we'll try to be friends?"

"That sounds about right."

He looked down, staring intently at the lemonade bottle in his hands.

The old curiosity tormented me.

"What are you thinking?" I asked—it was a relief to say the words out loud instead of silently fuming over them.

He met my gaze, and his breathing sped while his cheeks flushed faint pink. I inhaled, tasting that in the air.

"I'm trying to figure out what you are."

I held the smile on my face, locking my features that way, while panic twisted though my body.

Of course he was wondering that. He wasn't stupid. I couldn't hope for him to be oblivious to something so obvious.

"Are you having any luck with that?" I asked as lightly as I could manage.

"Not too much," he admitted.

I chuckled in sudden relief. "What are your theories?"

They couldn't be worse than the truth, no matter what he'd come up with.

His cheeks turned a brighter red, and he said nothing. I could feel the warmth of his blush in the air.

I tried using my persuasive tone on him. It worked well on normal humans.

"Won't you tell me?" I smiled encouragingly.

He shook his head. "Too embarrassing."

Ugh. Not knowing was worse than anything else. Why would his speculations embarrass him? I couldn't stand not knowing.

"That's really frustrating, you know."

My complaint sparked something in him. His eyes flashed and he raised an eyebrow. His words flowed more swiftly than usual.

"Really? Like, someone refusing to tell you what they're thinking, even if all the while he's making cryptic little remarks specifically designed to keep you up at night wondering what he could possibly mean… frustrating like that?"

I frowned at him, upset to realize that he was right. I wasn't being fair.

He went on. "Or is it frustrating like, say, he's also done a bunch of other strange things—for example, saving your life under impossible circumstances one day, then treating you like a pariah the next—and he never explained that, either, even after he promised he would. Frustrating like that?"

It was the longest speech I'd ever heard him make, and it gave me a new quality for my list. He believed in fairness. He didn't like double standards.

And he was right, of course. He seemed to be right about most things.

"You're still not over that, are you?"

"No, not quite." He said, eyebrow still raised.

"Would an apology help?"

"It wouldn't hurt."

I smiled at him, "I'm sorry I broke my promise."

He blushed again. "Th-thank you." His voice was soft, almost surprised. "It's still not an explanation."

I stared at Beau, wondering how I could possibly do anything right by him, until the silent shouting in Mike Newton's head distracted me.

He was so irate that it made me chuckle.

"What?" He asked.

"Your boyfriend seems to think I'm being unpleasant to you—he's debating whether or not to come break up our fight." I would love to see him try. I laughed again.

"I don't have a boyfriend," he said, coolly, "and you're trying to change the subject."

I very much enjoyed the way he disowned him with his dismissive sentence. I chose to ignore the latter part of his statement.

"You might not think of him that way, but he wishes you did."

"You don't know that."

"I do. I told you, most people are easy to read."

"Except me, of course."

"Yes. Except for you." Did he have to be the exception to everything? Wouldn't it have been more fair—considering everything else I had to deal with now—if I could have at least heard something from his head? Was that so much to ask? "I wonder why that is?"

I stared into his eyes, trying again…

He looked away. He opened his lemonade and took a quick drink, his eyes on the table.

"Aren't you hungry?" I asked.

"No." He eyed the table between us. "You?"

"No, I'm not hungry," I said. I was definitely not that.

He stared at the table, his lips pursed. I waited.

"Can you do me a favor?" he asked, suddenly meeting my gaze again.

What would he want from me? Would he ask for the truth that I wasn't allowed to tell him—the truth I didn't want him to ever, ever know?

"That depends on what you want."

"It's not much," he promised.

I waited, curious again.

"Could you warn me beforehand?" he said slowly, staring at the lemonade bottle, tracing its lip with his littlest finger. "The next time you decide to ignore me for my own good? Just so I'm prepared."

He wanted a warning? Then being ignored by me must be a bad thing… I smiled.

"That sounds fair," I agreed.

"Thanks," he said, looking up. His face was so relieved that I wanted to laugh with my own relief.

"Then can I have a favor in return?" I asked hopefully.

"One," he allowed.

"Tell me one theory."

He flushed. "Not that favor."

"You didn't qualify, you just promised one favor," I argued.

"And you've broken promises yourself," he deftly countered.

He had me there.

"Just one theory—I won't laugh."

"Yes, you will." He seemed very sure of that, though I couldn't imagine anything that would be funny about it.

