invitations

High school. Purgatory no longer, it was now purely hell. Torment and fire… yes, I had both.

I was doing everything correctly now. Every 'i' dotted, ever 't' crossed. No one could complain that I was shirking my responsibilities.

To please Esme and protect the others, I stayed in Forks. I returned to my old schedule. I hunted no more than the rest of them. Everyday, I attended high school and played human. Everyday, I listened carefully for anything new about the Cullens—there never was anything new. Beau Swan did not speak one word of his suspicions. He just repeated the same story again and again—I'd been standing with him and then pulled him out of the way—till his eager listeners got bored and stopped looking for more details. There was no danger. My hasty action had hurt no one.

No one but myself.

I was determined to change the future. Not the easiest task to set for oneself, but there was no other choice that I could live with.

Alice said that I would not be strong enough to stay away from the boy. I would prove her wrong.

I'd thought the first day would be the hardest. By the end of it, I'd been sure that was the case. I'd been wrong, though.

It had rankled, knowing that I would hurt the boy. I'd comforted myself with the fact that his pain would be nothing more than a pinprick—just a tiny sting of rejection—compared to mine. Beau was human, and he knew that I was something else, something wrong, something frightening. He would probably be more relieved than wounded when I turned my face away from him and pretended that he didn't exist.

"Hello, Edward," he'd greeted me, that first day back in biology. His voice had been pleasant, friendly, one hundred and eighty degrees from the last time I'd spoken with him.

Why? What did the change mean? Had he forgotten? Decided he had imagined the whole episode? Could he possibly have forgiven me for not following through on my promise?

The questions had burned like the thirst that attacked me every time I breathed.

Just one moment to look in his eyes. Just to see if I could read the answers there…

No. I could not allow myself even that. Not if I was going to change the future.

I'd moved my chin an inch in his direction without looking away form the front of the room. I'd nodded once, and then turned my face straight forward.

He did not speak to me again.

That afternoon, as soon as school was finished, my role played, I ran to Seattle as I had the day before. It seemed that I could handle the aching just slightly better when I was flying over the ground, turning everything around me into a green blur.

This run became my daily habit.

Did I love him? I did not think so. Not yet. Alice's glimpses of that future had stuck with me, though, and I could see how easy it would be to fall into loving Beau. It would be exactly like falling: effortless. Not letting myself love him was the opposite of falling—it was pulling myself up a cliff-face, hand over hand, the task as grueling as if I had no more than mortal strength.

More than a month passed, and every day it got harder. That made no sense to me—I kept waiting to get over it, to have it get easier. This must be what Alice had meant when she'd predicted that I would not be able to stay away from Beau. She had seen the escalation of pain. But I could handle pain.

I would not destroy Beau's future. If I was destined to love him, then wasn't avoiding him the very least I could do?

Avoiding him was about the limit of what I could bear, though. I could pretend to ignore him, and never look his way. I could pretend that he was of no interest to me. But that was the extent, just pretense and not reality.

I still hung on every breath he took, every word he said.

I lumped my torments into four categories.

The first two were familiar. His scent and his silence. Or, rather—to take the responsibility on myself where it belonged—my thirst and my curiosity.

The thirst was the most primal of my torments. It was my habit now to simply not breathe at all in Biology. Of course, there were always the exceptions—when I had to answer a question or something of the sort, and I would need my breath to speak. Each time I tasted the air around the boy, it was the same as the first day—fire and need and brutal violence desperate to break free. It was hard to cling even slightly to reason or restraint in those moments. And, just like that first day, the monster in me would roar, so close to the surface…

The curiosity was the most constant of my torments. The question was never out of my mind: What is he thinking now? When I heard him quietly sigh. When he absently ran his fingers through his hair. When he threw his books down with more force than usual. When he rushed to class late. When he tapped his foot impatiently against the floor. Each movement caught in my peripheral vision was a maddening mystery.

When he spoke to the other human students, I analyzed his every word and tone. Was he speaking his thoughts, or what he thought he should say? It often sounded to me like he was trying to say what his audience expected, and this reminded me of my family and our daily life of illusion—we were better at it than he was. Unless I was wrong about that, just imagining things. Why would he have to play a role? He was one of them—a human teenager.

Mike Newton was the most surprising of my torments. Who would have ever dreamed that such a generic, boring mortal could be so infuriating? To be fair, I should have felt some gratitude to the annoying boy; more than the others, he kept Beau talking. I learned so much about him through these conversations—I was still compiling my list—but, contrarily, Mike's assistance with this project only aggravated me more. I didn't want Mike to be the one that unlocked Beau Swan's secrets. I wanted to do that.

It helped that the Newton boy never noticed Beau's small revelations, his little slips. He knew nothing about him. He'd created a Beau in his head that didn't exist—a boy just as generic as he was. He hadn't observed the unselfishness and bravery that set Beau apart from other humans, he didn't hear the abnormal maturity of Beau's spoken thoughts. He didn't perceive that when Beau spoke of his mother, he sounded like the parent speaking of a child rather than the other way around—loving, indulgent, slightly amused, and fiercely protective. He didn't hear the patience in Beau's voice when he feigned interest in his rambling stories, and didn't guess at the kindness behind that patience.

