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"Bella, you are utterly absurd," he said, his low voice cold.
My palms tingled — I wanted so badly to hit something. I was surprised at myself. I
was usually a nonviolent person. I turned my back and started to walk away.
"Wait," he called. I kept walking, sloshing angrily through the rain. But he was next to
me, easily keeping pace.
"I'm sorry, that was rude," he said as we walked. I ignored him. "I'm not saying it isn't
true," he continued, "but it was rude to say it, anyway."
"Why won't you leave me alone?" I grumbled.
"I wanted to ask you something, but you sidetracked me," he chuckled. He seemed to
have recovered his good humor.
"Do you have a multiple personality disorder?" I asked severely.

"That's really frustrating, you know," he complained.
"No," I disagreed quickly, my eyes narrowing, "I can't imagine why that would be
frustrating at all — just because someone refuses to tell you what they're thinking, even if
all the while they're making cryptic little remarks specifically designed to keep you up at
night wondering what they could possibly mean… now, why would that be frustrating?"
He grimaced.
"Or better," I continued, the pent-up annoyance flowing freely now, "say that person
also did a wide range of bizarre things — from saving your life under impossible
circumstances one day to treating you like a pariah the next, and he never explained any
of that, either, even after he promised. That, also, would be very non-frustrating."
"You've got a bit of a temper, don't you?"
"I don't like double standards."

Reading these actual quotes from the book reminds me yet again of how bad a writer she is. I mean, how is it possible for writing to be so utterly circular and roundabout, and, most of all, POINTLESS?

"Where do you think you're going?" he asked, outraged. He was gripping a fistful of my
jacket in one hand.
I was confused. "I'm going home."
"Didn't you hear me promise to take you safely home? Do you think I'm going to let
you drive in your condition?" His voice was still indignant.
"What condition? And what about my truck?" I complained.
"I'll have Alice drop it off after school." He was towing me toward his car now, pulling
me by my jacket. It was all I could do to keep from falling backward. He'd probably just
drag me along anyway if I did.
"Let go!" I insisted. He ignored me. I staggered along sideways across the wet sidewalk
until we reached the Volvo. Then he finally freed me — I stumbled against the passenger
door.
"You are so pushy !" I grumbled.
"It's open," was all he responded. He got in the driver's side.
"I am perfectly capable of driving myself home!" I stood by the car, fuming. It was
raining harder now, and I'd never put my hood up, so my hair was dripping down my
back.
He lowered the automatic window and leaned toward me across the seat. "Get in,
Bella."
I didn't answer. I was mentally calculating my chances of reaching the truck before he
could catch me. I had to admit, they weren't good.
"I'll just drag you back," he threatened, guessing my plan.
I tried to maintain what dignity I could as I got into his car. I wasn't very successful — I
looked like a half-drowned cat and my boots squeaked.
"This is completely unnecessary," I said stiffly.