My Sweet Variable by lifeinthesnowHe white-knuckles his pen, dragging a line of ink across the page. I can guess which passage he's marking: "All things truly wicked start from an innocence." Hemingway wouldn't have known about us. No one does. Teenage E/B, AH, quasi-dystopian.
I originally saw this on TLS but put it on my tbr because I hate WIP. They drive me crazy because I HAVE TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENS NEXT! I honestly don't know why I continue to read them. Alas, I am stoopid. And I want you to be stoopid too!
A friend or ten on Twitter rec'd this to me, and I caved. I'm so glad I caved. This is the perfect fic. Well written, technically and story wise, amazing characters, intrigue, adventure, mystery, romance, tension. Love, love, love.
Tell me you aren't interested after this.
"What are you looking at?" I turn my head slowly toward the halfhearted scrimmage match taking place on the soccer field. Torsos in gray T-shirts rise out of a tangle of chalky shins and puffs of dust.
"New Guy." Rose fluff-shakes her hair so it falls in front of her face, pretending to search out split ends. Her peroxide habit means it's pretty much all split ends. She peers through the blond curtain. "He needs a name."
"Why not…Officer?" Alice narrows her kohl-rimmed eyes, looking up from her book with a smirk. A black lacquered fingernail floats down to hold her place on the page.
"He's not a narc." By now Rose and I are plainly staring. New Guy, as Rose calls him, is taller than the others. His long legs should make him a fast runner, but he moves like a heavy and invisible cloak is weighing him down. He has hard sinews in his legs and tired shadows under his eyes that make Alice think he's a twenty-something cop working undercover, not the seventeen-year-old student he claims to be.
Alice follows my glance. "I'm halfway serious. I mean, who transfers schools two months before the school year ends?"
"His dad had to move for a job. I heard he's already got his credits from his old school, and his parents just wanted him enrolled so he would make friends." Ah. Rose has done research. I study her face. She isn't smitten, but this mode of attention means she's considering it.
"You heard all that, and you still don't know his name?" Alice purses her lips. "I just don't know. He's hiding something."
"Why do you even care, twerp?" I nudge the side of Alice's Doc Martens boot with my sneaker. The toughness she projects is real, but she's also a sweetheart who couldn't get arrested if she tried. "He could use a little beauty rest. But he's not a narc."
I know this about him—this New Guy.
I know practically everything about him.
I know his name is Edward. His purported and actual age is seventeen. He consumes cutting-edge comic books and run-of-the-mill sci-fi novels in equal measure. He goes for salty over sweet, but both at once trump either one alone. He's gifted with a knack for languages, a photographic memory, and the vision of a hawk. He is not a narc. He is, however, an operative in an elite and controversial top-secret espionage unit, trained from a young age to kill with precision and stealth.
Just like me.
What the what? Yeah, assassin teenagers, yo. And I die from all the love. I adore this kind of stuff. People caught up in something dangerous they can't get out of with a love story and action intermingled. Sigh.
Bella and Edward have been assigned to work together, and part of their assignment is to pretend to be in a relationship. I know! I think there's love involved. Uh huh.
"Can you hurry up and shove your tongue down my throat?"
The look on his face melts into something softer, but just for a moment. "You're nervous." In a blink, he's grinning again. "Should I role play? Would that make it easier? What's something what's-his-name says? Ryan Gosling?"
"You're already role playing, remember? You're 'New Guy' now."
"I am?"
"Your nickname at school. That's what they call you."
He squints his eyes in mock dismay. "It's a little bland, isn't it?"
"Alice thinks you're a narc."
"Oh, that's good. Man of mystery. Mature. And only the really corrupt narcs make out with the students."
Somehow, he's distracted me so much that I've forgotten his fingers are in my hair. Almost.
"Ready?"
"Whatever. I'm sure it will be fine." Actually, I'm thinking it will feel like CPR, but I keep that to myself. "Just don't make it weirder, if you can help it."
He opens and closes his mouth. "I wish…never mind. I'm not helping."
"What?" I huff into my palm to check my breath.
"No, you're fine. God, Bella." He does this funny thing with his hands, moving back and forth between friendly shoulder-pats and softer experimental touches. "I just…you're a girl, okay. I know girls like to have moments. With some guy whose picture they have in their locker. I wish this was like that for you."
I shake my head. He's making it weird, all right. Him saying that makes me feel flushed. "Nobody really lives that sort of life anyhow. But for the sake of your inner-fantasy reel, if I were the type to get crushes, I'd have one on you."
He cracks a smile—his complicated smile. The one that always makes me feel a strange lump in my throat.
"Requests? Last chance. Tongue or no tongue?"
"You've kissed girls before. Just do whatever."
"Okay. Here we go. Don't hit me." He places his palms on either side of my face.
I close my eyes. I'm prepared for his mouth to crush me, but he only brushes his lips against mine at first. It's soft. He stays just like that for a moment, neither pressing on nor moving away. He smells different, being this close. It's his hair or skin or something. And then I feel his lips again, still soft, still slow.
