I'd never given much thought to how I would die — though I'd had reason
enough in the last few months — but even if I had, I would not have
imagined it like this.
I stared without breathing across the long room, into the dark eyes of
the hunter, and he looked pleasantly back at me.
Surely it was a good way to die, in the place of someone else, someone I
loved. Noble, even. That ought to count for something.
I knew that if I'd never gone to Forks, I wouldn't be facing death now.
But, terrified as I was, I couldn't bring myself to regret the decision.
When life offers you a dream so far beyond any of your expectations, it's
not reasonable to grieve when it comes to an end.
The hunter smiled in a friendly way as he sauntered forward to kill me.
My mother drove me to the airport with the windows rolled down. It was
seventy-five degrees in Phoenix, the sky a perfect, cloudless blue. I was
wearing my favorite shirt — sleeveless, white eyelet lace; I was wearing
it as a farewell gesture. My carry-on item was a parka.
In the Olympic Peninsula of northwest Washington State, a small town
named Forks exists under a near-constant cover of clouds. It rains on
this inconsequential town more than any other place in the United States
of America. It was from this town and its gloomy, omnipresent shade that
my mother escaped with me when I was only a few months old. It was in
this town that I'd been compelled to spend a month every summer until I
was fourteen. That was the year I finally put my foot down; these past
three summers, my dad, Charlie, vacationed with me in California for two
weeks instead.
It was to Forks that I now exiled myself— an action that I took with
great horror. I detested Forks.
I loved Phoenix. I loved the sun and the blistering heat. I loved the
vigorous, sprawling city.
"Bella," my mom said to me — the last of a thousand times — before I got
on the plane. "You don't have to do this."
My mom looks like me, except with short hair and laugh lines. I felt a
spasm of panic as I stared at her wide, childlike eyes. How could I leave
my loving, erratic, harebrained mother to fend for herself? Of course she
had Phil now, so the bills would probably get paid, there would be food
in the refrigerator, gas in her car, and someone to call when she got
lost, but still…
"I want to go," I lied. I'd always been a bad liar, but I'd been saying
this lie so frequently lately that it sounded almost convincing now.
"Tell Charlie I said hi."
"I will."
"I'll see you soon," she insisted. "You can come home whenever you want —
I'll come right back as soon as you need me."
But I could see the sacrifice in her eyes behind the promise.
"Don't worry about me," I urged. "It'll be great. I love you, Mom."
She hugged me tightly for a minute, and then I got on the plane, and she
was gone.
It's a four-hour flight from Phoenix to Seattle, another hour in a small
plane up to Port Angeles, and then an hour drive back down to Forks.
Flying doesn't bother me; the hour in the car with Charlie, though, I was
a little worried about.
Charlie had really been fairly nice about the whole thing. He seemed
genuinely pleased that I was coming to live with him for the first time
with any degree of permanence. He'd already gotten me registered for high
school and was going to help me get a car.
But it was sure to be awkward with Charlie. Neither of us was what anyone
would call verbose, and I didn't know what there was to say regardless. I
knew he was more than a little confused by my decision — like my mother
before me, I hadn't made a secret of my distaste for Forks.
When I landed in Port Angeles, it was raining. I didn't see it as an omen
— just unavoidable. I'd already said my goodbyes to the sun.
Charlie was waiting for me with the cruiser. This I was expecting, too.
Charlie is Police Chief Swan to the good people of Forks. My primary
motivation behind buying a car, despite the scarcity of my funds, was
that I refused to be driven around town in a car with red and blue lights
on top. Nothing slows down traffic like a cop.
Charlie gave me an awkward, one-armed hug when I stumbled my way off the
plane.
"It's good to see you, Bells," he said, smiling as he automatically
caught and steadied me. "You haven't changed much. How's Renée?"
"Mom's fine. It's good to see you, too, Dad." I wasn't allowed to call
him Charlie to his face.
I had only a few bags. Most of my Arizona clothes were too permeable for
Washington. My mom and I had pooled our resources to supplement my winter
wardrobe, but it was still scanty. It all fit easily into the trunk of
the cruiser.
"I found a good car for you, really cheap," he announced when we were
strapped in.
"What kind of car?" I was suspicious of the way he said "good car for
you" as opposed to just "good car."
"Well, it's a truck actually, a Chevy."
"Where did you find it?"
"Do you remember Billy Black down at La Push?" La Push is the tiny Indian
reservation on the coast.
"No."
"He used to go fishing with us during the summer," Charlie prompted.
That would explain why I didn't remember him. I do a good job of blocking
painful, unnecessary things from my memory.
"He's in a wheelchair now," Charlie continued when I didn't respond, "so
he can't drive anymore, and he offered to sell me his truck cheap."
"What year is it?" I could see from his change of expression that this
was the question he was hoping I wouldn't ask.
"Well, Billy's done a lot of work on the engine — it's only a few years
old, really."
I hoped he didn't think so little of me as to believe I would give up
that easily. "When did he buy it?"
"He bought it in 1984, I think."
"Did he buy it new?"
"Well, no. I think it was new in the early sixties — or late fifties at
the earliest," he admitted sheepishly.
"Ch — Dad, I don't really know anything about cars. I wouldn't be able to
fix it if anything went wrong, and I couldn't afford a mechanic…"
"Really, Bella, the thing runs great. They don't build them like that
anymore."
The thing, I thought to myself… it had possibilities — as a nickname, at
the very least.
"How cheap is cheap?" After all, that was the part I couldn't compromise
on.
"Well, honey, I kind of already bought it for you. As a homecoming gift."
Charlie peeked sideways at me with a hopeful expression.
Wow. Free.
"You didn't need to do that, Dad. I was going to buy myself a car."
"I don't mind. I want you to be happy here." He was looking ahead at the
road when he said this. Charlie wasn't comfortable with expressing his
emotions out loud. I inherited that from him. So I was looking straight
ahead as I responded.
"That's really nice, Dad. Thanks. I really appreciate it." No need to add
that my being happy in Forks is an impossibility. He didn't need to
suffer along with me. And I never looked a free truck in the mouth — or
engine.
"Well, now, you're welcome," he mumbled, embarrassed by my thanks.
We exchanged a few more comments on the weather, which was wet, and that
was pretty much it for Conversation. We stared out the windows in silence.
It was beautiful, of course; I couldn't deny that. Everything was green:
the trees, their trunks covered with moss, their branches hanging with a
canopy of it, the ground covered with ferns. Even the air filtered down
greenly through the leaves.
It was too green — an alien planet.
Eventually we made it to Charlie's. He still lived in the small,
two-bedroom house that he'd bought with my mother in the early days of
their marriage. Those were the only kind of days their marriage had — the
early ones. There, parked on the street in front of the house that never
changed, was my new — well, new to me — truck. It was a faded red color,
with big, rounded fenders and a bulbous cab. To my intense surprise, I
loved it. I didn't know if it would run, but I could see myself in it.
Plus, it was one of those solid iron affairs that never gets damaged —
the kind you see at the scene of an accident, paint unscratched,
surrounded by the pieces of the foreign car it had destroyed.
"Wow, Dad, I love it! Thanks!" Now my horrific day tomorrow would be just
that much less dreadful. I wouldn't be faced with the choice of either
walking two miles in the rain to school or accepting a ride in the
Chief's cruiser.
"I'm glad you like it," Charlie said gruffly, embarrassed again.
It took only one trip to get all my stuff upstairs. I got the west
bedroom that faced out over the front yard. The room was familiar; it had
been belonged to me since I was born. The wooden floor, the light blue
walls, the peaked ceiling, the yellowed lace curtains around the window —
these were all a part of my childhood. The only changes Charlie had ever
made were switching the crib for a bed and adding a desk as I grew. The
desk now held a secondhand computer, with the phone line for the modem
stapled along the floor to the nearest phone jack. This was a stipulation
from my mother, so that we could stay in touch easily. The rocking chair
from my baby days was still in the corner.
There was only one small bathroom at the top of the stairs, which I would
have to share with Charlie. I was trying not to dwell too much on that
fact.
One of the best things about Charlie is he doesn't hover. He left me
alone to unpack and get settled, a feat that would have been altogether
impossible for my mother. It was nice to be alone, not to have to smile
and look pleased; a relief to stare dejectedly out the window at the
sheeting rain and let just a few tears escape. I wasn't in the mood to go
on a real crying jag. I would save that for bedtime, when I would have to
think about the coming morning.
Forks High School had a frightening total of only three hundred and
fifty-seven — now fifty-eight — students; there were more than seven
hundred people in my junior class alone back home. All of the kids here
had grown up together — their grandparents had been toddlers together.
I would be the new girl from the big city, a curiosity, a freak.
Maybe, if I looked like a girl from Phoenix should, I could work this to
my advantage. But physically, I'd never fit in anywhere. I should be tan,
sporty, blond — a volleyball player, or a cheerleader, perhaps — all the
things that go with living in the valley of the sun.
Instead, I was ivory-skinned, without even the excuse of blue eyes or red
hair, despite the constant sunshine. I had always been slender, but soft
somehow, obviously not an athlete; I didn't have the necessary hand-eye
coordination to play sports without humiliating myself — and harming both
myself and anyone else who stood too close.
When I finished putting my clothes in the old pine dresser, I took my bag
of bathroom necessities and went to the communal bathroom to clean myself
up after the day of travel. I looked at my face in the mirror as I
brushed through my tangled, damp hair. Maybe it was the light, but
already I looked sallower, unhealthy. My skin could be pretty — it was
very clear, almost translucent-looking — but it all depended on color. I
had no color here.
Facing my pallid reflection in the mirror, I was forced to admit that I
was lying to myself. It wasn't just physically that I'd never fit in. And
if I couldn't find a niche in a school with three thousand people, what
were my chances here?
I didn't relate well to people my age. Maybe the truth was that I didn't
relate well to people, period. Even my mother, who I was closer to than
anyone else on the planet, was never in harmony with me, never on exactly
the same page. Sometimes I wondered if I was seeing the same things
through my eyes that the rest of the world was seeing through theirs.
Maybe there was a glitch in my brain. But the cause didn't matter. All
that mattered was the effect. And tomorrow would be just the beginning.
I didn't sleep well that night, even after I was done crying. The
constant whooshing of the rain and wind across the roof wouldn't fade
into the background. I pulled the faded old quilt over my head, and later
added the pillow, too. But I couldn't fall asleep until after midnight,
when the rain finally settled into a quieter drizzle.
Thick fog was all I could see out my window in the morning, and I could
feel the claustrophobia creeping up on me. You could never see the sky
here; it was like a cage.
Breakfast with Charlie was a quiet event. He wished me good luck at
school. I thanked him, knowing his hope was wasted. Good luck tended to
avoid me. Charlie left first, off to the police station that was his wife
and family. After he left, I sat at the old square oak table in one of
the three unmatching chairs and examined his small kitchen, with its dark
paneled walls, bright yellow cabinets, and white linoleum floor. Nothing
was changed. My mother had painted the cabinets eighteen years ago in an
attempt to bring some sunshine into the house. Over the small fireplace
in the adjoining handkerchief-sized family room was a row of pictures.
First a wedding picture of Charlie and my mom in Las Vegas, then one of
the three of us in the hospital after I was born, taken by a helpful
nurse, followed by the procession of my school pictures up to last
year's. Those were embarrassing to look at — I would have to see what I
could do to get Charlie to put them somewhere else, at least while I was
living here.
It was impossible, being in this house, not to realize that Charlie had
never gotten over my mom. It made me uncomfortable.
I didn't want to be too early to school, but I couldn't stay in the house
anymore. I donned my jacket — which had the feel of a biohazard suit —
and headed out into the rain.
It was just drizzling still, not enough to soak me through immediately as
I reached for the house key that was always hidden under the eaves by the
door, and locked up. The sloshing of my new waterproof boots was
unnerving. I missed the normal crunch of gravel as I walked. I couldn't
pause and admire my truck again as I wanted; I was in a hurry to get out
of the misty wet that swirled around my head and clung to my hair under
my hood.
Inside the truck, it was nice and dry. Either Billy or Charlie had
obviously cleaned it up, but the tan upholstered seats still smelled
faintly of tobacco, gasoline, and peppermint. The engine started quickly,
to my relief, but loudly, roaring to life and then idling at top volume.
Well, a truck this old was bound to have a flaw. The antique radio
worked, a plus that I hadn't expected.
Finding the school wasn't difficult, though I'd never been there before.
The school was, like most other things, just off the highway. It was not
obvious that it was a school; only the sign, which declared it to be the
Forks High School, made me stop. It looked like a collection of matching
houses, built with maroon-colored bricks. There were so many trees and
shrubs I couldn't see its size at first. Where was the feel of the
institution? I wondered nostalgically. Where were the chain-link fences,
the metal detectors?
I parked in front of the first building, which had a small sign over the
door reading front office. No one else was parked there, so I was sure it
was off limits, but I decided I would get directions inside instead of
circling around in the rain like an idiot. I stepped unwillingly out of
the toasty truck cab and walked down a little stone path lined with dark
hedges. I took a deep breath before opening the door.
Inside, it was brightly lit, and warmer than I'd hoped. The office was
small; a little waiting area with padded folding chairs, orange-flecked
commercial carpet, notices and awards cluttering the walls, a big clock
ticking loudly. Plants grew everywhere in large plastic pots, as if there
wasn't enough greenery outside. The room was cut in half by a long
counter, cluttered with wire baskets full of **s and brightly colored
flyers taped to its front. There were three desks behind the counter, one
of which was manned by a large, red-haired woman wearing glasses. She was
wearing a purple t-shirt, which immediately made me feel overdressed.
The red-haired woman looked up. "Can I help you?"
"I'm Isabella Swan," I informed her, and saw the immediate awareness
light her eyes. I was expected, a topic of gossip no doubt. Daughter of
the Chief's flighty ex-wife, come home at last.
"Of course," she said. She dug through a precariously stacked pile of
documents on her desk till she found the ones she was looking for. "I
have your schedule right here, and a map of the school." She brought
several sheets to the counter to show roe.
、
She went through my classes for me, highlighting the best route to each on the map, and gave me a slip to have each teacher sign, which I was to bring back at the end of the day. She smiled at me and hoped, like Charlie, that I would like it here in Forks. I smiled back as convincingly as I could.
When I went back out to my truck, other students were starting to arrive. I drove around the school, following the line of traffic. I was glad to see that most of the cars were older like mine, nothing flashy. At home I'd lived in one of the few lower-income neighborhoods that were included in the Paradise Valley District. It was a common thing to see a new
Mercedes or Porsche in the student lot. The nicest car here was a shiny Volvo, and it stood out. Still, I cut the engine as soon as I was in a spot, so that the thunderous volume wouldn't draw attention to me.
I looked at the map in the truck, trying to memorize it now; hopefully I wouldn't have to walk around with it stuck in front of my nose all day. I stuffed everything in my bag, slung the strap over my shoulder, and 禁用词语ed in a huge breath. I can do this, I lied to myself feebly. No one was going to bite me. I finally exhaled and stepped out of the truck.
I kept my face pulled back into my hood as I walked to the sidewalk, crowded with teenagers. My plain black jacket didn't stand out, I noticed with relief.
Once I got around the cafeteria, building three was easy to spot. A large black "3" was painted on a white square on the east corner. I felt my breathing gradually creeping toward hyperventilation as I approached the door. I tried holding my breath as I followed two uni** raincoats through the door.
The classroom was small. The people in front of me stopped just inside the door to hang up their coats on a long row of hooks. I copied them.
They were two girls, one a porcelain-colored blonde, the other also pale, with light brown hair. At least my skin wouldn't be a standout here.
I took the slip up to the teacher, a tall, balding man whose desk had a
nameplate identifying him as Mr. Mason. He gawked at me when he saw my
name — not an encouraging response — and of course I flushed tomato red.
But at least he sent me to an empty desk at the back without introducing
me to the class. It was harder for my new classmates to stare at me in
the back, but somehow, they managed. I kept my eyes down on the reading
list the teacher had given me. It was fairly basic: Bronte, Shakespeare,
Chaucer, Faulkner. I'd already read everything. That was comforting… and
boring. I wondered if my mom would send me my folder of old essays, or if
she would think that was cheating. I went through different arguments
with her in my head while the teacher droned on.
When the bell rang, a nasal buzzing sound, a gangly boy with skin
problems and hair black as an oil slick leaned across the aisle to talk
to me.
"You're Isabella Swan, aren't you?" He looked like the overly helpful,
chess club type.
"Bella," I corrected. Everyone within a three-seat radius turned to look
at me.
"Where's your next class?" he asked.
I had to check in my bag. "Um, Government, with Jefferson, in building
six."
There was nowhere to look without meeting curious eyes.
"I'm headed toward building four, I could show you the way…" Definitely
over-helpful. "I'm Eric," he added.
I smiled tentatively. "Thanks."
We got our jackets and headed out into the rain, which had picked up. I
could have sworn several people behind us were walking close enough to
eavesdrop. I hoped I wasn't getting paranoid.
"So, this is a lot different than Phoenix, huh?" he asked.
He studied my face apprehensively, and I sighed. It looked like clouds
and a sense of humor didn't mix. A few months of this and I'd forget how
to use sarcasm.
We walked back around the cafeteria, to the south buildings by the gym.
Eric walked me right to the door, though it was clearly marked.
"Well, good luck," he said as I touched the handle. "Maybe we'll have
some other classes together." He sounded hopeful.
I smiled at him vaguely and went inside.
The rest of the morning passed in about the same fashion. My Trigonometry
teacher, Mr. Varner, who I would have hated anyway just because of the
subject he taught, was the only one who made me stand in front of the
class and introduce myself. I stammered, blushed, and tripped over my own
boots on the way to my seat.
