Here are some excerpts that were cut out of the Twilight books for various reasons. Some of you guys might find them interesting and maybe help you understand or see something you didn't see before.

These are copied from Stephenie Meyer's website

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"Sometimes, in the editing process, sacrifices must be made. Some parts are cut because they slow down the action, others are cut simply to condense length, others are cut to simplify the plot. And, whatever the reason behind the removal, some cuts are more painful than others. This page is dedicated to the cuts that I miss the most.

Remember, these are taken straight from the rough draft. They are embarrassingly unpolished, and there might be things that are a little confusing. (For example, Rosalie wasn't always as antagonistic as she is now—her character evolved and defined itself in the editing process.) Anyway, don't expect too much, and enjoy!



TWILIGHT

(Notes: this scene was clipped from Chapter 11 "Complications." It bugged me to remove
it, but I couldn't put my finger on why that was, so I let it go. When it was too late to put
it back, I finally realized what was bothering me. Though I refer to Bella's clumsiness in
gym several times, I never really show it in action. This was the one time that Edward
was "watching," and thus the natural place to showcase that clumsiness. Ha ha—and now
my explanation is almost longer than the outtake!!)


Badminton

I walked into the gym, lightheaded, wobbly. I drifted to the locker room, changing in a
trancelike state, only vaguely aware that there were other people surrounding me. Reality
didn't fully set in until I was handed a racquet. It wasn't heavy, yet it felt very unsafe in
my hand. I could see a few of the other kids in class eyeing me furtively. Coach Clapp
ordered us to pair up into teams.
Mercifully, some vestiges of Mike's chivalry still survived; he came to stand beside me.
"Do you want to be a team?" he asked cheerfully.
"Thanks, Mike—you don't have to do this, you know." I grimaced.
"Don't worry, I'll keep out of your way," he grinned. Sometimes it was so easy to be fond
of Mike.
It didn't go smoothly. I tried to stay clear of Mike so that he could keep the birdie in play,
but Coach Clapp came by and ordered him to remain on his side of the court so I could
participate. He stayed, watching, to enforce his words.
With a sigh, I stepped into a more central place on the court, holding my racquet upright,
if still gingerly. The girl on the other team sneered maliciously as she served the birdie—I
must have injured her during the basketball section—lobbing it just a few feet past the
net, directly toward me. I sprung gracelessly forward, aiming my swing in the direction
of the little rubber pest, but I forgot to take the net into account. My racquet bounced
back from the net with surprising strength, popping out of my hand, and glancing off my
forehead before whacking Mike in the shoulder as he rushed forward to get the birdie I
had completely missed.
Coach Clapp coughed, or muffled a laugh.
"Sorry, Newton," he mumbled, ambling away so we could return to our former, less
dangerous, positions.
"Are you okay?" Mike asked, massaging his shoulder, just as I was rubbing my forehead.
"Yeah, are you?" I asked meekly, retrieving my weapon.
"I think I'll make it." He swung his arm in a circle, making sure he still had full range of
motion.
"I'll just stay back here." I walked to the back corner of the court, holding my racket
carefully behind my back.
© 2007 Stephenie Meyer


(Notes: You'll recognize portions of this chapter—small bits survived and were combined
with what is now Chapter 20 "Impatience." This chapter slowed down the pace of the
"hunt" part of the story, but I feel like I cut out a lot of Alice's personality when I
sacrificed it.)