I can't help thinking the craziest things—like: We're breathing the same air. Has this air been in his lungs, or only his mouth? Can he feel my heartbeat in my lips, or is that just me?The tip of his tongue, light and wet, catches me off guard. When I gasp, I feel him sigh roughly, and then I feel the strength of his lips—but only for an instant.
"Um. Okay—sorry. This okay?" I feel his breath on my skin when he speaks.
I realize I'm gripping his wrists in my hands, and I can't tell if I meant to hold him to me or keep him at bay. I nod against his forehead and peck him quickly on the lips and then his cheek.
"Yeah. Good. That should be believable, right?" My voice wavers.
He leans away from me, looking off to the side for a moment and then looking me in the eye. "If 'believable' is what we're going for, yeah."
The look on his face melts into something softer, but just for a moment. "You're nervous." In a blink, he's grinning again. "Should I role play? Would that make it easier? What's something what's-his-name says? Ryan Gosling?"
"You're already role playing, remember? You're 'New Guy' now."
"I am?"
"Your nickname at school. That's what they call you."
He squints his eyes in mock dismay. "It's a little bland, isn't it?"
"Alice thinks you're a narc."
"Oh, that's good. Man of mystery. Mature. And only the really corrupt narcs make out with the students."
Somehow, he's distracted me so much that I've forgotten his fingers are in my hair. Almost.
"Ready?"
"Whatever. I'm sure it will be fine." Actually, I'm thinking it will feel like CPR, but I keep that to myself. "Just don't make it weirder, if you can help it."
He opens and closes his mouth. "I wish…never mind. I'm not helping."
"What?" I huff into my palm to check my breath.
"No, you're fine. God, Bella." He does this funny thing with his hands, moving back and forth between friendly shoulder-pats and softer experimental touches. "I just…you're a girl, okay. I know girls like to have moments. With some guy whose picture they have in their locker. I wish this was like that for you."
I shake my head. He's making it weird, all right. Him saying that makes me feel flushed. "Nobody really lives that sort of life anyhow. But for the sake of your inner-fantasy reel, if I were the type to get crushes, I'd have one on you."
He cracks a smile—his complicated smile. The one that always makes me feel a strange lump in my throat.
"Requests? Last chance. Tongue or no tongue?"
"You've kissed girls before. Just do whatever."
"Okay. Here we go. Don't hit me." He places his palms on either side of my face.
I close my eyes. I'm prepared for his mouth to crush me, but he only brushes his lips against mine at first. It's soft. He stays just like that for a moment, neither pressing on nor moving away. He smells different, being this close. It's his hair or skin or something. And then I feel his lips again, still soft, still slow.
I can't help thinking the craziest things—like: We're breathing the same air. Has this air been in his lungs, or only his mouth? Can he feel my heartbeat in my lips, or is that just me?The tip of his tongue, light and wet, catches me off guard. When I gasp, I feel him sigh roughly, and then I feel the strength of his lips—but only for an instant.
"Um. Okay—sorry. This okay?" I feel his breath on my skin when he speaks.
I realize I'm gripping his wrists in my hands, and I can't tell if I meant to hold him to me or keep him at bay. I nod against his forehead and peck him quickly on the lips and then his cheek.
"Yeah. Good. That should be believable, right?" My voice wavers.
He leans away from me, looking off to the side for a moment and then looking me in the eye. "If 'believable' is what we're going for, yeah."
Bella is doing her job, trying to get it right, but Edward . . . Edward, methinks, is in love. And it's not insta-love. It's real I've-known-you-for-so-long-we-should-be-together love. Awesome, right? Know what else is awesome? Bella and Edward have ear pieces that are linked to each other. They can talk whenever they want. In the cafeteria on opposite sides of the room, two streets away, bedrooms apart. You get the picture. It's so cool.
Know what's not cool? The big, bad, creepy employer, Aro, can listen in. So if they want to talk about trying to get out of their lifestyle they've gotta get sneaky, which is dangerous, which makes me love this fic even more.
Bella kicks ass, and so does Edward, but he's also a reluctant assassin. I want to hold him in my arms and pet his hair. I guess I'll let Bella do it for now . . .
I feel his rib cage expand and contract before his breath tickles my skin. "Do you ever find yourself wishing Charlie knew? Someone who would stick up for you and help you sort out right from wrong?"
I have to stifle a gasp. This kind of talk would get us both called to headquarters. Right and wrong isn't supposed to occur to us. This is the kink they haven't worked out in their genius program: We develop consciences. I can't even answer. I just shake my head no.
He shudders and sinks in my arms, letting me hold him. "I just don't know how much longer I can do this without losing…you know." I do know. All semblance of humanity is the thing he means. He thinks about it a lot.
"You're eighteen soon, and then it's just one more year." Feeble, I know.
He sighs. It's hot on my neck. That sigh says a year is forever.
I can't have him breaking down on me. "Shh. You're a good person, Edward. The best I know. You've never made anyone suffer—not on purpose, not on accident. Listen to me. And none of them were innocent. They died for a reason."
Gah!
I harped on the author to find out when it's updating since it was last updated in June. She said, and I quote, "Soon." Yipee.
Team Jacob Safe
Smut Factor: nonexistent. Average teen UST with kisses and things like, "Goodbye, special tall shoes."
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