Chapter 3

Edward Cullen didn't show up to school the next day.

Bella noticed immediately, even if she didn't say it out loud. She kept her eyes on her books more than usual, her questions tucked somewhere deep where she thought I couldn't see them.

I saw them.

Between classes, Jessica dropped a comment that she "hadn't seen Edward all morning," her tone laced with the curiosity people carry when something perfect slips out of place. I didn't add anything. People notice what they notice. I notice the spaces between.

Classes moved by in a steady rhythm — the scratch of pencils, the low buzz of whispers, the faint smell of wet paper drifting in from open windows. In Trig, Jessica leaned across her desk toward me.

"So, I'm guessing you don't have a boyfriend," she said, like she was offering a lead into a bigger question.

"Guess again," I said without looking up.

She laughed softly. "Okay, so you're hard to read. Good to know."

"Better than being predictable," I said.

By lunch, the Cullens were at their usual table, minus one. Rosalie sat beside Emmett, her hair catching the gray light in a way that made the air feel colder. She didn't look over at me, but I still felt the edge of her awareness. Like she knew where I was without having to confirm it.

⸻

The next day, Edward was back.

I didn't see him until after my own second-period class. His return was a shift in the air more than a visual — a faint drop in temperature that registered before I spotted him crossing the courtyard. Bella's gaze caught on him like she'd been waiting to see if he'd appear.

By the time she was in Biology, I'd already taken my seat in my own class across the hall. Through the open door, I saw him at her table, speaking quietly. I couldn't hear the words, but his posture was different from last time — less like a coiled spring, more like someone trying to smooth the edge of something sharp.

Bella leaned in slightly, answering him with the guarded tone she used when she wasn't sure what the rules were. Edward's smile was small, careful, like it had been constructed for the moment and could vanish just as easily.

Mr. Banner passed between them, saying something about "microscopes again." They bent over the work. I looked away.

⸻

After the final bell, I found Bella at her locker. She was quieter than usual on the way to the truck, her thoughts running somewhere ahead of us.

"What?" I asked, sliding into the passenger seat.

She shrugged. "Edward talked to me today."

"After avoiding you for two days?"

"Yeah."

I leaned my head back against the seat. "People who run hot and cold are good for weather reports. Not much else."

"It's not like that," she said quickly, then hesitated. "I don't think."

I didn't push it further. She'd either see it herself or she wouldn't.

⸻

At home, Bella disappeared upstairs. I headed for the garage.

The bike was where I'd left it, the scent of oil and cold metal greeting me like an old friend. I rolled up my sleeves and started tightening the chain, the rhythmic click of the ratchet filling the space.

Footsteps behind me.

"You're always out here," Bella said, leaning on the doorframe.

"Better than being stuck inside my head."

She stepped in, eyes scanning the tools laid out on the workbench. "You and Dad both," she murmured.

I glanced at her. "So what's your read on him? Edward."

She hesitated. "He's... different."

"Different isn't always good," I said evenly.

"I know." She didn't sound convinced.

I let it drop, turning back to the bike.

⸻

Later, while taking out the trash, I caught sight of the silver Jeep parked half a block down. Rosalie was behind the wheel, window half-lowered, her gaze following a group of students walking past. She didn't look at me right away, but when she did, it was direct.

A moment passed between us — silent, measured — before she started the engine and drove off.

It wasn't nothing.