Shopping with Alice

The car was sleek, black and powerful; its windows were tinted limo black. The engine
purred like a great cat as we sped through the deep night.
Jasper drove one handed, carelessly it seemed, but the muscular car flew forward with
perfect precision.
Alice sat with me on the black leather back seat. Somehow, during the long night, my
head had ended up against her granite neck, her cool arms enfolding me, her cheek
pressed against the top of my head. The front of her thin cotton shirt was cold, damp with
my tears. Now and then, if my breathing grew uneven, she would murmur soothingly; in
her fast, high voice, the encouragements sounded like singing. To keep myself calm, I
focused on the touch of her cold skin; it felt like a physical connection to Edward.
Both of them had assured me—when I realized, panic stricken, all my things were still in
the truck—that leaving it behind was necessary, something to do with the scent. They
told me not to worry about clothes or money. I tried to trust them, making an effort to
ignore how uncomfortable I was in Rosalie's ill-fitting outfit. It was a trivial thing to
mind.
On the smooth highways, Jasper never drove the brawny car below a hundred and twenty
miles per hour. He seemed utterly unaware of speed limits, but we never saw a patrol car.
The only breaks in the monotony of the drive were the two stops we made for fuel. I
noticed idly that Jasper went inside to pay cash both times.
Dawn began to break when we were somewhere in northern California. I watched with
dry, stinging eyes as the gray light streaked across the cloudless sky. I was exhausted, but
sleep had eluded me, my mind too full of disturbing images to relax into
unconsciousness. Charlie's broken expression—Edward's brutal snarl, teeth bared—the
keen-eyed stare of the tracker—Laurent's bleak expression—the dead look in Edward's
eyes after he kissed me the last time; like still slides they flashed in front of my eyes, my
feelings alternating between terror and despair.
In Sacramento, Alice wanted Jasper to stop, to get food for me. But I shook my head
tiredly, and directed him to keep driving in a hollow voice.
A few hours later, in a suburb outside L.A., Alice spoke softly to him again, and he exited
the freeway to the sound of my feeble protests. A large mall was visible from the
freeway, and he made his way there, pulling into the parking garage, down into the
underground level to park.
"Stay with the car," she instructed Jasper.
"Are you sure?" he sounded apprehensive.
"I don't see anyone here," she said. He nodded, consenting.
Alice took my hand and pulled me from the car. She held on to my hand, keeping me
close by her side as we walked from the dark garage. She skirted the edge of the garage,
keeping in the shadow. I noticed how her skin seemed to glow in the sunlight that
reflected off the sidewalk. The mall was crowded, many groups of shoppers passed, some
© 2007 Stephenie Meyer
of them turning their heads to watch us go by.
We walked under a bridge that crossed from the upper level of the parking garage into the
second story of a department store, always keeping out of the direct sunlight.
Once we were inside, under the fluorescent lights of the store, Alice looked less
remarkable—merely a chalky pale girl with alert, but shadowed eyes and spiky black
hair. The circles under my eyes, I was sure, were more evident than hers. We still caught
the attention of anyone who glanced our way. I wondered what they thought they were
seeing. The delicate, dancing Alice, with her striking angel's face, dressed in thin, pale
fabrics that didn't quite downplay her pallor enough, holding hands with me, obviously
leading, as I shambled tiredly along in my awkwardly fitted but expensive clothes, my
dull hair twisted into knots down my back.
Alice led me unerringly to the food court.
"What do you want to eat?"
The smell of the greasy fast foods turned my stomach. But Alice's eyes were not open to
persuasion. I asked unenthusiastically for a turkey sub.
"Can I go to the bathroom?" I asked as we headed for the line.
"Okay," and she changed direction, never letting go of my hand.
"I can go alone." The commonplace atmosphere of the generic mall made me feel the
most normal I had since our disastrous game last night.
"Sorry, Bella, but Edward's going to read my mind when he gets here, and if he sees that I
let you out of my sight for a minute…" she trailed off, unwilling to contemplate the dire
consequences.
She at least waited outside the stall in the crowded bathroom. I washed my face as well as
my hands, ignoring the startled looks of the women around me. I tried to comb my
fingers through my hair, but quickly gave up. Alice took my hand again at the door, and
we walked slowly back to the food line. I was dragging, but she didn't seem impatient
with me.
She watched me eat, slowly at first and then faster as my appetite returned. I drained the
soda she brought me so quickly that she left me for a moment—never taking her eyes off
me, though—to get another.
"It's definitely more convenient, the food you eat," she commented as I finished, "but it
doesn't seem like much fun."
"Hunting is more exciting, I imagine."
"You have no idea." She flashed a wide mouthful of glittering teeth, and several people's
heads turned in our direction.
After throwing our trash away, she led me down the wide corridors of the mall, her eyes
lighting now and then on something she wanted, hauling me along with her at each stop.
She paused for a moment at an expensive boutique to buy three pairs of sunglasses, two
women's and one men's. I noticed the clerk look at her with a new expression when she
handed him an unfamiliar clear credit card with gold lines across it. She found an
accessories shop where she picked up a hairbrush and rubber bands.
But she didn't really get down to business until she towed me into the sort of store I never
frequented, because the price for a pair of socks would be out of my league.
"You're about a size two." It was a statement, not a question.
She used me as a pack mule, loading me down with a staggering amount of clothing.
Now and then I would see her reach for a size extra-small as she picked something out
© 2007 Stephenie Meyer
for herself. The clothes she selected for herself were all in weightless materials, but long
sleeved or floor length, designed to cover as much of her skin as possible. A wide
brimmed, black straw hat crowned the mountain of clothes.
The salesgirl had a similar reaction to the unusual credit card, becoming more servile, and
calling Alice 'miss.' The name she said was unfamiliar, though. Once we were out in the
mall again, our arms loaded down with bags, of which she carried the lion's share, I asked
about that.
"What did she call you?"
"That credit card says Rachel Lee. We're going to be very careful not to leave any kind of
trail for the tracker. Let's go get you changed."
I thought about that as she led me back to the restrooms, pushing me into the
handicapped stall so I would have room to move. I heard her rummaging in the bags,
finally hanging a light blue cotton dress over the door for me. I gratefully tugged off
Rosalie's too long, too tight jeans, yanked off the blouse that bagged on me in all the
wrong places, and flung them back over the door to her. She surprised me by pushing a
pair of soft leather sandals under the door—when did she get those? The dress fit
amazingly well, the expensive cut apparent in the way it flowed around me.
As I left the stall I noticed that she was stuffing Rosalie's clothes into the trashcan.
"Keep your sneakers," she said. I put them on top of one of the bags.
We headed back to the garage. Alice got fewer looks this time; she was so covered in
bags that her skin was barely visible.
Jasper was waiting. He slid out of the car at our approach—the trunk was open. As he
reached for my bags first, he gave Alice a sardonic look.
"I knew I should have gone," he muttered.
"Yes," she agreed, "they would have loved you in the women's bathroom." He didn't
answer.
Alice dug quickly through her bags before putting them in the trunk. She handed Jasper a
pair of sunglasses, putting one pair on herself. She handed me the third pair, and the
hairbrush. And she pulled out a long sleeved shirt of thin, transparent black, pulling it on
over her t-shirt, leaving it open. Finally, she added the straw hat. On her, the makeshift
costume looked like it belonged on a runway. She grabbed one more handful of clothes
and, rolling them up in a ball, she opened the back door and made a pillow on the seat.
"You need to sleep now," she ordered firmly. I crawled obediently onto the seat, laying
my head down at once, curling onto my side. I was halfway asleep as the car purred to
life.
"You shouldn't have gotten me all those things," I mumbled.
"Don't worry about it, Bella. Sleep." Her voice was restful.
"Thank you," I breathed, and slipped into an uneasy slumber.
It was the soreness from sleeping in a cramped position that woke me. I was still
exhausted, but suddenly jittery as I remembered where I was. I sat up to see the Valley of
the Sun laid out in front of me; the wide, flat expanse of tiled roofs, palm trees, freeways,
smog and swimming pools, embraced by the short, rocky ridges that we called
mountains. I was surprised to feel no sense of relief, only a nagging homesickness for the
dripping skies and green enclosures of the place that meant Edward to me. I shook my
head, trying to push back the edge of despair that threatened to overwhelm me.
Jasper and Alice were talking; aware, I'm sure, that I was conscious again, but they gave
© 2007 Stephenie Meyer
no sign. Their quick, soft voices, one low, one high, wove musically around me. I
determined that they were discussing where to stay.
"Bella," Alice addressed me casually, as if I were already part of the conversation,
"which way to the airport?"
"Stay on the I-10," I said automatically. "We'll pass right by it."
I thought for a moment, my brain still foggy with sleep.
"Are we flying somewhere?" I asked.
"No, but it's better to be close, just in case." She flipped out her cell phone and apparently
called information. She spoke more slowly than usual, asking for hotels near the airport,
agreeing to a suggestion, then pausing while she was connected. She made reservations
for a week under the name of Christian Bower, rattling off a credit card number without