After two classes, I started to recognize several of the faces in each
class. There was always someone braver than the others who would
introduce themselves and ask me questions about how I was liking Forks. I
tried to be diplomatic, but mostly I just lied a lot. At least I never
needed the map.
One girl sat next to me in both Trig and Spanish, and she walked with me
to the cafeteria for lunch. She was tiny, several inches shorter than my
five feet four inches, but her wildly curly dark hair made up a lot of
the difference between our heights. I couldn't remember her name, so I
smiled and nodded as she prattled about teachers and classes. I didn't
try to keep up.
We sat at the end of a full table with several of her friends, who she
introduced to me. I forgot all their names as soon as she spoke them.
They seemed impressed by her bravery in speaking to me. The boy from
English, Eric, waved at me from across the room.
It was there, sitting in the lunchroom, trying to make conversation with
seven curious strangers, that I first saw them.
They were sitting in the corner of the cafeteria, as far away from where
I sat as possible in the long room. There were five of them. They weren't
talking, and they weren't eating, though they each had a tray of
untouched food in front of them. They weren't gawking at me, unlike most
of the other students, so it was safe to stare at them without fear of
meeting an excessively interested pair of eyes. But it was none of these
things that caught, and held, my attention.
They didn't look anything alike. Of the three boys, one was big — muscled
like a serious weight lifter, with dark, curly hair. Another was taller,
leaner, but still muscular, and honey blond. The last was lanky, less
bulky, with untidy, bronze-colored hair. He was more boyish than the
others, who looked like they could be in college, or even teachers here
rather than students.
The girls were opposites. The tall one was statuesque. She had a
beautiful figure, the kind you saw on the cover of the Sports Illustrated
swimsuit issue, the kind that made every girl around her take a hit on
her self-esteem just by being in the same room. Her hair was golden,
gently waving to the middle of her back. The short girl was pixielike,
thin in the extreme, with small features. Her hair was a deep black,
cropped short and pointing in every direction.
And yet, they were all exactly alike. Every one of them was chalky pale,
the palest of all the students living in this sunless town. Paler than
me, the albino. They all had very dark eyes despite the range in hair
tones. They also had dark shadows under those eyes — purplish, bruiselike
shadows. As if they were all suffering from a sleepless night, or almost
done recovering from a broken nose. Though their noses, all their
features, were straight, perfect, angular.
But all this is not why I couldn't look away.
I stared because their faces, so different, so similar, were all
devastatingly, inhumanly beautiful. They were faces you never expected to
see except perhaps on the airbrushed pages of a fashion magazine. Or
painted by an old master as the face of an angel. It was hard to decide
who was the most beautiful — maybe the perfect blond girl, or the
bronze-haired boy.
They were all looking away — away from each other, away from the other
students, away from anything in particular as far as I could tell. As I
watched, the small girl rose with her tray — unopened soda, unbitten
apple — and walked away with a quick, graceful lope that belonged on a
runway. I watched, amazed at her lithe dancer's step, till she dumped her
tray and glided through the back door, faster than I would have thought
possible. My eyes darted back to the others, who sat unchanging.
"Who are they?" I asked the girl from my Spanish class, whose name I'd
forgotten.
As she looked up to see who I meant — though already knowing, probably,
from my tone — suddenly he looked at her, the thinner one, the boyish
one, the youngest, perhaps. He looked at my neighbor for just a fraction
of a second, and then his dark eyes flickered to mine.
He looked away quickly, more quickly than I could, though in a flush of
embarrassment I dropped my eyes at once. In that brief flash of a glance,
his face held nothing of interest — it was as if she had called his name,
and he'd looked up in involuntary response, already having decided not to
answer.
My neighbor giggled in embarrassment, looking at the table like I did.
"That's Edward and Emmett Cullen, and Rosalie and Jasper Hale. The one
who left was Alice Cullen; they all live together with Dr. Cullen and his
wife." She said this under her breath.
I glanced sideways at the beautiful boy, who was looking at his tray now,
picking a bagel to pieces with long, pale fingers. His mouth was moving
very quickly, his perfect lips barely opening. The other three still
looked away, and yet I felt he was speaking quietly to them.
Strange, unpopular names, I thought. The kinds of names grandparents had.
But maybe that was in vogue here — small town names? I finally remembered
that my neighbor was called Jessica, a perfectly common name. There were
two girls named Jessica in my History class back home.
"They are… very nice-looking." I struggled with the conspicuous
understatement.
"Yes!" Jessica agreed with another giggle. "They're all together though —
Emmett and Rosalie, and Jasper and Alice, I mean. And they live
together." Her voice held all the shock and condemnation of the small
town, I thought critically. But, if I was being honest, I had to admit
that even in Phoenix, it would cause gossip.
"Which ones are the Cullens?" I asked. "They don't look related…"
"Oh, they're not. Dr. Cullen is really young, in his twenties or early
thirties. They're all adopted. The Hales are brother and sister, twins —
the blondes — and they're foster children."
"They look a little old for foster children."
"They are now, Jasper and Rosalie are both eighteen, but they've been
with Mrs. Cullen since they were eight. She's their aunt or something
like that."
"That's really kind of nice — for them to take care of all those kids
like that, when they're so young and everything."
"I guess so," Jessica admitted reluctantly, and I got the impression that
she didn't like the doctor and his wife for some reason. With the glances
she was throwing at their adopted children, I would presume the reason
was jealousy. "I think that Mrs. Cullen can't have any kids, though," she
added, as if that lessened their kindness.
Throughout all this conversation, my eyes flickered again and again to
the table where the strange family sat. They continued to look at the
walls and not eat.
"Have they always lived in Forks?" I asked. Surely I would have noticed
them on one of my summers here.
"No," she said in a voice that implied it should be obvious, even to a
new arrival like me. "They just moved down two years ago from somewhere
in Alaska."
I felt a surge of pity, and relief. Pity because, as beautiful as they
were, they were outsiders, clearly not accepted. Relief that I wasn't the
only newcomer here, and certainly not the most interesting by any
standard.
As I examined them, the youngest, one of the Cullens, looked up and met
my gaze, this time with evident curiosity in his expression. As I looked
swiftly away, it seemed to me that his glance held some kind of unmet
expectation.
"Which one is the boy with the reddish brown hair?" I asked. I peeked at
him from the corner of my eye, and he was still staring at me, but not
gawking like the other students had today — he had a slightly frustrated
expression. I looked down again.
"That's Edward. He's gorgeous, of course, but don't waste your time. He
doesn't date. Apparently none of the girls here are good-looking enough
for him." She sniffed, a clear case of sour grapes. I wondered when he'd
turned her down.
I bit my lip to hide my smile. Then I glanced at him again. His face was
turned away, but I thought his cheek appeared lifted, as if he were
smiling, too.
After a few more minutes, the four of them left the table together. They
all were noticeably graceful — even the big, brawny one. It was
unsettling to watch. The one named Edward didn't look at me again.
I sat at the table with Jessica and her friends longer than I would have
if I'd been sitting alone. I was anxious not to be late for class on my
first day. One of my new acquaintances, who considerately reminded me
that her name was Angela, had Biology II with me the next hour. We walked
to class together in silence. She was shy, too.
When we entered the classroom, Angela went to sit at a black-topped lab
table exactly like the ones I was used to. She already had a neighbor. In
fact, all the tables were filled but one. Next to the center aisle, I
recognized Edward Cullen by his unusual hair, sitting next to that single
open seat.
As I walked down the aisle to introduce myself to the teacher and get my
slip signed, I was watching him surreptitiously. Just as I passed, he
suddenly went rigid in his seat. He stared at me again, meeting my eyes
with the strangest expression on his face — it was hostile, furious. I
looked away quickly, shocked, going red again. I stumbled over a book in
the walkway and had to catch myself on the edge of a table. The girl
sitting there giggled.
I'd noticed that his eyes were black — coal black.
Mr. Banner signed my slip and handed me a book with no nonsense about
introductions. I could tell we were going to get along. Of course, he had
no choice but to send me to the one open seat in the middle of the room.
I kept my eyes down as I went to sit by him, bewildered by the
antagonistic stare he'd given me.
I didn't look up as I set my book on the table and took my seat, but I
saw his posture change from the corner of my eye. He was leaning away
from me, sitting on the extreme edge of his chair and averting his face
like he smelled something bad. Inconspicuously, I sniffed my hair. It
smelled like strawberries, the scent of my favorite shampoo. It seemed an
innocent enough odor. I let my hair fall over my right shoulder, making a
dark curtain between us, and tried to pay attention to the teacher.
Unfortunately the lecture was on cellular anatomy, something I'd already
studied. I took notes carefully anyway, always looking down.
I couldn't stop myself from peeking occasionally through the screen of my
hair at the strange boy next to me. During the whole class, he never
relaxed his stiff position on the edge of his chair, sitting as far from
me as possible. I could see his hand on his left leg was clenched into a
fist, tendons standing out under his pale skin. This, too, he never
relaxed. He had the long sleeves of his white shirt pushed up to his
elbows, and his forearm was surprisingly hard and muscular beneath his
light skin. He wasn't nearly as slight as he'd looked next to his burly
brother.
The class seemed to drag on longer than the others. Was it because the
day was finally coming to a close, or because I was waiting for his tight
fist to loosen? It never did; he continued to sit so still it looked like
he wasn't breathing. What was wrong with him? Was this his normal
behavior? I questioned my judgment on Jessica's bitterness at lunch
today. Maybe she was not as resentful as I'd thought.
It couldn't have anything to do with me. He didn't know me from Eve.
I peeked up at him one more time, and regretted it. He was glaring down
at me again, his black eyes full of revulsion. As I flinched away from
him, shrinking against my chair, the phrase if looks could kill suddenly
ran through my mind.
At that moment, the bell rang loudly, making me jump, and Edward Cullen
was out of his seat. Fluidly he rose — he was much taller than I'd
thought — his back to me, and he was out the door before anyone else was
out of their seat.
I sat frozen in my seat, staring blankly after him. He was so mean. It
wasn't fair. I began gathering up my things slowly, trying to block the
anger that filled me, for fear my eyes would tear up. For some reason, my
temper was hardwired to my tear ducts. I usually cried when I was angry,
a humiliating tendency.
I looked up to see a cute, baby-faced boy, his pale blond hair carefully
gelled into orderly spikes, smiling at me in a friendly way. He obviously
didn't think I smelled bad.
"Bella," I corrected him, with a smile.
"I'm Mike."
"Hi, Mike."
"Do you need any help finding your next class?"
"I'm headed to the gym, actually. I think I can find it."
"That's my next class, too." He seemed thrilled, though it wasn't that
big of a coincidence in a school this small.
We walked to class together; he was a chatterer — he supplied most of the
conversation, which made it easy for me. He'd lived in California till he
was ten, so he knew how I felt about the sun. It turned out he was in my
English class also. He was the nicest person I'd met today.
But as we were entering the gym, he asked, "So, did you stab Edward
Cullen with a pencil or what? I've never seen him act like that."
I cringed. So I wasn't the only one who had noticed. And, apparently,
that wasn't Edward Cullen's usual behavior. I decided to play dumb.
"Was that the boy I sat next to in Biology?" I asked artlessly.
"Yes," he said. "He looked like he was in pain or something."
"I don't know," I responded. "I never spoke to him."
"He's a weird guy." Mike lingered by me instead of heading to the
dressing room. "If I were lucky enough to sit by you, I would have talked
to you."
I smiled at him before walking through the girls' locker room door. He
was friendly and clearly admiring. But it wasn't enough to ease my
irritation.
The Gym teacher, Coach Clapp, found me a uniform but didn't make me dress
down for today's class. At home, only two years of RE. were required.
Here, P.E. was mandatory all four years. Forks was literally my personal
hell on Earth.
I watched four volleyball games running simultaneously. Remembering how
many injuries I had sustained — and inflicted — playing volleyball, I
felt faintly nauseated.
The final bell rang at last. I walked slowly to the office to return my
**work. The rain had drifted away, but the wind was strong, and
colder. I wrapped my arms around myself.
When I walked into the warm office, I almost turned around and walked
back out.
Edward Cullen stood at the desk in front of me. I recognized again that
tousled bronze hair. He didn't appear to notice the sound of my entrance.
I stood pressed against the back wall, waiting for the receptionist to be
free.
He was arguing with her in a low, attractive voice. I quickly picked up
the gist of the argument. He was trying to trade from sixth-hour Biology
to another time — any other time.
I just couldn't believe that this was about me. It had to be something
else, something that happened before I entered the Biology room. The look
on his face must have been about another aggravation entirely. It was
impossible that this stranger could take such a sudden, intense dislike
to me.
The door opened again, and the cold wind suddenly gusted through the
room, rustling the **s on the desk, swirling my hair around my face.
The girl who came in merely stepped to the desk, placed a note in the
wire basket, and walked out again. But Edward Cullen's back stiffened,
and he turned slowly to glare at me — his face was absurdly handsome —
with piercing, hate-filled eyes. For an instant, I felt a thrill of
genuine fear, raising the hair on my arms. The look only lasted a second,
but it chilled me more than the freezing wind. He turned back to the
receptionist.
"Never mind, then," he said hastily in a voice like velvet. "I can see
that it's impossible. Thank you so much for your help." And he turned on
his heel without another look at me, and disappeared out the door.
I went meekly to the desk, my face white for once instead of red, and
handed her the signed slip.
"How did your first day go, dear?" the receptionist asked maternally.
"Fine," I lied, my voice weak. She didn't look convinced.
When I got to the truck, it was almost the last car in the lot. It seemed
like a haven, already the closest thing to home I had in this damp green
hole. I sat inside for a while, just staring out the windshield blankly.
But soon I was cold enough to need the heater, so I turned the key and
the engine roared to life. I headed back to Charlie's house, fighting
tears the whole way there.
It was better because it wasn't raining yet, though the clouds were dense
and opaque. It was easier because I knew what to expect of my day. Mike
came to sit by me in English, and walked me to my next class, with Chess
Club Eric glaring at him all the while; that was nattering. People didn't
look at me quite as much as they had yesterday. I sat with a big group at
lunch that included Mike, Eric, Jessica, and several other people whose
names and faces I now remembered. I began to feel like I was treading
water, instead of drowning in it.
It was worse because I was tired; I still couldn't sleep with the wind
echoing around the house. It was worse because Mr. Varner called on me in
Trig when my hand wasn't raised and I had the wrong answer. It was
miserable because I had to play volleyball, and the one time I didn't
cringe out of the way of the ball, I hit my teammate in the head with it.
And it was worse because Edward Cullen wasn't in school at all.
All morning I was dreading lunch, fearing his bizarre glares. Part of me
wanted to confront him and demand to know what his problem was. While I
was lying sleepless in my bed, I even imagined what I would say. But I
knew myself too well to think I would really have the guts to do it. I
made the Cowardly Lion look like the terminator.
But when I walked into the cafeteria with Jessica — trying to keep my
eyes from sweeping the place for him, and failing entirely — I saw that
his four siblings of sorts were sitting together at the same table, and
he was not with them.
Mike intercepted us and steered us to his table. Jessica seemed elated by
the attention, and her friends quickly joined us. But as I tried to
listen to their easy chatter, I was terribly uncomfortable, waiting
nervously for the moment he would arrive. I hoped that he would simply
ignore me when he came, and prove my suspicions false.
He didn't come, and as time passed I grew more and more tense.
I walked to Biology with more confidence when, by the end of lunch, he
still hadn't showed. Mike, who was taking on the qualities of a golden
retriever, walked faithfully by my side to class. I held my breath at the
door, but Edward Cullen wasn't there, either. I exhaled and went to my
seat. Mike followed, talking about an upcoming trip to the beach. He
lingered by my desk till the bell rang. Then he smiled at me wistfully
and went to sit by a girl with braces and a bad perm. It looked like I
was going to have to do something about Mike, and it wouldn't be easy. In
a town like this, where everyone lived on top of everyone else, diplomacy
was essential. I had never been enormously tactful; I had no practice
dealing with overly friendly boys.
I was relieved that I had the desk to myself, that Edward was absent. I
told myself that repeatedly. But I couldn't get rid of the nagging
suspicion that I was the reason he wasn't there. It was ridiculous, and
egotistical, to think that I could affect anyone that strongly. It was
impossible. And yet I couldn't stop worrying that it was true.
When the school day was finally done, and the blush was fading out of my
cheeks from the volleyball incident, I changed quickly back into my jeans
and navy blue sweater. I hurried from the girls' locker room, pleased to
find that I had successfully evaded my retriever friend for the moment. I
walked swiftly out to the parking lot. It was crowded now with fleeing
students. I got in my truck and dug through my bag to make sure I had
what I needed.
Last night I'd discovered that Charlie couldn't cook much besides fried
eggs and bacon. So I requested that I be assigned kitchen detail for the
duration of my stay. He was willing enough to hand over the keys to the
banquet hall. I also found out that he had no food in the house. So I had
my shopping list and the cash from the jar in the cupboard labeled FOOD
MONEY, and I was on my way to the Thriftway.
I gunned my deafening engine to life, ignoring the heads that turned in
my direction, and backed carefully into a place in the line of cars that
were waiting to exit the parking lot. As I waited, trying to pretend that
the earsplitting rumble was coming from someone else's car, I saw the two
Cullens and the Hale twins getting into their car. It was the shiny new
Volvo. Of course. I hadn't noticed their clothes before — I'd been too
mesmerized by their faces. Now that I looked, it was obvious that they
were all dressed exceptionally well; simply, but in clothes that subtly
hinted at designer origins. With their remarkable good looks, the style
with which they carried themselves, they could have worn dishrags and
pulled it off. It seemed excessive for them to have both looks and money.
