I dreamt about Edward Cullen.
Not in the romantic sense— I don't dream about romance. My dreams usually involve crows, lightning, and the occasional government collapse. But this was… different.
He stood in a forest of pale trees, staring at me as though he wanted to dissect me— and for once, I didn't mind.
When I woke up, Thing was crawling across my nightstand with a note from Mother.
"Be polite to your peers, Wednesday. You might even make a friend."
I burned it for warmth.
Forks High was even more damp than usual the next day. I suspect the rain here is sentient. People greeted me cautiously— as if I were an exhibit they didn't want to disturb. Correct instinct.
I saw the Cullens again in the cafeteria, sitting together, too elegant for a public-school setting. They were like a Renaissance painting no one had the courage to frame.
Edward wasn't there. Apparently, he'd "gone on a family trip." I considered following them, but stalking is more effective when you don't get caught.
He returned three days later. When he walked into class, the temperature seemed to drop— or perhaps that was just me imagining the cold grip of mortality.
He smiled slightly, like he'd practiced the expression in a mirror and wasn't sure if it looked right.
"Hello," he said, voice calm but unnaturally smooth.
I stared. "You've returned from the dead," I replied. "How quaint."
He blinked. "I… suppose you could say that."
We spent the next hour pretending to focus on a microscope slide while quietly waging psychological warfare through glances.
After class, I saw him again— standing beside a silver car that looked expensive enough to fund a small dictatorship.
He watched me as though waiting for something.
"Do you enjoy staring?" I asked.
"It's a habit," he said. "You're… difficult to read."
"Most people require a decoder ring," I answered.
He almost smiled, a dangerous curve of lips that could start rumors or revolutions.
Before I could ask anything else, a van in the parking lot skidded on the ice. It spun toward me, metal shrieking.
I didn't move. Fear is an emotion for optimists.
And then— he was there.
One moment, far away. The next, his hand pressed against the van, stopping it cold.
His strength was inhuman. His eyes, wide and wild, met mine — and for a heartbeat, I saw something monstrous behind the human mask. It was beautiful.
People screamed. Teachers rushed out.
I was unharmed, which disappointed me slightly. A near-death experience adds flavor to one's day.
He leaned close and whispered, "Please, don't tell anyone."
"As if anyone would believe me," I replied.
When the paramedics tried to check me for injuries, I told them I was more emotionally scarred than physically. They seemed concerned. Charlie was not amused, of course.
That night, I sat by my window, rain tapping like skeletal fingers on the glass. Edward Cullen. Pale. Fast. Unnaturally strong.
Most girls would call him mysterious. I'd call him potentially undead.
If he was what I suspected, a creature caught between life and death, then perhaps I'd finally found someone interesting enough to study.
I made a note in my journal:
"Edward Cullen — hypothesis: not human. Possible experiment subjects — sunlight, garlic, silver bullets. Outcome: to be determined."
Thing signed the bottom with a tiny thumbprint of approval.
Tomorrow, I'll confront him. Not because I want answers…
But because secrets taste better when you pry them open yourself.