looking at one. I heard her repeating directions back for the operator's sake; I'm sure she
didn't need help with her memory.
The sight of the phone had reminded me of my responsibilities.
"Alice," I said as she finished. "I need to call my dad." My voice was sober. She handed
me the phone.
It was late afternoon; I was hoping he was at work. But he answered on the first ring. I
cringed, picturing his anxious face by the phone.
"Dad?" I said hesitantly.
"Bella! Where are you, honey?" Strong relief filled his voice.
"I'm on the road." No need to let him know I'd made a three-day drive over night.
"Bella, you have to turn around."
"I need to go home."
"Honey, let's talk about this. You don't need to leave just because of some boy." He was
being very careful, I could tell.
"Dad, give me a week. I need to think things through, and then I'll decide if I'm coming
back. This has nothing to do with you, okay?" My voice trembled slightly, "I love you,
Daddy. Whatever I decide, I'll see you soon. I promise."
"Okay, Bella." His voice was resigned. "Call me when you get to Phoenix."
"I'll call you from home, Dad. Bye."
"Bye, Bells." He hesitated before hanging up.
At least I was on good terms with Charlie again, I thought as I handed the phone back to
Alice. She was watching me carefully, perhaps waiting for another emotional breakdown.
But I was just too tired.
The familiar city flew past my dark window. The traffic was light. We made our way
quickly through downtown and then looped around the north side of Sky Harbor
International, turning south into Tempe. Just on the other side of the dry Salt River bed, a
mile or so from the airport, Jasper exited on Alice's command. She directed him easily
through the surface streets to the entrance of the airport Hilton.
I had been thinking Motel 6, but I was sure they would brush off any money concerns.
They appeared to have an endless reserve.
We pulled into the valet parking under the shade of a long ramada, and two bellhops
moved quickly to the side of the impressive automobile. Jasper and Alice stepped out,
looking very much like movie stars in their dark glasses. I stepped out awkwardly, stiff
from the long hours in the car, feeling homely. Jasper opened the truck, and the
obsequious staff quickly unloaded our shopping bags onto a brass cart. They were too
© 2007 Stephenie Meyer
well trained to offer any surprised looks at our lack of real luggage.
The car had been very cool inside its dark interior; stepping out into the Phoenix
afternoon, even in the shade, was like sticking my head into an oven set to broil. For the
first time that day, I felt at home.
Jasper strode confidently through the empty lobby. Alice kept carefully by my side, the
bellhops following us eagerly with our things. Jasper approached the desk with his
unconsciously regal air.
"Bower," was all he said to the professional-looking receptionist. She quickly processed
his information, with only the tiniest of glances toward the golden-haired idol in front of
her betraying her smooth proficiency.
We were quickly led to our large suite. I knew the two bedrooms were merely for
convention's sake. The bellhops unloaded our bags efficiently as I sat weakly on the sofa
and Alice danced off to examine the other rooms. Jasper shook hands with them as they
left, and the look they exchanged on their way out the door was more than satisfied; it
was elated. Then we were alone.
Jasper went to the windows, shutting both layers of curtains securely. Alice appeared and
dropped a room service menu in my lap.
"Order something," she instructed.
"I'm fine," I said dully.
She gave me a dark look, and snatched the menu back. Grumbling something about
Edward, she picked up the phone.
"Alice, really," I started, but her look silenced me. I put my head down on the arm of the
sofa and closed my eyes.
A knock on the door woke me. I jumped up so quickly I slid right off the sofa onto the
floor and cracked my forehead against the coffee table.
"Ow," I said, dazed, rubbing at my head.
I heard Jasper laugh once, and looked up to see him covering his mouth, trying to choke
down the rest of his amusement. Alice got the door, pressing her lips together firmly, the
corners of her mouth twitching.
I blushed and scrambled back onto the sofa, holding my head in my hands. It was my
food; the smell of red meat, cheese, garlic and potatoes swirled enticingly around me.
Alice carried the tray as deftly as if she'd been waitressing for years, and set in on the
table at my knees.
"You need protein," She explained, lifting the silver dome to reveal a large steak and a
decorative potato sculpture. "Edward won't be happy with you if your blood smells
anemic when he gets here." I was almost sure she was joking.
Now that I could smell the food I was hungry again. I ate quickly, feeling my energy
returning as the sugars hit my bloodstream. Alice and Jasper ignored me, watching the
news and talking so swiftly and quietly that I couldn't understand a word.
A second knock sounded on the door. I jumped to my feet, narrowly avoiding another
accident with the half empty tray on the coffee table.
"Bella, you need to calm down," Jasper said, as Alice answered the door. A member of
the housekeeping staff gave her a small bag with the Hilton logo on it and left quietly.
Alice brought it over and handed it to me. I opened it to find a toothbrush, toothpaste, and
all the other critical things I'd left in the back of my truck. Tears sprung up in my eyes.
"You're so kind to me." I looked at Alice and then at Jasper, overwhelmed.
© 2007 Stephenie Meyer
I had noticed that Jasper was usually the most careful to keep his distance from me, so it
surprised me when he came to my side and put his hand on my shoulder.
"You're part of the coven now," he teased, smiling warmly. I felt a heavy lassitude
suddenly seeping through my body; my eyelids were somehow too heavy to hold up.
"Very subtle, Jasper," I heard Alice say in a wry tone. Her cool, slim arms slipped under
my knees and behind my back. She lifted me, but I was asleep before she got me to the
bed.
It was very early when I awoke. I had slept well, dreamlessly, and I was more alert than I
usually was upon waking. It was dark, but there were bluish flashes of light coming from
under the door. I reached beside the bed, trying to find a lamp on the bedside table. A
light came on over my head, I gasped, and Alice was there, kneeling beside me on the
bed, her hand on the lamp that was foolishly mounted over the headboard.
"Sorry," she said as I slumped back on the pillow in relief. "Jasper's right," she continued,
"You do need to relax."
"Well don't tell him that," I grumbled. "If he tries to relax me any more I'll be in a coma."
She giggled. "You noticed, eh?"
"If he'd hit me over the head with a frying pan it would have been less obvious."
"You needed to sleep." She shrugged, still smiling.
"And now I need a shower, ick!" I realized I was still in the light blue dress, which was
nowhere near as wrinkled as it had a right to be. My mouth tasted fuzzy.
"I think you're going to have a bruise on your forehead," she mentioned as I headed to the
bathroom.
After I had cleaned up, I felt much better. I put on the clothes Alice laid out for me on the
bed, a hunter green shirt that appeared to be made of silk, and tan linen shorts. I felt
guilty that my new things were so much nicer than any of the clothes I'd left behind.
It was nice to finally do something with my hair; the hotel shampoos were a good quality
brand and my hair came out shiny again. I took my time blow-drying it into perfect
straightness. I had a feeling we wouldn't be doing much today. Close inspection in the
mirror revealed a darkening shadow on my brow. Fabulous.
When I finally emerged, light was peaking around the edges of the thick curtains. Alice
and Jasper were sitting on the sofa, staring patiently at the nearly muted TV. There was a
new tray of food on the table.
"Eat," Alice said, pointing at it firmly.
I sat obediently on the floor, and ate without noticing the food. I didn't like the expression
on either of their faces. They were too still. They watched the TV without ever looking
away, even though commercials were playing. I pushed the tray away, my stomach
abruptly uneasy. Alice looked down now, eyeing the still full tray with a displeased look.
"What's wrong, Alice?" I asked meekly.
"Nothing's wrong." She looked me with wide, honest eyes that I didn't buy for a second.
"Well, what do we do now?"
"We wait for Carlisle to call."
"And should he have called by now?" I could see that I was near the mark. Alice's eyes
flitted from mine to the phone on top of her leather bag and back.
"What does that mean?" my voice quavered, and I fought to control it, "That he hasn't
called yet?"
"It just means that they don't have anything to tell us yet." But her voice was too even,
© 2007 Stephenie Meyer
and the air was suddenly harder to breathe.
"Bella," Jasper said in a suspiciously soothing voice, "you have nothing to worry about.
You are completely safe here."
"Do you think that's what I'm worried about?" I asked in disbelief.
"What else is there?" He was also surprised. He might feel the tenor of my emotions, but
he couldn't read the reasons behind them.
"You heard what Laurent said," my voice was low, but they could hear me easily, of
course. "He said James was lethal. What if something goes wrong, and they get
separated? If something happens to any of them, Carlisle, Emmett…Edward…" I gulped.
"If that wild female hurts Carol or Esme…" my voice had grown higher, a note of
hysteria beginning to rise in it. "How could I live with myself when it's my fault? None of
you should be risking yourselves for me—"
"Bella, Bella, stop," he interrupted me, his words flowing quickly. "You're worrying
about all the wrong things, Bella. Trust me on this—none of us are in jeopardy. You are
under too much strain as it is, don't add to it with wholly unnecessary worries. Listen to
me—" for I had looked away, "Our family is strong. Our only fear is losing you."
"But why should you—" Alice interrupted this time, touching my cheek with her cold
fingers.
"It's been almost a century that Edward's been alone. Now he's found you, and our family
is whole. Do you think any of us want to look into his eyes for the next hundred years if
he loses you?"
My guilt slowly subsided as I looked into her dark eyes. But, even as the calm spread
over me, I knew I couldn't trust my feelings with Jasper present.
© 2007 Stephenie Meyer