But as far as I could tell, life worked that way most of the time. It
didn't look as if it bought them any acceptance here.
No, I didn't fully believe that. The isolation must be their desire; I
couldn't imagine any door that wouldn't be opened by that degree of
beauty.
They looked at my noisy truck as I passed them, just like everyone else.
I kept my eyes straight forward and was relieved when I finally was free
of the school grounds.
The Thriftway was not far from the school, just a few streets south, off
the highway. It was nice to be inside the supermarket; it felt normal. I
did the shopping at home, and I fell into the pattern of the familiar
task gladly. The store was big enough inside that I couldn't hear the
tapping of the rain on the roof to remind me where I was.
When I got home, I unloaded all the groceries, stuffing them in wherever
I could find an open space. I hoped Charlie wouldn't mind. I wrapped
potatoes in foil and stuck them in the oven to bake, covered a steak in
marinade and balanced it on top of a carton of eggs in the fridge.
When I was finished with that, I took my book bag upstairs. Before
starting my homework, I changed into a pair of dry sweats, pulled my damp
hair up into a pony-tail, and checked my e-mail for the first time. I had
three messages.
"Bella," my mom wrote…
Write me as soon as you get in. Tell me how your flight was. Is it
raining? I miss you already. I'm almost finished packing for Florida, but
I can't find my pink blouse. Do you know where I put it? Phil says hi.
Mom.
I sighed and went to the next. It was sent eight hours after the first.
"Bella," she wrote…
Why haven't you e-mailed me yet? What are you waiting for? Mom.
The last was from this morning.
Isabella,
If I haven't heard from you by 5:30 p.m. today I'm calling Charlie.
I checked the clock. I still had an hour, but my mom was well known for
jumping the gun.
Mom,
Calm down. I'm writing right now. Don't do anything rash.
Bella.
I sent that, and began again.
Mom,
Everything is great. Of course it's raining. I was waiting for something
to write about. School isn't bad, just a little repetitive. I met some
nice kids who sit by me at lunch.
Your blouse is at the dry cleaners - you were supposed to pick it up
Friday.
Charlie bought me a truck, can you believe it? I love it. It's old, but
really sturdy, which is good, you know, for me.
I miss you, too. I'll write again soon, but I'm not going to check my
e-mail every five minutes. Relax, breathe. I love you.
I had decided to read Wuthering Heights — the novel we were currently
studying in English — yet again for the fun of it, and that's what I was
doing when Charlie came home. I'd lost track of the time, and I hurried
downstairs to take the potatoes out and put the steak in to broil.
"Bella?" my father called out when he heard me on the stairs.
Who else? I thought to myself.
"Hey, Dad, welcome home."
"Thanks." He hung up his gun belt and stepped out of his boots as I
bustled about the kitchen. As far as I was aware, he'd never shot the gun
on the job. But he kept it ready. When I came here as a child, he would
always remove the bullets as soon as he walked in the door. I guess he
considered me old enough now not to shoot myself by accident, and not
depressed enough to shoot myself on purpose.
"What's for dinner?" he asked warily. My mother was an imaginative cook,
and her experiments weren't always edible. I was surprised, and sad, that
he seemed to remember that far back.
"Steak and potatoes," I answered, and he looked relieved.
He seemed to feel awkward standing in the kitchen doing nothing; he
lumbered into the living room to watch TV while I worked. We were both
more comfortable that way. I made a salad while the steaks cooked, and
set the table.
I called him in when dinner was ready, and he sniffed appreciatively as
he walked into the room.
"Smells good, Bell."
"Thanks."
We ate in silence for a few minutes. It wasn't uncomfortable. Neither of
us was bothered by the quiet. In some ways, we were well suited for
living together.
"So, how did you like school? Have you made any friends?" he asked as he
was taking seconds.
"Well, I have a few classes with a girl named Jessica. I sit with her
friends at lunch. And there's this boy, Mike, who's very friendly.
Everybody seems pretty nice." With one outstanding exception.
"That must be Mike Newton. Nice kid — nice family. His dad owns the
sporting goods store just outside of town. He makes a good living off all
the backpackers who come through here."
"Do you know the Cullen family?" I asked hesitantly.
"Dr. Cullen's family? Sure. Dr. Cullen's a great man."
"They… the kids… are a little different. They don't seem to fit in very
well at school."
"People in this town," he muttered. "Dr. Cullen is a brilliant surgeon
who could probably work in any hospital in the world, make ten times the
salary he gets here," he continued, getting louder. "We're lucky to have
him — lucky that his wife wanted to live in a small town. He's an asset
to the community, and all of those kids are well behaved and polite. I
had my doubts, when they first moved in, with all those adopted
teenagers. I thought we might have some problems with them. But they're
all very mature — I haven't had one speck of trouble from any of them.
That's more than I can say for the children of some folks who have lived
in this town for generations. And they stick together the way a family
should — camping trips every other weekend… Just because they're
newcomers, people have to talk."
It was the longest speech I'd ever heard Charlie make. He must feel
strongly about whatever people were saying.
I backpedaled. "They seemed nice enough to me. I just noticed they kept
to themselves. They're all very attractive," I added, trying to be more
complimentary.
"You should see the doctor," Charlie said, laughing. "It's a good thing
he's happily married. A lot of the nurses at the hospital have a hard
time concentrating on their work with him around."
We lapsed back into silence as we finished eating. He cleared the table
while I started on the dishes. He went back to the TV, and after I
finished washing the dishes by hand — no dishwasher — I went upstairs
unwillingly to work on my math homework. I could feel a tradition in the
making.
That night it was finally quiet. I fell asleep quickly, exhausted.
The rest of the week was uneventful. I got used to the routine of my
classes. By Friday I was able to recognize, if not name, almost all the
students at school. In Gym, the kids on my team learned not to pass me
the ball and to step quickly in front of me if the other team tried to
take advantage of my weakness. I happily stayed out of their way.
Edward Cullen didn't come back to school.
Every day, I watched anxiously until the rest of the Cullens entered the
cafeteria without him. Then I could relax and join in the lunchtime
conversation. Mostly it centered around a trip to the La Push Ocean Park
in two weeks that Mike was putting together. I was invited, and I had
agreed to go, more out of politeness than desire. Beaches should be hot
and dry.
By Friday I was perfectly comfortable entering my Biology class, no
longer worried that Edward would be there. For all I knew, he had dropped
out of school. I tried not to think about him, but I couldn't totally
suppress the worry that I was responsible for his continued absence,
ridiculous as it seemed.
My first weekend in Forks passed without incident. Charlie, unused to
spending time in the usually empty house, worked most of the weekend. I
cleaned the house, got ahead on my homework, and wrote my mom more
bogusly cheerful e-mail. I did drive to the library Saturday, but it was
so poorly stocked that I didn't bother to get a card; I would have to
make a date to visit Olympia or Seattle soon and find a good bookstore. I
wondered idly what kind of gas mileage the truck got… and shuddered at
the thought.
The rain stayed soft over the weekend, quiet, so I was able to sleep well.
People greeted me in the parking lot Monday morning. I didn't know all
their names, but I waved back and smiled at everyone. It was colder this
morning, but happily not raining. In English, Mike took his accustomed
seat by my side. We had a pop quiz on Wuthering Heights. It was
straightforward, very easy.
All in all, I was feeling a lot more comfortable than I had thought I
would feel by this point. More comfortable than I had ever expected to
feel here.
When we walked out of class, the air was full of swirling bits of white.
I could hear people shouting excitedly to each other. The wind bit at my
cheeks, my nose.
"Wow," Mike said. "It's snowing."
I looked at the little cotton fluffs that were building up along the
sidewalk and swirling erratically past my face.
"Ew." Snow. There went my good day.
He looked surprised. "Don't you like snow?"
"No. That means it's too cold for rain." Obviously. "Besides, I thought
it was supposed to come down in flakes — you know, each one unique and
all that. These just look like the ends of Q-tips."
"Haven't you ever seen snow fall before?" he asked incredulously.
"Sure I have." I paused. "On TV."
Mike laughed. And then a big, squishy ball of dripping snow smacked into
the back of his head. We both turned to see where it came from. I had my
suspicions about Eric, who was walking away, his back toward us — in the
wrong direction for his next class. Mike appatently had the same notion.
He bent over and began scraping together a pile of the white mush.
"I'll see you at lunch, okay?" I kept walking as I spoke. "Once people
start throwing wet stuff, I go inside."
He just nodded, his eyes on Eric's retreating figure.
Throughout the morning, everyone chattered excitedly about the snow;
apparently it was the first snowfall of the new year. I kept my mouth
shut. Sure, it was drier than rain — until it melted in your socks.
I walked alertly to the cafeteria with Jessica after Spanish. Mush balls
were flying everywhere. I kept a binder in my hands, ready to use it as a
shield if necessary. Jessica thought I was hilarious, but something in my
expression kept her from lobbing a snowball at me herself.
Mike caught up to us as we walked in the doors, laughing, with ice
melting the spikes in his hair. He and Jessica were talking animatedly
about the snow fight as we got in line to buy food. I glanced toward that
table in the corner out of habit. And then I froze where I stood. There
were five people at the table.
Jessica pulled on my arm.
"Hello? Bella? What do you want?"
I looked down; my ears were hot. I had no reason to feel self-conscious,
I reminded myself. I hadn't done anything wrong.
"What's with Bella?" Mike asked Jessica.
"Nothing," I answered. "I'll just get a soda today." I caught up to the
end of the line.
"Aren't you hungry?" Jessica asked.
"Actually, I feel a little sick," I said, my eyes still on the floor.
I waited for them to get their food, and then followed them to a table,
my eyes on my feet.
I sipped my soda slowly, my stomach churning. Twice Mike asked, with
unnecessary concern, how I was feeling.
I told him it was nothing, but I was wondering if I should play it up and
escape to the nurse's office for the next hour.
Ridiculous. I shouldn't have to run away.
I decided to permit myself one glance at the Cullen family's table. If he
was glaring at me, I would skip Biology, like the coward I was.
I kept my head down and glanced up under my lashes. None of them were
looking this way. I lifted my head a little.
They were laughing. Edward, Jasper, and Emmett all had their hair
entirely saturated with melting snow. Alice and Rosalie were leaning away
as Emmett shook his dripping hair toward them. They were enjoying the
snowy day, just like everyone else — only they looked more like a scene
from a movie than the rest of us.
But, aside from the laughter and playfulness, there was something
different, and I couldn't quite pinpoint what that difference was. I
examined Edward the most carefully. His skin was less pale, I decided —
flushed from the snow fight maybe — the circles under his eyes much less
noticeable. But there was something more. I pondered, staring, trying to
isolate the change.
"Bella, what are you staring at?" Jessica intruded, her eyes following my
stare.
At that precise moment, his eyes flashed over to meet mine.
I dropped my head, letting my hair fall to conceal my face. I was sure,
though, in the instant our eyes met, that he didn't look harsh or
unfriendly as he had the last time I'd seen him. He looked merely curious
again, unsatisfied in some way.
"Edward Cullen is staring at you," Jessica giggled in my ear.
"He doesn't look angry, does he?" I couldn't help asking.
"No," she said, sounding confused by my question. "Should he be?"
"I don't think he likes me," I confided. I still felt queasy. I put my
head down on my arm.
"The Cullens don't like anybody… well, they don't notice anybody enough
to like them. But he's still staring at you."
"Stop looking at him," I hissed.
She snickered, but she looked away. I raised my head enough to make sure
that she did, contemplating violence if she resisted.
Mike interrupted us then — he was planning an epic battle of the blizzard
in the parking lot after school and wanted us to join. Jessica agreed
enthusiastically. The way she looked at Mike left little doubt that she
would be up for anything he suggested. I kept silent. I would have to
hide in the gym until the parking lot cleared.
For the rest of the lunch hour I very carefully kept my eyes at my own
table. I decided to honor the bargain I'd made with myself. Since he
didn't look angry, I would go to Biology. My stomach did frightened
little flips at the thought of sitting next to him again.
I didn't really want to walk to class with Mike as usual — he seemed to
be a popular target for the snowball snipers — but when we went to the
door, everyone besides me groaned in unison. It was raining, washing all
traces of the snow away in clear, icy ribbons down the side of the
walkway. I pulled my hood up, secretly pleased. I would be free to go
straight home after Gym.
Mike kept up a string of complaints on the way to building four.
Once inside the classroom, I saw with relief that my table was still
empty. Mr. Banner was walking around the room, distributing one
microscope and box of slides to each table. Class didn't start for a few
minutes, and the room buzzed with conversation. I kept my eyes away from
the door, doodling idly on the cover of my notebook.
I heard very clearly when the chair next to me moved, but my eyes stayed
carefully focused on the pattern I was drawing.
"Hello," said a quiet, musical voice.
I looked up, stunned that he was speaking to me. He was sitting as far
away from me as the desk allowed, but his chair was angled toward me. His
hair was dripping wet, disheveled — even so, he looked like he'd just
finished shooting a commercial for hair gel. His dazzling face was
friendly, open, a slight smile on his flawless lips. But his eyes were
careful.
"My name is Edward Cullen," he continued. "I didn't have a chance to
introduce myself last week. You must be Bella Swan."
My mind was spinning with confusion. Had I made up the whole thing? He
was perfectly polite now. I had to speak; he was waiting. But I couldn't
think of anything conventional to say.
"H-how do you know my name?" I stammered.
He laughed a soft, enchanting laugh.
"Oh, I think everyone knows your name. The whole town's been waiting for
you to arrive."
"No," I persisted stupidly. "I meant, why did you call me Bella?"
He seemed confused. "Do you prefer Isabella?"
"No, I like Bella," I said. "But I think Charlie — I mean my dad — must
call me Isabella behind my back — that's what everyone here seems to know
me as," I tried to explain, feeling like an utter moron.
"Oh." He let it drop. I looked away awkwardly.
Thankfully, Mr. Banner started class at that moment. I tried to
concentrate as he explained the lab we would be doing today. The slides
in the box were out of order. Working as lab partners, we had to separate
the slides of onion root tip cells into the phases of mitosis they
represented and label them accordingly. We weren't supposed to use our
books. In twenty minutes, he would be coming around to see who had it
right.
"Get started," he commanded.
"Ladies first, partner?" Edward asked. I looked up to see him smiling a
crooked smile so beautiful that I could only stare at him like an idiot.
"Or I could start, if you wish." The smile faded; he was obviously
wondering if I was mentally competent.
"No," I said, flushing. "I'll go ahead."
I was showing off, just a little. I'd already done this lab, and I knew
what I was looking for. It should be easy. I snapped the first slide into
place under the microscope and adjusted it quickly to the 40X objective.
I studied the slide briefly.
My assessment was confident. "Prophase."
"Do you mind if I look?" he asked as I began to remove the slide. His
hand caught mine, to stop me, as he asked. His fingers were ice-cold,
like he'd been holding them in a snowdrift before class. But that wasn't
why I jerked my hand away so quickly. When he touched me, it stung my
hand as if an electric current had passed through us.
"I'm sorry," he muttered, pulling his hand back immediately. However, he
continued to reach for the microscope. I watched him, still staggered, as
he examined the slide for an even shorter time than I had.
"Prophase," he agreed, writing it neatly in the first space on our
worksheet. He swiftly switched out the first slide for the second, and
then glanced at it cursorily.
"Anaphase," he murmured, writing it down as he spoke.
I kept my voice indifferent. "May I?"
He smirked and pushed the microscope to me.
I looked through the eyepiece eagerly, only to be disappointed. Dang it,
he was right.
"Slide three?" I held out my hand without looking at him.
He handed it to me; it seemed like he was being careful not to touch my
skin again.
I took the most fleeting look I could manage.
"Interphase." I passed him the microscope before he could ask for it. He
took a swift peek, and then wrote it down. I would have written it while
he looked, but his clear, elegant script intimidated me. I didn't want to
spoil the page with my clumsy scrawl.
We were finished before anyone else was close. I could see Mike and his
partner comparing two slides again and again, and another group had their
book open under the table.
=======================================
Which left me with nothing to do but try to not look at him…
unsuccessfully. I glanced up, and he was staring at me, that same
inexplicable look of frustration in his eyes. Suddenly I identified that
subtle difference in his face.
"Did you get contacts?" I blurted out unthinkingly.
He seemed puzzled by my unexpected question. "No."
"Oh," I mumbled. "I thought there was something different about your
eyes."
He shrugged, and looked away.
In fact, I was sure there was something different. I vividly remembered
the flat black color of his eyes the last time he'd glared at me — the
color was striking against the background of his pale skin and his auburn
hair. Today, his eyes were a completely different color: a strange ocher,
darker than butterscotch, but with the same golden tone. I didn't
understand how that could be, unless he was lying for some reason about
the contacts. Or maybe Forks was making me crazy in the literal sense of
the word.
I looked down. His hands were clenched into hard fists again.
Mr. Banner came to our table then, to see why we weren't working. He
looked over our shoulders to glance at the completed lab, and then stared
more intently to check the answers.
"So, Edward, didn't you think Isabella should get a chance with the
microscope?" Mr. Banner asked.
"Bella," Edward corrected automatically. "Actually, she identified three
of the five."
Mr. Banner looked at me now; his expression was skeptical.
"Have you done this lab before?" he asked.
I smiled sheepishly. "Not with onion root."
"Whitefish blastula?"
"Yeah."
Mr. Banner nodded. "Were you in an advanced placement program in Phoenix?"