Though his conversations with Mike, I was able to add the most important quality to my list, the most revealing of them all, as simple as it was rare. Beau was good. All the other things added up to that whole—kind and self-effacing and unselfish and loving and brave—he was good through and through.

These helpful discoveries did not warm me to the Newton boy, however. The possessive way he viewed Beau—as if he were an acquisition to be made—provoked me almost as much as his crude fantasies about him. He was becoming more confident of Beau, too, as the time passed, for Beau seemed to prefer him over those Mike considered his rivals—Tyler Crowley, Erica Yorkie, and even, sporadically, myself. He would routinely sit on Beau's side of our table before class began, chatting at him, encouraged by his smiles. Just polite smiles, I told myself. All the same, I frequently amused myself by imagining backhanding him across the room and into the far wall… it probably wouldn't injure him fatally…

Mike didn't often think of me as a rival. After the accident, he'd worried that Beau and I would bond from the shared experience, but obviously the opposite had resulted. Back then, he had still been bothered that I'd singled Beau out over his peers for attention. But now I ignored him just as thoroughly as the others, and he grew complacent.

What was Beau thinking now? Did he welcome Mike's attention?

And, finally, the last of my torments, the most painful: Beau's indifference. As I ignored him, he ignored me. He never tried to speak to me again. For all I knew, he never thought about me at all.

This might have driven me mad—or even broken my resolution to change the future—except that he sometimes stared at me like he had before. I didn't see it for myself, as I could not allow myself to look at him, but Alice always warned us when he was about to stare; the others were still wary of the boy's problematic knowledge.

It eased some of the pain that he gazed at me from across a distance, every now and then. Of course, he could just be wondering what kind of a freak I was.

"Beau is going to stare at Edward in a minute. Look normal," Alice said one Tuesday in March, and the others were careful to fidget and shift their weight like humans; absolute stillness was a marker of our kind.

I paid attention to how often he looked my direction. It pleased me, though it should not, that the frequency did not decline as the time passed. I didn't know what it meant, but it made me feel better.

Alice sighed. I wish…

"Stay out of it, Alice," I said under my breath. "It's not going to happen."

She pouted. Alice was anxious to form her envisioned friendship with Beau. In a strange way, she missed the boy she didn't know.

I'll admit, you're better than I thought. You've got the future all snarled up and senseless again. I hope you're happy.

"It makes plenty of sense to me."

She snorted delicately.

I tried to shut her out, too impatient for conversation. I wasn't in a very good mood—tenser than I let any of them see. Only Jasper was aware of how tightly wound I was, feeling the stress emanate out of me with his unique ability to both sense and influence the moods of others. He didn't understand the reasons behind the moods, though, and—since I was constantly in a foul mood these days—he disregarded it.

Today would be a hard one. Harder than the day before, as was the pattern.

Mike Newton, the odious boy whom I could not allow myself to rival, was going to ask Beau on a date.

A girl's choice dance was on the near horizon, and he'd gotten in his head to convince Beau to go with him. He currently found himself in an uncomfortable bind—I enjoyed his discomfort more than I should—because Jessica Stanley had just asked him to the dance. He didn't want to say "yes," thereby missing the chance to attend with Beau, but he didn't want to say "no" at the same time. I suppose I could pity the boy in some way; he was still coming to terms with himself and that confusion—that lack of true self-awareness—made his life more difficult than it needed to be. So, in his confusion he had decided to spurn Jessica and convince Beau they should go together—'stag,' as it were.

Meanwhile, Jessica, hurt by his hesitation and not understanding the reason behind it, had considered asking Beau herself after all, but they had apparently talked about it and decided that they wouldn't go together, after all.

To think it had come to this! I was utterly fixated on the petty high school dramas that I'd once held so in contempt.

Mike was working up his nerve as he walked Beau to biology. I listened to his struggles as I waited for them to arrive. The Newton boy was weak. He had waited for this dance purposely, afraid to make his infatuation known before Beau had shown a marked preference for him. He didn't want to make himself vulnerable to rejection, or exposing his preferences outright, preferring  that Beau make that leap first.

Coward.

He sat down on our table again, comfortable with long familiarity, and I imagined the sound it would make if his body hit the opposite wall with enough force to break most of his bones.

"So," he said to Beau, his eyes on the floor. "Jessica asked me to the spring dance."

"That's great," Beau answered immediately and with enthusiasm. It was hard not to smile as his tone sunk in to Mike's awareness. He'd been hoping for dismay. "You'll have a lot of fun with Jessica."

He scrambled for the right response. "Well…" he hesitated, and almost chickened out. Then he rallied. "I told her I had to think about it."

"Why would you do that?" Beau demanded. His tone was one of disapproval, but there was the faintest hint of relief there as well.

What did that mean? An unexpected, intense fury made my hands clench into fists.

Mike did not hear the relief. His face was red with blood—fierce as I suddenly felt, this seemed like an invitation—and he looked at the floor again as he spoke.

"I was wondering if… well, I was thinking maybe we could… you know… You and me could… go." His face flushed a deeper red. "Like, stag. Go stag. Together."

Beau hesitated.

In that moment of his hesitation, I saw the future more clearly than Alice ever had.