(Notes: this piece was cut from the original epilogue. Though I briefly explained
Emmett's back story in Chapter 14 "Mind over Matter," I really miss not having it
detailed in his own words.)



Emmett and the Bear

I was surprised to find a strange kinship growing between myself and Emmett, especially
since he had once been the most frightening to me of them all. It had to do with how we
had both been chosen to join the family; we'd both been loved—and loved in return—
while we were human, though very briefly for him. Only Emmett remembered—he alone
really understood the miracle that Edward remained to me.
We spoke of it for the first time one evening as the three of us lounged on the light sofas
of the front room, Emmett quietly regaling me with memories that were better than
fairytales, while Edward concentrated on the food network—he'd decided he needed to
learn to cook, to my disbelief, and it was rough going without the proper sense of taste
and smell. After all, there was something that didn't come naturally to him. His perfect
brow furrowed as the celebrity chef flavored yet another dish according to taste. I
repressed a smile.
"He was finished playing with me then, and I knew I was about to die," Emmett
remembered softly, winding up the tale of his human years with the story of the bear.
Edward paid us no attention; he'd heard it before. "I couldn't move, and my consciousness
was slipping away, when I heard what I thought was another bear, and a fight-over which
would get my carcass, I supposed. Suddenly it felt like I was flying. I figured I'd died, but
I tried to open my eyes anyway. And then I saw her—" his face was incredulous at the
memory; I empathized entirely, "—and I knew I was dead. I didn't even mind the pain—I
fought to keep my eyelids open, I didn't want to miss one second of the angel's face. I
was delirious, of course, wondering why we hadn't gotten to heaven yet, thinking it must
be farther away than I'd expected. I kept waiting for her to take flight. And then she
brought me to God." He laughed his deep, booming laugh. I could easily comprehend
anyone making that assumption.
"I thought what happened next was my judgment. I'd had a little too much fun in my
twenty human years, so I wasn't surprised by the fires of hell." He laughed again, though
I shivered; Edward's arm tightened around me unconsciously. "What surprised me was
that the angel didn't leave. I couldn't understand how something so beautiful would be
allowed to stay in hell with me—but I was grateful. Every time God came by to check on
me, I was afraid he would take her away, but he never did. I started to think maybe those
preachers who talked about a merciful God might have been right after all. And then the
pain went away…and they explained things to me.
"They were surprised at how little disturbed I was over the vampire issue. But if Carlisle
and Rosalie, my angel, were vampires, how bad could it be?" I nodded, concurring
completely, as he continued. "I had a bit more trouble with the rules…" He chuckled.
"You had your hands full with me at first, didn't you?" Emmett's playful nudge to
Edward's shoulder set us both rocking.
Edward snorted without looking away from the TV.
"So you see, Hell's not so bad if you get to keep an angel with you," he assured at me
mischievously. "When he ever gets around to accepting the inevitable, you'll do fine."
© 2007 Stephenie Meyer
Edward's fist moved so swiftly that I didn't see what knocked Emmett sprawling over the
back of the couch. Edward's eyes never left the screen.
"Edward!" I scolded, horrified.
"Don't worry about it, Bella." Emmett was unruffled, back in his seat. "I know where to
find him." He looked over me towards Edward's profile. "You'll have to put her down
sometime," he threatened. Edward merely snarled in response without looking up.
"Boys!" Esme's reproving voice called sharply down the stairs.
© 2007 Stephenie Meyer


(Notes: This section is self-gratification at its very worst. I was just having a blast being
all pink-ribbons-and-bows girly with the prom thing. Enter at your own risk.)



