TWILIGHT BOOK 1-chapter 5

5. BLOOD TYPE

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.

I gulped.

He laughed. "You look worried."

"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.
He smiled apologetically.

"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?"
He grimaced.

"Or better," I continued, the pent-up annoyance flowing freely now, "say that person also did a
wide range of bizarre things – from saving your life under impossible circumstances one day to
treating you like a pariah the next, and he never explained any of that, either, even after he
promised. That, also, would be very non-frustrating."

"You've got a bit of a temper, don't you?"
"I don't like double standards."

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."
"It's not much," I assured him.

He waited, guarded but curious.

"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.
"You're not supposed to laugh, remember?"

He struggled to compose his face.

"I'll figure it out eventually," I warned him.
"I wish you wouldn't try." He was serious again.
"Because… ?"
"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."

"No," Mike protested. "I'm supposed to do it."
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 paper 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.

"She's just a little faint," he reassured the startled nurse. "They're blood typing in Biology."
The nurse nodded sagely. "There's always one."
He muffled a snicker.
"Just lie down for a minute, honey; it'll pass."
"I know," I sighed. The nausea was already fading.
"Does this happen a lot?" she asked.
"Sometimes," I admitted. Edward coughed to hide another laugh.
"You can go back to class now," she told him.
"I'm supposed to stay with her." He said this with such assured authority that – even though
she pursed her lips – the nurse didn't argue it further.

"I'll go get you some ice for your forehead, dear," she said to me, and then bustled out of the
room.

"You were right," I moaned, letting my eyes close.
"I usually am – but about what in particular this time?"
"Ditching is healthy." I practiced breathing evenly.

"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.
" You look better," he accused.

"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.
I heard Edward speaking softly at the counter.

"Ms. Cope?"
"Yes?" I hadn't heard her return to her desk.
"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.
"Do you approve?" he asked.

"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."
He was instantly cautious. "What do you want to know?"
"The Cullens adopted you?" I verified.
"Yes."

I hesitated for a moment. "What happened to your parents?"
"They died many years ago." His tone was matter-of-fact.
"I'm sorry," I mumbled.
"I don't really remember them that clearly. Carlisle and Esme have been my parents for a long
time now."
"And you love them." It wasn't a question. It was obvious in the way he spoke of them.
"Yes." He smiled. "I couldn't imagine two better people."
"You're very lucky."
"I know I am."
"And your brother and sister?"

He glanced at the clock on the dashboard.

"My brother and sister, and Jasper and Rosalie for that matter, are going to be quite upset if
they have to stand in the rain waiting for me."

"Oh, sorry, I guess you have to go." I didn't want to get out of the car.
"And you probably want your truck back before Chief Swan gets home, so you don't have to
tell him about the Biology incident." He grinned at me.

"I'm sure he's already heard. There are no secrets in Forks." I sighed.
He laughed, and there was an edge to his laughter.
"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.

He was still smiling as he drove away.

TWILIGHT BOOK 1-chapter 4

4. INVITATION

In my dream it was very dark, and what dim light there was seemed to be radiating from Edward's skin. I couldn't his face, just his back walking away from me, leaving me in the blackness. No matter how fast I run, 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 could 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?"
"For not just letting that stupid van squish me."

He was astonished. He stared at me in disbelief.
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."
"Do you want me to come with you?"

I tried to be crafty as I hid my horror.
"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.
"You're doing it again."
I sighed. "Fine then. What do you want to ask?"
"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.

TWILIGHT BOOK 1-chapter 3

3. Phenomenon

When i opened my eyes in the morning, something was different.

It was the light. It was the gray-green light in the cloudy day of the forest, but I 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 dead ice lick. I had enough trouble not to 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."

His expression turned hard. "No, I wasn't."
"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.
"Tender?" he asked.
"Not really." I'd had worse.

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 papers 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.
"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."

"What do you think happened?" he snapped.
It came out in a rush.

"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.

"Why did you even bother?" I asked frigidly.
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.

When we got to the house, Charlie finally spoke.
"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

TWILIGHT BOOK 1-chapter 2

2. Open Book

The next day was better… and worse.


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.

Bella.

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."

Charlie surprised me by looking angry.

"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."
I grimaced. I knew it was something like that.

"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.
"It's… complicated."
"I think I can keep up," he pressed.

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
unmistakable 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.