BRRRRINGGG!

The moment the bell rings, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. That felt like the longest class in the history of classes—and it was only first period. With a groan, you slump forward slightly, then start shoving your things back into your bag with a defeated sigh.

“You look like you just got hit by a truck,” Bella deadpans, appearing at your desk with her arms crossed, waiting while you pack up like someone mourning a small academic tragedy.

“That obvious, huh.” You glance up at her.

She nods, expression unchanged.

As you sling your bag over your shoulder and make your way toward the door, Bella hits you with the billion-dollar question.

“What the heck happened?” Her tone is confused but mildly concerned, which for Bella is practically a warm hug.

You pull out your crumpled schedule before zipping your bag shut. “It’s a long story… and we’ve got five minutes to make it to our next class, so unless you want to hear a tragic saga in fast-forward—”

Bella waves you off. “Right, cliff notes later.”

You both step into the hallway together, merging into the stream of students.

“What’s your next class?” she asks, hopeful. You can’t help but hope too.

“U.S. History. You?”

“Trigonometry,” she grumbles like she’s just been handed a death sentence.

You groan in unison. “Please tell me we at least have one other class together.”

She leans closer so you can hold your schedules side by side and compare. After a second, she points. “Here. Biology. With Mr. Varner.”

“You’ve got to be kiddi—”

“Got a problem with your schedule, Ms. Matthews?” a voice cuts in behind you.

You freeze. Of course he heard you.

Mr. Varner peers at you both with a tight-lipped smile that somehow manages to be both polite and vaguely disappointed. You’re not sure how he pulls it off, but he does.

Bella goes completely still beside you—somehow looking even paler than usual, which is honestly impressive.

Swallowing the last microscopic crumb of pride you have left, you turn toward him and say, “No, Mr. Varner. Sir,” with a smile so fake it could be in a toothpaste commercial.

He clearly doesn’t buy it, but instead of calling you out, he just gives you a curt nod and strolls off down the hall, probably to haunt the science wing.

You and Bella exchange a look of pure dread.

“I guess we found the teacher we’re not going to be favorites with,” she mutters dryly.

It pulls a reluctant laugh from your throat.

“Meet near the cafeteria at lunch?” she adds.

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

Then she disappears into the crowd, leaving you to brave U.S. History alone—though at this point, you're not sure which subject is more terrifying: trigonometry, or the ever-watchful eye of Mr. Varner.

BRRRRINGGG!

The lunch bell finally rings, and honestly? You grin like someone just handed you a lifeline. You and Bella haven’t known each other long—barely a full school day—but somehow, being around her puts you strangely at ease. And after everything that happened this morning, you could seriously use someone to lick your emotional wounds with.

“Are you that excited for lunch, or is it just me?” a familiar voice teases, raspy and low.

You don’t even need to look. There’s only one person in all of Forks who could make a line like that sound both infuriating and flattering at the same time.

But of course, when you do look, there she is—leaning against the doorframe like she’s always belonged there. That same lazy smirk playing on her lips, except today she’s traded yesterday’s jeans for a different pair, just as fitted, with a vintage band tee and a flannel shirt tied casually around her waist, probably in case it gets cold. Practical and devastating? Rude.

Sliding out of your seat, you give her a look. “I’ll have you know I’m excited for entirely different reasons,” you reply, lacing your voice with just enough edge to sound like you’re not immediately folding under her attention.

That only deepens her smirk into something worse—more predatory. Sensing what’s coming, you try to make a quick escape, picking up your pace toward the door… but no such luck. Skye’s faster than you and clearly bolder than ever.

She stops you in your tracks with a touch—hands settling firmly but gently on both your shoulders. You freeze.

Then she leans in.

“Has someone already found a lunch date?” she whispers near your ear, voice velvet-wrapped mischief. “And here I thought I was the only thing on your mind.”

The last part comes out in a huskier tone, and yep—there it is. That fluttery, full-body tremble you try (and fail) to hide.