Extended Prom Remix

"When are you going to tell me what's going on, Alice?"
"You'll see, be patient," she ordered, grinning deviously.
We were in my truck, but she was driving. Three more weeks and I'd be out of the
walking cast, and then I was going to very firmly put my good foot down about the
chauffeuring business. I liked driving.
It was late May, and somehow the land around Forks was finding ways to be even more
green than usual. It was beautiful, of course, and I was growing somewhat reconciled
with the forest, mostly on account of my spending so much more time there than usual.
We weren't quite friends yet, nature and I, but we were getting closer.
The sky was gray, but that was welcome, too. It was a pearly gray, not grim at all, not
raining, and almost warm enough for me. The clouds were thick and safe, the kind of
clouds that had become pleasant to me, because of the freedom they guaranteed.
But despite these agreeable surroundings, I was feeling edgy. Partially because of Alice's
strange behavior. She had absolutely insisted on a girl's day out this Saturday morning,
driving me up to Port Angeles in order for us to get manicures and pedicures, refusing to
let me have the modest shade of pink I wanted, ordering the manicurist instead to paint
me up with a dark shimmering red—even going so far as to insist I get the toenails of my
casted foot painted.
Then she took me go shoe shopping, though I could only try on half of each pair. Against
my strenuous protests, she bought me a pair of the most impractical, overpriced stiletto
heels—dangerous looking things, held on only by thick satin ribbons that crossed over
my foot and tied in a wide bow behind my ankle. They were a deep, hyacinth blue, and in
vain I tried to explain that I had nothing I could wear them with. Even with my closet
embarrassingly full of the clothes she'd bought me in L.A.—most of them still too light to
wear yet in Forks—I was positive that I had nothing in that shade. And even if I'd had
that exact shade hiding somewhere in my wardrobe, my clothes weren't really suited to
stiletto heels. I wasn't suited to stiletto heels—I could barely walk safely in socks. But my
unassailable logic was wasted on her. She wouldn't even argue back.
"Well, they're not Biviano's, but they'll have to do," she muttered bafflingly, and then
would speak no more as she unleashed her credit card on the awe-struck employees.
She got me lunch at a fast food drive through window, telling me I had to eat in the car,
but refusing to explain the hurry. Moreover, on the way home I had to remind her several
times that my truck was simply not capable of performing like a sports car, even with
Rosalie's modifications, and to please give the poor thing a break. Usually, Alice was my
preferred chauffeur. She didn't seem bothered by driving a mere twenty or thirty miles
over the speed limit, the way some people just couldn't bear to do.
But Alice's obvious secret agenda was only half the problem, of course. I was also
pathetically anxious because I hadn't seen Edward's face in almost six hours and that had
to be a record for the last two months.
Charlie had been difficult, but not impossibly so. He was reconciled to Edward's constant
presence when he returned home, finding nothing to complain about as we sat over our
© 2007 Stephenie Meyer
homework at the kitchen table—he even seemed to enjoy Edward's company as they
shouted together at the games on ESPN. But he'd lost nothing of his original sternness as
he grimly held the door for Edward at precisely ten o'clock each weeknight. Of course,
Charlie was completely unaware of Edward's ability to return his car home and be back
through my window in less than ten minutes.
He was much more agreeable toward Alice, sometimes embarrassingly so. Obviously,
until I had my bulky cast traded in for something more manageable, I was in need of a
woman's help. Alice was an angel, a sister; every night and every morning she appeared
to help me through my daily routines. Charlie was enormously grateful to be relieved of
the horror of a nearly adult daughter who needed help showering—that kind of thing was
far beyond his comfort zone, and mine, too, for that matter. But it was with more than
gratitude that Charlie took to calling her "Angel" as a nickname, and watched her with
bemused eyes as she danced smilingly through the little house, brightening it. No human
could fail to be affected by her astounding beauty and grace, and when she glided through
the door each night with an affectionate, "See you tomorrow, Charlie," she left him
stunned.
"Alice, are we going home now?" I asked now, both of us understanding I meant the
white house on the river.
"Yes." She grinned, knowing me well. "But Edward's not there."
I frowned. "Where is he?"
"He had some errands to run."
"Errands?" I repeated blankly. "Alice," my tone turned wheedling, "please tell me what's
going on."
She shook her head, still grinning tightly. "I'm having too much fun," she explained.
When we got back to the house, Alice took me straight upstairs, to her bedroom-sized
bathroom. I was surprised to find Rosalie there, waiting with a celestial smile, standing
behind I low, pink chair. A mind-boggling array of tools and products covered the long
counter.
"Sit," Alice commanded. I considered her carefully for a minute, and then, deciding she
was prepared to use force if necessary, I limped to the chair and sat down with what
dignity I could manage. Rosalie immediately began brushing through my hair.
"I don't suppose you will tell me what this is about?" I asked her.
"You can torture me," she murmured, absorbed with my hair, "but I'll never talk."
Rosalie held my head in the sink while Alice scrubbed through my hair with a shampoo
that smelled like mint and grapefruit. Alice toweled through the wet tangles furiously,
then sprayed almost an entire bottle of something else—this one smelled like
cucumbers—on the damp masses and toweled me again.
They combed through the mess quickly then; whatever the cucumber stuff was, it made
the tangles behave. I might want to borrow some of that. Then they each took a blow
dryer and went to work.
As minutes ticked by, and they kept discovering new sections of dripping strands, their
faces started to become a little worried. I smiled gleefully. Some things even vampires
couldn't speed up.
"She's got an awful lot of hair," Rosalie commented in an anxious voice.
"Jasper!" Alice called clearly, though not loudly, "Find me another blow dryer!"
Jasper came to their rescue, somehow coming up with two more blow dryers, which he
© 2007 Stephenie Meyer
pointed at my head, deeply amused, while they continued to work with their own.
"Jasper…" I began hopefully.
"Sorry, Bella. I'm not allowed to say anything."
He escaped gratefully when finally it was all dry—and poufy. My hair stood out three
inches from my head.
"What have you done to me?" I asked in horror. But they ignored me, pulling out a box of
hot rollers.
I tried to convince them that my hair didn't curl, but they ignored me, daubing something
that was an unhealthy yellow in color through each lock before winding it around a hot
curler.
"Did you find shoes?" Rosalie asked intensely while they worked, as if the answer was of
vital importance.
"Yes—they're perfect," Alice purred with satisfaction.
I watched Rosalie in the mirror, nodding as if a great weight had been taken off her mind.
"Your hair looks nice," I noticed. Not that it wasn't always ideal—but she had it pulled up
this afternoon, creating a crown of soft golden curls atop her perfect head.
"Thank you." She smiled. They'd started on the second set of curlers now.
"What do you think about make-up?" Alice asked.
"It's a pain," I offered. They ignored me.
"She doesn't need much—her skin is better bare," Rosalie mused.
"Lipstick, though," Alice decided.
"And mascara and eyeliner," Rosalie added, "just a little."
I sighed loudly. Alice giggled. "Be patient, Bella. We're having fun."
"Well, as long as you are," I muttered.
They had all the curlers pinned tightly and uncomfortably to my head now.
"Let's get her dressed." Alice's voice thrilled with anticipation. She didn't wait for me to
hobble out of the bathroom under my own power. Instead she scooped me up and carried
me to Rosalie and Emmett's big white room. On the bed, there was a dress. Hyacinth
blue, of course.
"What do you think?" Alice chirped.
That was a good question. It was softly frilly, apparently meant to be worn very low and
off the shoulders, with long, draping sleeves that gathered at the wrists. The sheer bodice
was girdled by another, paled-flowered, hyacinth fabric, that pleated together to form a
thin ruffle down the left side. The flowered material was long in the back, but open in the
front over several fitted layers of soft hyacinth ruffles, lightening in shade as they reached
the tea-length bottom hem.
"Alice," I wailed. "I can't wear that!"
"Why?" she demanded in a hard voice.
"The top is completely see-though!"
"This goes underneath," Rosalie held up an ominous-looking, pale blue garment.
"What is that?" I asked fearfully.
"It's a corset, silly," Alice said, impatient. "Now are you going to put it on, or do I have to
call Jasper and ask him to hold you down while I do it?" she threatened.
"You're supposed to be my friend," I accused.
"Be kind Bella," she sighed, "I don't remember being human and I'm trying to have some
vicarious fun here. Besides, it's for your own good."
© 2007 Stephenie Meyer
I complained and blushed a lot, but it didn't take them long to get me in the dress. I had to
admit, the corset had its advantages.
"Wow," I breathed, looking down. "I have cleavage."
"Who would have guessed," Alice chuckled, delighted with her work. I wasn't completely
sold, though.
"Don't you think this dress is a little too…I don't know, fashion forward…for Forks?" I
asked hesitantly.
"I think the words you're looking for are haute couture," Rosalie laughed.
"It's not for Forks, it's for Edward," Alice insisted. "It's exactly right."
They took me back to the bathroom then, unwinding the curlers with flying fingers. To
my shock, cascades of curls tumbled out. Rosalie pulled most of these up, carefully
twisting them into an equine mane of ringlets that flooded in a thick line down my back.
While she worked, Alice quickly painted a thin black stripe around each of my eyes,
brushed on mascara, and smeared dark red lipstick carefully on my lips. Then she darted
out of the room and returned promptly with the shoes.
"Perfect," Rosalie breathed as Alice held them up to be admired.
Alice tied the deadly shoe on expertly, and then looked at my cast with speculation in her
eyes.
"I guess we've done what we can," she shook her head sadly. "You don't suppose Carlisle
would let us…?" she glanced at Rosalie.
"I doubt it," Rosalie replied dryly. Alice sighed.
They both perked their heads up then.
"He's back." I knew which 'he' they meant, and I felt vigorous butterflies in my stomach.
"He can wait. There's one more important thing," Alice said firmly. She lifted me again—
a necessity, I was sure I couldn't walk in that shoe—and carried me to her room, where
she gently stood me up in front of her wide, gilt edged, full length mirror.
"There," she said. "You see?"
I stared at the stranger in the mirror. She looked very tall in the high shoe, with the long,
slender line of the clinging dress adding to the illusion. The décolleté bodice—where her
unusually impressive bust line caught my eye again—made her neck look very long, as
did the column of shining curls down her back. The hyacinth color of the fabric was
perfect, bringing out the creaminess of her ivory skin, the roses in the blush on her
cheeks. She was very pretty, I had to admit.
"Okay, Alice." I smiled. "I see."
"Don't forget it," she ordered.
She picked me up again, and carried me to the top of the stairs.
"Turn around and close your eyes!" she ordered down the stairs. "And stay out of my
head—don't ruin it."
She hesitated, walking more slowly than usual down the staircase until she could see that
