waiting for a scolding. And she was standing in such a strange position—one arm held awkwardly away
from her body, stretched out and then curled around the air. Like she had her arm around someone I
couldn't see, someone invisible…
Only then, as I looked at the bigger picture, did I notice the huge gilt frame that enclosed my
grandmother's form. Uncomprehending, I raised the hand that wasn't wrapped around Edward's waist
and reached out to touch her. She mimicked the movement exactly, mirrored it. But where our fingers
should have met, there was nothing but cold glass…
With a dizzying jolt, my dream abruptly became a nightmare.
There was no Gran.
That was me. Me in a mirror. Me—ancient, creased, and withered.
Edward stood beside me, casting no reflection, excruciatingly lovely and forever seventeen.
He pressed his icy, perfect lips against my wasted cheek.
"Happy birthday," he whispered.
I woke with a start—my eyelids popping open wide—and gasped. Dull gray light, the familiar light of an
overcast morning, took the place of the blinding sun in my dream.
Just a dream, I told myself. It was only a dream. I took a deep breath, and then jumped again when
my alarm went off. The little calendar in the corner of the clock's display informed me that today was
September thirteenth.
Only a dream, but prophetic enough in one way, at least. Today was my birthday. I was officially
eighteen years old.
I'd been dreading this day for months.
All through the perfect summer—the happiest summer I had ever had, the happiest summer anyone
anywhere had ever had, and the rainiest summer in the history of the Olympic Peninsula—this bleak date
had lurked in ambush, waiting to spring.
And now that it had hit, it was even worse than I'd feared it would be. I could feel it—I was older. Every
day I got older, but this was different, worse, quantifiable. I was eighteen.
And Edward never would be.
When I went to brush my teeth, I was almost surprised that the face in the mirror hadn't changed. I stared
at myself, looking for some sign of impending wrinkles in my ivory skin. The only creases were the ones
on my forehead, though, and I knew that if I could manage to relax, they would disappear. I couldn't. My
eyebrows stayed lodged in a worried line over my anxious brown eyes.
It was just a dream, I reminded myself again. Just a dream… but also my worst nightmare.
I skipped breakfast, in a hurry to get out of the house as quickly as possible. I wasn't entirely able to
avoid my dad, and so I had to spend a few minutes acting cheerful. I honestly tried to be excited about
the gifts I'd asked him not to get me, but every time I had to smile, it felt like I might start crying.
I struggled to get a grip on myself as I drove to school. The vision of Gran—I would not think of it as
me—was hard to get out of my head. I couldn't feel anything but despair until I pulled into the familiar
parking lot behind Forks High School and spotted Edward leaning motionlessly against his polished silver
Volvo, like a marble tribute to some forgotten pagan god of beauty. The dream had not done him justice.
And he was waiting there for me, just the same as every other day.
Despair momentarily vanished; wonder took its place. Even after half a year with him, I still couldn't
believe that I deserved this degree of good fortune.
His sister Alice was standing by his side, waiting for me, too.
Of course Edward and Alice weren't really related (in Forks the story was that all the Cullen siblings
were adopted by Dr. Carlisle Culler and his wife, Esme, both plainly too young to have teenage children),
but their skin was precisely the same pale shade, their eyes had the same strange golden tint, with the
same deep, bruise-like shadows beneath them. Her face, like his, was also startlingly beautiful. To
someone in the know—someone like me—these similarities marked them for what they were.
The sight of Alice waiting there—her tawny eyes brilliant with excitement, and a small silver-wrapped
square in her hands—made me frown. I'd told Alice I didn't want anything, anything, not gifts or even
attention, for my birthday. Obviously, my wishes were being ignored.
I slammed the door of my '53 Chevy truck—a shower of rust specks fluttered down to the wet
blacktop—and walked slowly toward where they waited. Alice skipped forward to meet me, her pixie
face glowing under her spiky black hair.
"Happy birthday, Bella!"
"Shh!" I hissed, glancing around the lot to make sure no one had heard her. The last thing I wanted was
some kind of celebration of the black event.
She ignored me. "Do you want to open your present now or later?" she asked eagerly as we made our
way to where Edward still waited.
"No presents," I protested in a mumble.
She finally seemed to process my mood. "Okay… later, then. Did you like the scrapbook your mom sent
you? And the camera from Charlie?"
I sighed. Of course she would know what my birthday presents were. Edward wasn't the only member
of his family with unusual skills. Alice would have "seen" what my parents were planning as soon as they'd
decided that themselves.
"Yeah. They're great."
"I think it's a nice idea. You're only a senior once. Might as well document the experience."
"How many times have you been a senior?"
"That's different."
We reached Edward then, and he held out his hand for mine. I took it eagerly, forgetting, for a moment,
my glum mood. His skin was, as always, smooth, hard, and very cold. He gave my fingers a gentle
squeeze. I looked into his liquid topa2 eyes, and my heart gave a not-quite-so-gentle squeeze of its own.
Hearing the stutter in my heartbeats, he smiled again.
He lifted his free hand and traced one cool fingertip around the outside of my lips as he spoke. "So, as
discussed, I am not allowed to wish you a happy birthday, is that correct?"
"Yes. That is correct." I could never quite mimic the flow of his perfect, formal articulation. It was
something that could only be picked up in an earlier century.
"Just checking." He ran his hand through his tousled bronze hair. "You might have changed your mind.