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           Iwaswellawarethatmyleagueandhisleaguewerespheresthatdidnottouch.SoIshouldn’tbeatallanxioustoseehimtoday.

           Ittookeveryounceofmyconcentrationtomakeitdowntheicybrickdrivewayalive.IalmostlostmybalancewhenIfinallygottothetruck,butImanagedtoclingtothesidemirrorandsavemyself.Clearly,todaywasgoingtobenightmarish.

           Drivingtoschool,IdistractedmyselffrommyfearoffallingandmyunwantedspeculationsaboutEdwardCullenbythinkingaboutMikeandEric,andtheobviousdifferenceinhowteenageboysrespondedtomehere.IwassureIlookedexactlythesameasIhadinPhoenix.Maybeitwasjustthattheboysbackhomehadwatchedmepassslowlythroughalltheawkwardphasesofadolescenceandstillthoughtofmethatway.PerhapsitwasbecauseIwasanoveltyhere,wherenoveltieswerefewandfarbetween.Possiblymycripplingclumsinesswasseenasendearingratherthanpathetic,castingmeasadamselindistress.Whateverthereason,Mike’spuppydogbehaviorandEric’sapparentrivalrywithhimweredisconcerting.Iwasn’tsureifIdidn’tpreferbeingignored.

           Mytruckseemedtohavenoproblemwiththeblackicethatcoveredtheroads.Idroveveryslowly,though,notwantingtocarveapathofdestructionthroughMainStreet.

           WhenIgotoutofmytruckatschool,IsawwhyI’dhadsolittletrouble.Somethingsilvercaughtmyeye,andIwalkedtothebackofthetruck-carefullyholdingthesideforsupport-toexaminemytires.