he had obeyed. Then she flew the rest of the way. Edward stood by the door, his back to
us, very tall and dark—I'd never seen him wear black before. Alice set me upright,
smoothing the drape of my dress, tweaking a curl into place, and then she left me there,
going to sit on the piano bench to watch. Rosalie followed to sit with her in the audience.
"Can I look?" his voice was intense with anticipation—it made my heart throb unevenly.
"Yes…now," Alice directed.
He pivoted immediately, and then froze in place, his topaz eyes wide. I could feel the
© 2007 Stephenie Meyer
heat creep up my neck and stain my cheeks. He was so beautiful; I felt a flicker of the old
fear, that he was just a dream, not possibly real. He was wearing a tuxedo, and he
belonged on a movie screen, not next to me. I stared at him in awed disbelief.
He walked slowly toward me, hesitating a foot away when he reached me.
"Alice, Rosalie…thank you," he breathed without looking away from me. I heard Alice
chuckle in pleasure.
He stepped forward, cupping one cold hand under my jaw, and stooping to press his lips
to my throat.
"It is you," he murmured against my skin. He pulled away, and there were white flowers
in his other hand.
"Freesia," he informed me as he pinned them into my curls. "Completely redundant, as
far as fragrance is concerned, of course." He leaned back, looking me over again. He
smiled his heart-stopping smile. "You are absurdly beautiful."
"You took my line," I kept my voice as light as I could manage. "Just when I convince
myself that you're actually real, you show up looking like this and I'm afraid I'm
dreaming again."
He scooped me swiftly into his arms. He held me close to his face, his eyes burning as he
pulled me even closer.
"Watch the lipstick!" Alice commanded.
He laughed rebelliously, but dropped his mouth to the hollow above my collarbone
instead.
"Are you ready to go?" he asked.
"Is anyone ever going to tell me what the occasion is?"
He laughed again, glancing over his shoulder at his sisters. "She hasn't guessed?"
"No," Alice giggled. Edward laughed delightedly. I scowled.
"What am I missing?"
"Don't worry, you'll figure it out soon enough," he assured me.
"Put her down, Edward, so I can take a picture," Esme was coming down the stairs with a
silver camera in her hands.
"Pictures?" I muttered, as he set me carefully on my wobbly good foot. I was getting a
bad feeling about all of this. "Will you show up on film?" I asked sarcastically.
He grinned at me.
Esme took several snapshots of us, till Edward laughingly insisted we would be late.
"We'll see you there," Alice called as he carried me to the door.
"Alice will be there? Wherever there may be?" I felt a little better.
"And Jasper, and Emmett, and Rosalie."
My forehead wrinkled with concentration as I tried to deduce the secret. He snickered at
my expression.
"Bella," Esme called after me, "Your father is on the phone."
"Charlie?" Edward and I asked simultaneously. Esme brought me the phone, but he
snatched it as she tried to hand it to me, holding me away effortlessly with one arm.
"Hey!" I protested, but he was already talking.
"Charlie? It's me. What's wrong?" He sounded worried. My face paled. But then his
expression became amused-and suddenly wicked.
"Give him the phone, Charlie—let me talk to him." Whatever was going on, Edward was
enjoying himself a little too much for Charlie to be in any danger. I relaxed slightly.
© 2007 Stephenie Meyer
"Hello, Tyler, this is Edward Cullen," his voice was very friendly, on the surface. I knew
it well enough to catch the soft edge of menace. What was Tyler doing at my house? The
awful truth started to dawn on me.
"I'm sorry if there's been some kind of miscommunication, but Bella is unavailable
tonight." Edward's tone changed, and the threat in his voice was suddenly much more
evident as he continued. "To be perfectly honest, she'll be unavailable every night, as far
as anyone besides myself is concerned. No offense. And I'm sorry about your evening."
He didn't sound sorry at all. And then he snapped the phone shut, a huge smirk on his
face.
"You're taking me to the prom!" I accused furiously. My face and neck flushed crimson
with anger. I could feel the rage-induced tears starting to fill my eyes.
He wasn't expecting the force of my reaction, that was clear. He pressed his lips together
and his eyes darkened.
"Don't be difficult, Bella."
"Bella, we're all going," Alice encouraged, suddenly at my shoulder.
"Why are you doing this to me?" I demanded.
"It will be fun." Alice was still brightly optimistic.
But Edward bent to murmur in my ear, his voice velvet and serious. "You're only human
once, Bella. Humor me."
Then he turned the full force of his scorching golden eyes on me, melting my resistance
with their warmth.
"Fine," I pouted, unable to glare as effectively as I would have liked, "I'll go quietly. But
you'll see," I warned grimly, "this is the bad luck you've been worrying about. I'll
probably break my other leg. Look at this shoe! It's a death trap!" I held out my good leg
as evidence.
"Hmmm." He stared at my leg for a longer moment than necessary, and then looked at
Alice with glowing eyes, "Again, thank you."
"You'll be late to Charlie's," Esme reminded him.
"All right, let's go," he swung me through the door.
"Is Charlie in on this?" I asked through clenched teeth.
"Of course," he grinned.
I was preoccupied, so I didn't notice at first. I was only vaguely aware of a silver car, and
assumed it was the Volvo. But then he stooped so low to put me in that I though he was
setting me on the ground.
"What's this?" I asked, surprised to find myself in an unfamiliar coupe. "Where's the
Volvo?"
"The Volvo is my everyday car," he told me carefully, apprehensive that I might throw
another fit. "This is a special occasion car."
"What will Charlie think?" I shook my head disapprovingly as he climbed in and started
the engine. It purred.
"Oh, most of the population in Forks thinks that Carlisle is an avid car collector." He sped
through the woods toward the highway.
"And he's not?"
"No, that's more my hobby. Rosalie collects cars, too, but she prefers fooling around with
their innards to driving them. She did a lot of work on this one for me."
I was still wondering why we were going back to Charlie's house when we pulled up in
© 2007 Stephenie Meyer
front of it. The porch light was on, though it wasn't quite dusk yet. Charlie must be
waiting, probably peeking out the windows now. I started to blush, wondering if my
father's first reaction to the dress would be similar to mine. Edward strolled around the
car, slowly for him, to get my door—confirming my suspicions that Charlie was
watching.
Then, as Edward was lifting me carefully out of the little car, Charlie—very
uncharacteristically—came out into the yard to greet us. My cheeks burned; Edward
noticed and looked at me questioningly. But I needn't have worried. Charlie never even
saw me.
"Is that an Aston Martin?" he asked Edward in a reverent voice.
"Yes—the Vanquish." The corners of his mouth twitched, but he controlled it.
Charlie released a low whistle.
"Do you want to give her a try?" Edward held up the key.
Charlie's eyes finally left the car. He looked at Edward in disbelief—colored by a tiny
hint of hope.
"No," he said, reluctant, "What would your father say?"
"Carlisle won't mind at all," Edward said truthfully, laughing. "Go ahead." He pressed the
key into Charlie's willing hand.
"Well, just a quick spin…" Charlie was already caressing the fender with one hand.
Edward helped me hobble to the front door, scooping me up as soon as we were inside,
and carrying me to the kitchen.
"That worked out well," I said. "He didn't have a chance to freak out over the dress."
Edward blinked. "I didn't think of that," he admitted. His eyes raked over my dress again
with a critical expression. "I guess it's a good thing we didn't take the truck, classic or
not."
I looked unwillingly away from his face long enough to notice that the kitchen was
unusually dim. There were candles on the table, lots of them, maybe twenty or thirty tall,
white candles. The old table was disguised by a long, white cloth, as were two chairs.
"Is this what you were working on today?"
"No—this only took half a second. It was the food that took all day. I know how you find
fancy restaurants overpowering, not that there are many choices that fall into that
category around here, but I decided you couldn't complain about your own kitchen."
He sat me in one of the white swathed chairs, and began assembling things out of the
oven and fridge. I noticed there was only one place setting.
"Aren't you going to feed Charlie, too? He's bound to come home eventually."
"Charlie couldn't eat another bite—who do you think was my taster? I had to be sure this
all was edible." He put a plate down in front of me, full of things that looked very edible.
I sighed.
"Are you still mad?" He pulled the other chair around the table so he could sit next to me.
"No. Well, yes, but not at this very moment. I was just thinking-there it goes, the one
thing I could do better than you. This looks great." I sighed again.
He chuckled. "You haven't tried it yet—be optimistic, maybe it's awful."
I took a bite, paused, and then made a face.
"Is it awful?" he asked, shocked.
"No, it's fabulous, naturally."
"That's a relief," he smiled, so beautiful. "Don't be concerned, there's still lots of things
© 2007 Stephenie Meyer
you're better at."
"Name even one."
He didn't answer at first, he just lightly ran his cool finger along the line of my
collarbone, holding my gaze with smoldering eyes until I felt my skin burn and redden.
"There's that," he murmured, touching the crimson in my cheek. "I've never seen anyone
blush as well as you do."
"Wonderful," I scowled. "Involuntary reactions—something I can be proud of."
"You're also the bravest person I know."
"Brave?" I scoffed.
"You spend all your spare time in the company of vampires; that takes some nerve. And
you don't hesitate to put yourself in hazardous proximity with my teeth…"
I shook my head. "I knew you couldn't come up with anything."
He laughed. "I'm serious, you know. But never mind. Eat." He took my fork from me,
impatient, and began feeding me. The food was all perfect, of course.
Charlie came home when I was almost finished. I watched his face carefully, but my luck
was holding, he was too dazzled by the car to notice how I was dressed. He handed the
keys back to Edward.
"Thanks, Edward," he smiled dreamily. "That's some car."
"You're welcome."
"How did it all turn out?" Charlie looked at my empty plate.
"Perfect." I sighed.
"You know, Bella, you might let him practice cooking for us again sometime," he hinted.
I gave Edward a dark look. "I'm sure he will, Dad."
It wasn't till we were headed out that door that Charlie completely woke up. Edward had
his arm around my waist, for balance and support, while I hobbled along in the unstable
shoe.
"Um, you look…very grown up, Bella." I could hear the beginnings of fatherly
disapproval brewing.
"Alice dressed me up. I didn't get much say in anything."
Edward laughed so low only I could hear.
"Well, if Alice…" he trailed off, somewhat mollified. "You do look pretty, Bells." He
paused, a sly gleam in his eyes. "So, should I be expecting any more young men in
tuxedos showing up here tonight?"
I groaned and Edward snickered. How anyone could be as oblivious as Tyler, I couldn't
fathom. It wasn't as if Edward and I had been exactly secretive at school. We came and
left together, he half carried me to all of my classes, I sat with him and his family
everyday at lunch, and he wasn't shy about kissing me in front of witnesses, either. Tyler
clearly needed professional help.
"I hope so," Edward grinned at my dad. "There's a refrigerator full of leftovers—tell them
to help themselves."
"I don't think so—those are mine," Charlie muttered.
"Take names for me, Charlie," the trace of menace in his voice was probably only audible
to me.
"Oh, enough!" I ordered.
Thankfully, we finally made it into the car and away.
© 2007 Stephenie Meyer



