"Stephenie Meyer - Twilight 03 - Eclipse" - читать интересную книгу автора (Meyer Stephanie)

attention would be diverted. The moment when I would surely die.

Somewhere, far, far away in the cold forest, a wolf howled.



1. ULTIMATUM

Bella,

I don’t know why you’re making Charlie carry notes to Billy like we’re in second grade — if I wanted
to talk to you I would answer the

You made the choice here, okay? You can’t have it both ways when

What part of ‘mortal enemies’ is too complicated for you to

Look, I know I’m being a jerk, but there’s just no way around

We can’t be friends when you’re spending all your time with a bunch of

It just makes it worse when I think about you too much, so don’t write anymore

Yeah, I miss you, too. A lot. Doesn’t change anything. Sorry.

Jacob

I ran my fingers across the page, feeling the dents where he had pressed the pen to the paper so hard
that it had nearly broken through. I could picture him writing this — scrawling the angry letters in his
rough handwriting, slashing through line after line when the words came out wrong, maybe even snapping
the pen in his too-big hand; that would explain the ink splatters. I could imagine the frustration pulling his
black eyebrows together and crumpling his forehead. If I’d been there, I might have laughed.Don’t give
yourself a brain hemorrhage, Jacob, I would have told him.Just spit it out.

Laughing was the last thing I felt like doing now as I reread the words I’d already memorized. His
answer to my pleading note — passed from Charlie to Billy to him, just like second grade, as he’d
pointed out — was no surprise. I’d known the essence of what it would say before I’d opened it.

What was surprising was how much each crossed-out line wounded me — as if the points of the letters
had cutting edges. More than that, behind each angry beginning lurked a vast pool of hurt; Jacob’s pain
cut me deeper than my own.

While I was pondering this, I caught the unmistakable scent of a smoking burner rising from the kitchen.
In another house, the fact that someone besides myself was cooking might not be a cause for panicking.

I shoved the wrinkled paper into my back pocket and ran, making it downstairs in the nick of time.

The jar of spaghetti sauce Charlie’d stuck in the microwave was only on its first revolution when I
yanked the door open and pulled it out.