Monday dawned with an invisible trap beneath our feet. Charlie, with that silent protective instinct of his, woke us up early to tell us the asphalt was pure black ice. But, unlike the rest of the mortals in Forks who were going to be skating around on their bald tires, my old man had made sure the Chevy had new, heavy-duty rubbers—the kind that bite into the ice as if it were dry dirt.
"Take it easy," Charlie said, adjusting his duty belt. "The ice isn't forgiving."
I nodded as I grabbed my backpack. Inside, the leather folder felt heavier than usual. It wasn't the weight of the paper; it was the weight of what I had drawn. Bella, as expected, walked toward the truck as if she were crossing a minefield, but the Chevy didn't even flinch. The new tires gave us perfect traction while the rest of the town slid into the ditches.
We arrived at the high school and went our separate ways. Bella walked into her classes with that aura of anxiety that is now her trademark, realizing immediately that the silver Volvo was there: Edward was back. I, for my part, drifted through my classes with my habitual "Indifference," letting the world stay blurry while I waited for lunchtime.
When the cafeteria bell rang, I didn't go to my usual corner. I walked straight toward the table at the back. The table of the porcelain gods.
I moved with that fluidity of mine, making no noise, asking no permission. I sat in the only empty spot, right between Alice and Jasper, and set my tray on the table with a sharp clack.
Exactly five seconds passed.
It was fascinating. Rosalie froze with a fork halfway to her mouth, Emmett arched an eyebrow with a "this guy has guts" smirk, and Jasper... Jasper tensed up so hard I thought the table was going to snap, but then, feeling the hand of his partner, his body relaxed in an almost comical way. Alice was the only one who didn't seem surprised; in fact, she was looking at me with a spark of victory in her eyes.
"Hello, Mael," Alice said, breaking the deathly silence. "I didn't expect you to join the outcasts' club today."
"It's just a matter of logistics," I replied, opening my milk carton with total calm. "I have something that belongs to your mother."
I pulled the leather folder from my backpack. Everyone at the table leaned in slightly, even Rosalie, though she pretended to be more interested in her perfectly manicured nail.
"Esme asked me for a 'human' vision," I said, looking at Alice. "I made two versions. One technical and another... well, another that came out of a Sunday epiphany."
"Did you draw us?" Emmett asked, his deep bass voice seeming to rumble in my bones.
"Basically, I turned you into a daycare," I replied unfazed, passing the folder to Alice. "Jasper, I hope you don't mind appearing asleep. You looked like you needed it."
Jasper looked at me with an intensity that would have burned anyone else. His gaze dropped to the folder that Alice was already opening with hands trembling from excitement. Alice let out a stifled gasp when she saw the drawing of "Mother Earth."
"Mael... this is..." Alice didn't finish the sentence. I won't say her golden eyes welled up, because they didn't, but they conveyed that feeling of wanting to; she looked more delicate in a way I didn't think possible for her.
"It's just art, Alice. Don't overthink it," I brushed it off, taking a bite of my sandwich. "Emmett, there's your honey. Rosalie, I gave you flowers, though you'd probably prefer diamonds."
I stood up before the moment got too sentimental or heavy. I didn't want explanations, and I didn't want to be analyzed. My job was done.
"I'm leaving. I have to go over some History notes, and being at a table full of perfect people distracts me from my mediocrity," I said in a dry but not rude tone. "Alice, give it to Esme. If she doesn't like it, she can use the paper to start the fireplace."
I swung my backpack over my shoulder and cleared out of there before another five seconds could pass. I could feel their gazes pinned to my back—a mix of bewilderment and something that looked a lot like respect.
I walked toward the cafeteria exit and ran into Bella. She was pale, staring toward her usual table.
"Mael... did you just sit with them?" she whispered, grabbing my arm as if searching for an anchor to reality.
"I had a delivery to make, Bells. Nothing out of this world. How about you? Did you survive the return of the copper-haired prince?"
"He was in class," she said, her voice trembling. "And we talked... but I feel, I don't know, like it hurts him that I'm breathing. It's unbearable."
"Well, at least someone in this place has normal reactions," I commented with my usual detachment. "Come on, we have class. Try not to slip; Charlie changed the tires on the Chevy, not on your shoes."
The rest of the day was a procession of boring classes. I focused on my books, ignoring the murmur of the hallways. Every time I passed near a Cullen, I felt the air clear, as if the drawing had created an invisible bridge. But I was still Mael Swan: the guy who preferred the shadows of a drawing to the lights of reality.
