All I Wanted Was the Truth

Somehow, Biology always seems to last the longest out of all of my classes. It just drags, for some reason. I guess it's because I've done most of the work before, and I've always despised Biology. Or it could be because the teacher sounded like a vacuum cleaner when he talked - droning on, and on, and on, and on.

Mr. Banner is late today - he's probably in the lunchroom drinking his coffee. The class is chattering away happily, not bothering to keep the volume down. Everybody seems fairly happy for some reason; curious, I listened in inconspicuously to some of the gossip being passed around.

" ... supposed to be sunny. Isn't that great luck?" I couldn't recall the name of the girl who was saying this.

Mike Newton was nodding enthusiastically. "Yeah, so I'm thinking we should invite a bunch of people down to First Beach in La Push. We could have a bonfire, hike, other stuff. It'll be great."

Oh, so they were planning an outting. I liked La Push. The forest surrounding it was so wild and overgrown, and you couldn't hear the sounds of civilization through the trees. Peace and quiet.

I tuned the conversation out, bored easily, as always. Somebody hurried into the room. I looked up, expecting the teacher - but no, it was Bella Swan. My eyes wandered idly to her table, which was empty. Edward didn't seem to be coming today. Bella looked slightly flustered, glancing up at Mike and Angela Weber - who looked resentful and surprised, respectively.

Mr. Banner walked in almost immediately afterward, struggling under an armful of boxes. He put them down gratefully on Mike's desk.

"Okay guys, I want you all to take one piece from each box," he said, snapping on a pair of rubber gloves. I raised an eyebrow as he continued, "The first should be an indicator card," He held up said indicator card, which had four squares on it. "The second is a four-pronged applicator-" He held this up, too, "-and the third is a sterile micro-lancet." He held something that looked like a harmless bit a blue plastic - but I knew better. I'd done this before. He split the thing open, and there was a small bit of almost invisible wire attached. I felt a strange thrill run up and down my spine.

Accompanying the thrill was the slightest stab of pain in my head. It went away almost before I could register it, as if it was backing away in surrender.

"I'll be coming around with a dropper of water to prepare your cards, so please don't start until I get to you," He took the indicator he'd placed on Mike's desk, and squeezed a drop of water onto each square. "Then I want you to carefully prick your finger with the lancet ..." He stabbed Mike's middle finger; Mike hardly flinched. "Put a small drop of blood on each of the prongs," He squeezed Mike's finger. I was tapping my foot impatiently. "And then apply it to the card," He did so, holding up the crimson indicator for all to see. "The Red Cross is having a blood drive in Port Angeles next weekend, so I thought you should all know your blood type," We get it, Mr. Know-It-All, can we get to the testing? "Those of you who aren't eighteen yet will need parent's permission - I have slips at my desk."

I'd get Dad to sign later. Bring on the lancet.

Mr. Banner came around with the water dropper, reaching my table just as I sat down with my equipment. He put a drop on each of the squares of my card, and moved on. I wiggled my fingers experimentally, to get the blood flowing. People all around me were complaining or giggling nervously, hesitating with the lancet inches from the tips of their fingers. I smiled to myself, taking the lancet between my thumb and forefinger. I split it open, revealing the sharp wire. I held my finger out and jabbed the tip - perhaps a tad too deep - and watched the blood flow. I didn't need to squeeze my finger to get any blood on the applicator - I simply held a prong under my dripping finger, and then applied it to the card until it had been dyed deep red.

"Can someone take Bella to the nurse, please?"

I looked up from my massacred digit, eyebrows raised. Bella Swan had her face pressed firmly to the tabletop, and she looked a bit sweaty. Mr. Banner was standing over her, concerned.

"Can you walk?" he continued, as Mike jumped eagerly from his seat.

"Yes," she muttered. I had to stifle a laugh at the sound of her feeble reply.

Mike threw an arm around her waist, dragging hers around his shoulder so he could support her. They shuffled awkwardly out of the room.

I was biting my fist to try and stop the laughter. I couldn't help it - this had happened when blood testing happened last year, and I had laughed then, too. The fact that it was Bella Swan just made it funnier.

The rest of the class passed by in a cheerful blur; after we tested for our blood types, Mr. Banner let us talk amongst ourselves as a free period. I, of course, sat quietly at the back, talking to nobody. I let myself daydream for a while, squeezing my finger every few minutes to watch the blood ooze out. It made me smile due to my sick sense of accomplishment.

When the bell went to end class, I was one of the last out, as a first. Everybody hurried out before me.

Once I reached the hall where my locker was, it was pretty empty. A few stragglers were makng their way to wherever they were going as I pulled my locker open. I shoved everything inside and shut it again, swinging my light bag over my shoulder.

I turned to face the hall - and jumped.

"Emmett," I said, exhaling swiftly. "Don't do that."

He didn't reply. He simply stared down at my hand, which I raised curiously. I realized it was still bleeding lightly.

"Oh," I muttered, quickly hiding it behind my back. "Sorry."

Emmett looked up at me, a dazed look in his dark eyes. "Don't be." he mumbled.

I could vividly feel my pulse in my sliced finger, pushing blood out of the opening. I bit my lip nervously.

Emmett smiled warmly. "I'm sorry," he said, chuckling in a strangely constrained way. "You just ... your blood ... it smells nice." he finished quietly.

My mouth fell open briefly, but I clamped it shut again. "It does?" I asked.

His smile widened. "Very."

I looked around, curious and nervous at the same time. Nobody was around. My curiosity won out, and I turned back to him. "Does all blood smell different?" I asked.

He laughed. "Yes; it depends on the blood type, of course, but it depends on the person, too."

"What does it smell like?" I asked, speaking quietly, just in case anybody happened to be able to hear us.

He twisted his lips, thinking. "Well," he said, "It varies mostly. Your blood smells sort of ... sweet. But not overly sweet, like vanilla, or something. Sweet like honey."

My mouth fell open once again, and it took me a few seconds longer to shut it this time. "Sweet like honey?" I repeated faintly.

He laughed once again, his eyes sparkling black. "Exactly like honey. But ... Bella, for example," he continued, more quietly, "Her blood smells like flowers."

I coughed. "Flowers. Flowers are nice."

"Honey smells better," he replied absentmindedly. "Anyway, I was just coming to talk to you when the smell hit me. I didn't mean to scare you," He smiled evilly at me. "This time."

I laughed, though a touch of nervousness still managed to show through in my voice. "This time? What does that mean?"

His grin widened, and he lowered his head so he was looking at me through his lashes. He looked immensely scary. He started edging towards me. "I mean if I really tried to scare you, you would know it." he rumbled darkly.

I backed up against my locker. "Stop that, Emmett." I said, smiling half heartedly.

He continued moving towards me menacingly, saying nothing.

"Emmett, stop it." I repeated firmly.

He couldn't move any further without forcing me into the locker itself, but his looming presence made it seem as though he was still growing larger.

"Emmett!" I said, smile gone. I raised my hands against him and pushed, trying to shove him away.

He froze, looking down at his shirt where I had pushed him. My blood had stained the white fabric. A small red rose blossomed out from the spot where my finger still rested.

I tried to move my hand away, but too late. His hand held it firmly, sending shivers down my spine. He felt like ice.

He raised my finger to his face slowly, staring at it intently, as though it were about to tell him the meaning of life. I looked on, waiting.

He chuckled then, gripping my hand less tightly, but not letting go. He sniffed my finger playfully. "Just like honey," he said, lowering my hand to my side. "I wish grizzly bears tasted that way."

I blanched. "Grizzly bears?"