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           "I’mgoingtorunoverTylerCrowleytomorrowbeforeschool?"

           Hewasstillsqueezinghiseyesclosed,butthecornerofhismouthtwitched.

           "Why?"

           "He’stellingeveryonethathe’stakingmetoprom-eitherhe’sinsaneorhe’sstilltryingtomakeupforalmostkillingmelast...well,yourememberit,andhethinkspromissomehowthecorrectwaytodothis.SoIfigureifIendangerhislife,thenwe’reeven,andhecan’tkeeptryingtomakeamends.Idon’tneedenemiesandmaybeLaurenwouldbackoffifheleftmealone.ImighthavetototalhisSentra,though.Ifhedoesn’thavearidehecan’ttakeanyonetoprom..."Ibabbledon.

           "Iheardaboutthat."Hesoundedabitmorecomposed.

           "Youdid?"Iaskedindisbelief,mypreviousirritationflaring."Ifhe’sparalyzedfromtheneckdown,hecan’tgototheprom,either,"Imuttered,refiningmyplan.

           Edwardsighed,andfinallyopenedhiseyes.

           "Better?"

           "Notreally."

           Iwaited,buthedidn’tspeakagain.Heleanedhisheadbackagainsttheseat,staringattheceilingofthecar.Hisfacewasrigid.

           "What’swrong?"Myvoicecameoutinawhisper.

           "SometimesIhaveaproblemwithmytemper,Bella."Hewaswhispering,too,andashestaredoutthewindow,hiseyesnarrowedintoslits."Butitwouldn’tbehelpfulformetoturnaroundandhuntdownthose..."Hedidn’tfinishhissentence,lookingaway,strugglingforamomenttocontrolhisangeragain."Atleast,"hecontinued,"that’swhatI’mtryingtoconvincemyself."

           "Oh.