"Yes."
"Well," he said after a moment, "I guess it's good you two are lab
partners." He mumbled something else as he walked away. After he left, I
began doodling on my notebook again.
"It's too bad about the snow, isn't it?" Edward asked. I had the feeling
that he was forcing himself to make small talk with me. Paranoia swept
over me again. It was like he had heard my conversation with Jessica at
lunch and was trying to prove me wrong.
"Not really," I answered honestly, instead of pretending to be normal
like everyone else. I was still trying to dislodge the stupid feeling of
suspicion, and I couldn't concentrate.
"You don't like the cold." It wasn't a question.
"Or the wet."
"Forks must be a difficult place for you to live," he mused.
"You have no idea," I muttered darkly.
He looked fascinated by what I said, for some reason I couldn't imagine.
His face was such a distraction that I tried not to look at it any more
than courtesy absolutely demanded.
"Why did you come here, then?"
No one had asked me that — not straight out like he did, demanding.
I paused for a long moment, and then made the mistake of meeting his
gaze. His dark gold eyes confused me, and I answered without thinking.
"My mother got remarried," I said.
"That doesn't sound so complex," he disagreed, but he was suddenly
sympathetic. "When did that happen?"
"Last September." My voice sounded sad, even to me.
"And you don't like him," Edward surmised, his tone still kind.
"No, Phil is fine. Too young, maybe, but nice enough."
"Why didn't you stay with them?"
I couldn't fathom his interest, but he continued to stare at me with
penetrating eyes, as if my dull life's story was somehow vitally
important.
"Phil travels a lot. He plays ball for a living." I half-smiled.
"Have I heard of him?" he asked, smiling in response.
"Probably not. He doesn't play well. Strictly minor league. He moves
around a lot."
"And your mother sent you here so that she could travel with him." He
said it as an assumption again, not a question.
My chin raised a fraction. "No, she did not send me here. I sent myself."
His eyebrows knit together. "I don't understand," he admitted, and he
seemed unnecessarily frustrated by that fact.
I sighed. Why was I explaining this to him? He continued to stare at me
with obvious curiosity.
"She stayed with me at first, but she missed him. It made her unhappy… so
I decided it was time to spend some quality time with Charlie." My voice
was glum by the time I finished.
"But now you're unhappy," he pointed out.
"And?" I challenged.
"That doesn't seem fair." He shrugged, but his eyes were still intense.
I laughed without humor. "Hasn't anyone ever told you? Life isn't fair."
"I believe I have heard that somewhere before," he agreed dryly.
"So that's all," I insisted, wondering why he was still staring at me
that way.
His gaze became appraising. "You put on a good show," he said slowly.
"But I'd be willing to bet that you're suffering more than you let anyone
see."
I grimaced at him, resisting the impulse to stick out my tongue like a
five-year-old, and looked away.
"Am I wrong?"
I tried to ignore him.
"I didn't think so," he murmured smugly.
"Why does it matter to you?" I asked, irritated. I kept my eyes away,
watching the teacher make his rounds.
"That's a very good question," he muttered, so quietly that I wondered if
he was talking to himself. However, after a few seconds of silence, I
decided that was the only answer I was going to get.
I sighed, scowling at the blackboard.
"Am I annoying you?" he asked. He sounded amused.
I glanced at him without thinking… and told the truth again. "Not
exactly. I'm more annoyed at myself. My face is so easy to read — my
mother always calls me her open book." I frowned.
"On the contrary, I find you very difficult to read." Despite everything
that I'd said and he'd guessed, he sounded like he meant it.
"You must be a good reader then," I replied.
"Usually." He smiled widely, flashing a set of perfect, ultrawhite teeth.
Mr. Banner called the class to order then, and I turned with relief to
listen. I was in disbelief that I'd just explained my dreary life to this
bizarre, beautiful boy who may or may not despise me. He'd seemed
engrossed in our conversation, but now I could see, from the corner of my
eye, that he was leaning away from me again, his hands gripping the edge
of the table with u**takable tension.
I tried to appear attentive as Mr. Banner illustrated, with
transparencies on the overhead projector, what I had seen without
difficulty through the microscope. But my thoughts were unmanageable.
When the bell finally rang, Edward rushed as swiftly and as gracefully
from the room as he had last Monday. And, like last Monday, I stared
after him in amazement.
Mike skipped quickly to my side and picked up my books for me. I imagined
him with a wagging tail.
"That was awful," he groaned. "They all looked exactly the same. You're
lucky you had Cullen for a partner."
"I didn't have any trouble with it," I said, stung by his assumption. I
regretted the snub instantly. "I've done the lab before, though," I added
before he could get his feelings hurt.
"Cullen seemed friendly enough today," he commented as we shrugged into
our raincoats. He didn't seem pleased about it.
I tried to sound indifferent. "I wonder what was with him last Monday."
I couldn't concentrate on Mike's chatter as we walked to Gym, and RE.
didn't do much to hold my attention, either. Mike was on my team today.
He chivalrously covered my position as well as his own, so my
woolgathering was only interrupted when it was my turn to serve; my team
ducked warily out of the way every time I was up.
The rain was just a mist as I walked to the parking lot, but I was
happier when I was in the dry cab. I got the heater running, for once not
caring about the mind-numbing roar of the engine. I unzipped my jacket,
put the hood down, and fluffed my damp hair out so the heater could dry
it on the way home.
I looked around me to make sure it was clear. That's when I noticed the
still, white figure. Edward Cullen was leaning against the front door of
the Volvo, three cars down from me, and staring intently in my direction.
I swiftly looked away and threw the truck into reverse, almost hitting a
rusty Toyota Corolla in my haste. Lucky for the Toyota, I stomped on the
brake in time. It was just the sort of car that my truck would make 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 stared
straight ahead as I passed the Volvo, but from a peripheral peek, I would
swear I saw him laughing.
When I opened my eyes in the morning, something was different.
It was the light. It was still the gray-green light of a cloudy day in
the forest, but it was clearer somehow. I realized there was no fog
veiling my window.
I jumped up to look outside, and then groaned in horror.
A fine layer of snow covered the yard, dusted the top of my truck, and
whitened the road. But that wasn't the worst part. All the rain from
yesterday had frozen solid — coating the needles on the trees in
fantastic, gorgeous patterns, and making the driveway a deadly ice slick.
I had enough trouble not falling down when the ground was dry; it might
be safer for me to go back to bed now.
Charlie had left for work before I got downstairs. In a lot of ways,
living with Charlie was like having my own place, and I found myself
reveling in the aloneness instead of being lonely.
I threw down a quick bowl of cereal and some orange juice from the
carton. I felt excited to go to school, and that scared me. I knew it
wasn't the stimulating learning environment I was anticipating, or seeing
my new set of friends. If I was being honest with myself, I knew I was
eager to get to school because I would see Edward Cullen. And that was
very, very stupid.
I should be avoiding him entirely after my brainless and embarrassing
babbling yesterday. And I was suspicious of him; why should he lie about
his eyes? I was still frightened of the hostility I sometimes felt
emanating from him, and I was still tongue-tied whenever I pictured his
perfect face. I was well aware that my league and his league were spheres
that did not touch. So I shouldn't be at all anxious to see him today.
It took every ounce of my concentration to make it down the icy brick
driveway alive. I almost lost my balance when I finally got to the truck,
but I managed to cling to the side mirror and save myself. Clearly, today
was going to be nightmarish.
======================================
Driving to school, I distracted myself from my fear of falling and my
unwanted speculations about Edward Cullen by thinking about Mike and
Eric, and the obvious difference in how teenage boys responded to me
here. I was sure I looked exactly the same as I had in Phoenix. Maybe it
was just that the boys back home had watched me pass slowly through all
the awkward phases of adolescence and still thought of me that way.
Perhaps it was because I was a novelty here, where novelties were few and
far between. Possibly my crippling clumsiness was seen as endearing
rather than pathetic, casting me as a damsel in distress. Whatever the
reason, Mike's puppy dog behavior and Eric's apparent rivalry with him
were disconcerting. I wasn't sure if I didn't prefer being ignored.
My truck seemed to have no problem with the black ice that covered the
roads. I drove very slowly, though, not wanting to carve a path of
destruction through Main Street.
When I got out of my truck at school, I saw why I'd had so little
trouble. Something silver caught my eye, and I walked to the back of the
truck — carefully holding the side for support — to examine my tires.
There were thin chains crisscrossed in diamond shapes around them.
Charlie had gotten up who knows how early to put snow chains on my truck.
My throat suddenly felt tight. I wasn't used to being taken care of, and
Charlie's unspoken concern caught me by surprise.
I was standing by the back corner of the truck, struggling to fight back
the sudden wave of emotion the snow chains had brought on, when I heard
an odd sound.
It was a high-pitched screech, and it was fast becoming painfully loud. I
looked up, startled.
I saw several things simultaneously. Nothing was moving in slow motion,
the way it does in the movies. Instead, the adrenaline rush seemed to
make my brain work much faster, and I was able to absorb in clear detail
several things at once.
Edward Cullen was standing four cars down from me, staring at me in
horror. His face stood out from a sea of faces, all frozen in the same
mask of shock. But of more immediate importance was the dark blue van
that was skidding, tires locked and squealing against the brakes,
spinning wildly across the ice of the parking lot. It was going to hit
the back corner of my truck, and I was standing between them. I didn't
even have time to close my eyes.
Just before I heard the shattering crunch of the van folding around the
truck bed, something hit me, hard, but not from the direction I was
expecting. My head cracked against the icy blacktop, and I felt something
solid and cold pinning me to the ground. I was lying on the pavement
behind the tan car I'd parked next to. But I didn't have a chance to
notice anything else, because the van was still coming. It had curled
gratingly around the end of the truck and, still spinning and sliding,
was about to collide with me again.
A low oath made me aware that someone was with me, and the voice was
impossible not to recognize. Two long, white hands shot out protectively
in front of me, and the van shuddered to a stop a foot from my face, the
large hands fitting providentially into a deep dent in the side of the
van's body.
Then his hands moved so fast they blurred. One was suddenly gripping
under the body of the van, and something was dragging me, swinging my
legs around like a rag doll's, till they hit the tire of the tan car. A
groaning metallic thud hurt my ears, and the van settled, glass popping,
onto the asphalt — exactly where, a second ago, my legs had been.
It was absolutely silent for one long second before the screaming began.
In the abrupt bedlam, I could hear more than one person shouting my name.
But more clearly than all the yelling, I could hear Edward Cullen's low,
frantic voice in my ear.
"Bella? Are you all right?"
"I'm fine." My voice sounded strange. I tried to sit up, and realized he
was holding me against the side of his body in an iron grasp.
"Be careful," he warned as I struggled. "I think you hit your head pretty
hard."
I became aware of a throbbing ache centered above my left ear.
"Ow," I said, surprised.
"That's what I thought." His voice, amazingly, sounded like he was
suppressing laughter.
"How in the…" I trailed off, trying to clear my head, get my bearings.
"How did you get over here so fast?"
"I was standing right next to you, Bella," he said, his tone serious
again.
I turned to sit up, and this time he let me, releasing his hold around my
waist and sliding as far from me as he could in the limited space. I
looked at his concerned, innocent expression and was disoriented again by
the force of his gold-colored eyes. What was I asking him?
And then they found us, a crowd of people with tears streaming down their
faces, shouting at each other, shouting at us.
"Don't move," someone instructed.
"Get Tyler out of the van!" someone else shouted.
There was a flurry of activity around us. I tried to get up, but Edward's
cold hand pushed my shoulder down.
"Just stay put for now."
"But it's cold," I complained. It surprised me when he chuckled under his
breath. There was an edge to the sound.
"You were over there," I suddenly remembered, and his chuckle stopped
short. "You were by your car."
"I saw you." All around us was chaos. I could hear the gruffer voices of
adults arriving on the scene. But I obstinately held on to our argument;
I was right, and he was going to admit it.
"Bella, I was standing with you, and I pulled you out of the way." He
unleashed the full, devastating power of his eyes on me, as if trying to
communicate something crucial.
"No." I set my jaw.
The gold in his eyes blazed. "Please, Bella."
"Why?" I demanded.
"Trust me," he pleaded, his soft voice overwhelming.
I could hear the sirens now. "Will you promise to explain everything to
me later?"
"Fine," he snapped, abruptly exasperated.
"Fine," I repeated angrily.
It took six EMTs and two teachers — Mr. Varner and Coach Clapp — to shift
the van far enough away from us to bring the stretchers in. Edward
vehemently refused his, and I tried to do the same, but the traitor told
them I'd hit my head and probably had a concussion. I almost died of
humiliation when they put on the neck brace. It looked like the entire
school was there, watching soberly as they loaded me in the back of the
ambulance. Edward got to ride in the front. It was maddening.
To make matters worse, Chief Swan arrived before they could get me safely
away.
"Bella!" he yelled in panic when he recognized me on the stretcher.
"I'm completely fine, Char — Dad," I sighed. "There's nothing wrong with
me."
He turned to the closest EMT for a second opinion. I tuned him out to
consider the jumble of inexplicable images churning chaotically in my
head. When they'd lifted me away from the car, I had seen the deep dent
in the tan car's bumper — a very distinct dent that fit the contours of
Edward's shoulders… as if he had braced himself against the car with
enough force to damage the metal frame…
And then there was his family, looking on from the distance, with
expressions that ranged from disapproval to fury but held no hint of
concern for their brother's safety.
I tried to think of a logical solution that could explain what I had just
seen — a solution that excluded the assumption that I was insane.
Naturally, the ambulance got a police escort to the county hospital. I
felt ridiculous the whole time they were unloading me. What made it worse
was that Edward simply glided through the hospital doors under his own
power. I ground my teeth together.
They put me in the emergency room, a long room with a line of beds
separated by pastel-patterned curtains. A nurse put a pressure cuff on my
arm and a thermometer under my tongue. Since no one bothered pulling the
curtain around to give me some privacy, I decided I wasn't obligated to
wear the stupid-looking neck brace anymore. When the nurse walked away, I
quickly unfastened the Velcro and threw it under the bed.
There was another flurry of hospital personnel, another stretcher brought
to the bed next to me. I recognized Tyler Crowley from my Government
class beneath the bloodstained bandages wrapped tightly around his head.
Tyler looked a hundred times worse than I felt. But he was staring
anxiously at me.
"Bella, I'm so sorry!"
"I'm fine, Tyler — you look awful, are you all right?" As we spoke,
nurses began unwinding his soiled bandages, exposing a myriad of shallow
slices all over his forehead and left cheek.
He ignored me. "I thought I was going to kill you! I was going too fast,
and I hit the ice wrong…" He winced as one nurse started dabbing at his
face.
"Don't worry about it; you missed me."
"How did you get out of the way so fast? You were there, and then you
were gone…"
"Umm… Edward pulled me out of the way."
He looked confused. "Who?"
"Edward Cullen — he was standing next to me." I'd always been a terrible
liar; I didn't sound convincing at all.
"Cullen? I didn't see him… wow, it was all so fast, I guess. Is he okay?"
"I think so. He's here somewhere, but they didn't make him use a
stretcher."
I knew I wasn't crazy. What had happened? There was no way to explain
away what I'd seen.
They wheeled me away then, to X-ray my head. I told them there was
nothing wrong, and I was right. Not even a concussion. I asked if I could
leave, but the nurse said I had to talk to a doctor first. So I was
trapped in the ER, waiting, harassed by Tyler's constant apologies and
promises to make it up to me. No matter how many times I tried to
convince him I was fine, he continued to torment himself. Finally, I
closed my eyes and ignored him. He kept up a remorseful mumbling.
"Is she sleeping?" a musical voice asked. My eyes flew open.
Edward was standing at the foot of my bed, smirking. I glared at him. It
wasn't easy — it would have been more natural to ogle.
"Hey, Edward, I'm really sorry —" Tyler began.
Edward lifted a hand to stop him.
"No blood, no foul," he said, flashing his brilliant teeth. He moved to
sit on the edge of Tyler's bed, facing me. He smirked again.
"So, what's the verdict?" he asked me.
"There's nothing wrong with me at all, but they won't let me go," I
complained. "How come you aren't strapped to a gurney like the rest of
us?"
"It's all about who you know," he answered. "But don't worry, I came to
spring you."
Then a doctor walked around the corner, and my mouth fell open. He was
young, he was blond… and he was handsomer than any movie star I'd ever
seen. He was pale, though, and tired-looking, with circles under his
eyes. From Charlie's description, this had to be Edward's father.
"So, Miss Swan," Dr. Cullen said in a remarkably appealing voice, "how
are you feeling?"
"I'm fine," I said, for the last time, I hoped.
He walked to the lightboard on the wall over my head, and turned it on.
"Your X-rays look good," he said. "Does your head hurt? Edward said you
hit it pretty hard."
"It's fine," I repeated with a sigh, throwing a quick scowl toward Edward.
The doctor's cool fingers probed lightly along my skull. He noticed when
I winced.
I heard a chuckle, and looked over to see Edward's patronizing smile. My
eyes narrowed.
"Well, your father is in the waiting room — you can go home with him now.
But come back if you feel dizzy or have trouble with your eyesight at
all."
"Can't I go back to school?" I asked, imagining Charlie trying to be
attentive.
"Maybe you should take it easy today."
I glanced at Edward. "Does he get to go to school?"
"Someone has to spread the good news that we survived," Edward said
smugly.
"Actually," Dr. Cullen corrected, "most of the school seems to be in the
waiting room."
"Oh no," I moaned, covering my face with my hands.
Dr. Cullen raised his eyebrows. "Do you want to stay?"