Clearly pleased, she leans in just enough to brush her breath against your skin and murmurs, “Good girl,” before turning on her heel and strolling off like she didn’t just cause a full-on emotional meltdown in the middle of an almost-empty classroom.

You’re left blinking after her, brain short-circuiting, cheeks definitely pink. You mentally thank whatever deity arranged for most students to already be gone—except, of course, for the one unlucky straggler still at the teacher’s desk.

Mr. Clapp—or maybe Coach Clapp?—watches the entire interaction with a flat expression. Apparently, he also teaches gym and mechanical studies? What is this school budget?

Eventually, after you’ve collected what remains of your dignity and stopped internally screaming, you start making your way out. Not without earning one last exasperated look from Mr./Coach Clapp though—he clearly just wants to lock the door and go get his lunch.

Same, dude. Same.

Hurrying to lunch, your stomach grumbles loud enough to make your point, but the second you spot Bella across the courtyard, your steps falter.

She’s not alone.

Despite the semi-relieved smile that lights up her face when she sees you, your eyes narrow on the bubbly brunette beside her—talking a mile a minute, barely giving Bella a second to breathe. You hang back just a moment, catching fragments of the one-sided conversation as you approach.

“—and then I said, no way am I doing that lab with Eric again. Last time I nearly ended up dissecting his finger, and I’m not joking—”

Bella notices you instantly and jumps at the chance to redirect, cutting in quickly.
“Um… Jessica, this is Elodie. The, uh… girl I told you about.”

Jessica gives you a once-over, eyes flicking from your worn boots to your patched jacket to the grease under your nails. Her expression flashes something between confusion and judgment—but it smooths out quickly into a syrupy smile. “So you’re the badass biker girl Bella couldn’t stop talking about?” she says, voice teasing.

Whether it’s meant in good fun or mockery, you can’t quite tell.

Bella shoots you a pleading look. Her expression says it all: Please, just get this over with.

“Uh, yeah. I’m Elodie,” you say with a half-shrug. “Nice to meet you and all, but I’m like insanely hungry right now, so if you don’t mind—me and Bella were gonna head in.”

You move to brush past, lightly taking Bella’s elbow to steer her toward the cafeteria, but Jessica isn’t done. She throws an arm casually over Bella’s shoulders like they’re besties of the year, giving you a saccharine smile with edges too sharp to be friendly.

“Why don’t you sit with us instead? We can introduce you to the whole gang,” she says sweetly—but there’s a challenge in her eyes.

Before you can tell her to shove her gang somewhere the sun don’t shine, Bella jumps in, clearly just wanting to avoid a scene.
“Um… sure,” she says, tight-lipped.

“YAY!” Jessica claps, far louder than necessary, then steers both of you toward a table already crowded with students.

There are six of them, all seated like some kind of balanced teen soap opera cast—three girls, three guys. Now, seven and eight, you and Bella are throwing off the symmetry.

You recognize Lauren Mallory instantly from the way her lip curls just looking at you—bored and judgmental even before you sit down. Her shiny lip gloss and stiff blonde bob make her look like she walked out of a department store ad from 2005.

Next to her is Angela Weber, who at least offers a small smile your way. She’s got a quiet presence, glasses perched neatly on her nose, and she’s currently pushing carrots around her tray like her mind is somewhere else entirely.

On the guys' side, there's Mike Newton, grinning like a golden retriever and already leaning a little too close to Bella when you sit. He doesn’t seem like a bad guy—just a little overeager.

Next to him is Eric Yorkie, who fidgets with a DSLR camera on the table, clearly more interested in angles and lighting than anything happening socially. He nods at you, but it’s distracted, like he’s already composing a blog post in his head.

Last is Tyler Crowley, lounging way too comfortably for a plastic cafeteria chair. He greets Bella with an easy, charming grin, then looks at you with a flicker of curiosity, followed by a nod that says "Cool jacket."

You slide into the seat beside Bella, not missing the way she shifts a little closer to you—just enough to make her discomfort with the whole setup known.

