I looked around me to make sure the way was clear. That's when I noticed the still, white figure. It was so still, so white.
It was Fredward Cullen.
He was leaning against the front door of the Volvo, three cars down from me, so close and yet so far, staring intently in my direction. I swiftly looked away and threw the truck into reverse, almost hitting a rusty Toyota Corolla in my haste.69 Lucky for the Toyota, I stomped on the brake in time. It was just the sort of feeble car that my red truck would make rusty scrap metal of. I took a deep breath, still looking out the other side of my car, and cautiously pulled out again, with greater success; I managed to pull out. I stared straight ahead as I passed the Volvo, but from a peripheral peek, I could swear I saw his smirk.
69. This almost-accident foreshadows similar car trouble in the later pages of this novel.