The boy might say yes to Mike's question now, and he might not, but either way, someday soon, he would say yes to someone. He was handsome and intriguing, and his fellow humans were not oblivious to this fact. Whether he would settle for someone in this lackluster crowd, or wait until he was free from Forks, the day would come that he would say yes.

I saw his life as I had before—college, career… love, marriage. I saw him in a fine tuxedo again, a rose pinned to his lapel, his face flushed with happiness as he moved down the aisle.

The pain was more than anything I'd felt before. A human would have to be on the point of death to feel this pain—a human would not live through it.

And not just pain, but outright rage.

The fury ached for some kind of physical outlet. Though this insignificant, undeserving boy might not be the one that Beau would say yes to, I yearned to crush his skull in my hand, to let him stand as a representative for whoever it would be.

I didn't understand this emotion—it was such a tangle of pain and rage and desire and despair. I had never felt it before; I couldn't put a name to it.

"Mike, I think you should tell her yes," Beau said in a gentle voice.

Mike's hopes plummeted. I would have enjoyed that under other circumstances, but I was lost in the aftershock of the pain—and the remorse for what the pain and rage had done to me.

Alice was right. I was not strong enough.

Right now, Alice would be watching the future spin and twist, become mangled again. Would this please her?

"Did someone already ask you to go?" Mike asked sullenly. He glanced at me, suspicious for the first time in many weeks. I realized I had betrayed my interest; my head was inclined in Beau's direction.

The wild envy in his thoughts—envy for whoever Beau preferred to him—suddenly put a name to my unnamed emotion.

I was jealous.

"No," Beau said with a trace of humor in his voice. "I'm not going to the dance at all."

Through all the remorse and anger, I felt relief at his words. Suddenly, I was considering my rivals.

"Why not?" Mike asked, his tone almost rude. It offended me that he used this tone with Beau. I bit back a growl.

"I'm going to Seattle that Saturday," he answered.

The curiosity was not as vicious as it would have been before—now that I was fully intending to find out the answers to everything. I would know the wheres and whys of this new revelation soon enough.

Mike's tone turned unpleasantly wheedling. "Can't you go some other weekend?"

"Sorry, no." Beau was brusquer now. "So you shouldn't make Jess wait any longer—it's rude."

His concern for Jessica's feelings fanned the flames of my jealousy. This Seattle trip was clearly an excuse to say no—did he refuse purely out of loyalty to his friend? He was more than selfless enough for that. Did he actually wish he could say yes? Or were both guesses wrong? Was he interested in someone else?

"Yeah, you're right," Mike mumbled, so demoralized that I almost felt pity for him. Almost.

He dropped his eyes from the boy, cutting my view of his face in his thoughts.

I wasn't going to tolerate that.

I turned to read Beau's face myself, for the first time in more than a month. It was a sharp relief to allow myself this, like a gasp of air to long-submerged human lungs.

His eyes were closed, and his hands pressed against the sides of his face. His shoulders curved inward defensively. He shook his head ever so slightly, as if he were trying to push some thought from his mind.

Frustrating. Fascinating.

Mrs. Banner's voice pulled him from his reverie, and his eyes slowly opened. He looked at me immediately, perhaps sensing my gaze. He stared up into my eyes with the same bewildered expression that had haunted me for so long.

I didn't feel the remorse or the guilt or the rage in that second. I knew they would come again, and come soon, but for this one moment I rode a strange, jittery high. As if I had triumphed, rather than lost.

He didn't look away, though I stared with inappropriate intensity, trying vainly to read his thoughts through is silvery gray eyes. They were full of questions, rather than answers.

I could see the reflection of my own eyes, and I saw that they were black with thirst. It had been nearly two weeks since my last hunting trip; this was not the safest day for my will to crumble. But the blackness did not seem to frighten him. He still did not look away, and a soft, devastatingly appealing pink began to color his skin.

What was he thinking now?

I almost asked the question aloud, but at that moment Mrs. Banner called my name. I picked the correct answer out of her head while I glanced briefly in her direction.

I sucked in a quick breath. "The Krebs Cycle."

Thirst scorched down my throat—tightening my muscles and filling my mouth with venom—and I closed my eyes, trying to concentrate through the desire for his blood that raged inside me.

The monster was stronger than before. The monster was rejoicing. He embraced this dual future that gave him an even, fifty-fifty chance at what he craved so viciously. The third, shaky future I'd tried to construct through willpower alone had crumbled—destroyed by common jealousy, of all things—and he was so much closer to his goal.

The remorse and the guilt burned with the thirst, and, if I'd had the ability to produce tears, they would have filled my eyes now.

What had I done?

Knowing the battle was already lost, there seemed to be no reason to resist what I wanted; I turned to stare at the boy again.

He was staring down at his book, but I could see the deep crimson stain of his cheek.

The monster liked that.

He did not meet my gaze again, but he ran his fingers through his hair, catching a dark strand and twisting it nervously between his fingers. His delicate fingers, his fragile wrist—they were so breakable, looking for all the world like just my breath could snap them.

No, no, no. I could not do this. He was too breakable, too good, too precious to deserve this fate. I couldn't allow my life to collide with his, to destroy it.

But I couldn't stay away from him either. Alice was right about that.

The monster inside me hissed with frustration as I wavered, leaning first one way, then the other.