Jessica launches into another story before your tray even touches the table.

Great. So much for a quiet lunch.

Trying your best to tune out Jessica’s endless blather, your gaze drifts away from the table, sweeping over the cafeteria more out of survival instinct than curiosity. You’re starving, but nothing looks remotely edible—until your eyes land on a familiar figure near the corner table.

Maya.

Of course she’s seated like a queen in exile, surrounded by a small group of friends who seem to orbit her with ease. As if she could feel your eyes on her, Maya glances up with uncanny timing and catches you mid-look. Her smirk—equal parts wicked and knowing—lands like a punch to the gut.

You actually groan. Audibly.

Bella, picking up on your distress, leans closer and whispers, “You okay?”

You nod half-heartedly, then mutter, “Remember Jacob’s friends from yesterday?”

Bella’s brow furrows. “You mean the snarky one?”

That earns a snort from you, enough to draw a few curious glances from the table before Jessica dives right back into the spotlight like she never left it.

You lean in a bit, keeping your voice low. “Yeah… well, apparently she’s decided I’m worth tormenting. I’m honestly not sure whether to be flattered or afraid.”

Bella presses a hand to her lips, trying (and failing) not to laugh. “Sounds like both.”

Before you can reply—or call her out for enjoying your suffering—the cafeteria door opens. The sudden hush that follows is subtle but noticeable. Even Jessica pauses mid-sentence.

You glance toward the source of the shift.

They enter like a scene from a movie.

Rosalie Hale walks in first, and for a moment, everything else just drops away. She’s... unreal. Her Golden-blonde hair  gleams under the flickering cafeteria lights, and she moves with a grace that seems out of place in a school full of shuffling teenagers. There’s something effortlessly intimidating about her—the way her expression doesn’t invite attention so much as command it.

You realize you’re staring. Hard.

She doesn’t look your way, but that only seems to make her presence more magnetic. The rest of the group follows—Emmett, massive and grinning faintly, chatting softly with her; Alice, small and birdlike, practically gliding in on quick feet; Jasper, hovering just behind her with his distant eyes scanning the room like a soldier in unfamiliar territory.

And then, last—

Edward.

There’s a strange delay to his entrance. He doesn’t move with the rest of them, doesn’t glide. It’s almost like he’s stepping into a room he’s unsure about.

And then his eyes meet Bella’s.

It’s like a string tightens in the air.

You glance sideways at your friend, and her whole posture changes—shoulders pulled in, breath caught, face gone still like she’s been turned into a statue. You’ve never seen her like that before. Not even close.

You glance back at him. Edward’s expression is unreadable—like something hit him square in the chest. It’s intense, and weirdly uncomfortable, like watching a moment that wasn’t meant to be seen.

They all move to sit at their own isolated table, far from the rest of the cafeteria. No one dares sit near them.

You lean slightly toward Bella and murmur, “Okay… what was that?”

Bella shakes her head a little too quickly, blinking as if waking up from a daze. “I… I don’t know.”

And for once, even Jessica doesn’t have anything to say.

As both you and Bella continue staring toward the Cullen table—her fixated on Edward, you very much not—Jessica catches on immediately. Like a bloodhound picking up a scent, she leans forward with the kind of grin that always spells trouble.

“Oh my god, are you two looking at the Cullens?” she hisses, practically vibrating with gossip energy. “Everyone does at some point, but they totally keep to themselves. Like, really weirdly.”

You blink and shift in your seat as she barrels ahead.

“That’s Rosalie Hale,” she says, her voice dropping just slightly, like she’s trying to sound casual. It’s not. “And the big guy next to her is Emmett. They’re, like, a thing. Full-on foster siblings but dating. Gross, right? But they’re not related, so whatever.”

Your heart drops like it just got kicked down a flight of stairs.