"No, no!" I insisted, throwing my legs over the side of the bed and
hopping down quickly. Too quickly — I staggered, and Dr. Cullen caught
me. He looked concerned.
"I'm fine," I assured him again. No need to tell him my balance problems
had nothing to do with hitting my head.
"Take some Tylenol for the pain," he suggested as he steadied me.
"It doesn't hurt that bad," I insisted.
"It sounds like you were extremely lucky," Dr. Cullen said, smiling as he
signed my chart with a flourish.
"Lucky Edward happened to be standing next to me," I amended with a hard
glance at the subject of my statement.
"Oh, well, yes," Dr. Cullen agreed, suddenly occupied with the **s in
front of him. Then he looked away, at Tyler, and walked to the next bed.
My intuition flickered; the doctor was in on it.
"I'm afraid that you'll have to stay with us just a little bit longer,"
he said to Tyler, and began checking his cuts.
As soon as the doctor's back was turned, I moved to Edward's side.
“贝拉，你撞到了头，你不知道自己在说些什么。”他斩钉截铁地说。（His tone was cutting.这样翻应该没问题吧。）
我被激怒了。我大胆地瞪视着他。“我的脑子没有任何问题。”
他瞪回来。“你想从我身上得到什么，贝拉？”
“我要知道真相。”我说。“我要知道我是为了什么在替你圆谎”
“你以为发生了什么事？”他嚷道。
我再也收不住话头，连珠炮似的脱口而出。
=================================
"Can I talk to you for a minute?" I hissed under my breath. He took a
step back from me, his jaw suddenly clenched.
"Your father is waiting for you," he said through his teeth.
I glanced at Dr. Cullen and Tyler.
"I'd like to speak with you alone, if you don't mind," I pressed.
He glared, and then turned his back and strode down the long room. I
nearly had to run to keep up. As soon as we turned the corner into a
short hallway, he spun around to face me.
"What do you want?" he asked, sounding annoyed. His eyes were cold.
His unfriendliness intimidated me. My words came out with less severity
than I'd intended. "You owe me an explanation," I reminded him.
"I saved your life — I don't owe you anything."
I flinched back from the resentment in his voice. "You promised."
"Bella, you hit your head, you don't know what you're talking about." His
tone was cutting.
My temper flared now, and I glared defiantly at him. "There's nothing
wrong with my head."
He glared back. "What do you want from me, Bella?"
"I want to know the truth," I said. "I want to know why I'm lying for
you."
"All I know is that you weren't anywhere near me — Tyler didn't see you,
either, so don't tell me I hit my head too hard. That van was going to
crush us both — and it didn't, and your hands left dents in the side of
it — and you left a dent in the other car, and you're not hurt at all —
and the van should have smashed my legs, but you were holding it up…" I
could hear how crazy it sounded, and I couldn't continue. I was so mad I
could feel the tears coming; I tried to force them back by grinding my
teeth together.
He was staring at me incredulously. But his face was tense, defensive.
"You think I lifted a van off you?" His tone questioned my sanity, but it
only made me more suspicious. It was like a perfectly delivered line by a
skilled actor.
I merely nodded once, jaw tight.
"Nobody will believe that, you know." His voice held an edge of derision
now.
"I'm not going to tell anybody." I said each word slowly, carefully
controlling my anger.
Surprise flitted across his face. "Then why does it matter?"
"It matters to me," I insisted. "I don't like to lie — so there'd better
be a good reason why I'm doing it."
"Can't you just thank me and get over it?"
"Thank you." I waited, fuming and expectant.
"You're not going to let it go, are you?"
"No."
"In that case… I hope you enjoy disappointment."
We scowled at each other in silence. I was the first to speak, trying to
keep myself focused. I was in danger of being distracted by his livid,
glorious face. It was like trying to stare down a destroying angel.
He paused, and for a brief moment his stunning face was unexpectedly
vulnerable.
"I don't know," he whispered.
And then he turned his back on me and walked away.
I was so angry, it took me a few minutes until I could move. When I could
walk, I made my way slowly to the exit at the end of the hallway.
The waiting room was more unpleasant than I'd feared. It seemed like
every face I knew in Forks was there, staring at me. Charlie rushed to my
side; I put up my hands.
"There's nothing wrong with me," I assured him sullenly. I was still
aggravated, not in the mood for chitchat.
"What did the doctor say?"
"Dr. Cullen saw me, and he said I was fine and I could go home." I
sighed. Mike and Jessica and Eric were all there, beginning to converge
on us. "Let's go," I urged.
Charlie put one arm behind my back, not quite touching me, and led me to
the glass doors of the exit. I waved sheepishly at my friends, hoping to
convey that they didn't need to worry anymore. It was a huge relief— the
first time I'd ever felt that way — to get into the cruiser.
We drove in silence. I was so wrapped up in my thoughts that I barely
knew Charlie was there. I was positive that Edward's defensive behavior
in the hall was a confirmation of the bizarre things I still could hardly
believe I'd witnessed.
"Um… you'll need to call Renée." He hung his head, guilty.
I was appalled. "You told Mom!"
"Sorry."
I slammed the cruiser's door a little harder than necessary on my way out.
My mom was in hysterics, of course. I had to tell her I felt fine at
least thirty times before she would calm down. She begged me to come home
— forgetting the fact that home was empty at the moment — but her pleas
were easier to resist than I would have thought. I was consumed by the
mystery Edward presented. And more than a little obsessed by Edward
himself. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I wasn't as eager to escape Forks as I
should be, as any normal, sane person would be.
I decided I might as well go to bed early that night. Charlie continued
to watch me anxiously, and it was getting on my nerves. I stopped on my
way to grab three Tylenol from the bathroom. They did help, and, as the
pain eased, I drifted to sleep.
That was the first night I dreamed of Edward Cullen.
CHAPTER 3 END
作者: 阿汤哥 时间: 2009-9-3 17:02 标题: Re:《Twilight 暮光之城Ⅰ——暮色》 （中英文对照·完结） 加油~
by the way,中英文对照很棒~
In my dream it was very dark, and what dim light there was seemed to be
radiating from Edward's skin. I couldn't see his face, just his back as
he walked away from me, leaving me in the blackness. No matter how fast I
ran, I couldn't catch up to him; no matter how loud I called, he never
turned. Troubled, I woke in the middle of the night and couldn't sleep
again for what seemed like a very long time. After that, he was in my
dreams nearly every night, but always on the periphery, never within
reach.
The month that followed the accident was uneasy, tense, and, at first,
embarrassing.
To my dismay, I found myself the center of attention for the rest of that
week. Tyler Crowley was impossible, following me around, obsessed with
making amends to me somehow. I tried to convince him what I wanted more
than anything else was for him to forget all about it — especially since
nothing had actually happened to me — but he remained insistent. He
followed me between classes and sat at our now-crowded lunch table. Mike
and Eric were even less friendly toward him than they were to each other,
which made me worry that I'd gained another unwelcome fan.
No one seemed concerned about Edward, though I explained over and over
that he was the hero — how he had pulled me out of the way and had nearly
been crushed, too. I tried to be convincing. Jessica, Mike, Eric, and
everyone else always commented that they hadn't even seen him there till
the van was pulled away.
I wondered to myself why no one else had seen him standing so far away,
before he was suddenly, impossibly saving my life. With chagrin, I
realized the probable cause — no one else was as aware of Edward as I
always was. No one else watched him the way I did. How pitiful.
Edward was never surrounded by crowds of curious bystanders eager for his
firsthand account. People avoided him as usual. The Cullens and the Hales
sat at the same table as always, not eating, talking only among
themselves. None of them, especially Edward, glanced my way anymore.
When he sat next to me in class, as far from me as the table would allow,
he seemed totally unaware of my presence. Only now and then, when his
fists would suddenly ball up — skin stretched even whiter over the bones
— did I wonder if he wasn't quite as oblivious as he appeared.
He wished he hadn't pulled me from the path of Tyler's van — there was no
other conclusion I could come to.
I wanted very much to talk to him, and the day after the accident I
tried. The last time I'd seen him, outside the ER, we'd both been so
furious. I still was angry that he wouldn't trust me with the truth, even
though I was keeping my part of the bargain flawlessly. But he had in
fact saved my life, no matter how he'd done it. And, overnight, the heat
of my anger faded into awed gratitude.
He was already seated when I got to Biology, looking straight ahead. I
sat down, expecting him to turn toward me. He showed no sign that he
realized I was there.
"Hello, Edward," I said pleasantly, to show him I was going to behave
myself.
He turned his head a fraction toward me without meeting my gaze, nodded
once, and then looked the other way.
And that was the last contact I'd had with him, though he was there, a
foot away from me, every day. I watched him sometimes, unable to stop
myself— from a distance, though, in the cafeteria or parking lot. I
watched as his golden eyes grew perceptibly darker day by day. But in
class I gave no more notice that he existed than he showed toward me. I
was miserable. And the dreams continued.
Despite my outright lies, the tenor of my e-mails alerted Renée to my
depression, and she called a few times, worried. I tried to convince her
it was just the weather that had me down.
Mike, at least, was pleased by the obvious coolness between me and my lab
partner. I could see he'd been worried that Edward's daring rescue might
have impressed me, and he was relieved that it seemed to have the
opposite effect. He grew more confident, sitting on the edge of my table
to talk before Biology class started, ignoring Edward as completely as he
ignored us.
The snow washed away for good after that one dangerously icy day. Mike
was disappointed he'd never gotten to stage his snowball fight, but
pleased that the beach trip would soon be possible. The rain continued
heavily, though, and the weeks passed.
Jessica made me aware of another event looming on the horizon — she
called the first Tuesday of March to ask my permission to invite Mike to
the girls' choice spring dance in two weeks.
"Are you sure you don't mind… you weren't planning to ask him?" she
persisted when I told her I didn't mind in the least.
"No, Jess, I'm not going," I assured her. Dancing was glaringly outside
my range of abilities.
"It will be really fun." Her attempt to convince me was halfhearted. I
suspected that Jessica enjoyed my inexplicable popularity more than my
actual company.
"You have fun with Mike," I encouraged.
The next day, I was surprised that Jessica wasn't her usual gushing self
in Trig and Spanish. She was silent as she walked by my side between
classes, and I was afraid to ask her why. If Mike had turned her down, I
was the last person she would want to tell.
My fears were strengthened during lunch when Jessica sat as far from Mike
as possible, chatting animatedly with Eric. Mike was unusually quiet.
Mike was still quiet as he walked me to class, the uncomfortable look on
his face a bad sign. But he didn't broach the subject until I was in my
seat and he was perched on my desk. As always, I was electrically aware
of Edward sitting close enough to touch, as distant as if he were merely
an invention of my imagination.
"So," Mike said, looking at the floor, "Jessica asked me to the spring
dance."
"That's great." I made my voice bright and enthusiastic. "You'll have a
lot of fun with Jessica."
"Well…" He floundered as he examined my smile, clearly not happy with my
response. "I told her I had to think about it."
"Why would you do that?" I let disapproval color my tone, though I was
relieved he hadn't given her an absolute no.
His face was bright red as he looked down again. Pity shook my resolve.
"I was wondering if… well, if you might be planning to ask me."
I paused for a moment, hating the wave of guilt that swept through me.
But I saw, from the corner of my eye, Edward's head tilt reflexively in
my direction.
"Mike, I think you should tell her yes," I said.
"Did you already ask someone?" Did Edward notice how Mike's eyes
flickered in his direction?
"No," I assured him. "I'm not going to the dance at all."
"Why not?" Mike demanded.
I didn't want to get into the safety hazards that dancing presented, so I
quickly made new plans.
"I'm going to Seattle that Saturday," I explained. I needed to get out of
town anyway — it was suddenly the perfect time to go.
"Can't you go some other weekend?"
"Sorry, no," I said. "So you shouldn't make Jess wait any longer — it's
rude."
"Yeah, you're right," he mumbled, and turned, dejected, to walk back to
his seat. I closed my eyes and pressed my fingers to my temples, trying
to push the guilt and sympathy out of my head. Mr. Banner began talking.
I sighed and opened my eyes.
And Edward was staring at me curiously, that same, familiar edge of
frustration even more distinct now in his black eyes.
I stared back, surprised, expecting him to look quickly away. But instead
he continued to gaze with probing intensity into my eyes. There was no
question of me looking away. My hands started to shake.
"Mr. Cullen?" the teacher called, seeking the answer to a question that I
hadn't heard.
"The Krebs Cycle," Edward answered, seeming reluctant as he turned to
look at Mr. Banner.
I looked down at my book as soon as his eyes released me, trying to find
my place. Cowardly as ever, I shifted my hair over my right shoulder to
hide my face. I couldn't believe the rush of emotion pulsing through me —
just because he'd happened to look at me for the first time in a
half-dozen weeks. I couldn't allow him to have this level of influence
over me. It was pathetic. More than pathetic, it was unhealthy.
I tried very hard not to be aware of him for the rest of the hour, and,
since that was impossible, at least not to let him know that I was aware
of him. When the bell rang at last, I turned my back to him to gather my
things, expecting him to leave immediately as usual.
"Bella?" His voice shouldn't have been so familiar to me, as if I'd known
the sound of it all my life rather than for just a few short weeks.
I turned slowly, unwillingly. I didn't want to feel what I knew I would
feel when I looked at his too-perfect face. My expression was wary when I
finally turned to him; his expression was unreadable. He didn't say
anything.
"What? Are you speaking to me again?" I finally asked, an unintentional
note of petulance in my voice.
His lips twitched, fighting a smile. "No, not really," he admitted.
I closed my eyes and inhaled slowly through my nose, aware that I was
gritting my teeth. He waited.
"Then what do you want, Edward?" I asked, keeping my eyes closed; it was
easier to talk to him coherently that way.
"I'm sorry." He sounded sincere. "I'm being very rude, I know. But it's
better this way, really."
I opened my eyes. His face was very serious.
"I don't know what you mean," I said, my voice guarded.
"It's better if we're not friends," he explained. "Trust me."
My eyes narrowed. I'd heard that before.
"It's too bad you didn't figure that out earlier," I hissed through my
teeth. "You could have saved yourself all this regret."
"Regret?" The word, and my tone, obviously caught him off guard. "Regret
for what?"
When he finally spoke, he almost sounded mad. "You think I regret saving
your life?"
"I know you do," I snapped.
"You don't know anything." He was definitely mad.
I turned my head sharply away from him, clenching my jaw against all the
wild accusations I wanted to hurl at him. I gathered my books together,
then stood and walked to the door. I meant to sweep dramatically out of
the room, but of course I caught the toe of my boot on the door jamb and
dropped my books. I stood there for a moment, thinking about leaving
them. Then I sighed and bent to pick them up. He was there; he'd already
stacked them into a pile. He handed them to me, his face hard.
"Thank you," I said icily.
His eyes narrowed.
"You're welcome," he retorted.
I straightened up swiftly, turned away from him again, and stalked off to
Gym without looking back.
Gym was brutal. We'd moved on to basketball. My team never passed me the
ball, so that was good, but I fell down a lot. Sometimes I took people
with me. Today I was worse than usual because my head was so filled with
Edward. I tried to concentrate on my feet, but he kept creeping back into
my thoughts just when I really needed my balance.
It was a relief, as always, to leave. I almost ran to the truck; there
were just so many people I wanted to avoid. The truck had suffered only
minimal damage in the accident. I'd had to replace the taillights, and if
I'd had a real paint job, I would have touched that up. Tyler's parents
had to sell their van for parts.
I almost had a stroke when I rounded the corner and saw a tall, dark
figure leaning against the side of my truck. Then I realized it was just
Eric. I started walking again.
"Hey, Eric," I called.
"Hi, Bella."
"What's up?" I said as I was unlocking the door. I wasn't paying
attention to the uncomfortable edge in his voice, so his next words took
me by surprise.
"Uh, I was just wondering… if you would go to the spring dance with me?"
His voice broke on the last word.
"I thought it was girls' choice," I said, too startled to be diplomatic.
"Well, yeah," he admitted, shamefaced.
I recovered my composure and tried to make my smile warm. "Thank you for
asking me, but I'm going to be in Seattle that day."
"Oh," he said. "Well, maybe next time."
"Sure," I agreed, and then bit my lip. I wouldn't want him to take that
too literally.
He slouched off, back toward the school. I heard a low chuckle.
Edward was walking past the front of my truck, looking straight forward,
his lips pressed together. I yanked the door open and jumped inside,
slamming it loudly behind me. I revved the engine deafeningly and
reversed out into the aisle. Edward was in his car already, two spaces
down, sliding out smoothly in front of me, cutting me off. He stopped
there — to wait for his family; I could see the four of them walking this
way, but still by the cafeteria. I considered taking out the rear of his
shiny Volvo, but there were too many witnesses. I looked in my rearview
mirror. A line was beginning to form. Directly behind me, Tyler Crowley
was in his recently acquired used Sentra, waving. I was too aggravated to
acknowledge him.
While I was sitting there, looking everywhere but at the car in front of
me, I heard a knock on my passenger side window. I looked over; it was
Tyler. I glanced back in my rearview mirror, confused. His car was still
running, the door left open. I leaned across the cab to crank the window
down. It was stiff. I got it halfway down, then gave up.
"I'm sorry, Tyler, I'm stuck behind Cullen." I was annoyed — obviously
the holdup wasn't my fault.
"Oh, I know — I just wanted to ask you something while we're trapped
here." He grinned.
This could not be happening.
"Will you ask me to the spring dance?" he continued.
"I'm not going to be in town, Tyler." My voice sounded a little sharp. I
had to remember it wasn't his fault that Mike and Eric had already used
up my quota of patience for the day.