I gave persuasion another try. I stared deep into his eyes—an easy thing to do, with eyes so deep—and whispered, "Please?"

He blinked, and his face went blank.

Well, that wasn't exactly the reaction I'd been going for.

"Er, what?" he asked. He looked dizzy. What was wrong with him?

But I wasn't giving up yet.

"Tell me just one little theory," I pleaded in my soft, non-frightening voice, holding his eyes in mine. "Please?"

To my surprise and satisfaction, it finally worked.

"Um, well, bitten by a radioactive spider?"

Comic books? No wonder he thought I would laugh.

"That's not very creative," I chided him, trying to hide my fresh relief.

"I'm sorry, that's all I've got," he said, offended.

This relieved me even more. I was able to tease him again.

"You're not even close."

"No spiders?"

"Nope."

"And no radioactivity?"

"None."

"Dang," he sighed.

"Kryptonite doesn't bother me, either," I said quickly—before he could ask about bites—and then I had to laugh, because he thought I was a superhero.

"You're not supposed to laugh, remember?"

I pressed my lips together.

"I'll figure it out eventually," he promised.

And when he did, he would run.

"I wish you wouldn't try," I said, all teasing gone.

"Because…?"

I owed him honesty. Still, I tried to smile, to make my words sound less threatening. "What if I'm not a superhero? What if I'm the bad guy?"

His eyes widened by a fraction and his lips fell slightly apart. "Oh," he said. And then, after another second, "I see."

He'd finally heard me.

"Do you?" I asked, working to conceal my agony.

"You're dangerous?" he guessed. His breathing hiked, and his heart raced.

I couldn't answer him. Was this my last moment with him? Would he run now? Could I be allowed to tell him that I loved him before he left? Or would that frighten him more?

"But not the bad guy," he whispered, shaking his head, no fear in his clear eyes. "No, I don't believe that."

"You're wrong," I breathed.

Of course I was bad. Wasn't I rejoicing now, that he thought better of me than I deserved? If I were a good person, I would have stayed away from him.

I stretched my hand across the table, reaching for the lid to his lemonade bottle as an excuse. He did not flinch away from my suddenly closer hand. He really was not afraid of me. Not yet.

I spun the lid like a top, watching it instead of him. My thoughts were in a snarl.

Run, Beau, run. I couldn't make myself say the words out loud.

He jumped to his feet. "We're going to be late," he said, just as I'd started to worry that he'd somehow heard my silent warning.

"I'm not going to class today."

"Why not?"

Because I don't want to kill you. "It's healthy to ditch class now and then." I looked up at his piercing gray eyes, and tried to smile casually.

To be precise, it was healthier for humans if the vampires ditched on days when human blood would be spilt. Mrs. Banner was blood typing today. Alice had already ditched her morning class.

"Well, I'm going," he said. This didn't surprise me. He was responsible—he always did the right thing.

He was my opposite.

"I'll see you later then," I said, trying for casual again, staring back down at the whirling lid. And, by the way, I adore you… in frightening, dangerous ways.

He hesitated, and I hoped for a moment that he would stay with me after all. But the bell rang and he hurried away.

I waited until he was gone, and then I put the lid in my pocket—a souvenir of this most consequential conversation—and walked through the rain to my car.

I put on my favorite calming CD—the same one I'd listened to that first day—but I wasn't hearing Debussy's notes for long. Other notes were running through my head, a fragment of a tune that pleased and intrigued me. I turned down the stereo and listened to the music in my head, playing with the fragment until it evolved into a fuller harmony. Instinctively, my fingers moved in the air over imaginary piano keys.

The new composition was really coming along when my attention was caught by a wave of mental anguish.

I looked toward the distress.

Is he going to pass out? What do I do? Mike panicked.

A hundred yards away, Mike Newton was lowering Beau's limp body to the sidewalk. He slumped unresponsively against the wet concrete, his eyes closed, his skin chalky as a corpse.

I almost took the door off the car.

"Beau?" I shouted.

There was no change in his lifeless face when I yelled his name.

My whole body went colder than ice.

I was aware of Mike's aggravated surprise as I sifted furiously through his thoughts. He was only thinking of his anger towards me, so I didn't know what was wrong with Beau. If he'd done something to harm him, I would annihilate him.