My brief hour with him passed all too quickly, as I vacillated between the rock and the hard place. The bell rang, and he started collecting his things without looking at me. This disappointed me, but I could hardly expect otherwise. The way I had treated him since the accident was inexcusable.

"Beau?" I said, unable to stop myself. My willpower already lay in shreds.

He hesitated before looking at me; when he turned, his expression was guarded, distrustful.

I reminded myself that he had every right to distrust me. That he should.

He waited for me to continue, but I just stared at him, reading his face. I pulled in shallow mouthfuls of air at regular intervals, fighting my thirst

"Yes?" he finally said.

I felt silenced by his eyes.

"So are you or are you not speaking to me again?" There was an edge of petulance to his tone that was charming. The way it radiated through his beautiful gray eyes was fascinating. It made me want to smile.

I wasn't sure how to answer his question. Was I speaking to him again, in the sense that he meant?

No. Not if I could help it. I would try to help it.

"No, not really," I told him.

"Okay."

He closed his eyes, which frustrated me. It cut off my best avenue of access to his feelings. He took a long, slow breath without opening his eyes. His jaw was locked.

Eyes still closed, he spoke. Surely this was not a normal human way to converse. Why did he do it?

"Then what do you want, Edward?"

The sound of my name on his lips did strange things to my body. If I'd had a heartbeat, it would have quickened.

But how to answer him?

With the truth, I decided. I would be as truthful as I could with him from now on. I didn't want to deserve his distrust, even if earning his trust was impossible.

"I'm sorry," I told him. That was truer than he would ever know. Unfortunately, I could only safely apologize for the trivial. "I'm being very rude, I know. But it's better this way, really."

It would be better for him if I could keep it up, continue to be rude. Could I?

His eyes opened, their expression still wary.

"I don't know what you mean."

I tried to get as much of a warning through to him as was allowed. "It's better if we're not friends." Surely, he could sense that much. He was intelligent. "Trust me."

His eyes tightened, and I remembered that I had said those words to him before—just before breaking a promise. I winced when his teeth clenched together—he clearly remembered, too.

"What are you thinking?" I had never meant to speak the question, yet somehow it had slipped out. I could feel the frustration on my face, both with myself and with my lack of understanding.

"I guess… It's just too bad you didn't figure that out earlier," he sighed. "You could have saved yourself all this regret."

I stared at him in shock. What did he know of my regrets?

"Regret? Regret for what?" I demanded.

"For not letting Tyler's van crush me!" he said simply, like it was obvious.

I froze, stunned.

How could he be thinking that? Saving his life was the one acceptable thing I'd done since I met him. The one thing I was not ashamed of. The one and only thing that made me glad I existed at all. I'd been fighting to keep him alive since the first moment I'd caught his scent. How could he think this of me? How could he question my one good deed in all this mess?

"You think I regret saving your life?"

"I can tell that you do," he said wearily, "I just don't know why."

His estimation of my intentions left me seething. "You don't know anything."

How confusing and incomprehensible the workings of his mind were! He must not think the same way as other humans at all. That must be the explanation behind his mental silence. He was entirely other.

He turned his face away, setting his jaw. He was obviously upset. He gathered his books together in a pile, pulled them up into his arms, stood and walked toward the door without meeting my stare.

Even irritated as I was, it was impossible not to feel waves of guilt for causing him to feel this way.

He walked quickly, without looking where he was going, and his foot caught on the lip of the doorway. He stumbled, and his things all crashed to the ground. Instead of bending to get them, he stood rigidly straight, not even looking down, as if he were not sure the books were worth retrieving. Then he sighed deeply. It was an exquisitely sad sound.

 I felt truly monstrous then.

I had to fix this. I had to make this right. No one was here to watch me; I flitted to his side, and had his book put in order before he looked down.

He bent halfway, saw me, and then froze. I handed his books back to him, making sure that my icy skin never touched his.

"Thank you," he said in a quiet voice.

I understood his mood now, he was exhausted by me. I felt wretched.

"You're welcome," was all I could say, though I desperately longed to explain everything to him, to chase away his feelings of sadness. But I could not do that.

He stood swiftly upright and hurried away to his next class.

I watched until I could no longer see him.

Spanish passed in a blur. Mrs. Goff never questioned my abstraction—she knew my Spanish was superior to hers, and she gave me a great deal of latitude—leaving me free to think.

So, I couldn't ignore the boy. That much was obvious. But did it mean I had no choice but to destroy him? That could not be the only available future. There had to be some other choice, some delicate balance. I tried of think of a way…

I didn't pay much attention to Emmett until the hour was nearly up. He was curious—Emmett was not overly intuitive about the shades in other's moods, but he could see the obvious change in me. He wondered what had happened to remove the unrelenting glower from my face. He struggled to define the change, and finally decided that I looked hopeful.

Hopeful? Is that what it looked like from the outside?

I pondered the idea of hope as we walked to the Volvo, wondering what exactly I should be hoping for.

But I didn't have long to ponder. Sensitive as I always was to thoughts about the boy, the sound of Beau's name in the heads of… of my rivals, I suppose I had to admit, caught my attention. Erica and Tyler, having heard—with much satisfaction—of Mike's failure, were preparing to make their moves.

