“No,” I mumbled, sighing in contentment as his arms tightened around me. “I had a bad dream.”
“Do you want to tell me about it?”
I shook my head. “Too tired. Maybe in the morning, if I remember.”
I felt a silent laugh shake through him.
“In the morning,” he agreed.
“What were you reading?” I muttered, not really awake at all.
“Wuthering Heights,” he said.
I frowned sleepily. “I thought you didn’t like that book.”
“You left it out,” he murmured, his soft voice lulling me toward unconsciousness. “Besides . . . the more time I spend with you, the more human emotions seem comprehensible to me. I’m discovering that I can sympathize with Heathcliff in ways I didn’t think possible before.”
“Mmm,” I sighed.
He said something else, something low, but I was already asleep.
The next morning dawned pearl gray and still. Edward asked me about my dream, but I couldn’t get a handle on it. I only remembered that I was cold, and that I was glad he was there when I woke up. He kissed me, long enough to get my pulse racing, and then headed home to change and get his car.
I dressed quickly, low on options. Whoever had ransacked my hamper had critically impaired my wardrobe. If it wasn’t so frightening, it would be seriously annoying.
As I was about to head down for breakfast, I noticed my battered copy of Wuthering Heights lying open on the floor where Edward had dropped it in the night, holding his place the way the damaged binding always held mine.
I picked it up curiously, trying to remember what he’d said. Something about feeling sympathy for Heathcliff, of all people. That couldn’t be right; I must have dreamed that part.
Three words on the open page caught my eye, and I bent my head to read the paragraph more closely. It was Heathcliff speaking, and I knew the passage well.
And there you see the distinction between our feelings: had he been in my place and I in his, though I hated him with a hatred that turned my life to gall, I never would have raised a hand against him. You may look incredulous, if you please! I never would have banished him from her society as long as she desired his. The moment her regard ceased, I would have torn his heart out, and drank his blood! But, till then — if you don’t believe me, you don’t know me — till then, I would have died by inches before I touched a single hair of his head!
The three words that had caught my eye were “drank his blood.”
I shuddered.
Yes, surely I must have dreamt that Edward said anything positive about Heathcliff. And this page was probably not the page he’d been reading. The book could have fallen open to any page.
12. TIME
“I HAVE FORESEEN . . . ,” ALICE BEGAN IN AN OMINOUS tone.
Edward threw an elbow toward her ribs, which she neatly dodged.
“Fine,” she grumbled. “Edward is making me do this. But I did foresee that you would be more difficult if I surprised you.”
We were walking to the car after school, and I was completely clueless as to what she was talking about.
“In English?” I requested.
“Don’t be a baby about this. No tantrums.”
“Now I’m scared.”
“So you’re — I mean we’re — having a graduation party. It’s no big thing. Nothing to freak out over. But I saw that you would freak out if I tried to make it a surprise party” — she danced out of the way as Edward reached over to muss her hair — “and Edward said I had to tell you. But it’s nothing. Promise.”
I sighed heavily. “Is there any point in arguing?”
“None at all.”
“Okay, Alice. I’ll be there. And I’ll hate every minute of it. Promise.”
“That’s the spirit! By the way, I love my gift. You shouldn’t have.”
“Alice, I didn’t!”
“Oh, I know that. But you will.”
I racked my brains in panic, trying to remember what I’d ever decided to get her for graduation that she might have seen.
“Amazing,” Edward muttered. “How can someone so tiny be so annoying?”
Alice laughed. “It’s a talent.”
“Couldn’t you have waited a few weeks to tell me about this?” I asked petulantly. “Now I’ll just be stressed that much longer.”
Alice frowned at me.
“Bella,” she said slowly. “Do you know what day it is?”
“Monday?”
She rolled her eyes. “Yes. It is Monday . . . the fourth.” She grabbed my elbow, spun me halfway around, and pointed toward a big yellow poster taped to the gym door. There, in sharp black letters, was the date of graduation. Exactly one week from today.