"What's wrong—is he hurt?" I demanded, trying to focus on his thoughts. It was maddening to have to walk at a human pace. I should not have called attention to my approach.

Then I could hear Beau's heart beating and his even breath. As I watched, he squeezed his eyes more tightly shut. That eased some of my panic.

I saw a flicker of memories in Mike's head, a splash of images from the Biology room. Beau's head on our table, his fair skin turning green. Drops of red against the white cards…

Blood typing.

I stopped where I was, holding my breath. His scent was one thing, his flowing blood was another altogether.

"I think he fainted," Mike said, anxious and resentful at the same time. "I don't know what happened, he didn't even stick his finger."

Relief washed through me, and I breathed again, tasting the air. Ah, I could smell the tiny flow of Mike Newton's puncture wound. Once, that might have appealed to me.

I knelt beside Beau while Mike hovered next to me, furious at my intervention.

"Beau. Can you hear me?"

"No," he moaned. "Go away."

The relief was so exquisite that I laughed. He was fine.

"I was taking him to the nurse," Mike said. "But he wouldn't go any farther."

"I'll take him. You can go back to class," I said dismissively.

Mike's teeth clenched together. "What? No. I'm supposed to do it."

I wasn't going to stand around arguing with the wretch.

Thrilled and terrified, half-grateful to and half-aggrieved by the predicament which made touching him a necessity, I gently lifted Beau from the sidewalk and held him in my arms, touching only his clothes, keeping as much distance between our bodies as possible. I was striding forward in the same movement, in a hurry to have him safe—farther away from me, in other words.

His eyes popped open, astonished.

"I'm fine, I swear. Put me down," he ordered in a weak voice—embarrassed again, I guessed from his expression. He didn't like to show weakness.

I barely heard Mike's shouted protest behind us.

"You look awful," I told him, grinning because there was nothing wrong with him but a light head and a weak stomach.

"Put me back on the sidewalk," he said. His lips were white. "I'll be fine in a few minutes."

"So you faint at the sight of blood?" Could it possibly be any more ironic?

He closed his eyes and pressed his lips together.

"And not even your own blood," I added, my grin widening.

We were to the front office. The door was propped an inch open, and I kicked it out of my way.

Ms. Cope jumped, startled. "Oh, my," she gasped as she examined the ashen boy in my arms.

"He fainted in Biology," I explained, before her imagination could get too out of hand.

Ms. Cope hurried to open the door to the nurse's office. Beau's eyes were open again, watching her. I heard the elderly nurse's internal astonishment as I laid the boy carefully on the shabby bed. As soon as Beau was out of my arms, I put the width of the room between us. My body was too excited, too eager, my muscles tense and the venom flowing. He was so warm and fragrant.

"He's just a little faint," I reassured Mrs. Hammond. "They're blood typing in biology."

She nodded, understanding now. "There's always one."

I stifled a laugh. Trust Beau to be that one.

"Just lie down for a minute, honey," Mrs. Hammond said. "It'll pass."

"I know," Beau said.

"Does this happen often?" the nurse asked.

"Sometimes," Beau admitted.

I tried to disguise my laughter as coughing.

This brought me back to the nurse's attention. "You can go back to class now," she said.

I looked her straight in the eye and lied with perfect confidence. "I'm supposed to stay with him."

Hmm. I wonder… oh well. Mrs. Hammond nodded.

It worked fine on her. Why did Beau have to be so difficult?

"I'll go get you some ice for your forehead, dear," the nurse said, slightly uncomfortable from looking into my eyes—the way a human should be—and left the room.

"You were right," Beau moaned, closing his eyes.

What did he mean? I jumped to the worst conclusion: he'd accepted my warnings.

"I usually am," I said, trying to keep the amusement in my voice; it sounded sour now. "but about what in particular this time?"

"Ditching is healthy," he sighed.

Ah, relief again.

He was silent then. He just breathed slowly in and out. His lips were beginning to turn pink. His mouth was slightly out of balance, his lower lip just a little too full to match the top. Staring at his mouth made me feel strange. Made me want to move closer to him, which was not a good idea.

"You scared me for a minute there," I said—to restart the conversation so that I could hear his voice again. "I thought Newton was dragging your dead body off to bury it in the woods."

"Hilarious," he said.

"Honestly—I've seen corpses with better color." This was actually true. "I was concerned that I might have to avenge your murder." And I would have.

