Life and Death: Twilight Reimagined (Twilight #5)(76)

“We match.” She laughed again.

She had on a light tan sweater with a scoop neck, a white t-shirt on underneath, and jeans. My sweater was the exact same shade, though that and my white tee both had crew necks. My jeans were the same color blue, too. Only, she looked like a runway model, and I knew that I did not.

I locked the door behind me while she walked to the truck. She waited by the passenger door with a martyred expression that was easy to un-derstand.

“You agreed to this,” I reminded her as I unlocked her door and opened it.

She gave me a dark look as she climbed past me.

I got in my side and tried not to cringe as I revved the engine very loudly to life.

“Where to?” I asked.

“Put your seat belt on—I’m nervous already.”

I rolled my eyes but did what she asked. “Where to?” I repeated.

“Take the one-oh-one north.”

It was surprisingly difficult to concentrate on the road while feeling her eyes on my face. I compensated by driving more carefully than usual through the still-sleeping town.

“Were you planning to make it out of Forks before nightfall?”

“This truck is old enough to be the Volvo’s grandfather—have a little respect.”

We were soon out of the town limits, despite her pessimism. Thick underbrush and dense forest replaced the lawns and houses.

“Turn right on the one-ten,” she instructed just as I was about to ask. I obeyed silently.

“Now we drive until the pavement ends.”

I could hear a smile in her voice, but I was too afraid of driving off the road and proving her right to look over and be sure.

“And what’s there, at the pavement’s end?” I wondered.

“A trail.”

“We’re hiking?”

“Is that a problem?”

“No.” I tried to make the lie sound confident. But if she thought my truck was slow…

“Don’t worry, it’s only five miles or so and we’re in no hurry.”

Five miles. I didn’t answer, so that she wouldn’t hear the panic in my voice. How far had I hiked last Saturday—a mile? And how many times had I managed to trip in that distance? This was going to be humiliating.

We drove in silence for a while. I was imagining what her expression would look like the twentieth time I face-planted.

“What are you thinking?” she asked impatiently after a few minutes.

I lied again. “Just wondering where we’re going.”

“It’s a place I like to go when the weather is nice.” We both glanced out the windows at the thinning clouds.

“Charlie said it would be warm today.”

“And did you tell Charlie what you were up to?” she asked.

“Nope.”

“But you probably said something to Jeremy about me driving you to Seattle,” she said thoughtfully.

“No, I didn’t.”

“No one knows you’re with me?” Angrily, now.

“That depends.… I assume you told Archie?”

“That’s very helpful, Beau,” she snapped.

I pretended I didn’t hear that.

“Is it the weather? Seasonal affective disorder? Has Forks made you so depressed you’re actually suicidal?”

“You said it might cause problems for you… us being together publicly,” I explained.

“So you’re worried about the trouble it might cause me—if you don’t come home?” Her voice was a mix of ice and acid.

I nodded, keeping my eyes on the road.

She muttered something under her breath, the words flowing so quickly that I couldn’t understand them.

It was silent for the rest of the drive. I could feel the waves of fury and disapproval rolling off her, and I couldn’t think of the right way to apologize when I wasn’t sorry.

The road ended at a small wooden marker. I could see the thin foot trail stretching away into the forest. I parked on the narrow shoulder and stepped out, not sure what to do because she was angry and I didn’t have driving as an excuse not to look at her anymore.

It was warm now, warmer than it had been in Forks since the day I’d arrived, almost muggy under the thin clouds. I yanked off my sweater and tossed it into the cab, glad I’d worn the t-shirt—especially with five miles of hiking ahead of me.

I heard her door slam, and looked over to see that she’d removed her sweater, too, and twisted her hair into another messy bun. All she had on was a thin tank top. She was facing away from me, staring into the forest, and I could see the delicate shapes of her shoulder blades almost like furled wings under her pale skin. Her arms were so thin; it was hard to believe they contained the strength that I knew was in them.

“This way,” she said, glancing over her shoulder at me, still annoyed. She started walking into the dark forest directly to the east of the truck.

“The trail?” I asked, trying to hide the panic in my voice as I hurried around the front of the truck to catch up to her.

“I said there was a trail at the end of the road, not that we were taking it.”

“No trail? Really?”

“I won’t let you get lost.”

She turned then, with a mocking half-smile, and I couldn’t breathe.