"Yeah, Mike said that," he admitted.
"Then why —"
He shrugged. "I was hoping you were just letting him down easy."
Okay, it was completely his fault.
"Sorry, Tyler," I said, working to hide my irritation. "I really am going
out of town."
"That's cool. We still have prom."
And before I could respond, he was walking back to his car. I could feel
the shock on my face. I looked forward to see Alice, Rosalie, Emmett, and
Jasper all sliding into the Volvo. In his rearview mirror, Edward's eyes
were on me. He was unquestionably shaking with laughter, as if he'd heard
every word Tyler had said. My foot itched toward the gas pedal… one
little bump wouldn't hurt any of them, just that glossy silver paint job.
I revved the engine.
But they were all in, and Edward was speeding away. I drove home slowly,
carefully, muttering to myself the whole way.
When I got home, I decided to make chicken enchiladas for dinner. It was
a long process, and it would keep me busy. While I was simmering the
onions and chilies, the phone rang. I was almost afraid to answer it, but
it might be Charlie or my mom.
It was Jessica, and she was jubilant; Mike had caught her after school to
accept her invitation. I celebrated with her briefly while I stirred. She
had to go, she wanted to call Angela and Lauren to tell them. I suggested
— with casual innocence — that maybe Angela, the shy girl who had Biology
with me, could ask Eric. And Lauren, a standoffish girl who had always
ignored me at the lunch table, could ask Tyler; I'd heard he was still
available. Jess thought that was a great idea. Now that she was sure of
Mike, she actually sounded sincere when she said she wished I would go to
the dance. I gave her my Seattle excuse.
After I hung up, I tried to concentrate on dinner — dicing the chicken
especially; I didn't want to take another trip to the emergency room. But
my head was spinning, trying to analyze every word Edward had spoken
today. What did he mean, it was better if we weren't friends?
My stomach twisted as I realized what he must have meant. He must see how
absorbed I was by him; he must not want to lead me on… so we couldn't
even be friends… because he wasn't interested in me at all.
Of course he wasn't interested in me, I thought angrily, my eyes stinging
— a delayed reaction to the onions. I wasn't interesting. And he was.
Interesting… and brilliant… and mysterious… and perfect… and beautiful…
and possibly able to lift full-sized vans with one hand.
Well, that was fine. I could leave him alone. I would leave him alone. I
would get through my self-imposed sentence here in purgatory, and then
hopefully some school in the Southwest, or possibly Hawaii, would offer
me a scholarship. I focused my thoughts on sunny beaches and palm trees
as I finished the enchiladas and put them in the oven.
Charlie seemed suspicious when he came home and smelled the green
peppers. I couldn't blame him — the closest edible Mexican food was
probably in southern California. But he was a cop, even if just a
small-town cop, so he was brave enough to take the first bite. He seemed
to like it. It was fun to watch as he slowly began trusting me in the
kitchen.
"Dad?" I asked when he was almost done.
"Yeah, Bella?"
"Um, I just wanted to let you know that I'm going to Seattle for the day
a week from Saturday… if that's okay?" I didn't want to ask permission —
it set a bad precedent — but I felt rude, so I tacked it on at the end.
"Why?" He sounded surprised, as if he were unable to imagine something
that Forks couldn't offer.
"Well, I wanted to get few books — the library here is pretty limited —
and maybe look at some clothes." I had more money than I was used to
having, since, thanks to Charlie, I hadn't had to pay for a car. Not that
the truck didn't cost me quite a bit in the gas department.
"That truck probably doesn't get very good gas mileage," he said, echoing
my thoughts.
"I know, I'll stop in Montesano and Olympia — and Tacoma if I have to."
"Are you going all by yourself?" he asked, and I couldn't tell if he was
suspicious I had a secret boyfriend or just worried about car trouble.
"Yes."
"Seattle is a big city — you could get lost," he fretted.
"Dad, Phoenix is five times the size of Seattle — and I can read a map,
don't worry about it."
"That's all right, Dad, I'll probably just be in dressing rooms all day —
very boring."
"Oh, okay." The thought of sitting in women's clothing stores for any
period of time immediately put him off.
"Thanks." I smiled at him.
"Will you be back in time for the dance?"
Grrr. Only in a town this small would a father know when the high school
dances were.
"No — I don't dance, Dad." He, of all people, should understand that — I
didn't get my balance problems from my mother.
He did understand. "Oh, that's right," he realized.
The next morning, when I pulled into the parking lot, I deliberately
parked as far as possible from the silver Volvo. I didn't want to put
myself in the path of too much temptation and end up owing him a new car.
Getting out of the cab, I fumbled with my key and it fell into a puddle
at my feet. As I bent to get it, a white hand flashed out and grabbed it
before I could. I jerked upright. Edward Cullen was right next to me,
leaning casually against my truck.
"How do you do that?" I asked in amazed irritation.
"Do what?" He held my key out as he spoke. As I reached for it, he
dropped it into my palm.
"Appear out of thin air."
"Bella, it's not my fault if you are exceptionally unobservant." His
voice was quiet as usual — velvet, muted.
I scowled at his perfect face. His eyes were light again today, a deep,
golden honey color. Then I had to look down, to reassemble my now-tangled
thoughts.
"Why the traffic jam last night?" I demanded, still looking away. "I
thought you were supposed to be pretending I don't exist, not irritating
me to death."
"That was for Tyler's sake, not mine. I had to give him his chance." He
snickered.
"You…" I gasped. I couldn't think of a bad enough word. It felt like the
heat of my anger should physically burn him, but he only seemed more
amused.
"And I'm not pretending you don't exist," he continued.
"So you are trying to irritate me to death? Since Tyler's van didn't do
the job?"
Anger flashed in his tawny eyes. His lips pressed into a hard line, all
signs of humor gone.
"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.
"I was wondering if, a week from Saturday — you know, the day of the
spring dance —"
"Are you trying to be funny?" I interrupted him, wheeling toward him. My
face got drenched as I looked up at his expression.
His eyes were wickedly amused. "Will you please allow me to finish?"
I bit my lip and clasped my hands together, interlocking my fingers, so I
couldn't do anything rash.
"I heard you say you were going to Seattle that day, and I was wondering
if you wanted a ride."
That was unexpected.
"What?" I wasn't sure what he was getting at.
"Do you want a ride to Seattle?"
"With who?" I asked, mystified.
"Myself, obviously." He enunciated every syllable, as if he were talking
to someone mentally handicapped.
I was still stunned. "Why?"
"Well, I was planning to go to Seattle in the next few weeks, and, to be
honest, I'm not sure if your truck can make it."
"My truck works just fine, thank you very much for your concern." I
started to walk again, but I was too surprised to maintain the same level
of anger.
"But can your truck make it there on one tank of gas?" He matched my pace
again.
"I don't see how that is any of your business." Stupid, shiny Volvo owner.
"The wasting of finite resources is everyone's business."
"Honestly, Edward." I felt a thrill go through me as I said his name, and
I hated it. "I can't keep up with you. I thought you didn't want to be my
friend."
"I said it would be better if we weren't friends, not that I didn't want
to be."
"Oh, thanks, now that's all cleared up." Heavy sarcasm. I realized I had
stopped walking again. We were under the shelter of the cafeteria roof
now, so I could more easily look at his face. Which certainly didn't help
my clarity of thought.
"It would be more… prudent for you not to be my friend," he explained.
"But I'm tired of trying to stay away from you, Bella."
His eyes were gloriously intense as he uttered that last sentence, his
voice smoldering. I couldn't remember how to breathe.
"Will you go with me to Seattle?" he asked, still intense.
I couldn't speak yet, so I just nodded.
He smiled briefly, and then his face became serious.
"You really should stay away from me," he warned. "I'll see you in class."
He turned abruptly and walked back the way we'd come.
I made my way to English in a daze. I didn't even realize when I first
walked in that class had already started.
"Thank you for joining us, Miss Swan," Mr. Mason said in a disparaging
tone.
I flushed and hurried to my seat.
It wasn't till class ended that I realized Mike wasn't sitting in his
usual seat next to me. I felt a twinge of guilt. But he and Eric both met
me at the door as usual, so I figured I wasn't totally unforgiven. Mike
seemed to become more himself as we walked, gaining enthusiasm as he
talked about the weather report for this weekend. The rain was supposed
to take a minor break, and so maybe his beach trip would be possible. I
tried to sound eager, to make up for disappointing him yesterday. It was
hard; rain or no rain, it would still only be in the high forties, if we
were lucky.
The rest of the morning passed in a blur. It was difficult to believe
that I hadn't just imagined what Edward had said, and the way his eyes
had looked. Maybe it was just a very convincing dream that I'd confused
with reality. That seemed more probable than that I really appealed to
him on any level.
So I was impatient and frightened as Jessica and I entered the cafeteria.
I wanted to see his face, to see if he'd gone back to the cold,
indifferent person I'd known for the last several weeks. Or if, by some
miracle, I'd really heard what I thought I'd heard this morning. Jessica
babbled on and on about her dance plans — Lauren and Angela had asked the
other boys and they were all going together — completely unaware of my
inattention.
Disappointment flooded through me as my eyes unerringly focused on his
table. The other four were there, but he was absent. Had he gone home? I
followed the still-babbling Jessica through the line, crushed. I'd lost
my appetite — I bought nothing but a bottle of lemonade. I just wanted to
go sit down and sulk.
"Edward Cullen is staring at you again," Jessica said, finally breaking
through my abstraction with his name. "I wonder why he's sitting alone
today."
My head snapped up. I followed her gaze to see Edward, smiling crookedly,
staring at me from an empty table across the cafeteria from where he
usually sat. Once he'd caught my eye, he raised one hand and motioned
with his index finger for me to join him. As I stared in disbelief, he
winked.
"Does he mean you?" Jessica asked with insulting astonishment in her
voice.
"Maybe he needs help with his Biology homework," I muttered for her
benefit. "Um, I'd better go see what he wants."
I could feel her staring after me as I walked away.
When I reached his table, I stood behind the chair across from him,
unsure.
"Why don't you sit with me today?" he asked, smiling.
I sat down automatically, watching him with caution. He was still
smiling. It was hard to believe that someone so beautiful could be real.
I was afraid that he might disappear in a sudden puff of smoke, and I
would wake up.
He seemed to be waiting for me to say something.
"This is different," I finally managed.
"Well…" He paused, and then the rest of the words followed in a rush. "I
decided as long as I was going to hell, I might as well do it thoroughly."
I waited for him to say something that made sense. The seconds ticked by.
"You know I don't have any idea what you mean," I eventually pointed out.
"I know." He smiled again, and then he changed the subject. "I think your
friends are angry with me for stealing you."
"They'll survive." I could feel their stares boring into my back.
"I may not give you back, though," he said with a wicked glint in his
eyes.
"No," I said, but, ridiculously, my voice broke. "Surprised, actually…
what brought all this on?"
"I told you — I got tired of trying to stay away from you. So I'm giving
up." He was still smiling, but his ocher eyes were serious.
"Giving up?" I repeated in confusion.
"Yes — giving up trying to be good. I'm just going to do what I want now,
and let the chips fall where they may." His smile faded as he explained,
and a hard edge crept into his voice.
"You lost me again."
The breathtaking crooked smile reappeared.
"I always say too much when I'm talking to you — that's one of the
problems."
"Don't worry — I don't understand any of it," I said wryly.
"I'm counting on that."
"So, in plain English, are we friends now?"
"Friends…" he mused, dubious.
"Or not," I muttered.
He grinned. "Well, we can try, I suppose. But I'm warning you now that
I'm not a good friend for you." Behind his smile, the warning was real.
"You say that a lot," I noted, trying to ignore the sudden trembling in
my stomach and keep my voice even.
"Yes, because you're not listening to me. I'm still waiting for you to
believe it. If you're smart, you'll avoid me."
"I think you've made your opinion on the subject of my intellect clear,
too." My eyes narrowed.
"So, as long as I'm being… not smart, we'll try to be friends?" I
struggled to sum up the confusing exchange.
"That sounds about right."
I looked down at my hands wrapped around the lemonade bottle, not sure
what to do now.
"What are you thinking?" he asked curiously.
I looked up into his deep gold eyes, became befuddled, and, as usual,
blurted out the truth.
"I'm trying to figure out what you are."
His jaw tightened, but he kept his smile in place with some effort.
"Are you having any luck with that?" he asked in an offhand tone.
"Not too much," I admitted.
He chuckled. "What are your theories?"
I blushed. I had been vacillating during the last month between Bruce
Wayne and Peter Parker. There was no way I was going to own up to that.
"Won't you tell me?" he asked, tilting his head to one side with a
shockingly tempting smile.
I shook my head. "Too embarrassing."
"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?"
"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."
We stared at each other, unsmiling.
He glanced over my shoulder, and then, unexpectedly, he snickered.
"What?"
"Your boyfriend seems to think I'm being unpleasant to you — he's
debating whether or not to come break up our fight." He snickered again.
"I don't know who you're talking about," I said frostily. "But I'm sure
you're wrong, anyway."
"I'm not. I told you, most people are easy to read."
"Except me, of course."
"Yes. Except for you." His mood shifted suddenly; his eyes turned
brooding. "I wonder why that is."
I had to look away from the intensity of his stare. I concentrated on
unscrewing the lid of my lemonade. I took a swig, staring at the table
without seeing it.
"Aren't you hungry?" he asked, distracted.
"No." I didn't feel like mentioning that my stomach was already full — of
butterflies. "You?" I looked at the empty table in front of him.
"No, I'm not hungry." I didn't understand his expression — it looked like
he was enjoying some private joke.
"Can you do me a favor?" I asked after a second of hesitation.
He was suddenly wary. "That depends on what you want."
"I just wondered… if you could warn me beforehand the next time you
decide to ignore me for my own good. Just so I'm prepared." I looked at
the lemonade bottle as I spoke, tracing the circle of the opening with my
pinkie finger.
"That sounds fair." He was pressing his lips together to keep from
laughing when I looked up.
"Thanks."
"Then can I have one answer in return?" he demanded.
"One."
"Tell me one theory."
Whoops. "Not that one."
"You didn't qualify, you just promised one answer," he reminded me.
"And you've broken promises yourself," I reminded him back.
"Just one theory — I won't laugh."
"Yes, you will." I was positive about that.
He looked down, and then glanced up at me through his long black lashes,
his ocher eyes scorching.
"Please?" he breathed, leaning toward me.
I blinked, my mind going blank. Holy crow, how did he do that?
"Er, what?" I asked, dazed.
"Please tell me just one little theory." His eyes still smoldered at me.
"Um, well, bitten by a radioactive spider?" Was he a hypnotist, too? Or
was I just a hopeless pushover?
"That's not very creative," he scoffed.
"I'm sorry, that's all I've got," I said, miffed.
"You're not even close," he teased.
"No spiders?"
"Nope."
"And no radioactivity?"
"None."
"Dang," I sighed.
"Kryptonite doesn't bother me, either," he chuckled.
"What if I'm not a superhero? What if I'm the bad guy?" He smiled
playfully, but his eyes were impenetrable.
"Oh," I said, as several things he'd hinted fell suddenly into place. "I
see."
"Do you?" His face was abruptly severe, as if he were afraid that he'd
accidentally said too much.
"You're dangerous?" I guessed, my pulse quickening as I intuitively
realized the truth of my own words. He was dangerous. He'd been trying to
tell me that all along.
He just looked at me, eyes full of some emotion I couldn't comprehend.
"But not bad," I whispered, shaking my head. "No, I don't believe that
you're bad."
"You're wrong." His voice was almost inaudible. He looked down, stealing
my bottle lid and then spinning it on its side between his fingers. I
stared at him, wondering why I didn't feel afraid. He meant what he was
saying — that was obvious. But I just felt anxious, on edge… and, more
than anything else, fascinated. The same way I always felt when I was
near him.
The silence lasted until I noticed that the cafeteria was almost empty.
I jumped to my feet. "We're going to be late."
"I'm not going to class today," he said, twirling the lid so fast it was
just a blur.
"Why not?"
"It's healthy to ditch class now and then." He smiled up at me, but his
eyes were still troubled.
"Well, I'm going," I told him. I was far too big a coward to risk getting
caught.
He turned his attention back to his makeshift top. "I'll see you later,
then."
I hesitated, torn, but then the first bell sent me hurrying out the door
— with a last glance confirming that he hadn't moved a centimeter.
As I half-ran to class, my head was spinning faster than the bottle cap.
So few questions had been answered in comparison to how many new
questions had been raised. At least the rain had stopped.
I was lucky; Mr. Banner wasn't in the room yet when I arrived. I settled
quickly into my seat, aware that both Mike and Angela were staring at me.
Mike looked resentful; Angela looked surprised, and slightly awed.
Mr. Banner came in the room then, calling the class to order. He was
juggling a few small cardboard boxes in his arms. He put them down on
Mike's table, telling him to start passing them around the class.
"Okay, guys, I want you all to take one piece from each box," he said as
he produced a pair of rubber gloves from the pocket of his lab jacket and
pulled them on. The sharp sound as the gloves snapped into place against
his wrists seemed ominous to me. "The first should be an indicator card,"
he went on, grabbing a white card with four squares marked on it and
displaying it. "The second is a four-pronged applicator —" he held up
something that looked like a nearly toothless hair pick "— and the third
is a sterile micro-lancet." He held up a small piece of blue plastic and
split it open. The barb was invisible from this distance, but my stomach
flipped.