"That's morbid."

I had to chuckle at his dry delivery.

"Poor Mike," he sighed. "I'll bet he's mad."

Fury pulsed through me, but I contained it quickly. His concern was surely just pity. He was kind. That was all.

"He absolutely loathes me," I told him, cheered by the idea.

"You can't know that."

"I saw his face—I could tell." It was probably true that reading his face would have given me enough information to make that particular deduction. All this practice with Beau was sharpening my skill at reading human expressions.

"How did you see me? I thought you were ditching." His face looked better—the green undertone had vanished from his translucent skin.

"I was in my car, listening to a CD."

His expression twitched, like my very ordinary answer had surprised him somehow.

He opened his eyes again when Mrs. Hammond returned with an ice pack.

"Here you go, dear," the nurse said as she laid it across Beau's forehead. "You're looking better."

"I think I'm fine," Beau said, and he sat up while pulling the ice pack away. Of course. He didn't like to be taken care of.

Mrs. Hammond's wrinkled hands fluttered toward him, as if she were going to push him back down, but just then Ms. Cope opened the door to the office and leaned in. With her appearance came the smell of fresh blood, just a whiff.

Invisible in the office behind her, Mike Newton was still very angry, wishing the heavy boy he dragged now was the one who was in here with me.

"We've got another one," Ms. Cope said.

Beau quickly jumped down from the cot, eager to be out of the spotlight.

"Here," he said, handing the compress back to Mrs. Hammond. "I don't need this."

Mike grunted as he half-shoved Lee Stevens through the door. Blood was still dripping down the hand Lee held to his face, trickling toward his wrist.

"Oh no." This was my cue to leave—and Beau's, too, it seemed. "Get out to the office, Beau."

He stared at me with bewildered eyes.

"Trust me—go."

He whirled and caught the door before it had swung shut, rushing through to the office. I followed a few inches behind him.

He turned to look at me, still wide-eyed.

"You actually listened to me." That was a first.

His nose wrinkled. "I smelled the blood."

I stared at him in blank surprise. "People can't smell blood."

"Yeah, I can."

"No." I argued, stubbornly. "Humans can smell the iron in blood, but only when it's rubbed against skin or sometimes when there are large amounts or it's dried." I paused for a fraction of a second. I slipped up again. The way I had said humans. Like I wasn't one. I only hoped he hadn't caught that. It was foolish of me to hope. He noticed everything. I continued. "Either way, you shouldn't be able to smell a pinprick of fresh blood."

"Well, I can—that's what makes me sick. It smells like rust… and salt."

My face froze, still staring.

Was he really even human? He looked human. He felt soft as a human. He smelled human—well, better actually. He acted human… sort of. But he didn't think like a human, or respond like one.

What other option was there, though?

"What?' he demanded.

"It's nothing."

Mike Newton interrupted us then, entering the room with resentful, violent thoughts.

"You look better," he said to Beau rudely.

My hand twitched, wanting to teach him some manners. I would have to watch myself, or I would end up actually killing this obnoxious boy.

"Just keep your hand in your pocket," Beau said. For one wild second, I thought he was talking to me.

"It's not bleeding anymore," Mike answered sullenly. "Are you going back to class?"

"Are you kidding? I'd just have to turn around and come back."

That was very good. I'd thought I was going to have to miss this whole hour with him, and now I got extra time instead. I felt greedy, a miser hoarding over each minute.

"Yeah, I guess…" Mike mumbled. "So are you going this weekend? To the beach?"

Ah, they had plans. Anger froze me in place. It was a group trip, though. I'd seen some of this in other students' heads. It wasn't just the two of them. I was still furious. I leaned motionlessly against the counter, trying to control myself.

"Sure, I said I was in," Beau promised Mike.

So he'd said yes to him, too. The jealousy burned, more painful than thirst.

No, it was just a group outing, I tried to convince myself. He was just spending the day with friends. Nothing more.

"We're meeting at my dad's store, at ten." And Cullen's not invited.

"I'll be there," Beau said.

"I'll see you in Gym, then."

"Yeah, see you," he replied.

Mike shuffled off to his class, his thoughts full of ire. What does Beau see in that freak? Sure, he's rich I guess. I suppose he's good looking, but he's too… too perfect. I bet his dad experiments with plastic surgery on all of them. That's why they're all so pale and pretty. It's not natural. And he's sort of… scary-looking. Sometimes, when he stares at me, I'd swear he's thinking about killing me… Freak…

Mike wasn't entirely unperceptive.