NEW MOON


Come, gentle night; come, loving, black-browed night;
Give me my Romeo; and, when I shall die,
Take him and cut him out in little stars,
And he will make the face of heaven so fine
That all the world will be in love with night...
—Romeo and Juliet Act III scene ii

This quote was the original epigraph for New Moon. Why did it change? As I spent more time with the book, I decided I wanted the epigraph to be more representative of danger and potential heartbreak. Though this quote also has some nice foreshadowing, I had to choose—the romance or the warning? I went with the warning.

That's how outtakes are made—choosing one storyline over the other, exploring a direction that doesn't quite end up where you want it to, adding something new that makes another piece obsolete.

Of course, these are all rough pieces and it's really embarrassing to let people see them. I'm enduring the shame for three reasons. Firstly, humility is a virtue. Secondly, people loved the Twilight Outtakes so much, and I'm afraid they'll hurt me if I don't give them more. And finally (this is the real one), so many of you are writers, too. I think outtakes are most interesting from a writer's perspective. I'm hoping these might help some of you who are just getting started to be able to make sense of the editing process, and to be more ruthless self-editors. (Just because you love something doesn't mean it should stay in.)

That said, I don't have as much material to share as I did with Twilight. When I wrote Twilight, I thought I was done. I wasn't planning a sequel. So I wrote all kinds of fluff, just so that I could live in Bella and Edward's world for a few more chapters. With New Moon, I knew where the story was going in the long run, and I wrote everything with a purpose.

So this is what I have to share: a tiny exchange that shows how deleting one element can totally change the mood of a scene, an entire story line that ran from chapter six through chapter twenty before I slashed it out, and an alternate way of developing the plot.



You’ll recognize this scene from the end of Chapter Two of New Moon. Only a
few lines are different. In the first draft, Carlisle gave Bella drugs for the pain of her
injuries, and she had an unusual reaction.
Why was this angle cut? One, my editors thought the mood was wrong (I try to
make a joke out of everything, they try to reign me in). Two, they didn’t think Bella’s
reaction was realistic. The joke is on them, because this story is based on real life
experience (not mine, this time).



I collapsed back onto my pillow, gasping, my head spinning. My arm didn’t hurt
anymore, but I didn’t know whether that was due to the painkillers or the kiss.
Something tugged at my memory, elusive, on the edges…
“Sorry,” he said, and he was breathless, too. “That was out of line.”
To my own surprise, I giggled. “You’re funny,” I mumbled and giggled again.
He frowned at me in the darkness. He looked so serious. It was hysterical.
I covered my mouth to muffle the laughter so Charlie wouldn’t hear.
“Bella, have you ever had Percocet before?”
“I don’t think so,” I giggled. “Why?”
He rolled his eyes, and I couldn’t stop laughing.
“How’s your arm?”
“I can’t feel it. Is it still there?”
He sighed as I giggled on. “Try to sleep, Bella.”
“No, I want you to kiss me again.”
“You’re overestimating my self-control.”
I snickered. “Which is bothering you more, my blood or my body?” My question
made me laugh.
“It’s a tie.” He grinned in spite of himself. “I’ve never seen you high. You’re
very entertaining.”
“I’m not high.” I tried to choke back the giggles to prove it.
“Sleep it off,” he suggested.
I realized that I was making a fool of myself, which wasn’t uncommon, but it was
still embarrassing, so I tried to follow his advice. I put my head on his shoulder again
and closed my eyes. Every now and then another giggle would escape. But that became
more infrequent as the drugs lulled me toward unconsciousness.
***
I felt absolutely hideous in the morning. My arm burned and my head ached.
Edward said I had a hangover, and recommended Tylenol rather than the Percocet before
he kissed my forehead casually and ducked out my window.
It didn’t help my outlook that his face was smooth and remote. I was so afraid of
the conclusions he might have come to during the night while he watched me sleep. The
anxiety seemed to ratchet up the intensity of the pounding in my head.
© 2006 Stephenie Meyer
I took a double dose of Tylenol, throwing the little bottle of Percocet into the
bathroom trash.
© 2006 Stephenie Meyer