"I'll be coming around with a dropper of water to prepare your cards, so
please don't start until I get to you." He began at Mike's table again,
carefully putting one drop of water in each of the four squares. "Then I
want you to carefully prick your finger with the lancet…" He grabbed
Mike's hand and jabbed the spike into the tip of Mike's middle finger. Oh
no. Clammy moisture broke out across my forehead.
"Put a small drop of blood on each of the prongs." He demonstrated,
squeezing Mike's finger till the blood flowed. I swallowed convulsively,
my stomach heaving.
"And then apply it to the card," he finished, holding up the dripping red
card for us to see. I closed my eyes, trying to hear through the ringing
in my ears.
"The Red Cross is having a blood drive in Port Angeles next weekend, so I
thought you should all know your blood type." He sounded proud of
himself. "Those of you who aren't eighteen yet will need a parent's
permission — I have slips at my desk."
He continued through the room with his water drops. I put my cheek
against the cool black tabletop and tried to hold on to my consciousness.
All around me I could hear squeals, complaints, and giggles as my
classmates skewered their fingers. I breathed slowly in and out through
my mouth.
"Bella, are you all right?" Mr. Banner asked. His voice was close to my
head, and it sounded alarmed.
"I already know my blood type, Mr. Banner," I said in a weak voice. I was
afraid to raise my head.
"Are you feeling faint?"
"Yes, sir," I muttered, internally kicking myself for not ditching when I
had the chance.
"Can someone take Bella to the nurse, please?" he called.
I didn't have to look up to know that it would be Mike who volunteered.
"Can you walk?" Mr. Banner asked.
"Yes," I whispered. Just let me get out of here, I thought. I'll crawl.
Mike seemed eager as he put his arm around my waist and pulled my arm
over his shoulder. I leaned against him heavily on the way out of the
classroom.
Mike towed me slowly across campus. When we were around the edge of the
cafeteria, out of sight of building four in case Mr. Banner was watching,
I stopped.
"Just let me sit for a minute, please?" I begged.
He helped me sit on the edge of the walk.
"And whatever you do, keep your hand in your pocket," I warned. I was
still so dizzy. I slumped over on my side, putting my cheek against the
freezing, damp cement of the sidewalk, closing my eyes. That seemed to
help a little.
"Wow, you're green, Bella," Mike said nervously.
"Bella?" a different voice called from the distance.
No! Please let me be imagining that horribly familiar voice.
"What's wrong — is she hurt?" His voice was closer now, and he sounded
upset. I wasn't imagining it. I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping to die. Or,
at the very least, not to throw up.
Mike seemed stressed. "I think she's fainted. I don't know what happened,
she didn't even stick her finger."
"Bella." Edward's voice was right beside me, relieved now. "Can you hear
me?"
"No," I groaned. "Go away."
He chuckled.
"I was taking her to the nurse," Mike explained in a defensive tone, "but
she wouldn't go any farther."
"I'll take her," Edward said. I could hear the smile still in his voice.
"You can go back to class."
Suddenly the sidewalk disappeared from beneath me. My eyes flew open in
shock. Edward had scooped me up in his arms, as easily as if I weighed
ten pounds instead of a hundred and ten.
"Put me down!" Please, please let me not vomit on him. He was walking
before I was finished talking.
"Hey!" Mike called, already ten paces behind us.
Edward ignored him. "You look awful," he told me, grinning.
"Put me back on the sidewalk," I moaned. The rocking movement of his walk
was not helping. He held me away from his body, gingerly, supporting all
my weight with just his arms — it didn't seem to bother him.
"So you faint at the sight of blood?" he asked. This seemed to entertain
him.
I didn't answer. I closed my eyes again and fought the nausea with all my
strength, clamping my lips together.
"And not even your own blood," he continued, enjoying himself.
I don't know how he opened the door while carrying me, but it was
suddenly warm, so I knew we were inside.
"Oh my," I heard a female voice gasp.
"She fainted in Biology," Edward explained.
I opened my eyes. I was in the office, and Edward was striding past the
front counter toward the nurse's door. Ms. Cope, the redheaded front
office receptionist, ran ahead of him to hold it open. The grandmotherly
nurse looked up from a novel, astonished, as Edward swung me into the
room and placed me gently on the crackly ** that covered the brown
vinyl mattress on the one cot. Then he moved to stand against the wall as
far across the narrow room as possible. His eyes were bright, excited.
"You scared me for a minute there," he admitted after a pause. His tone
made it sound like he was confessing a humiliating weakness. "I thought
Newton was dragging your dead body off to bury it in the woods."
"Ha ha." I still had my eyes closed, but I was feeling more normal every
minute.
"Honestly — I've seen corpses with better color. I was concerned that I
might have to avenge your murder."
"Poor Mike. I'll bet he's mad."
"He absolutely loathes me," Edward said cheerfully.
"You can't know that," I argued, but then I wondered suddenly if he could.
"I saw his face — I could tell."
"How did you see me? I thought you were ditching." I was almost fine now,
though the queasiness would probably pass faster if I'd eaten something
for lunch. On the other hand, maybe it was lucky my stomach was empty.
"I was in my car, listening to a CD." Such a normal response — it
surprised me.
I heard the door and opened my eyes to see the nurse with a cold compress
in her hand.
"Here you go, dear." She laid it across my forehead. "You're looking
better," she added.
"I think I'm fine," I said, sitting up. Just a little ringing in my ears,
no spinning. The mint green walls stayed where they should.
I could see she was about to make me lie back down, but the door opened
just then, and Ms. Cope stuck her head in.
"We've got another one," she warned.
I hopped down to free up the cot for the next invalid.
I handed the compress back to the nurse. "Here, I don't need this."
And then Mike staggered through the door, now supporting a sallow-looking
Lee Stephens, another boy in our Biology class. Edward and I drew back
against the wall to give them room.
"Oh no," Edward muttered. "Go out to the office, Bella."
I looked up at him, bewildered.
"Trust me — go."
I spun and caught the door before it closed, darting out of the
infirmary. I could feel Edward right behind me.
"You actually listened to me." He was stunned.
"I smelled the blood," I said, wrinkling my nose. Lee wasn't sick from
watching other people, like me.
"People can't smell blood," he contradicted.
"Well, I can — that's what makes me sick. It smells like rust… and salt."
He was staring at me with an unfathomable expression.
"What?" I asked.
"It's nothing."
Mike came through the door then, glancing from me to Edward. The look he
gave Edward confirmed what Edward had said about loathing. He looked back
at me, his eyes glum.
"Just keep your hand in your pocket," I warned him again.
"It's not bleeding anymore," he muttered. "Are you going back to class?"
"Are you kidding? I'd just have to turn around and come back."
"Yeah, I guess… So are you going this weekend? To the beach?" While he
spoke, he flashed another glare toward Edward, who was standing against
the cluttered counter, motionless as a sculpture, staring off into space.
I tried to sound as friendly as possible. "Sure, I said I was in."
"We're meeting at my dad's store, at ten." His eyes flickered to Edward
again, wondering if he was giving out too much information. His body
language made it clear that it wasn't an open invitation.
"I'll be there," I promised.
"I'll see you in Gym, then," he said, moving uncertainly toward the door.
"See you," I replied. He looked at me once more, his round face slightly
pouting, and then as he walked slowly through the door, his shoulders
slumped. A swell of sympathy washed over me. I pondered seeing his
disappointed face again… in Gym.
"Gym," I groaned.
"I can take care of that." I hadn't noticed Edward moving to my side, but
he spoke now in my ear. "Go sit down and look pale," he muttered.
That wasn't a challenge; I was always pale, and my recent swoon had left
a light sheen of sweat on my face. I sat in one of the creaky folding
chairs and rested my head against the wall with my eyes closed. Fainting
spells always exhausted me.
"Bella has Gym next hour, and I don't think she feels well enough.
Actually, I was thinking I should take her home now. Do you think you
could excuse her from class?" His voice was like melting honey. I could
imagine how much more overwhelming his eyes would be.
"Do you need to be excused, too, Edward?" Ms. Cope fluttered. Why
couldn't I do that?
"No, I have Mrs. Goff, she won't mind."
"Okay, it's all taken care of. You feel better, Bella," she called to me.
I nodded weakly, hamming it up just a bit.
"Can you walk, or do you want me to carry you again?" With his back to
the receptionist, his expression became sarcastic.
"I'll walk."
I stood carefully, and I was still fine. He held the door for me, his
smile polite but his eyes mocking. I walked out into the cold, fine mist
that had just begun to fall. It felt nice — the first time I'd enjoyed
the constant moisture falling out of the sky — as it washed my face clean
of the sticky perspiration.
"Thanks," I said as he followed me out. "It's almost worth getting sick
to miss Gym."
"Anytime." He was staring straight forward, squinting into the rain.
"So are you going? This Saturday, I mean?" I was hoping he would, though
it seemed unlikely. I couldn't picture him loading up to carpool with the
rest of the kids from school; he didn't belong in the same world. But
just hoping that he might gave me the first twinge of enthusiasm I'd felt
for the outing.
"Where are you all going, exactly?" He was still looking ahead,
expressionless.
"Down to La Push, to First Beach." I studied his face, trying to read it.
His eyes seemed to narrow infinitesimally.
He glanced down at me from the corner of his eye, smiling wryly. "I
really don't think I was invited."
I sighed. "I just invited you."
"Let's you and I not push poor Mike any further this week. We don't want
him to snap." His eyes danced; he was enjoying the idea more than he
should.
"Mike-schmike." I muttered, preoccupied by the way he'd said "you and I."
I liked it more than I should.
We were near the parking lot now. I veered left, toward my truck.
Something caught my jacket, yanking me back.
"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.
He didn't answer. He fiddled with the controls, turning the heater up and
the music down. As he pulled out of the parking lot, I was preparing to
give him the silent treatment — my face in full pout mode — but then I
recognized the music playing, and my curiosity got the better of my
intentions.
"Clair de Lune?" I asked, surprised.
"You know Debussy?" He sounded surprised, too.
"Not well," I admitted. "My mother plays a lot of classical music around
the house — I only know my favorites."
"It's one of my favorites, too." He stared out through the rain, lost in
thought.
I listened to the music, relaxing against the light gray leather seat. It
was impossible not to respond to the familiar, soothing melody. The rain
blurred everything outside the window into gray and green smudges. I
began to realize we were driving very fast; the car moved so steadily, so
evenly, though, I didn't feel the speed. Only the town flashing by gave
it away.
"What is your mother like?" he asked me suddenly.
I glanced over to see him studying me with curious eyes.
"She looks a lot like me, but she's prettier," I said. He raised his
eyebrows. "I have too much Charlie in me. She's more outgoing than I am,
and braver. She's irresponsible and slightly eccentric, and she's a very
unpredictable cook. She's my best friend." I stopped. Talking about her
was making me depressed.
"How old are you, Bella?" His voice sounded frustrated for some reason I
couldn't imagine. He'd stopped the car, and I realized we were at
Charlie's house already. The rain was so heavy that I could barely see
the house at all. It was like the car was submerged under a river.
"I'm seventeen," I responded, a little confused.
"You don't seem seventeen."
His tone was reproachful; it made me laugh.
"What?" he asked, curious again.
"My mom always says I was born thirty-five years old and that I get more
middle-aged every year." I laughed, and then sighed. "Well, someone has
to be the adult." I paused for a second. "You don't seem much like a
junior in high school yourself," I noted.
He made a face and changed the subject.
"So why did your mother marry Phil?"
I was surprised he would remember the name; I'd mentioned it just once,
almost two months ago. It took me a moment to answer.
"My mother… she's very young for her age. I think Phil makes her feel
even younger. At any rate, she's crazy about him." I shook my head. The
attraction was a mystery to me.
"Does it matter?" I countered. "I want her to be happy… and he is who she
wants."
"That's very generous… I wonder," he mused.
"What?"
"Would she extend the same courtesy to you, do you think? No matter who
your choice was?" He was suddenly intent, his eyes searching mine.
"I-I think so," I stuttered. "But she's the parent, after all. It's a
little bit different."
"No one too scary then," he teased.
I grinned in response. "What do you mean by scary? Multiple facial
piercings and extensive tattoos?"
"That's one definition, I suppose."
"What's your definition?"
But he ignored my question and asked me another. "Do you think that I
could be scary?" He raised one eyebrow, and the faint trace of a smile
lightened his face.
I thought for a moment, wondering whether the truth or a lie would go
over better. I decided to go with the truth. "Hmmm… I think you could be,
if you wanted to."
"Are you frightened of me now?" The smile vanished, and his heavenly face
was suddenly serious.
"No." But I answered too quickly. The smile returned.
"So, now are you going to tell me about your family?" I asked to distract
him. "It's got to be a much more interesting story than mine."
"Have fun at the beach… good weather for sunbathing." He glanced out at
the sheeting rain.
"Won't I see you tomorrow?"
"No. Emmett and I are starting the weekend early."
"What are you going to do?" A friend could ask that, right? I hoped the
disappointment wasn't too apparent in my voice.
"We're going to be hiking in the Goat Rocks Wilderness, just south of
Rainier."
I remembered Charlie had said the Cullens went camping frequently.
"Oh, well, have fun." I tried to sound enthusiastic. I don't think I
fooled him, though. A smile was playing around the edges of his lips.
"Will you do something for me this weekend?" He turned to look me
straight in the face, utilizing the full power of his burning gold eyes.
I nodded helplessly.
"Don't be offended, but you seem to be one of those people who just
attract accidents like a magnet. So… try not to fall into the ocean or
get run over or anything, all right?" He smiled crookedly.
The helplessness had faded as he spoke. I glared at him.
"I'll see what I can do," I snapped as I jumped out into the rain. I
slammed the door behind me with excessive force.
As I sat in my room, trying to concentrate on the third act of Macbeth, I
was really listening for my truck. I would have thought, even over the
pounding rain, I could have heard the engine's roar. But when I went to
peek out the curtain — again — it was suddenly there.
I wasn't looking forward to Friday, and it more than lived up to my
non-expectations. Of course there were the fainting comments. Jessica
especially seemed to get a kick out of that story. Luckily Mike had kept
his mouth shut, and no one seemed to know about Edward's involvement. She
did have a lot of questions about lunch, though.
"So what did Edward Cullen want yesterday?" Jessica asked in Trig.
"I don't know," I answered truthfully. "He never really got to the point."
"You looked kind of mad," she fished.
"Did I?" I kept my expression blank.
"You know, I've never seen him sit with anyone but his family before.
That was weird."
"Weird," I agreed. She seemed annoyed; she flipped her dark curls
impatiently — I guessed she'd been hoping to hear something that would
make a good story for her to pass on.
The worst part about Friday was that, even though I knew he wasn't going
to be there, I still hoped. When I walked into the cafeteria with Jessica
and Mike, I couldn't keep from looking at his table, where Rosalie,
Alice, and Jasper sat talking, heads close together. And I couldn't stop
the gloom that engulfed me as I realized I didn't know how long I would
have to wait before I saw him again.
At my usual table, everyone was full of our plans for the next day. Mike
was animated again, putting a great deal of trust in the local weatherman
who promised sun tomorrow. I'd have to see that before I believed it. But
it was warmer today — almost sixty. Maybe the outing wouldn't be
completely miserable.
I intercepted a few unfriendly glances from Lauren during lunch, which I
didn't understand until we were all walking out of the room together. I
was right behind her, just a foot from her slick, silver blond hair, and
she was evidently unaware of that.
"…don't know why Bella" — she sneered my name — "doesn't just sit with
the Cullens from now on."
I heard her muttering to Mike. I'd never noticed what an unpleasant,
nasal voice she had, and I was surprised by the malice in it. I really
didn't know her well at all, certainly not well enough for her to dislike
me — or so I'd thought. "She's my friend; she sits with us," Mike
whispered back loyally, but also a bit territorially. I paused to let
Jess and Angela pass me. I didn't want to hear any more.
That night at dinner, Charlie seemed enthusiastic about my trip to La
Push in the morning. I think he felt guilty for leaving me home alone on
the weekends, but he'd spent too many years building his habits to break
them now. Of course he knew the names of all the kids going, and their
parents, and their great-grandparents, too, probably. He seemed to
approve. I wondered if he would approve of my plan to ride to Seattle
with Edward Cullen. Not that I was going to tell him.
"Dad, do you know a place called Goat Rocks or something like that? I
think it's south of Mount Rainier," I asked casually.
"Yeah — why?"
I shrugged. "Some kids were talking about camping there."
"It's not a very good place for camping." He sounded surprised. "Too many
bears. Most people go there during the hunting season."
I meant to sleep in, but an unusual brightness woke me. I opened my eyes
to see a clear yellow light streaming through my window. I couldn't
believe it. I hurried to the window to check, and sure enough, there was
the sun. It was in the wrong place in the sky, too low, and it didn't
seem to be as close as it should be, but it was definitely the sun.
Clouds ringed the horizon, but a large patch of blue was visible in the
middle. I lingered by the window as long as I could, afraid that if I
left the blue would disappear again.
The Newtons' Olympic Outfitters store was just north of town. I'd seen
the store, but I'd never stopped there — not having much need for any
supplies required for being outdoors over an extended period of time. In
the parking lot I recognized Mike's Suburban and Tyler's Sentra. As I
pulled up next to their vehicles, I could see the group standing around
in front of the Suburban. Eric was there, along with two other boys I had
class with; I was fairly sure their names were Ben and Conner. Jess was
there, flanked by Angela and Lauren. Three other girls stood with them,
including one I remembered falling over in Gym on Friday. That one gave
me a dirty look as I got out of the truck, and whispered something to
Lauren. Lauren shook out her cornsilk hair and eyed me scornfully.
So it was going to be one of those days.