Erica was already in place, positioned against Beau's truck where he could not avoid her. Tyler's class was being held late to receive an assignment, and he was in a desperate hurry to catch Beau before he escaped.

This I had to see.

"Wait for the others here, all right?" I murmured to Emmett.

He eyed me suspicious, but then shrugged and nodded.

Kid's lost his mind, he thought, amused by my odd request.

I saw Beau on his way out of the gym, and I waited where he would not see me for him to pass. As he got closer to Erica's ambush, I strode forward, setting my pace so that I could walk by at the right moment.

I watched his body stiffen when he caught of the girl waiting for him. He froze for a moment, then relaxed and moved forward.

"Hi, Erica," I heard him call in a friendly voice.

I was abruptly and unexpectedly anxious. What if I was utterly mistaken in regard to Beau's preferences? No, that wasn't the case. I was sure.

Erica swallowed loudly, ducking her head slightly. "Hi, Beau."

He seemed unconscious of her nervousness.

"What's up?" he asked, unlocking his truck without looking at her frightened expression.

"Uh, I was just wondering… if you would go to the spring dance with me?" Her voice broke.

He finally looked up. Was he taken aback, or pleased? Erica couldn't meet his gaze, so I couldn't see his face in her mind.

"I'm… I'm not going to the dance, Erica," he said, sounding disarmed.

"Oh, okay," she said, despondently.

This poor girl did not irritate me as much as Mike Newton did, not by half. I hadn't paid much attention to Erica Yorkie before, but as I listened now to the jumbled thoughts in her mind I realized her desire to ask Beau to the dance had nothing to do with an actual attraction but rather a desperate attempt to hide something about herself from the rest of this small-minded town. Poor girl.

"Thank you for asking me, but I'm going to be in Seattle that day." Beau replied, his voice gentle and soothing.

She'd already heard this; still, it was a disappointment—an embarrassment.

"Oh," she mumbled, barely daring to raise her eyes to the level of his nose. "Maybe next time."

"Sure," he agreed. Then he bit down on his lip, as if he regretted leaving her a loophole. I liked that.

Erica slumped forward, throwing a half-hearted wave and a meek, "See ya," back at him as she walked away, headed in the wrong direction from her car, her only thought escape.

I passed him in that moment, and heard his sigh of distress. I laughed.

He whirled at the sound, but I stared straight ahead, trying to keep my lips from twitching in amusement.

Tyler was behind me, almost running in his hurry to catch him before he could drive away. Tyler was bolder and more confident than the other two; he'd only waited to approach Beau this long because he'd respected Mike's prior claim.

I wanted Tyler to succeed in catching him for two reasons. If—as I was beginning to suspect—all this attention was annoying Beau, I wanted to watch his reaction. But, if it was not—if Tyler's invitation was the one he'd been hoping for—then I wanted to know that, too.

I measured Tyler Crowley as a rival, knowing it was wrong to do so. Though he had shown no attraction to other males before, he seemed intent on asking Beau to the dance. On the whole, he seemed tediously average and unremarkable to me, but what did I know of Beau's preferences? Maybe he liked average boys…

I winced at that thought. I could never be an average boy. How foolish it was to set myself up as a rival for his affections. How could he ever care for someone who was, by any estimation, a monster?

He was too good for a monster.

I ought to have let him escape, but my inexcusable curiosity kept me from doing what was right. Again. But what if Tyler missed his chance now, only to contact Beau later when I would have no way of knowing the outcome? I pulled my Volvo out into the narrow lane, blocking his exit.

Emmett and the others were on their way, but he'd described my strange behavior to them, and they were walking slowly, watching me, trying to decipher what I was doing.

I watched the boy in my rearview mirror. He glowered toward the back of my car without meeting my gaze, looking as if he wished he were driving a tank rather than a rusted Chevy.

Tyler hurried to his car and got in line behind him, grateful for my inexplicable behavior. He waved at him, trying to catch his attention, but he didn't notice. Tyler waited a moment, and then left his car, sauntering up to Beau's passenger side window. He tapped on the glass.

Beau jumped, and then stared at him in confusion. After a second, he rolled the window down manually, seeming to have some trouble with it.

"I'm sorry, Tyler," he said, gesturing toward my car. "I'm stuck behind Cullen."

He said my surname in a hard voice—he was still irritated with me.

"Oh, I know," Tyler said, grinning. "I just wanted to ask you something while we're trapped here."

His grin was cocky.

"Oh? What?" I was amused by Beau's exasperated sigh.

"Will you go with me to the spring dance?" he asked, no thought of defeat in his head.

Beau's face went immediately red, the look in his eyes—I wished I could properly describe it—somewhere between annoyance and utter confusion.

"I'm not going to be in town, Tyler," he mumbled.

"Yeah, Mike said that."

"Then why—?"he started to ask.

He shrugged. "I was hoping you were just letting him down easy."

"I wasn't." His eyes flashed, then cooled. "Besides, wouldn't you rather go with a girl?" His annoyance was rising, and I understood his previous look of confusion now.

 "Usually, but I thought maybe you'd like to have someone to go with as a date instead of going stag."

I had to admire Tyler's confidence in the face of those brilliant silver eyes.

"Sorry, Tyler," he was trying very hard to hide his irritation now, "I really am going out of town."