At the end of the day, while waiting for Bella in the Chevy, I saw Edward come out of the science building. He stopped for a moment, looked at my truck, and then, in an almost imperceptible way, nodded his head in my direction. It wasn't a greeting; it was a recognition.
Forks was still gray, but the colors I had put on that paper on Sunday now seemed to be floating all over the high school.
The rest of the school day flowed with that gray monotony I liked so much.
When classes ended, I met Bella in the parking lot. To my surprise, she didn't have that "shipwreck survivor" face she'd been dragging around all week. She was strangely radiant, with a glow in her eyes that could only mean one thing: her situation with Edward had done a 180-turn. I didn't ask for details; my policy of non-intervention dictated that if she was happy, I had less drama to manage.
"You look... less tragic today," I told her as we climbed into the Chevy. Charlie's new tires crushed the leftover ice with enviable security.
"It's been a good day, Mael. A really good one," she replied with a silly smile—the kind that tells you the copper-haired boy had finally spoken to her without looking like he wanted to vomit.
"I'm glad, Bells. My quota for seeing people suffering for love was already full for the month."
We got home and the warmth of the heater greeted us like a hug. Bella, in an unusual burst of energy, took over the kitchen.
"I'll handle dinner today," she announced, taking off her coat. "I think I'll make something special, maybe herb chicken. I owe you for the cookies this weekend."
"Deal. I'll be upstairs," I replied, giving her an affectionate tap on the shoulder. "I have some pending homework I missed yesterday because I was possessed by the spirit of Michelangelo."
I took the stairs two at a time. I entered my room, which still smelled slightly of drawing fixative spray, and pulled out my phone. I sat on the edge of the bed, watching through the window as the mist swallowed the pines in the yard. I had to call Mom. Yesterday, between the "Mother Earth" design and the Cullen babies, time had slipped through my fingers and the weekly call had been forgotten.
The phone rang three times before Renée's vibrant and chaotic voice filled my ear.
"Mael! Sweetie! I thought you'd forgotten about your poor mother!" she exclaimed. I could hear the Phoenix sun through the line—a violent contrast to the cold seeping through my window.
"Hey, Mom. Sorry, I got caught up in a drawing and lost track of reality. You know how my brain works."
"I know, I know. Phil says you're like a monk when you pick up a pencil. How is everything over there? Is it still raining? Has Bella fallen off a cliff yet?"
"Still raining, but Charlie put new tires on the truck, so at least we won't slide all the way to Seattle. And Bella... well, today she seems to have discovered that the sun can also come out in Forks. She's happy."
I chatted with her for a while, listening to her stories about Phil and his baseball league. Renée is pure color, a mess of emotions that sometimes exhausted me, but today it served to ground my feet on the earth after having spent the week drawing porcelain beings. I told her, very vaguely, that I had landed a potential job doing illustrations for an architect, omitting, of course, that said architect looked like she'd stepped out of a Norse myth.
"I'm proud of you, Mael. You always see the beauty where no one else looks," she said before hanging up.
I stared at the phone for a few seconds after cutting the call. "You see the beauty where no one else looks." I wasn't sure if what I saw in the Cullens was beauty or simply a truth that was impossible for me to ignore.
I went down to the kitchen just as the aroma of the chicken was starting to brown. Bella was humming a song while chopping vegetables. I leaned against the doorframe, watching her. We were two strangers in a strange town, but for the first time since we arrived, I felt the puzzle pieces were starting to fit.
Tomorrow would be Tuesday. And something told me Alice wouldn't take long to give me news on Esme's reaction to my drawings.
Tuesday dawned with the consistency of oatmeal: gray, thick, and damp. Bella was already in the kitchen when I went down; the smell of coffee and toast was the only thing holding the house together. We put on the heaviest coats we had, because the Forks cold that day didn't just blow—it bit. We said goodbye to Charlie, who was already checking his gear, and climbed into the Chevy. My old man's new tires crunched over the frozen asphalt with a confidence we didn't quite feel.
Upon arriving at the high school, the parking lot was almost deserted. Everyone had run to take refuge inside the buildings, seeking the warmth of the old heating that always smelled like burnt dust.
"Good luck, Bells," I told her as we parted ways in the central hallway. She nodded, sinking deeper into her scarf.
I headed to History. Yay.
