"Hello, Charlie," he said warily. "Charlie?" I frowned. Charlie had been... difficult since my return to Forks. He had compartmentalized my bad experience into two defined reactions. Toward Carlisle he was almost worshipfully grateful. On the other hand, he was stubbornly convinced that Edward was at fault -- because, if not for him, I wouldn't have left home in the first place. And Edward was far from disagreeing with him. These days I had rules that hadn't existed before: curfews... visiting hours. Something Charlie was saying made Edward's eyes widen in disbelief, and then a grin spread across his face. "You're kidding!" He laughed. "What is it?" I demanded. He ignored me. "Why don't you let me talk to him?" Edward suggested with evident pleasure. He waited for a few seconds. "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
War rulers who had not allowed even a breath of freedom to the masses. He had ceded them certain rights and choices. And when these now established freedoms were threatened, the people lashed out the way a dog would if someone tried taking a fresh bone from its mouth. Within hours of the junta's announcement, thousands were in the streets erecting barricades, confronting armed troops, sur- rounding tanks, and defying curfews. The uprising was so swift, so massive, so uni- tary in its opposition to any retreat from the gains of glasnost that after only three riotous days, the astonished officials relented, surrendering their power and plead- ing for mercy from Chairman Gorbachev. Had they been students of history-or of psychology-the failed plotters would not have been so surprised by the tidal wave of popular resistance that swallowed their coup. From the vantage point of ei-
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