Chapter Text
It was bad enough that Mike had to ask me. With him, all I had to do was redirect his attention to Jessica, who had fortunately already invited him to the dance. It wasn’t fun, rejecting him, but it was the right thing to do for my friend, who actually had an interest in him.
It got worse when Eric caught me on the way to my truck to ask. I mean, it’s girls’ choice; if I wanted to go, I would’ve asked someone by now. These guys knew that, right?
But this?
“Hey, Bella! Wait! I need to talk to you about something!”
This is getting ridiculous.
I halt in my tracks, preparing my heart for the palpitations it’s about to experience, since I will certainly be rushing to my first class now.
I don’t turn to face Tyler until I hear his sneakers shuffle up beside me. I take a slow breath in and find a genuine smile for him, one to match the wide grin he’s wearing.
Maybe this has nothing to do with the dance at all, I thought. No need to get so worked up this early in the morning.
“What’s up, Tyler?”
“I heard you don’t have a date for the dance yet.”
Am I in hell?
I feel my expression fall as I sigh.
“The girls’ choice dance? You’re right, I haven’t asked anyone,” I snap.
Undeterred by my cold response, he says, “Well, I was wondering if you wanted to ask me.”
I squint at him, trying to harden my stare enough to make him go away. It’s not usually my way of doing things, but I know how much Lauren likes him and how much she doesn’t like me. This is the last thing I need in my life.
“I’m not going to be in town that day,” I reply. “Sorry.”
Then, before he can say anything else, I turn sharply and walk off, praying that he doesn’t try to follow me.
“That’s alright,” Tyler yells after me. “We’ll do it next time!”
The confidence in his voice boils my blood and I want to stop and go back just to give him a piece of my mind, but I don’t turn around. I just focus on walking away as quickly as possible without tripping.
Is there something in the water these boys drink?
Eric is forgivable, it was sweet for him to at least try. And he didn’t approach me like this, so out in the open and on display for every set of eyes and ears that walked past.
And then there’s Mike, asking-but-not-asking in a classroom full of people. My lab partner Edward was sitting right there beside me. He didn’t even pretend to tune out any of it either, which was made evident by the way he snickered as Mike slumped away to his own seat.
At the end of it all though… I could appreciate the mortifying experience of putting yourself out there. Maybe that’s part of the reason why I haven’t had an interest in going to the dance, besides the obvious reasons. No one wants to face that kind of rejection. Even now as I rush by the students who saw my exchange with Tyler, I can feel how my face is going up in flames and I wasn’t even the one being turned down. Every whisper I hear as I speed past feels like it’s about me. I avoid looking at any faces.
The only person I notice is Edward, leaning against his locker at the end of the hall. He’s already looking at me when I spot him and the mirth in his blue eyes is so evident that I know without a doubt he heard the whole conversation.
It could have been awkward with the boys at the lunch table, but somehow it isn’t. Jessica and Lauren are overjoyed now that they have their dates secured, and Angela is always a relief to talk to no matter what’s going on, so it’s easy to ignore Tyler’s playful looks and Eric’s puppy-dog pout.
Mike still walks with Angela and I to Biology, though he’s silent the whole way. He heads to his own table once we make it to the classroom and I feel like I can take a full breath for the first time in the last twenty-four hours. The barrage is over.
Edward is already at our table when I walk up. He grins at me, his eyes still dancing with laughter, but I can smile right back without worrying about any unwanted dance-related questions. Clearly, he’s witnessed exactly how I will respond to that topic.
“Hey, how’s your day going?” I greet him as I sit my books down. We don’t often talk, my lab partner and I. Our personalities seem similar: studious, quiet, respectful of the teacher’s time. This is the only class we share and, more often than not, Mike would monopolize the few minutes between arrival and the bell signaling the beginning of class.
Not today, though, I thought giddily.
“I’m great,” he replies, his voice soft, pleasant. I’ve always liked to listen to him speak when I get the chance. “How has yours been?”
I roll my eyes as I take my seat. His knowing emphasis warms my chest, my cheeks, my ears. It’s like we have an inside joke.
“Better, now.”
He hums and nods, his grin widening.
“That’s good to hear,” he says, then he leans in, closer to me than he’s ever been, and whispers, “Not used to being in such high demand?”
I scoff and tell him to shut up, but the way he snickers makes me laugh a little bit, too.
Then, Mr. Banner calls the class to order and the conversation ends.
More than ever, I can feel Edward’s presence to my left. As I try to take notes, my eyes keep drifting over to his notebook, to his hand as he writes. His handwriting is fluid and precise, neater than my own. When Mr. Banner pauses his lecture to answer a question or write on the chalkboard, Edward flips his pen around and taps the end of it on the page. Absently, not anxiously — I don’t think he’s the type who gets anxious. He seems too put-together for that.
When he adjusts in his seat, the long sleeve of his sweater moves, revealing a shiny, expensive-looking watch. I don’t know enough about fashion to know the brand, but the gold details and the dark brown leather strap look expensive, the neutral colors enhancing the warmth of his skin, drawing my eye to how soft his hand look…
Are these weird things to notice? I’ve never looked any someone’s hand for this long.
After another brief pause in writing, Edward twirls the pen in his fingers once, then stops, poised, ready to write again.
He writes something toward the bottom corner of the page, then slides his notebook closer to me.
‘You haven’t written anything in 10 minutes,’ the note reads.