"Gym," Beau repeated quietly. A groan.

I looked at him, and saw that he was sad about something again. I wasn't sure why, but it was clear that he didn't want to go to his next class with Mike, and I was all for that plan.

I went to his side and bent close to his face, feeling the warmth of his skin radiating out to my lips. I didn't dare breathe.

"I can take care of that," I murmured. "Go sit down and look pale."

He did as I asked, sitting in one of the folding chairs and leaning his head back against the wall, while, behind me, Ms. Cope came out of the back room and went to her desk. With his eyes closed, Beau looked as if he'd passed out again. His full color hadn't returned yet.

I turned to the secretary. Hopefully Beau was paying attention to this, I thought sardonically. This was how a human was supposed to respond.

"Ms. Cope?" I asked, using my persuasive voice again.

Her eyelashes fluttered, and her heart sped up. Too young, get a hold of yourself! "Yes?"

That was interesting. When Shelly Cope's pulse quickened, it was because she found me physically attractive, not because she was frightened. I was used to that around human females… yet, I hadn't considered that explanation for Beau's racing heart.

I rather liked that. Too much, in fact. I smiled, and Ms. Cope's breathing got louder.

"Beau has gym next hour, and I don't think he feels well enough. Actually, I was thinking I should take him home now. Do you think you could excuse him from class?" I stared into her depthless eyes, enjoying the havoc that this wreaked on her thought processes. Was it possible that Beau…?

Ms. Cope had to swallow loudly before she answered. "Do you need to be excused, too, Edward?"

"No, I have Mrs. Goff, she won't mind."

I wasn't paying much attention to her now. I was exploring this new possibility.

Hmm. I'd like to believe that Beau found me attractive like other humans did, but when did Beau ever have the same reactions as other humans? I shouldn't get my hopes up.

"Okay, it's all taken care of. You feel better, Beau."

Beau nodded weakly—overacting a bit.

"Can you walk, or do you want me to carry you again?" I asked, amused by his poor theatrics. I knew he would want to walk—he wouldn't want to be weak.

"I'll walk," he said.

Right again. I was getting better at this.

He got up, hesitating for a moment as if to check his balance. I held the door for him, and we walked out into the rain.

I watched him as he lifted his face to the light rain with his eyes closed, a slight smile on his lips. What was he thinking? I stared, nearly in awe, of the subtle beauty of him. His skin was beautiful, flawless. His dark curls, dampened by the rain, clung to his ivory face.

"Thanks," he said, smiling at me now. "It's worth getting sick to miss Gym."

I stared across the campus, wondering how to prolong my time with him. "Anytime," I said.

"So are you going? This Saturday, I mean?" he sounded hopeful.

Ah, his hope was soothing. He wanted me with him, not Mike Newton. And I wanted to say yes. But there were many things to consider. For one, the sun would be shining this Saturday…

"Where are you all going, exactly?" I tried to keep my voice nonchalant, as if it didn't matter much. Mike had said beach, though. Not much chance of avoiding sunlight there.

"Down to La Push, to First Beach."

Damn. Well, it was impossible, then.

Anyway, Emmett would be irritated if I cancelled our plans.

I glanced down at him, smiling wryly. "I really don't think I was invited."

He sighed, already resigned. "I just invited you."

"Let's you and I not push poor Mike any further this week. We don't want him to snap." I thought about snapping poor Mike myself, and enjoyed the mental picture intensely.

"Mike-schmike," he said, dismissive again. I smiled widely.

And then he started to walk away from me.

Without thinking about my action, I reached out and caught him by the back of his rain jacket. He jerked to a stop.

"Where do you think you're going?" My voice sounded surprised, perhaps from my actions, but I couldn't stand the thought of him leaving me. I hadn't had enough time with him. He couldn't go, not so soon.

"I'm going home," he said, baffled as to why this should upset me.

"Did you hear me promise to take you safely home? Do you think I'm going to let you drive in your condition?" I knew he wouldn't like that—my implication of weakness on his part. But I needed to practice for the Seattle trip, anyway. See if I could handle his proximity in an enclosed space. This was a much shorter journey.

"What condition?" he demanded. "And what about my truck?"

"You've had quite the day, Beau." I smiled soothingly.