I entered the classroom like a shadow, hugging the wall, eyes fixed on the worn floor tiles. I didn't need to look to know Jasper was there, in the back, right next to my seat. His presence was like a drop in atmospheric pressure; you could feel it in your ears. I sat down without making the slightest sound, pulled out my notebook, and started tracing erratic lines—overlapping circles, anything to keep my gaze away from him.
But Jasper wasn't in the mood to ignore me today. He straightened in his chair, and I felt his gaze fixed on the side of my head. It was a heavy, persistent gaze, as if he were trying to tune a radio to a frequency only I emitted.
"Thank you for the drawing... Esme loved it," he said suddenly.
His voice sounded more like a low growl than a human greeting, but there was no malice in it. It was a dry sound, almost forced.
"I'll let Alice tell you all the details so I don't ruin the moment," he added, returning to his usual rigidity.
I froze. My pencil stopped in mid-air, millimeters from the paper. My pulse gave a treacherous leap, but I forced myself to keep my composure. I said nothing. I simply nodded once, curtly, and thank heaven, the teacher started the class at that very moment.
I felt a stinging discomfort. It wasn't fear—I've never been afraid of shadows—it was something more pragmatic. I wanted to avoid any real connection with the Cullens. I didn't need complications, let alone a one-sided crush on a guy who, besides being obviously straight, was bonded to that cute pixie Alice in a way that seemed to transcend time. I don't work like that, or so I tell myself after the last guy; no more falling for a guy just for his looks. I promised myself I'd need a deep emotional connection to be interested in someone, and I liked Alice too much to become the third wheel in a Gothic drama that wasn't mine to join. She was sweet, ethereal, and honestly, the only light in that marble group.
I spent the rest of my classes with monumental lethargy. The teachers' words slid off me like rain on the Chevy's windshield. By the time lunch arrived, my social battery was in the negatives.
I dodged Bella and Mike's group with the skill of an urban ninja. I didn't go to the Cullens' table, nor to my sister's. I found a small, secluded table in the darkest corner of the cafeteria, with my back to the entrance. I needed to be alone. I took out my notebook and sank into it, using the graphite to build a wall between the world and me. In that corner, I wasn't Bella's brother, or the guy who drew bear babies; I was just an observer who wished, for once, that the landscape would stop looking back at him.
The bubble of silence I had built around myself was so dense that the cafeteria din felt as if it were happening underwater. I was lost in the stroke, my hand moving with an autonomy of its own that ignored hunger and time.
Suddenly, a plastic clack against the wood snapped me out of my trance. I blinked, regaining my peripheral vision, and found a food tray installed in front of my notebook.
"Surprise," Bella said, looking at me with that mix of tenderness and reproach only she can pull off.
I looked down at the drawing I was working on. My breath hitched for a second. It was Jasper. But not the Jasper from History class with his button-down shirt and military rigidity. I had drawn him shirtless, with an anatomy that bordered on sculptural; every muscle of his abdominals was defined with hard graphite shadows, highlighting a physical strength he usually hid under layers of cloth. His eyes on the paper had that same intensity he had directed at me in class.
"Eat now," Bella commanded, pointing at the food. "There are fifteen minutes of lunch left and you need to recharge."
I closed the notebook with suspicious speed, feeling a light heat in my cheeks that I attributed to the heater.
"I have to watch you to make sure you eat," she continued, crossing her arms. "I don't want a repeat of last time, when you went almost a whole day without a bite just because you were concentrated on God knows what. I have to be the responsible big sister looking out for her little brother."
I let out a dry laugh, leaning back in the chair and looking her up and down with an arched eyebrow.
"Little brother? You know I'm taller than you and that, unlike a certain someone, I don't slip on a simple crack in the ground?"
We stared each other down for a long moment. She was trying to maintain her stance of moral authority, and I was trying not to give in to my own protective arrogance. Finally, the tension broke and we both let out a laugh that echoed in our secluded corner.
"Thanks, Bells. You're the best," I told her, surrendering and taking a piece of the sandwich she had brought me.
"Yes, I know, I know," she replied smugly, turning around to head back to her group before time ran out.
I finished lunch quickly, feeling the sugar and carbs return the mental sharpness needed for the rest of the day. Just as I left the tray at the return counter, the bell roared, announcing the end of the truce.
I walked toward my next class with the notebook tucked tightly under my arm. The drawing of Jasper was still burning in my backpack—a representation of something I didn't want to admit I was analyzing far too much.