I gasp and my eyes cut to him, wide, panicked. Edward doesn’t turn away from the front, but his head slightly turns toward me, his brows raised.
I look down at the notebook, still on my side of our table, and then pick up my own pencil. At first, I’m unsure what to say. I’ve passed notes in class before, but never often, too worried the teacher will catch me.
I scribble down the first response that comes to mind: ‘You’re paying attention to me?’
I push the notebook back to him.
He thinks, then writes, then moves the notebook back over.
‘I notice everything you do in this class. You sit right beside me.’
I stare at the note, not sure how to take it. He notices me? Because he sits so close to me… Do I notice the classmates that sit beside me? Not often, but we sit at desks in other classes, not tables.
Abruptly, Edward pulls to notebook back to his side, then flips to a blank page. He begins to write and I think it’s over. New notes about Mr. Banner’s droning lesson. I’ll need to ask for those notes; I don’t even know what we’re discussing at this point.
I look to the board to make sense of the material, only to be interrupted by a light tap on my arm.
Edward, looking at me, nods to the table, where the page is in front of me again, empty except for the first line.
‘What’s the real reason you’re not going to the dance?’
I frown. Well, this is disappointing.
I shake my head, but he leans over and quickly adds to the end of his sentence, ‘Curious. Seriously.’
I try not to sigh too loudly as I peer around the classroom, making sure everyone’s either focused on Mr. Banner or themselves. This is not a conversation I want have, much less get in trouble for having.
‘I’m not going to be in town. You’ve heard me say that,’ I respond, then shove the notebook back, the metal coil scrapping on the table’s surface.
He huffs quietly, tapping his pen. Then he writes and positions the notebook in the center of the table, giving us shared access.
‘Not a real reason.’
If I could pick him up and throw him, I would.
‘Excuse me??’
He leans closer to me, pats my hand quickly, then writes, ‘Please don’t be mad, just can’t write too long/obviously. Did you ever want to go?’
‘No! I would’ve asked someone if I did!’
‘Who?’
‘What???’
Mr. Banner raises his voice to ask a question to the room, and Edward slides his notebook back to his side of the table. My heart pounds — partly nerves, but mostly irritation — as the teacher scans the room, seeming to lock eyes with each of his student. He calls on Jasmine Schumate, who is resting her head on her open textbook despite being seated in the front row. Bad move.
While she scrambles to sit up and answer the question, I see Edward writing. When the page edges back to the center, I read what it says.
‘Who would you ask?’
I grit my teeth as I respond pointedly.
‘No one, I can’t dance.’
Edward hums. Puts his pen down. An intense, thoughtful expression crosses his face, though I’m not sure what there is to think about. Maybe it’s his strong features that make him seem so serious. I don’t remember ever noticing the cut of his jaw or the ridge of his nose. I guess I’ve never looked at him long enough.
Evidently, he comes to a conclusion because he picks up his pen again.
‘Not a contest. Everyone can sway.’
I pin him with a disbelieving stare, then roll my eyes back down to the page.
‘Please be serious,’ I say. What is the point of all this?
He taps his pen, then writes, ‘Fine. Where are you going on that day?’
‘Seattle. Bookstore.’
‘Which one?’
‘Don’t know yet.’
‘I know one. Let me take you.’
I glance up at him to see that intense look has returned to his pale blue eyes, this time directed full-force at me.
“Why?” I whisper, feeling a little dazed.
He bites his lip, laughs a little, then writes, ‘Wanted to go to the dance with you. You didn’t ask. Bookstore is 10x better.’
I’m certain my face has never gotten so red. I stare at him, unabashed, so surprised to see the smile that blooms across his face. I’m distantly aware of my name being called once, twice, but it isn’t until Edward’s expression shutters up and his head whips to the front that I realize we’d been caught.
“Bella Swan, are you listening?” Mr. Banner asks, irritated.
I whip around, shaking my hair closer around my face. Throughout the room, students giggle and whisper, and I want to sink into the floor. I hate being called out by the teacher.
Luckily, the bell rings just in time.
“We will pick back up on this tomorrow. Bella,” Mr. Banner says, making sharp eye contact with me. “You will summarize everything we went over today next time, okay?”
I nod, then clammer out of my seat, clumsily grabbing my books.
I only pause when Edward clears his throat. When I look at him, he at least has to decency to wear an embarrassed flush, standing there, books in hand.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get you in trouble,” he says. Then, that crooked grin of his spreads across his lips. “You did tell me to be serious, though.”
“Yeah, I’m- waiting for that to start,” I stammer, too surprised to really think about what I’m saying. He wanted to go to the dance with me? He wants to spend the day with me still?
Edward laughs, shakes his head. “I promise, I’m being serious. Do you want to go on a date with me?”
I know the world is moving around me as my classmates pack up and leave, and I know I should care about that, but all I see is him and all I hear is the echo of his question. His cheeks are still pink, his eyes a little too bright — maybe he does get anxious after all.
I consider the other times I’ve been asked on dates, when the terror has frozen my chest and it’s like I can feel every eye in the room boring into me. I remember the way I felt rejecting Mike, Eric, and Tyler so recently. I wonder why this feels different. Maybe because this time, I’m not looking for a reason to say no.
“Sure,” I say, and I can feel myself shaking as if I’m cold, but I know I’m not. Is this adrenaline?
The joy on Edward’s face is luminous, sparkling, as he says, “Great!” and we exchange phone numbers.
A first date. A real one. Things have certainly changed for me.