Jessica doesn’t notice your stunned silence. “The little pixie-looking one is Alice. She’s weird, but like, cool weird. And the guy next to her is Jasper Hale. He always looks like he’s in pain or constipated or something. They’re all Dr. Cullen’s foster kids.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Wait, all of them?”

“Yup. Dr. and Mrs. Cullen took them all in. That’s Edward at the end—he’s the only one who’s not paired off. But don’t even bother, he’s never dated anyone here. Like, ever.”

“Right,” Bella murmurs, still staring.

But you’re only half-listening. Your eyes have slid back to Rosalie again. The way she moves, the way she looks—it’s ridiculous. Like someone took the concept of beauty and then just kept going until it became offensive.

“She’s… wow,” you say under your breath before you can stop yourself.

Jessica lights up. “Rosalie? Yeah, she’s like... model-level. She was voted prom queen last year without even trying.”

Your stomach twists—hard. Of course she’s taken. Of course.

You glance away, pretending to be interested in the pattern of the lunchroom tiles. You haven’t even made it to the food line yet, but somehow your appetite’s already gone. Rosalie Hale: hot, untouchable, and already spoken for.

Perfect.

Bella nudges you slightly. “You okay?”

You manage a shrug and an awkward laugh. “Yeah. Just, you know... never mind.”

Jessica, meanwhile, is still going on about the Cullen family’s mysterious, isolated vibe. But it all starts to blur.

You don’t hear much after “a thing.”

After a solid minute of wallowing in your own personal pity puddle, you feel Bella tap your shoulder and subtly nod her head toward the less-crowded food line.

Of course it had to be the one in full view of the Cullen table.

Your stomach growls—loudly—and your pride surrenders. With a huff, you trail behind Bella, muttering under your breath, “Remember how I looked like I got hit by a truck in English class?”

Bella’s eyes flick toward you, narrowing slightly, clearly remembering the moment in vivid detail. “Well... yeah,” she says flatly, though her tone stays gentle. “It was kind of hard to miss.”

You tilt your head—ever so slightly—in the Cullens’ general direction. “It was because of her.”

Bella follows your motion with a cautious glance and lands right on Rosalie. “So that’s why she looked familiar,” she says, a flicker of realization in her voice. “But did Rosalie say something? Do something?”

You shake your head. “Nah. She didn’t even glance in my direction.” You exhale, frustrated. “But just being that close to her felt almost painful. I kept fidgeting the whole class, trying not to look at her like some lovesick idiot. I don’t know, Bells... it felt like there was this... pull. Like some invisible thread was tethered between us, tugging me toward her. It was constant.”

Bella’s expression softens. She glances—too quickly to be casual—toward the end of the cafeteria, where Edward sits with that unreadable look on his face. “Something like that,” she murmurs, voice just above a whisper.

You follow her gaze and immediately understand. The moment Edward walked in last, Bella had looked like she’d been electrocuted in the soul. Poor girl.

Trying to lighten the mood, you nudge her playfully with your elbow. “Well, at least we’ll be pining for the unattainable together, right?” you say, with just the right amount of dramatic flair.

That gets the smallest, shyest smile out of her.

As you finally reach the back of the line and grab a tray, you glance sideways at her. “And look at the bright side—you actually have a chance with Edward. Me, on the other hand...”

Bella scoffs immediately, shaking her head. “Pffft. Like someone like him would ever give someone like me the time of day.”

The way she says it—so casual, so resigned—makes something twist in your chest.

Without thinking, you set your tray down on the edge of the counter near the cafeteria kitchen, then gently take Bella’s from her hands and stack it neatly on top of yours. She doesn’t flinch. In fact… she lets you. Maybe even leans in—just a little.

Turning her slightly so she’s facing you, you hold both her hands in yours, steady and warm. “Don’t you dare talk like that,” you say softly but with a quiet conviction. “If Eddie—” (you say it wrong on purpose, because he kind of deserves it) “—can’t see how amazing and beautiful you are, then he seriously doesn’t deserve you.”