"That's cool. We still have prom."

He strutted back to his car.

I was right to have waited for this.

The horrified expression on Beau's face was priceless. It told me what I should not so desperately need to know—that he had no feelings for any of these humans who wished to court him.

Also, his expression was possibly the funniest thing I'd ever seen.

My family arrived then, confused by the fact that I was, for a chance, rocking with laughter rather than scowling murderously at everything in sight.

What's so funny? Emmett wanted to know.

I just shook my head while I also shook with fresh laughter as Beau revved his noisy engine angrily. He looked like he was wishing for a tank again.

"Let's go!" Royal hissed impatiently. "Stop being an idiot. If you can."

His words didn't annoy me—I was too entertained. But I did as he asked.

No one spoke to me on the way home. I continued to chuckle every now and again, thinking of Beau's face.

As I turned on to the drive—speeding up now that there were not witnesses—Alice ruined my mood.

"So do I get to talk to Beau now?" she asked suddenly, without considering the words first, thus giving me no warning.

"No," I snapped.

"Not fair! What am I waiting for?"

"I haven't decided anything, Alice."

"Uh-huh. Sure, Edward."

In her head, Beau's two destinies were clear again.

"What's the point in getting to know him?" I mumbled, suddenly morose. "If I'm just going to kill him?"

Alice hesitated for a second. "You have a point," she admitted.

I took the final hairpin turn at ninety miles an hour, and then screeched to a stop an inch from the back garage wall.

"Enjoy your run," Royal said smugly as I threw myself out of the car.

But I didn't go running today. Instead, I went hunting.

The others were scheduled to hunt tomorrow, but I couldn't afford to be thirsty now. I overdid it, drinking more than necessary, glutting myself again—a small grouping of elk and one black bear I was lucky to stumble across this early in the year. I was so full it was uncomfortable. Why couldn't that be enough? Why did his scent have to be so much stronger than anything else?

I had hunted in preparation for the next day, but, when I could hunt no more and the sun was still hour and hours from rising, I knew that the next day was not soon enough.

The jittery high swept through me again when I realized that I was going to go find him.

I argued with myself all the way back to Forks, but my less noble side won the argument, and I went ahead with my indefensible plan. The monster was restless but well-fettered. I knew I would keep a safe distance from him. I only wanted to know where he was. I just wanted to see his face.

It was past midnight, and Beau's house was dark and quiet. His truck was parked against the curb, his father's police cruiser in the driveway. There were no conscious thoughts anywhere in the neighborhood. I watched the house for a moment from the blackness of the forest that bordered it on the east. The front door would probably be locked—not a problem, except that I didn't want to leave a broken door as evidence behind me. I decided to try the upstairs window first. Not many people would bother installing a lock there.

I crossed the open yard and scaled the face of the house in half a second. Dangling from the eave above the window by one hand, I looked through the glass, and my breath stopped.

It was his room. I could see him in the one small bed, his covers on the floor and his sheets twisted around his legs. As I watched, he twitched restlessly and threw one arm over his head. He did not sleep soundly, at least not this night. Did he sense the danger near him?

I was repulsed by myself as I watched him toss again. How was I any better than some sick peeping tom? I wasn't any better. I was much, much worse.

I relaxed my fingertips, about to let myself drop. But first I allowed myself one long look at his face.

It was not peaceful. The little furrow was there between his eyebrows, the corners of his lips turned down. His lips trembled, and then parted.

"Okay, Mom," he muttered.

Beau talked in his sleep.

Curiosity flared, overpowering self-disgust. The lure of those unprotected, unconsciously spoken thoughts was impossibly tempting.

I tried the window, and it was not locked, though it stuck due to long disuse. I slid it slowly aside, cringing at each faint groan of the metal frame. I would have to find some oil for the next time…

Next time? I shook my head, disgusted again.

I eased myself silently through the half-opened window.

His room was small—disorganized but not unclean. There were books piled on the floor beside his bed, their spines facing away from me, and CDs scattered by his inexpensive CD player—the one on top was just a clear jewel case. Stacks of papers surrounded a computer that looked like it belonged in a museum dedicated to obsolete technologies. Shoes dotted the wooden floor.

I wanted very much to go read the titles of his books and CDs, but I'd promised myself that I would keep my distance; instead, I went to sit in the old rocking chair that sat in the far corner of the room.

Had I really once thought him average-looking? I thought of that first day, and my disgust for everyone who was suddenly so intrigued by him. But when I remembered his face in their minds now, I could not understand why I had not found him beautiful immediately. It seemed an obvious thing.

Right now—with his dark hair tangled and wild framing his pale face, wearing a threadbare t-shirt full of holes with tatty sweatpants, his features relaxed in unconsciousness, his full lips slightly parted—he took my breath away. Or would have, I thought wryly, were I breathing.

He did not speak. Perhaps his dream had ended.

I stared at his face and tried to think of some way to make the future bearable.

Hurting him was not bearable. Did that mean my only choice was to try to leave again?

The others could not argue with me now. My absence would not put anyone in danger. There would be no suspicion, nothing to link anyone's thoughts back to the accident.

I wavered as I had this afternoon, and nothing seemed possible.

