relieved that I wanted to laugh with my own relief.
"Then can I have one in return?" I asked hopefully.
"One," she allowed.
"Tell me one theory."
She flushed. "Not that one."
"You didn't qualify, you just promised one answer," I argued.
"And you've broken promises yourself," she argued back.
She had me there.
"Just one theory - I won't laugh."
"Yes, you will." She 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 her eyes - an easy thing to do, with eyes so deep - and whispered, "Please?"
She blinked, and her face went blank.
Well, that wasn't exactly the reaction I'd been going for.
"Er, what?" she asked. She looked dizzy. What was wrong with her?
But I wasn't giving up yet.
"Please tell me just one little theory," I pleaded in my soft, non-scary voice, holding her eyes in mine.
To my surprise and satisfaction, it finally worked.
"Um, well, bitten by a radioactive spider?"
Comic books? No wonder she thought I would laugh.
"That's not very creative," I chided her, trying to hide my fresh relief.
"I'm sorry, that's all I've got," she said, offended.
This relieved me even more. I was able to tease her again.
"You're not even close."
"No spiders?"
"Nope."
"And no radioactivity?"
"None."
"Dang," she sighed.
"Kryptonite doesn't bother me either," I said quickly - before she could ask about bites - and then I had to laugh, because she thought I was a superhero.
"You're not supposed to laugh, remember?"
I pressed my lips together.
"I'll figure it out eventually," she promised.
And when she did, she would run.
"I wish you wouldn't try," I said, all teasing gone.
"Because...?"
I owed her 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?"
Her eyes widened by a fraction and her lips fell slightly apart. "Oh," she said. And then, after another second, "I see."
She'd finally heard me.
"Do you?" I asked, working to conceal my agony.
"You're dangerous?" she guessed. Her breathing hiked, and her heart raced.
I couldn't answer her. Was this my last moment with her? Would she run now? Could I be allowed to tell her that I loved her before she left? Or would that frighten her more?
"But not bad," she whispered, shaking her head, no fear in her clear eyes. "No, I don't believe that you're bad."
"You're wrong," I breathed.
Of course I was bad. Wasn't I rejoicing now, that she thought better of me than I deserved? If I were a good person, I would have stayed away from her.
I stretched my hand across the table, reaching for the lid to her lemonade bottle as an excuse. She did not flinch away from my suddenly closer hand. She really was not afraid of me. Not yet.
I spun the lid like a top, watching it instead of her. My thoughts were in a snarl. Run, Bella, run. I couldn't make myself say the words out loud.
She jumped to her feet. "We're going to be late," she said, just as I'd started to worry that she'd somehow heard my silent warning.
"I'm not going to class."
"Why not?"
Because I don't want to kill you. "It's healthy to ditch class now and then." To be precise, it was healthier for the humans if the vampires ditched on days when human blood would be spilt. Mr. Banner was blood typing today. Alice had already ditched her morning class.
"Well, I'm going," she said. This didn't surprise me. She was responsible - she always did the right thing.
She was my opposite.
"I'll see you later then," I said, trying for casual again, staring down at the whirling lid. And, by the way, I adore you...in frightening, dangerous ways. She hesitated, and I hoped for a moment that she would stay with me after all. But the bell rang and she hurried away.
I waited until she 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