"Okay, so what do you suggest?"

His annoyed expression made me smile wider, "I suggest that you get into my car, and you let me drive you home."

He narrowed his eyes at me. "Okay, first of all that's not necessary, and second, what about my truck?"

"Necessary is a subjective word." I grinned. "I'll have Alice drop it off after school."

He turned to face me, and I reluctantly let go of his jacket. He looked up at me, first with defiance, but it seemed to waver slightly after a moment. He didn't speak.

"Are you going to put up a fuss?"

"Is there any point in resisting?" He sighed, defeated.

I grinned. Oh, but it's I who can't resist you.

"It warms my cold heart to see you learning so quickly." I gestured in the direction of the car. "This way."

"You're not cute." He narrowed his eyes at me and I had to laugh at his expression.

"It's open."

I got in on my side and started the car. He held his body rigidly, still outside, though the rain had picked up and I knew he didn't like the cold and wet. Water was soaking through his thick hair, darkening it to near black.

"I really am perfectly capable of driving myself home!"

Of course he was—I just wasn't capable of letting him go.

I lowered his window and leaned toward him. "Get in, Beau."

His eyes narrowed and he stayed perfectly still.

I sighed in frustration. "Please, Beau?" I suppose I could add stubborn to my list of qualities.

"This is really unnecessary," He said with a resigned sigh as he opened his door and climbed in. His hair dripped on the leather and his boots squeaked against each other.

I smiled at my victory as I turned up the heater so he wouldn't be uncomfortable, and set the music to a nice background level. I drove out toward the exit, watching him from the corner of my eye. His lower lip was jutting out stubbornly. I stared at this, examining how it made me feel… thinking of the secretary's reaction again…

Suddenly he looked at the stereo and smiled, his eyes widening. "Clair de Lune?" he asked.

A fan of the classics? "You know Debussy?"

"Not well," he said. "My mother plays a lot of classical music around the house—I only know my favorites."

"It's one of my favorites, too." I stared at the rain, considering that. I actually had something in common with him. I'd begun to think that we were polar opposites in every way.

"Well, imagine that," he said softly, "We have something in common."

If I didn't know any better, I'd have sworn he could read my mind. I smiled at his words.

He seemed more relaxed now, staring at the rain like me, with unseeing eyes. I used his momentary distraction to experiment with breathing.

I inhaled carefully through my nose.

Potent.

I clutched at the steering wheel tighter. The rain made him smell better. I wouldn't have thought that was possible. Stupidly, I was suddenly imagining how he would taste.

I tried to swallow against the burn in my throat, to think of something else.

"What is your mother like?" I asked as a distraction.

Beau smiled and he glanced over to me. "She looks a lot like me—same eyes, same chin."

So I had his mother to thank for those brilliant eyes.

"I have Charlie's hair, though," he went on. "My mom is more outgoing than I am, and braver."

I doubted that, too.

"She's irresponsible and slightly eccentric, and she's a very unpredictable cook. She's my best friend." His voice had turned melancholy; his forehead creased.

Again, he sounded more like parent than child.

I stopped in front of his house, wondering too late if I was supposed to know where he lived. No, this wouldn't be suspicious in such a small town, with his father a public figure…

"How old are you, Beau?" He must be older than his peers. Perhaps he'd been late to start school, or been held back… that wasn't likely, though.

"I'm seventeen," he answered.

"You don't seem seventeen."

He laughed.

"What?"

"My mom always says I was born thirty-five years old and that I get more middle-aged every year." He laughed again, and then he sighed. "Well, someone has to be the adult."

This clarified things for me. I could see it now… how the irresponsible mother helped explain Beau's maturity. He'd had to grow up early, to become the caretaker. That's why he didn't like being cared for—he felt it was his job.

"You don't seem much like a junior in high school yourself," he said, pulling me from my reverie.

I grimaced. For everything I perceived about him, he perceived too much in return. I changed the subject.

"So why did your mother marry Phil?"

He hesitated a minute before answering. "My mother… she's very young for her age. I think Phil makes her feel even younger. At any rate, she's crazy about him." He shook his head indulgently.

"Do you approve?" I wondered.

"Does it matter?" he asked. "I want her to be happy… and he is who she wants."

The unselfishness of his comment would have shocked me, except that it fit in all too well with what I'd learned of his character.

"That's very generous… I wonder."