At least Mike was happy to see me.
"You came!" he called, delighted. "And I said it would be sunny today,
didn't I?"
"I told you I was coming," I reminded him.
"We're just waiting for Lee and Samantha… unless you invited someone,"
Mike added.
"Nope," I lied lightly, hoping I wouldn't get caught in the lie. But also
wishing that a miracle would occur, and Edward would appear.
"Will you ride in my car? It's that or Lee's mom's minivan."
"Sure."
He smiled blissfully. It was so easy to make Mike happy.
"You can have shotgun," he promised. I hid my chagrin. It wasn't as
** to make Mike and Jessica happy at the same time. I could see
Jessica glowering at us now.
The numbers worked out in my favor, though. Lee brought two extra people,
and suddenly every seat was necessary. I managed to wedge Jess in between
Mike and me in the front seat of the Suburban. Mike could have been more
graceful about it, but at least Jess seemed appeased.
It was only fifteen miles to La Push from Forks, with gorgeous, dense
green forests edging the road most of the way and the wide Quillayute
River snaking beneath it twice. I was glad I had the window seat. We'd
rolled the windows down — the Suburban was a bit claustrophobic with nine
people in it — and I tried to absorb as much sunlight as possible.
I'd been to the beaches around La Push many times during my Forks summers
with Charlie, so the mile-long crescent of First Beach was familiar to
me. It was still breathtaking. The water was dark gray, even in the
sunlight, white-capped and heaving to the gray, rocky shore. Islands rose
out of the steel harbor waters with sheer cliff sides, reaching to uneven
summits, and crowned with austere, soaring firs. The beach had only a
thin border of actual sand at the water's edge, after which it grew into
millions of large, smooth stones that looked uniformly gray from a
distance, but close up were every shade a stone could be: terra-cotta,
sea green, lavender, blue gray, dull gold. The tide line was strewn with
huge driftwood trees, bleached bone white in the salt waves, some piled
together against the edge of the forest fringe, some lying solitary, just
out of reach of the waves.
There was a brisk wind coming off the waves, cool and briny. Pelicans
floated on the swells while seagulls and a lone eagle wheeled above them.
The clouds still circled the sky, threatening to invade at any moment,
but for now the sun shone bravely in its halo of blue sky
We picked our way down to the beach, Mike leading the way to a ring of
driftwood logs that had obviously been used for parties like ours before.
There was a fire circle already in place, filled with black ashes. Eric
and the boy I thought was named Ben gathered broken branches of driftwood
from the drier piles against the forest edge, and soon had a
teepee-shaped construction built atop the old cinders.
"Have you ever seen a driftwood fire?" Mike asked me. I was sitting on
one of the bone-colored benches; the other girls clustered, gossiping
excitedly, on either side of me. Mike kneeled by the fire, lighting one
of the smaller sticks with a cigarette lighter.
"No," I said as he placed the blazing twig carefully against the teepee.
"You'll like this then — watch the colors." He lit another small branch
and laid it alongside the first. The flames started to lick quickly up
the dry wood.
"It's blue," I said in surprise.
"The salt does it. Pretty, isn't it?" He lit one more piece, placed it
where the fire hadn't yet caught, and then came to sit by me. Thankfully,
Jess was on his other side. She turned to him and claimed his attention.
I watched the strange blue and green flames crackle toward the sky.
After a half hour of chatter, some of the boys wanted to hike to the
nearby tidal pools. It was a dilemma. On the one hand, I loved the tide
pools. They had fascinated me since I was a child; they were one of the
only things I ever looked forward to when I had to come to Forks. On the
other hand, I'd also fallen into them a lot. Not a big deal when you're
seven and with your dad. It reminded me of Edward's request — that I not
fall into the ocean.
Lauren was the one who made my decision for me. She didn't want to hike,
and she was definitely wearing the wrong shoes for it. Most of the other
girls besides Angela and Jessica decided to stay on the beach as well. I
waited until Tyler and Eric had committed to remaining with them before I
got up quietly to join the pro-hiking group. Mike gave me a huge smile
when he saw that I was coming.
The hike wasn't too long, though I hated to lose the sky in the woods.
The green light of the forest was strangely at odds with the adolescent
laughter, too murky and ominous to be in harmony with the light banter
around me. I had to watch each step I took very carefully, avoiding roots
below and branches above, and I soon fell behind. Eventually I broke
through the emerald confines of the forest and found the rocky shore
again. It was low tide, and a tidal river flowed past us on its way to
the sea. Along its pebbled banks, shallow pools that never completely
drained were teeming with life.
I was very cautious not to lean too far over the little ocean ponds. The
others were fearless, leaping over the rocks, perching precariously on
the edges. I found a very stable-looking rock on the fringe of one of the
largest pools and sat there cautiously, spellbound by the natural
aquarium below me. The bouquets of brilliant anemones undulated
ceaselessly in the invisible current, twisted shells scurried about the
edges, obscuring the crabs within them, starfish stuck motionless to the
rocks and each other, while one small black eel with white racing stripes
wove through the bright green weeds, waiting for the sea to return. I was
completely absorbed, except for one small part of my mind that wondered
what Edward was doing now, and trying to imagine what he would be saying
if he were here with me.
Finally the boys were hungry, and I got up stiffly to follow them back. I
tried to keep up better this time through the woods, so naturally I fell
a few times. I got some shallow scrapes on my palms, and the knees of my
jeans were stained green, but it could have been worse.
When we got back to First Beach, the group we'd left behind had
multiplied. As we got closer we could see the shining, straight black
hair and copper skin of the newcomers, teenagers from the reservation
come to socialize.
The food was already being passed around, and the boys hurried to claim a
share while Eric introduced us as we each entered the driftwood circle.
Angela and I were the last to arrive, and, as Eric said our names, I
noticed a younger boy sitting on the stones near the fire glance up at me
in interest. I sat down next to Angela, and Mike brought us sandwiches
and an array of sodas to choose from, while a boy who looked to be the
oldest of the visitors rattled off the names of the seven others with
him. All I caught was that one of the girls was also named Jessica, and
the boy who noticed me was named Jacob.
It was relaxing to sit with Angela; she was a restful kind of person to
be around — she didn't feel the need to fill every silence with chatter.
She left me free to think undisturbed while we ate. And I was thinking
about how disjointedly time seemed to flow in Forks, passing in a blur at
times, with single images standing out more clearly than others. And
then, at other times, every second was significant, etched in my mind. I
knew exactly what caused the difference, and it disturbed me.
During lunch the clouds started to advance, slinking across the blue sky,
darting in front of the sun momentarily, casting long shadows across the
beach, and blackening the waves. As they finished eating, people started
to drift away in twos and threes. Some walked down to the edge of the
waves, trying to skip rocks across the choppy su**ce. Others were
gathering a second expedition to the tide pools. Mike — with Jessica
shadowing him — headed up to the one shop in the village. Some of the
local kids went with them; others went along on the hike. By the time
they all had scattered, I was sitting alone on my driftwood log, with
Lauren and Tyler occupying themselves by the CD player someone had
thought to bring, and three teenagers from the reservation perched around
the circle, including the boy named Jacob and the oldest boy who had
acted as spokesperson.
A few minutes after Angela left with the hikers, Jacob sauntered over to
take her place by my side. He looked fourteen, maybe fifteen, and had
long, glossy black hair pulled back with a rubber band at the nape of his
neck. His skin was beautiful, silky and russet-colored; his eyes were
dark, set deep above the high planes of his cheekbones. He still had just
a hint of childish roundness left around his chin. Altogether, a very
pretty face. However, my positive opinion of his looks was damaged by the
first words out of his mouth.
"You're Isabella Swan, aren't you?"
It was like the first day of school all over again.
"Bella," I sighed.
"I'm Jacob Black." He held his hand out in a friendly gesture. "You
bought my dad's truck."
"Oh," I said, relieved, shaking his sleek hand. "You're Billy's son. I
probably should remember you."
"No, I'm the youngest of the family — you would remember my older
sisters."
"Rachel and Rebecca," I suddenly recalled. Charlie and Billy had thrown
us together a lot during my visits, to keep us busy while they fished. We
were all too shy to make much progress as friends. Of course, I'd kicked
up enough tantrums to end the fishing trips by the time I was eleven.
"Are they here?" I examined the girls at the ocean's edge, wondering if I
would recognize them now.
"No." Jacob shook his head. "Rachel got a scholarship to Washington
State, and Rebecca married a Samoan surfer — she lives in Hawaii now."
"Married. Wow." I was stunned. The twins were only a little over a year
older than I was.
"So how do you like the truck?" he asked.
"I love it. It runs great."
"Yeah, but it's really slow," he laughed. "I was so relived when Charlie
bought it. My dad wouldn't let me work on building another car when we
had a perfectly good vehicle right there."
"It's not that slow," I objected.
"Have you tried to go over sixty?"
"No," I admitted.
"Good. Don't." He grinned.
I couldn't help grinning back. "It does great in a collision," I offered
in my truck's defense.
"I don't think a tank could take out that old monster," he agreed with
another laugh.
"So you build cars?" I asked, impressed.
"When I have free time, and parts. You wouldn't happen to know where I
could get my hands on a master cylinder for a 1986 Volkswagen Rabbit?" he
added jokingly. He had a pleasant, husky voice.
"Sorry," I laughed, "I haven't seen any lately, but I'll keep my eyes
open for you." As if I knew what that was. He was very easy to talk with.
He flashed a brilliant smile, looking at me appreciatively in a way I was
learning to recognize. I wasn't the only one who noticed.
"You know Bella, Jacob?" Lauren asked — in what I imagined was an
insolent tone — from across the fire.
"We've sort of known each other since I was born," he laughed, smiling at
me again.
"How nice." She didn't sound like she thought it was nice at all, and her
pale, fishy eyes narrowed.
"Bella," she called again, watching my face carefully, "I was just saying
to Tyler that it was too bad none of the Cullens could come out today.
Didn't anyone think to invite them?" Her expression of concern was
unconvincing.
"You mean Dr. Carlisle Cullen's family?" the tall, older boy asked before
I could respond, much to Lauren's irritation. He was really closer to a
man than a boy, and his voice was very deep.
"Yes, do you know them?" she asked condescendingly, turning halfway
toward him.
"The Cullens don't come here," he said in a tone that closed the subject,
ignoring her question.
Tyler, trying to win back her attention, asked Lauren's opinion on a CD
he held. She was distracted.
I stared at the deep-voiced boy, taken aback, but he was looking away
toward the dark forest behind us. He'd said that the Cullens didn't come
here, but his tone had implied something more — that they weren't
allowed; they were prohibited. His manner left a strange impression on
me, and I tried to ignore it without success.
Jacob interrupted my meditation. "So is Forks driving you insane yet?"
"Oh, I'd say that's an understatement." I grimaced. He grinned
understandingly.
===============================
I was still turning over the brief comment on the Cullens, and I had a
sudden inspiration. It was a stupid plan, but I didn't have any better
ideas. I hoped that young Jacob was as yet inexperienced around girls, so
that he wouldn't see through my sure-to-be-pitiful attempts at flirting.
"Do you want to walk down the beach with me?" I asked, trying to imitate
that way Edward had of looking up from underneath his eyelashes. It
couldn't have nearly the same effect, I was sure, but Jacob jumped up
willingly enough.
As we walked north across the multihued stones toward the driftwood
seawall, the clouds finally closed ranks across the sky, causing the sea
to darken and the temperature to drop. I shoved my hands deep into the
pockets of my jacket.
"So you're, what, sixteen?" I asked, trying not to look like an idiot as
I fluttered my eyelids the way I'd seen girls do on TV.
"I just turned fifteen," he confessed, flattered.
"Really?" My face was full of false surprise. "I would have thought you
were older."
"I'm tall for my age," he explained.
"Do you come up to Forks much?" I asked archly, as if I was hoping for a
yes. I sounded idiotic to myself. I was afraid he would turn on me with
disgust and accuse me of my fraud, but he still seemed flattered.
"Not too much," he admitted with a frown. "But when I get my car finished
I can go up as much as I want — after I get my license," he amended.
"Who was that other boy Lauren was talking to? He seemed a little old to
be hanging out with us." I purposefully lumped myself in with the
youngsters, trying to make it clear that I preferred Jacob.
"What was that he was saying about the doctor's family?" I asked
innocently.
"The Cullens? Oh, they're not supposed to come onto the reservation." He
looked away, out toward James Island, as he confirmed what I'd thought
I'd heard in Sam's voice.
"Why not?"
He glanced back at me, biting his lip. "Oops. I'm not supposed to say
anything about that."
"Oh, I won't tell anyone, I'm just curious." I tried to make my smile
alluring, wondering if I was laying it on too thick.
He smiled back, though, looking allured. Then he lifted one eyebrow and
his voice was even huskier than before.
"Do you like scary stories?" he asked ominously.
"I love them," I enthused, making an effort to smolder at him.
Jacob strolled to a nearby driftwood tree that had its roots sticking out
like the attenuated legs of a huge, pale spider. He perched lightly on
one of the twisted roots while I sat beneath him on the body of the tree.
He stared down at the rocks, a smile hovering around the edges of his
broad lips. I could see he was going to try to make this good. I focused
on keeping the vital interest I felt out of my eyes.
"Do you know any of our old stories, about where we came from — the
Quileutes, I mean?" he began.
"Not really," I admitted.
"Well, there are lots of legends, some of them claiming to date back to
the Flood — supposedly, the ancient Quileutes tied their canoes to the
tops of the tallest trees on the mountain to survive like Noah and the
ark." He smiled, to show me how little stock he put in the histories.
"Another legend claims that we descended from wolves — and that the
wolves are our brothers still. It's against tribal law to kill them.
"Then there are the stories about the cold ones." His voice dropped a
little lower.
"The cold ones?" I asked, not faking my intrigue now.
"Yes. There are stories of the cold ones as old as the wolf legends, and
some much more recent. According to legend, my own great-grandfather knew
some of them. He was the one who made the treaty that kept them off our
land." He rolled his eyes.
"Your great-grandfather?" I encouraged.
"He was a tribal elder, like my father. You see, the cold ones are the
natural enemies of the wolf—well, not the wolf, really, but the wolves
that turn into men, like our ancestors. You would call them werewolves."
"Werewolves have enemies?"
"Only one."
I stared at him earnestly, hoping to disguise my impatience as admiration.
"So you see," Jacob continued, "the cold ones are traditionally our
enemies. But this pack that came to our territory during my
great-grandfather's time was different. They didn't hunt the way others
of their kind did — they weren't supposed to be dangerous to the tribe.
So my great-grandfather made a truce with them. If they would promise to
stay off our lands, we wouldn't expose them to the pale-faces." He winked
at me.
"If they weren't dangerous, then why… ?" I tried to understand,
struggling not to let him see how seriously I was considering his ghost
story.
"There's always a risk for humans to be around the cold ones, even if
they're civilized like this clan was. You never know when they might get
too hungry to resist." He deliberately worked a thick edge of menace into
his tone.
"What do you mean, 'civilized'?"
"They claimed that they didn't hunt humans. They supposedly were somehow
able to prey on animals instead."
I tried to keep my voice casual. "So how does it fit in with the Cullens?
Are they like the cold ones your greatgrandfather met?"
就再也没去过医院的时候，他对我爸大发雷霆。”
======================
"No." He paused dramatically. "They are the same ones."
He must have thought the expression on my face was fear inspired by his
story. He smiled, pleased, and continued.
"There are more of them now, a new female and a new male, but the rest
are the same. In my great-grandfather's time they already knew of the
leader, Carlisle. He'd been here and gone before your people had even
arrived." He was fighting a smile.
"And what are they?" I finally asked. "What are the cold ones?"
He smiled darkly.
"Blood drinkers," he replied in a chilling voice. "Your people call them
vampires."
I stared out at the rough surf after he answered, not sure what my face
was exposing.
"You have goose bumps," he laughed delightedly.
"You're a good storyteller," I complimented him, still staring into the
waves.
"Pretty crazy stuff, though, isn't it? No wonder my dad doesn't want us
to talk about it to anyone."
I couldn't control my expression enough to look at him yet. "Don't worry,
I won't give you away."
"I guess I just violated the treaty," he laughed.
"I'll take it to the grave," I promised, and then I shivered.
"Seriously, though, don't say anything to Charlie. He was pretty mad at
my dad when he heard that some of us weren't going to the hospital since
Dr. Cullen started working there."
"So do you think we're a bunch of superstitious natives or what?" he
asked in a playful tone, but with a hint of worry. I still hadn't looked
away from the ocean.
I turned and smiled at him as normally as I could.
"No. I think you're very good at telling scary stories, though. I still
have goose bumps, see?" I held up my arm.
"Cool." He smiled.
And then the sound of the beach rocks clattering against each other
warned us that someone was approaching. Our heads snapped up at the same
time to see Mike and Jessica about fifty yards away, walking toward us.
"There you are, Bella," Mike called in relief, waving his arm over his
head.
"Is that your boyfriend?" Jacob asked, alerted by the jealous edge in
Mike's voice. I was surprised it was so obvious.
"No, definitely not," I whispered. I was tremendously grateful to Jacob,
and eager to make him as happy as possible. I winked at him, carefully
turning away from Mike to do so. He smiled, elated by my inept flirting.
"So when I get my license…" he began.
"You should come see me in Forks. We could hang out sometime." I felt
guilty as I said this, knowing that I'd used him. But I really did like
Jacob. He was someone I could easily be friends with.
Mike had reached us now, with Jessica still a few paces back. I could see
his eyes appraising Jacob, and looking satisfied at his obvious youth.