Her eyes widen. She doesn’t pull away. She just stares at you—like she’s caught in a moment she doesn’t know how to step out of. Like your words dropped a stone into her chest and now she’s stuck listening to the echoes.

You don’t move. Neither of you does.

Not until someone from the back of the line breaks the spell.

“Are you two lovebirds gonna keep blocking the counter or actually move?”

The trance snaps. Bella jolts, pulling her hands back like she just remembered what you were doing—and where you are. Her face goes bright red. You nearly tumble both trays as you scramble to grab them from where you left them, quickly handing one to Bella to stop stalling the line.

You both step forward quickly.

And when you sneak a glance sideways—you don’t miss it.

She’s still blushing.

Bella, clearly trying to look anywhere but in your direction, “accidentally” glances toward the Cullen table—and freezes.

“Um… Elodie?” she says, voice slightly cautious.

“Yeah?” you reply, trying to sound as casual as possible after the awkward moment you just shared.

“Is it just me, or is the Cullen with the pixie cut staring right at us?”

You move a bit forward in line—again—so you don’t stall, and glance over. Sure enough, Alice is staring in your general direction with a strangely unreadable look. But then she seems to snap out of it, blinking once before leaning in to whisper something in Rosalie’s ear.

And that’s when it happens.

For the first time ever, you feel Rosalie Hale’s golden-brown eyes lock directly onto yours.

It steals the breath from your lungs. For a second—maybe more—it feels like the cafeteria vanishes around you. Just you and her, suspended in a kind of stillness you don’t know how to explain. Then, just as suddenly, she breaks eye contact, stands, and leans over to whisper something to Edward.

You don’t even have time to recover before you feel his eyes lock on you next—sharp and analytical, like he’s trying to read your thoughts. It only lasts a moment before he turns back to Rosalie, and the two of them start discussing something quietly.

“Are you two serious?! Move it already!” The same annoyed voice from earlier snaps you out of it, now joined by a chorus of grumbles from the people still waiting behind you.

You and Bella jump forward in the line and finally make it to the lunch counter. The lunch lady gives you a pointed look before asking what you want. You mumble your choices—barely paying attention—and Bella does the same. Trays loaded, you both shuffle back to your table.

“Um… are you okay, Elodie?” Angela asks in her soft, kind voice once you sit down.

You blink back into the moment and offer her a warm smile. “Yeah. Thanks for checking, though.”

“No problem,” she replies quietly, eyes dropping to her tray.

Jessica suddenly leans in, voice just above a whisper but still dramatic. “Oh-em-gee, are the cullens staring at us right now, or am I imagining things?”

Eric frowns. “Why would the Cullens be look—” He cuts himself off mid-sentence as he follows Jessica’s gaze and sees it too.

Curiosity gets the better of you. You glance up, just in time to see that, yep—the entire Cullen table is watching. Rosalie is definitely still staring at you, expression unreadable. Emmett is glancing between the two of you with a furrowed brow like he’s trying to figure out why. Alice is whispering something to Jasper, who’s also watching quietly. And finally, Edward—he’s focused entirely on the girl beside you.

On Bella.

Angela, too, can’t seem to help sneaking a peek.

Bella shifts uncomfortably and says, “Guys, don’t you think this is a little too—” but she cuts herself off mid-sentence, her eyes locking onto Edward’s. The moment stretches, and from the way her shoulders tense, it’s obvious she sees it too.

They're definitely staring.

It doesn’t get more awkward than this.

Your table. Their table. Staring at each other like you’re all trying to solve the world’s hardest trigonometry equation.

Of course, it doesn’t go unnoticed. A few students nearby begin to whisper and side-eye the interaction—including Maya, whose fiery gaze you can practically feel burning into the side of your face.

Thankfully, the bell rings.

“Bbbbrrringgg!”

Both your table and the Cullen’s break out of their reverie like synchronized swimmers snapping back to the surface.

You glance down at your untouched lunch tray, and your stomach growls in protest. But, honestly? You can grab something at home.