"What?"

"Would she extend the same courtesy to you, do you think? No matter who your choice was?"

It was a foolish question, and I could not keep my voice casual while I asked it. How stupid to even consider someone approving of me for their son. How stupid to even think of Beau choosing me.

"I-I think so," he stuttered, reacting in some way to my gaze. Fear… or attraction?

"But she's the parent, after all. It's a little bit different," he finished.

I smiled wryly. "No one too scary then."

He grinned at me. "What do you mean by scary? Multiple facial piercings and extensive tattoos?"

"That's one definition, I suppose." A very nonthreatening definition, to my mind.

"What's your definition?"

He always asked the wrong questions. Or exactly the right questions, maybe. The ones I didn't want to answer, at any rate.

"Do you think that I could be scary?" I asked him, trying to smile a little.

He thought it through before answering me in a serious voice. "Hmm… I think you could be, if you wanted to."

I was serious, too. "Are you frightened of me now?"

He answered at once, not thinking this one through. "No."

I smiled more easily. I did not think he was entirely telling the truth, nor was he truly lying. He wasn't frightened enough to leave, at least. I wondered how he would feel if I told him he was having a discussion with a vampire. I cringed internally at his imagined reaction.

"So, now are you going to tell me about your family? It's got to be a much more interesting story than mine."

A more frightening one, at least.

"What do you want to know?" I asked cautiously.

"The Cullens adopted you?"

"Yes."

He hesitated, then spoke in a small voice. "What happened to your parents?"

This wasn't so hard; I wasn't even having to lie to him. "They died a very long time ago."

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, clearly worried about having hurt me.

He was worried about me.

"I don't really remember them that clearly," I assured him. "Carlisle and Esme have been my parents for a long time now."

"And you love them," he deduced.

I smiled. "Yes. I couldn't imagine two better people."

"You're very lucky."

"I know I am." In that one circumstance, the matter of parents, my luck could not be denied.

"And your brother and sister?"

If I let him push for too many details, I would have to lie. I glanced at the clock, disheartened that my time with him was up.

"My brother and sister, and Jasper and Royal for that matter, are going to be quite upset if they have to stand in the rain waiting for me."

"Oh, sorry, I guess you have to go."

He didn't move. He didn't want our time to be up, either. I liked that very, very much.

"And you probably want your truck back before Chief Swan gets home, so you don't have to tell him about the Biology incident." I grinned at the memory of his embarrassment in my arms.

"I'm sure he's already heard. There's no secrets in Forks." He said it with a resigned sigh.

I laughed at his words. No secrets, indeed. "Have fun at the beach." I glanced at the pouring rain, knowing it would not last, and wishing more strongly than usual that it could. "Good weather for sunbathing." Well, it would be by Saturday. He would enjoy that.

"Won't I see you tomorrow?"

The worry in his tone pleased me.

"No. Emmett and I are starting the weekend early." I was mad at myself now for having made the plans. I could break them… but there was no such thing as too much hunting at this point, and my family was going to be concerned enough about my behavior without me revealing how obsessive I was turning.

"What are you going to do?" he asked, disappointed with my revelation.

Good.

"We're going to be hiking in the Goat Rocks Wilderness, just south of Rainier." Emmett was eager for bear season.

"Oh, well, have fun," he said halfheartedly. His lack of enthusiasm pleased me again.

As I stared at him, I began to feel almost agonized at the thought of saying even a temporary goodbye. He was just so soft and vulnerable. It seemed foolhardy to let him out of my sight, where anything could happen to him. And yet, the worst things that could happen to him would result from being with me.

"Will you do something for me this weekend?" I asked seriously.

He nodded, his eyes wide and bewildered by my intensity.

Keep it light.

"Don't be offended, but you seem to be one of those people who just attract accidents like a magnet. So… try not to fall into the ocean or get run over or anything, all right?"

I smiled ruefully at him, hoping he couldn't see the sadness in my eyes. How much I wished that he wasn't so much better off away from me, no matter what might happen to him there.

Run, Beau, run. I love you too much, for your good or mine.

He was offended by my teasing. He narrowed his eyes at me. "I'll see what I can do," he said curtly. I smirked as he jumped out into the rain, making a run for the porch.

The piercing stab of his silver eyes still burned in my own.

I curled my hand around the key I'd just picked from his jacket pocket, and smiled as I drove away.