The Outlier

TWENTY-ONE

My Saturday hang out with Edward Cullen came closer than I had hoped. There he was, bright and early at eight in the morning, standing on my doorstep. I was still groggy, dressed in sweatpants and loungewear. Edward waited for me on the sofa downstairs, entertaining himself with the newest episode of Gossip Girl while I showered.

I snuggly wrapped my towel around my body as I rummaged my dressers for something decent to wear. I settled on brown workwear trousers that clung off my waist, not revealing too much of my figure, a white graphic shirt— a memento of an Earth Day event I took part in on a sunny day of my year nine. I chose a thick green jacket that crinkled loudly whenever I'd move. The jacket had a woollen inner lining, ensuring warmth all throughout the trip.

The weather was as warm as it was on the day of the La Push trip— which is to say, not warm at all. Like that day, it was twenty degrees celsius at most and my body was still freezing. But it was safe to say, the weather was a considerable upgrade from Fork's usual climate.

I strutted down my stairs, my steps having a slight bounce to them as I announced my preparation to Edward.

"Your attire's colour palette is quite appropriate considering where we're going," he commented.

"Pardon?" I asked, not quite understanding his remark.

"Nothing," he smiled, acting like he hadn't said anything in the first place.

He pulled on his blue Cubs baseball cap and put on his sunglasses, rising from the faded sofa he sat on. I was reminded of the weather outside and I stood baffled, still in the shelter of my own house.

"Edward," he looked up at the mention of his name, "won't you like... I don't know... burn to a cinder in the sunlight?"

"Myth," he shrugged. I nodded, not quite understanding.

He wore a white shirt, the collar of it peaking through a tan jumper. His shirt was tucked into his dark washed jeans— the shade of his jeans were a blue far darker than anything I would personally wear, but to each their own. His brown Chelsea boots stomped against my hollow floorboard in an elegant manner.

He guided me out of the door and led me to his car's passenger door, a hand hovering over my lower back.
I reached out to open the car door to allow myself to enter. He angrily, yet gently swatted my hand away, allowing him to open the door for me.

I rolled my eyes. "You know you don't have to do that."

"You're right, I don't have to," he grinned, "but I want to."

He walked over to the other side of his car, with a small carefree nature to his steps as he tossed his car keys in the air before catching them. As cheery as his steps were, they didn't lose the poise they always had.

"Where are we going?" I asked him once he turned on the engine.

"My spot," he told me. "I've never taken anyone here."