As you and Bella rise and make your way to your next class, you lean in slightly, voice low.
“That was… insanely weird, right?”

“You think?!” she blurts, tension crackling off her like static. It’s not malice—just frayed nerves.

“Sorry… dumb question,” you offer with a small wince, hoping to ease her tension.

“No… no, I’m sorry,” she says, exhaling slowly. “I didn’t mean to snap. It’s just—so bizarre. Jessica swore the Cullens never talk to anyone. So… why us? Why now?” Her brow furrows, clearly still turning it over in her mind.

You enter a mostly empty lab, and your eyes fall on Mr. Varner. He doesn’t exactly look thrilled you finally made it.

“Miss Swan,” he says flatly. “You’re partnered with a Mister Edward Cullen.” He points toward the front lab table.

Bella looks like she’s just been hit by a van.

You give her a subtle nod—a little encouragement—and, gathering herself, she heads toward Edward’s table.

“Ms. Matthews,” Mr. Varner continues. “You’re partnered with Miss Rosalie Cullen.”

Your stomach flips.

You follow his nod and meet Rosalie’s eyes—still locked on you, unreadable, intense, just like in the cafeteria. She doesn’t blink. Doesn’t look away. She's like a predator watching for a twitch of weakness.

Taking a breath deeper than you thought your lungs could handle, you walk toward her.

She doesn’t move.

Doesn’t flinch.

Keeps staring.

Only when you get close enough—almost at her table—does she finally blink and break eye contact, glancing anywhere else that isn’t you.

You are instantly bombarded with a mess of emotions.

A small part of you can’t help but wonder what cruel deity you must’ve offended—because seriously, out of the entire class, her?

You had to be partnered with her?

But at the same time… another part of you is undeniably thrilled.

Sure, she’s taken. Sure, nothing could ever happen between you.

But this… this is still a chance. A chance to get to know her. To talk to her. To maybe—even if it's just the tiniest possibility—become friends.

And that’s enough to make your heart race.

Looking around as the last few students take their seats, you can’t help but glance toward Bella—and do a double take when you see her actually trying to talk to Edward.

Your eyebrows lift slightly. Huh. She’s doing it. Facing her fear like a pro.

Only, something’s off.

Bella says something—just a quiet, polite line—but Edward doesn’t really respond. Not properly. He just sits there, tense, jaw clenched, staring straight ahead like she hasn’t spoken at all.

You feel your stomach twist. What the hell is his problem?

She tries again. Still nothing. No warmth. No effort. Just that same ice-cold silence and a jaw that looks like it's about to snap.

And somehow, watching your friend try—while he practically pretends she doesn’t exist—ignites something in you. That familiar low burn of irritation flickers to life…

I mean, if Bella can face her fears, why can’t I—right? What’s the worst that could happen?

…besides her completely ignoring you the way Edward just did.

And, you know, a dozen other things that would absolutely scar you for life.

Still. Small details.

Wiping your totally not trembling or sweaty hand on your t-shirt, you turn slightly toward Rosalie and offer it out with a small, “Um… hi.”

The second her eyes meet yours, your heart starts pounding like drums at a metal concert—probably just as loud, too. You swallow down your nerves and press forward.

“I’m Elodie,” you add, hopeful that she won’t just ignore you.

She glances down at your still-outstretched (and still embarrassingly damp) hand… and, yeah, decides against the handshake. Cool, cool.

“Rosalie.” Short and sweet. Her tone isn’t cold exactly, but it’s definitely not warm. She immediately looks away—toward Mr. Varner, who has started the lesson you are definitely not paying attention to.

The rest of class is… mostly silent. Rosalie doesn’t say another word, but you swear—swear—you catch her peeking at you once or twice. Maybe. Or maybe that’s just your brain playing tricks on you.

Though there’s one thing you can’t ignore: her breathing. It’s… strange. Shallow. Like she’s forcing herself not to inhale. And for some reason, it makes you a little self-conscious.
I don’t smell that bad… right?

