[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

one blush blending into the next.
Then, thankfully, Mr. Varner called on Jessica for an answer.
She didn't get a chance to start on the subject again during class, and as soon as the bell rang, I took
evasive action.
"In English, Mike asked me if you said anything about Monday night," I told her.
"You're kidding! What did you say?!" she gasped, completely sidetracked.
"I told him you said you had a lot of fun  he looked pleased."
"Tell me exactly what he said, and your exact answer!"
We spent the rest of the walk dissecting sentence structures and most of Spanish on a minute description
of Mike's facial expressions. I wouldn't have helped draw it out for as long as I did if I wasn't worried
about the subject returning to me.
And then the bell rang for lunch. As I jumped up out of my seat, shoving my books roughly in my bag,
my uplifted expression must have tipped Jessica off.
"You're not sitting with us today, are you?" she guessed.
"I don't think so." I couldn't be sure that he wouldn't disappear inconveniently again.
But outside the door to our Spanish class, leaning against the wall  looking more like a Greek god than
anyone had a right to  Edward was waiting for me. Jessica took one look, rolled her eyes, and
departed.
"See you later, Bella." Her voice was thick with implications. I might have to turn off the ringer on the
phone.
"Hello." His voice was amused and irritated at the same time. He had been listening, it was obvious.
"Hi."
I couldn't think of anything else to say, and he didn't speak  biding his time, I presumed  so it was a
quiet walk to the cafeteria. Walking with Edward through the crowded lunchtime rush was a lot like my
first day here; everyone stared.
He led the way into the line, still not speaking, though his eyes returned to my face every few seconds,
their expression speculative. It seemed to me that irritation was winning out over amusement as the
dominant emotion in his face. I fidgeted nervously with the zipper on my jacket.
He stepped up to the counter and filled a tray with food.
"What are you doing?" I objected. "You're not getting all that for me?"
He shook his head, stepping forward to buy the food.
"Half is for me, of course."
I raised one eyebrow.
He led the way to the same place we'd sat that one time before. From the other end of the long table, a
group of seniors gazed at us in amazement as we sat across from each other. Edward seemed oblivious.
"Take whatever you want," he said, pushing the tray toward me.
"I'm curious," I said as I picked up an apple, turning it around in my hands, "what would you do if
someone dared you to eat food?"
"You're always curious." He grimaced, shaking his head. He glared at me, holding my eyes as he lifted
the slice of pizza off the tray, and deliberately bit off a mouthful, chewed quickly, and then swallowed. I
watched, eyes wide.
"If someone dared you to eat dirt, you could, couldn't you?" he asked condescendingly.
I wrinkled my nose. "I did once& on a dare," I admitted. "It wasn't so bad."
He laughed. "I suppose I'm not surprised." Something over my shoulder seemed to catch his attention.
"Jessica's analyzing everything I do  she'll break it down for you later." He pushed the rest of the pizza
toward me. The mention of Jessica brought a hint of his former irritation back to his features.
I put down the apple and took a bite of the pizza, looking away, knowing he was about to start.
"So the waitress was pretty, was she?" he asked casually.
"You really didn't notice?"
"No. I wasn't paying attention. I had a lot on my mind."
"Poor girl." I could afford to be generous now.
"Something you said to Jessica& well, it bothers me." He refused to be distracted. His voice was husky,
and he glanced up from under his lashes with troubled eyes.
"I'm not surprised you heard something you didn't like. You know what they say about eavesdropners," I
reminded him.
"I warned you I would be listening."
"And I warned you that you didn't want to know everything I was thinking."
"You did," he agreed, but his voice was still rough. "You aren't precisely right, though. I do want to know
what you're thinking  everything. I just wish& that you wouldn't be thinking some things."
I scowled. "That's quite a distinction."
"But that's not really the point at the moment."
"Then what is?" We were inclined toward each other across the table now. He had his large white hands
folded under his chin; I leaned forward, my right hand cupped around my neck. I had to remind myself
that we were in a crowded lunchroom, with probably many curious eyes on us. It was too easy to get
wrapped up in our own private, tense little bubble.
"Do you truly believe that you care more for me than I do for you?" he murmured, leaning closer to me as
he spoke, his dark golden eyes piercing.
I tried to remember how to exhale. I had to look away before it came back to me.
"You're doing it again," I muttered.
His eyes opened wide with surprise. "What?"
"Dazzling me," I admitted, trying to concentrate as I looked back at him.
"Oh." He frowned.
"It's not your fault," I sighed. "You can't help it."
"Are you going to answer the question?"
I looked down. "Yes."
"Yes, you are going to answer, or yes, you really think that?" He was irritated again.
"Yes, I really think that." I kept my eyes down on the table, my eyes tracing the pattern of the faux wood
grains printed on the laminate. The silence dragged on. I stubbornly refused to be the first to break it this
time, fighting hard against the temptation to peek at his expression.
Finally he spoke, voice velvet soft. "You're wrong."
I glanced up to see that his eyes were gentle.
"You can't know that," I disagreed in a whisper. I shook my head in doubt, though my heart throbbed at
his words and I wanted so badly to believe them.
"What makes you think so?" His liquid topaz eyes were penetrating  trying futilely, I assumed, to lift the
truth straight from my mind.
I stared back, struggling to think clearly in spite of his face, to find some way to explain. As I searched
for the words, I could see him getting impatient; frustrated by my silence, he started to scowl. I lifted my
hand from my neck, and held up one finger.
"Let me think," I insisted. His expression cleared, now that he was satisfied that I was planning to answer.
I dropped my hand to the table, moving my left hand so that my palms were pressed together. I stared at
my hands, twisting and untwisting my fingers, as I finally spoke.
"Well, aside from the obvious, sometimes& " I hesitated. "I can't be sure  I don't know how to read
minds  but sometimes it seems like you're trying to say goodbye when you're saying something else."
That was the best I could sum up the sensation of anguish that his words triggered in me at times. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]