I could not hope to rival the human boys, whether these specific boys appealed to him or not. I was a monster. How could he see me as anything else? If he knew the truth about me, it would frighten and repulse him. Like the intended victim in a horror movie, he would run away, crying out in terror.

I remembered his first day in biology... and knew that this was exactly the right reaction for him to have.

It was foolishness to imagine that if had I been the one to ask him to the silly dance, he would have cancelled his hastily-made plans and agreed to go with me.

I was not the one he was destined to say yes to. It was someone else, someone human and warm. And I could not even let myself—someday, when that yes was said— hunt that human  down and kill him, because Beau deserved him, whoever he was. Beau deserved happiness and love with whomever he chose.

I owed it to him to do the right thing now; I could no longer pretend that I was only in danger of loving this boy.

After all, it really didn't matter if I left, because Beau could never see me the way I wished he would. Never see me as someone worthy of love.

Never.

Could a dead, frozen heart break? It felt like mine would.

"Edward," Beau said.

I froze, staring at his unopened eyes.

Had he woken, caught me here? He looked asleep, yet his voice had been so

clear...

He sighed a quiet sigh, and then moved restlessly again, rolling to his side—still

fast asleep and dreaming.

"Edward," he mumbled softly.

He was dreaming of me.

Could a dead, frozen heart beat again? It felt like mine was about to.

"Stay," he sighed. "Don't go. Please...don't go."

He was dreaming of me, and it wasn't even a nightmare. He wanted me to stay

with him, there in his dream.

I struggled to find words to name the feelings that flooded through me, but I had no words strong enough to hold them. For a long moment, I drowned in them.

When I surfaced, I was not the same man I had been.

My life was an unending, unchanging midnight. It must, by necessity, always be

midnight for me. So how was it possible that the sun was rising now, in the middle of my midnight?

At the time that I had become a vampire, trading my soul and my mortality for immortality in the searing pain of transformation, I had truly been frozen. My body had turned into something more like rock than flesh, enduring and unchanging. My self, also, had frozen as it was—my personality, my likes and my dislikes, my moods and my desires; all were fixed in place.

It was the same for the rest of them. We were all frozen. Living stone.

When change came for one of us, it was a rare and permanent thing. I had seen it happen with Carlisle, and then a decade later with Royal. Love had changed them in an eternal way, a way that never faded. More than eighty years had passed since Carlisle had found Esme, and yet he still looked at her with the incredulous eyes of first love. It would always be that way for them.

It would always be that way for me, too. I would always love this fragile human boy, for the rest of my limitless existence.

I gazed at his unconscious face, feeling this love for him settle into every portion of my stone body.

He slept more peacefully now, a slight smile on his lips.

Always watching him, I began to plot.

I loved him, and so I would try to be strong enough to leave him. I knew I wasn't that strong now. I would work on that one. But perhaps I was strong enough to circumvent the future in another way.

Alice had seen only two futures for Beau, and now I understood them both.

Loving him would not keep me from killing him, if I let myself make mistakes.

Yet I could not feel the monster now, could not find him anywhere in me.

Perhaps love had silenced him forever. If I killed him now, it would not be intentional, only a horrible accident.

I would have to be inordinately careful. I would never, ever be able to let my guard down. I would have to control my every breath. I would have to keep an always cautious distance.

I would not make mistakes.

I finally understood that second future. I'd been baffled by that vision—what could possibly happen to result in Beau becoming a prisoner to this immortal half-life? Now—devastated by longing for him—I could understand how I might, in unforgivable selfishness, ask my father for that favor. Ask him to take away Beau's life and his soul so that I could keep him forever.

He deserved better.

But I saw one more future, one thin wire that I might be able to walk, if I could keep my balance.

Could I do it? Be with him and leave him human?

Deliberately, I took a deep breath, and then another, letting his scent rip through me like wildfire. The room was thick with his scent; his fragrance was layered on every surface. My head swam, but I fought the spinning. I would have to get used to this, if I were going to attempt any kind of relationship with him. I took another deep, burning breath.

I watched him sleeping until the sun rose behind the eastern clouds, plotting and breathing.

I got home just after the others had left for school. I changed quickly, avoiding Esme's questioning eyes. She saw the feverish light in my face, and she felt both worry and relief. My long melancholy had pained her, and she was glad it seemed to be over.

I ran to school, arriving a few seconds after my siblings did. They did not turn, though Alice at least must have known that I stood here in the thick woods that bordered the pavement. I waited until no one was looking, and then I strolled casually from between the trees into the lot full of parked cars.

I heard Beau's truck rumbling around the corner, and I paused behind a Suburban, where I could watch without being seen.

He drove into the lot, glaring at my Volvo for a long moment before he parked in one of the most distant spaces, a frown on his face.

It was strange to remember that he was probably still frustrated with me, and with good reason.

I wanted to laugh at myself—or kick myself. All my plotting and planning was entirely moot if if he didn't care for me, too, wasn't it? His dream could have been about something completely random. I was such an arrogant fool.

Well, it was so much the better for him if he didn't care for me. That wouldn't stop me from pursuing him, but I would give him fair warning as I pursued. I owed him that.

I walked silently forward, wondering how best to approach him.

He made it easy. His truck key slipped through his fingers as he got out, and fell into a deep puddle.

He reached down, but I got to it first, retrieving it before he had to put his fingers in the cold water.