This is the largest section that I cut out of New Moon; it’s most of the original chapter six
(“Statement,” back then), plus seven short scenes that continued the storyline of the
“scholarship” throughout the novel, all the way to the end. I thought it was all sort of
funny, but my editors disagreed. It wasn’t necessary, so it was sacrificed on the altar of
editing.


Scene one: the day after Bella goes to the zombie movie with Jessica:
I still missed Phoenix on rare occasions, when provoked. Now, for example, as I
headed to the Forks Federal Bank to deposit my paycheck. What I wouldn’t give for the
convenience of a drive-up, automatic teller. Or at least the anonymity of a stranger
behind the desk.
“Good afternoon, Bella,” Jessica’s mother greeted me.
“Hey, Mrs. Stanley.”
“It’s so nice that you could go out with Jessica last night. It’s been a too long.”
She tsked her tongue at me, smiling to make it a friendlier sound. Something about my
expression must be off, because the smile was suddenly wooden, and she ran her hand
nervously through her hair, where it got stuck for a minute; her hair was just as curly as
Jessica’s, and sprayed into a stiff arrangement of rigid ringlets.
I smiled back, realizing that I was a second too late. My reaction time was rusty.
“Yeah,” I said in what I hoped was a sociable tone. “I’ve been so busy, you
know. School…work…” I scrambled to think of something else to add to my short list,
but came up blank.
“Sure,” she smiled more warmly, probably happy that my answer sounded
somewhat normal and well adjusted.
It suddenly occurred to me that I might not be kidding myself when I assumed
that was the reason behind her smile. Who knows what Jessica had told her about last
night. Whatever it was, it wasn’t totally uncorroborated. I was the daughter of Charlie’s
eccentric ex—insanity can be genetic. Former associate of the town freaks; I skipped
past that one quickly, flinching. Recent victim of a walking coma. I decided there was
a fairly good argument for my being crazy, without even counting the voices that I heard
now, and I wondered if Mrs. Stanley really thought that.
She must have seen the speculation in my eyes. She looked away quickly, out the
windows behind me.
“Work,” I repeated, calling back her attention as I put my check on the counter.
“Which is why I’m here, of course.”
She smiled again. Her lipstick was cracking as the day progressed, and it was
clear that she had drawn on her lips much fuller than they were in reality.
“How are things at Newton’s?” she asked brightly.
“Good. The season’s picking up,” I said automatically, though she drove by the
Olympic Outfitter’s parking lot every day—she would have seen the unfamiliar cars. She
probably knew the ebb and flow of the backpacking business better than I did.
She nodded absently as she pecked at the computer keys in front of her. My eyes
wandered across the dark brown counter, with its very seventies line of bright orange
© 2006 Stephenie Meyer
trimming the edges. The walls and carpet had been upgraded to a more neutral gray, but
the counter attested to the building’s original decor.
“Hmmm,” Mrs. Stanley’s murmur was in a higher pitch than normal. I glanced
back at her, only half-interested, wondering if there was a spider on the desk that had
frightened her.
But her eyes were still glued to the computer screen. Her fingers were motionless
now, her expression surprised and uncomfortable. I waited, but she didn’t say anything
else.
“Is something wrong?” Were the Newton’s trying to pass bad checks?
“No, no,” she mumbled quickly, looking up at me with a strange gleam in her eye.
She seemed to be repressing some kind of excitement. It reminded me of Jessica when
she had some new gossip she was dying to share.
“Would you like a print out of your balance?” Mrs. Newton asked eagerly. It
wasn’t my habit—my account grew so slowly and predictably that it wasn’t difficult to
do the math in my head. But her change of tone made me curious. What was on the
computer screen that fascinated her?
“Sure,” I agreed.
She hit a key, and the printer quickly spit out a short document.
“Here you go.” She tore the paper off with such haste that it ripped in half.
“Oops, I’m so sorry about that.” She fluttered around the desk, never meeting my
curious gaze, till she found a roll of tape. She stuck the two pieces of paper together and
thrust it out to me.
“Er, thanks,” I muttered. With the slip in hand, I turned and headed for the front
door, taking a quick peek to see if I could tell what Mrs. Stanley’s problem was.
I thought my account should be up to about fifteen hundred and thirty-five dollars.
I was wrong, it was thirty-six fifty, rather than thirty-five.
And there was twenty grand extra, too.
I froze where I stood, trying to understand the numbers. The account was twenty
thousand dollars high before my deposit today, which had then been added correctly.
For I brief minute I considered closing my account immediately. But, sighing
once, I went back to the counter where Mrs. Stanley was waiting with bright, interested
eyes.
“There’s some kind of computer error, Mrs. Stanley,” I told her, handing the sheet
of paper back to her. “It should only be the fifteen thirty-six fifty.”
She laughed conspiratorially. “I thought that looked a little strange.”
“In my dreams, right?” I laughed back, impressing myself with the normality of
my tone.
She typed briskly.
“I see the problem here…three weeks ago it shows a deposit of twenty thousand
from…hmmm, another bank it looks like. I’d imagine someone got their numbers
wrong.”
“How much trouble will I get in if I make a withdrawal?” I teased.
She chuckled absently as she continued to type.
“Hmmm,” she said again, her forehead wrinkling into three deep creases. “It
looks like this was a wire transfer. We don’t get a lot of those. You know what? I’m
going to have Mrs. Gerandy take a look at this…” Her voice trailed off as she turned
© 2006 Stephenie Meyer
away from the computer, her neck craning to look through the open door behind her.
“Charlotte, are you busy?” she called.
There was no reply. Mrs. Stanley took the statement and walked quickly through
the back door to where the offices must be.
I stared after her for a minute, but she didn’t reappear. I turned around and gazed
absently out the front windows, watching the rain run down the glass. The rain ran in
unpredictable streams, sometimes slanting crookedly in the wind. I didn’t keep track of
the time as I waited. I tried to let my mind float blankly, thinking of nothing, but I
couldn’t seem to return to that state of semi-consciousness.
Eventually I heard voices behind me again. I turned to see Mrs. Stanley and Dr.
Gerandy’s wife filing out to the front room with the same polite smile on both their faces.
“Sorry about this, Bella,” Mrs. Gerandy said. “I should be able to clear this up
with a real short phone call. You can wait if you like.” She gestured to a row of wooden
chairs against the wall. The looked like they belonged with someone’s dinning room
table.

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