Mr. Varner’s voice cuts through your thoughts.

“Today we’ll be starting with a simple experiment,” he announces. “As you may have noticed on your desks—microscope, swabs, blue dye, slide covers. You’ll each take a swab, collect a cheek cell sample, dye it, and observe under the scope. Let’s get to it.”

He claps his hands, and the room shuffles into motion.

You grab one of the swabs and stick it into your mouth, half-distracted, then glance over at Rosalie—who hasn’t moved.

With the swab still in your mouth, you mumble, “Aren’t you going to—” and motion at the untouched swabs sitting right in front of her.

She gives you a look that’s very “mind your business,” but then… freezes. Her eyes flick to your lips. To the swab between them, now faintly stained with your lipstick.

You blink. Is she staring?

But just as quickly, she recovers. “I’m out of swabs,” she says, perfectly composed.

You look down. Yeah—nope. Her swabs are untouched and right there. She notices where you’re looking.

“Is your friend trying to get your attention?” she says instead, feigning nonchalance and casually pointing one crimson-polished finger in Bella’s direction.

Of course you look—because curiosity always wins. But Bella’s busy, completely focused on her microscope. No wild hand gestures. No signals.

You frown, about to say something, when suddenly you feel a slight breeze ruffle your hair.
Which is weird. All the windows are shut.

You turn back—and Rosalie mutters with faux-innocence, “Oops. I Dropped mine .” Her tone carries the faintest edge of amusement.

You glance down. Sure enough, your extra swab is gone too.

Before you can even begin to ask what’s going on, she leans forward with a too-sweet voice and says, “I guess I’ll have to rely on your swab.”

Oh, she knows exactly what she’s doing.

And the worst part? It works. You’re completely thrown off. So much so, the swab nearly slips from your mouth—until Rosalie catches it with lightning-fast reflexes and gently hands it back to you.

You don’t even bother trying to get an answer out of her. You just move on with the experiment, pretending you’re not completely losing it.

Everything’s fine… until it’s time to actually look through the microscope. You both reach for it at the same time.

And when your hands touch—
First: spark. Like, literal, full-body jolt of electricity.
Second: cold. Her hand feels like she’s been chilling in a walk-in freezer since breakfast.
Third: she doesn’t pull away.

She’s still. Eyes locked on your joined hands. And for a second, it feels like she’s just as thrown as you are.

It’s not until a shadow falls over the desk and you both look up to see Mr. Varner standing there, eyes flicking down to your hands, that you realize you still haven’t let go.

“Wouldn’t your time be better spent on the experiment, Matthews?” he asks, flat as ever.

You honestly don’t know what’s worse—the fact that he singled you out, or the fact that the entire class is now staring.

Including Bella—who looks more confused than concerned. Maybe even a little amused on your behalf. And Edward, who’s watching just as intently… though he hides it a little better.

Mr. Varner claps his hands again. “Less gawking, more science.”

You both let go immediately, like someone flipped a switch.

The rest of the class passes in a blur. And the second the bell rings, Rosalie doesn’t say a word. She just stands and walks out with the kind of speed that’s definitely not normal.

You're left staring after her.

As you’re packing your notes, you feel a familiar shadow fall over you. You look up, and—surprise—it’s Mr. Varner. He looks… vaguely troubled.

“Look, Miss Matthews,” he starts, awkward but sincere. “It wasn’t my intention to draw the class’s attention to you and Miss Cullen.”

You blink. Is he… apologizing?

You and Bella have been the bane of his existence since this morning, and he’s the one looking remorseful?

“I know, sir,” you say with a soft smile. “And I’m sorry for causing so much trouble. It really wasn’t my intention.”

To your surprise, he gives a faint smile back. “I’ve had worse.”

And with that, he walks off—leaving you to your thoughts and your half-packed bag.

You genuinely don’t know what surprises you more:
That Rosalie didn’t pull her hand away.
Or that Mr. Varner might actually be… kinda cool.