I leaned back against his truck as he started and then straightened up.

"How do you do that?" he gasped.

Yes, he was still frustrated. It was evident on his face.

I offered him the key. "Do what?"

He held his hand out, and I dropped the key in his palm. I took a deep breath, pulling in his scent.

"Appear out of thin air," he clarified.

"Beau, it's not my fault if you were exceptionally unobservant." The words were wry, almost a joke. Was there anything he didn't see?

Did he hear how my voice wrapped around his name like a caress?

He glared at me, not appreciating my humor. His heartbeat sped—from anger? From fear? After a moment, he looked down.

"Why the traffic jam last night?" he asked without meeting my eyes. "I thought you were supposed to be pretending I don't exist."

Still very frustrated. It was going to take some effort to make things right with him. I remembered my resolve to be truthful with him.

"That was for Tyler's sake, not mine. I had to give him his chance." And then I laughed. I couldn't help it, thinking of his expression yesterday.

"What?" he asked, confused and irritated. There it was—that same expression. I choked back another laugh. He was mad enough already.

"And I'm not pretending you don't exist," I finished. It was right to keep this casual, teasing. He would not understand if I let him see how I really felt. I would frighten him. I had to keep my feelings in check, keep things light…

"I don't know what you want from me." He said, sounding almost defeated.

Everything, I want everything from you. Your love, your trust, you…

"Nothing." I said it too quickly, not keeping my façade in place.

"Then you probably should have let the van take me out. Easier that way."

A quick flash of anger pulsed through me. Could he honestly believe that?

It was irrational for me to be so affronted—he didn't know of the transformation that had happened in the night. But I was angry all the same.

"Beau, you are utterly absurd," I snapped.

His face flushed, and he turned his back on me. He began to walk away.

Remorse. I had no right to my anger.

"Wait," I pleaded.

He did not stop, so I followed after him.

"I'm sorry, that was rude."

He ignored me.

I continued. "I'm not saying it isn't true"—it was absurd to imagine that I wanted him harmed in any way—"but it was rude to say it, anyway."

"Why won't you leave me alone?"

Believe me, I wanted to say. I've tried.

Oh, and also, I'm wretchedly in love with you.

Keep it light.

"I wanted to ask you something, but you sidetracked me." A course of action had just occurred to me, and I laughed.

He sighed, but he slowed his pace. "Fine then. What do you want to ask?"

"I was wondering if, a week from Saturday…" I imagined the look on his face, and choked back another laugh. "You know, the day of the spring dance—"

He cut me off, finally wheeling to face me. "Are you trying to be funny?"

Yes. "Will you let me finish?"

He waited in silence, his teeth pressing into his soft lower lip.

That sight distracted me for a second. Strange, unfamiliar reactions stirred deep in my forgotten human core. I tried to shake them off so I could play my role.

"I heard you say that you were going to Seattle that day, and I was wondering if you wanted a ride?" I offered. I'd realized that, better than just questioning him about his plans, I might share them.

He stared at me blankly. "What?"

"Do you want a ride to Seattle?" Alone in a car with him—my throat burned at the thought. I took a deep breath. Get used to it.

"With who?" he asked, his eyes wide and bewildered again.

"Myself, obviously," I said slowly.

"Why?"

Was it really such a shock that I would want his company? He must have applied the worst possible meaning to my past behavior.

"Well," I said as casually as possible, "I was planning to go to Seattle in the next few weeks, and, to be honest, I'm not sure if your truck can make it." It seemed safer to tease him than to allow myself to be serious.

"My truck works just fine, thank you very much for your concern," he said in the same surprised voice. He started walking again. I kept pace with him.

He hadn't really said no, so I pressed that advantage.

Would he say no? What would I do if he did?

"But can your truck make it there on one tank of gas?"

"I don't see how that's any of your business," he grumbled.

That still wasn't a no. And his heart was beating faster again, his breath coming more quickly.

"The wasting of finite resources is everyone's business."

"Honestly, Edward, I can't keep up with you. I thought you didn't want to be my friend."

A thrill shot through me when he spoke my name.

How to keep it light and yet be honest at the same time? Well, it was more important to be honest. Especially on this point.

"I said it would be better if we weren't friends, not that I didn't want to be."

"Oh, thanks, now that's all cleared up," he said sarcastically.

He paused, under the edge of the cafeteria's roof, and met my gaze. His heartbeats stuttered. Was he afraid?

I chose my words carefully. No, I could not leave him, but maybe he would be smart enough to leave me, before it was too late.

"It would be more… prudent for you not to be my friend." Staring into the molten silver depths of his eyes, I lost my hold on light. "But I'm tired of trying to stay away from you, Beau." The words burned with much too much fervor.

His breathing stopped and, in the second it took for it to restart, that worried me. How much had I scared him? Well, I would find out.

"Will you go to Seattle with me?" I demanded, point blank.

He nodded, his heart drumming loudly.

Yes. He'd said yes to me.

And then my conscience smote me. What would this cost him?

"You really should stay away from me," I warned him. Did he hear me? Would he escape the future I was threatening him with? Couldn't I do anything to save him from me?

Keep it light, I shouted at myself. "I'll see you in class."

I had to concentrate to stop myself from running as I fled.