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Twilight :: Meyer Stephenie
Страница: 26 из 265After he left, I began doodling on my notebook again.
"It's too bad about the snow, isn't it?" Edward asked. I had the feeling that he was forcing himself to make small talk with me. Paranoia swept over me again. It was like he had heard my conversation with Jessica at lunch and was trying to prove me wrong.
"Not really," I answered honestly, instead of pretending to be normal like everyone else. I was still trying to dislodge the stupid feeling of suspicion, and I couldn't concentrate.
"You don't like the cold." It wasn't a question.
"Or the wet."
"Forks must be a difficult place for you to live," he mused.
"You have no idea," I muttered darkly.
He looked fascinated by what I said, for some reason I couldn't imagine. His face was such a distraction that I tried not to look at it any more than courtesy absolutely demanded.
"Why did you come here, then?"
No one had asked me that — not straight out like he did, demanding.
"It's… complicated."
"I think I can keep up," he pressed.
I paused for a long moment, and then made the mistake of meeting his gaze. His dark gold eyes confused me, and I answered without thinking.
"My mother got remarried," I said.
"That doesn't sound so complex," he disagreed, but he was suddenly sympathetic. "When did that happen?"
"Last September." My voice sounded sad, even to me.
"And you don't like him," Edward surmised, his tone still kind.
"No, Phil is fine. Too young, maybe, but nice enough."
"Why didn't you stay with them?"
I couldn't fathom his interest, but he continued to stare at me with penetrating eyes, as if my dull life's story was somehow vitally important.
"Phil travels a lot. He plays ball for a living." I half-smiled.
"Have I heard of him?" he asked, smiling in response.
"Probably not. He doesn't play well . Strictly minor league. He moves around a lot."
"And your mother sent you here so that she could travel with him." He said it as an assumption again, not a question.
My chin raised a fraction. "No, she did not send me here. I sent myself."
His eyebrows knit together. "I don't understand," he admitted, and he seemed unnecessarily frustrated by that fact.
I sighed. Why was I explaining this to him? He continued to stare at me with obvious curiosity.
"She stayed with me at first, but she missed him. It made her unhappy… so I decided it was time to spend some quality time with Charlie." My voice was glum by the time I finished.
"It's too bad about the snow, isn't it?" Edward asked. I had the feeling that he was forcing himself to make small talk with me. Paranoia swept over me again. It was like he had heard my conversation with Jessica at lunch and was trying to prove me wrong.
"Not really," I answered honestly, instead of pretending to be normal like everyone else. I was still trying to dislodge the stupid feeling of suspicion, and I couldn't concentrate.
"You don't like the cold." It wasn't a question.
"Or the wet."
"Forks must be a difficult place for you to live," he mused.
"You have no idea," I muttered darkly.
He looked fascinated by what I said, for some reason I couldn't imagine. His face was such a distraction that I tried not to look at it any more than courtesy absolutely demanded.
"Why did you come here, then?"
No one had asked me that — not straight out like he did, demanding.
"It's… complicated."
"I think I can keep up," he pressed.
I paused for a long moment, and then made the mistake of meeting his gaze. His dark gold eyes confused me, and I answered without thinking.
"My mother got remarried," I said.
"That doesn't sound so complex," he disagreed, but he was suddenly sympathetic. "When did that happen?"
"Last September." My voice sounded sad, even to me.
"And you don't like him," Edward surmised, his tone still kind.
"No, Phil is fine. Too young, maybe, but nice enough."
"Why didn't you stay with them?"
I couldn't fathom his interest, but he continued to stare at me with penetrating eyes, as if my dull life's story was somehow vitally important.
"Phil travels a lot. He plays ball for a living." I half-smiled.
"Have I heard of him?" he asked, smiling in response.
"Probably not. He doesn't play well . Strictly minor league. He moves around a lot."
"And your mother sent you here so that she could travel with him." He said it as an assumption again, not a question.
My chin raised a fraction. "No, she did not send me here. I sent myself."
His eyebrows knit together. "I don't understand," he admitted, and he seemed unnecessarily frustrated by that fact.
I sighed. Why was I explaining this to him? He continued to stare at me with obvious curiosity.
"She stayed with me at first, but she missed him. It made her unhappy… so I decided it was time to spend some quality time with Charlie." My voice was glum by the time I finished.