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第一章 初見

我母親開車載我去機場，車窗開著。七十五華氏度，鳳凰城，天空是澄澈的，不帶一絲云影的湛藍。我穿著我最喜歡的襯衫——無袖，帶著白色的網(wǎng)眼蕾絲。我穿著它，作為一種告別的儀式。我隨身攜帶的物品只是一件皮夾克。

在華盛頓州西北部的奧林匹亞山脈，有個永遠籠罩在陰霾里的名叫福克斯的小鎮(zhèn)。這里的雨水多得不可思議，比美利堅合眾國的其他任何地方都要多。就是從這個小鎮(zhèn)，我母親帶著我逃出來，逃離那里充斥著的壓抑的陰霾，那時我才幾個月大。就在這個小鎮(zhèn)，每個夏天我都被逼著去那里過上一個月，直到我十四歲那年。那年我終于堅定表明了我并不想去。而后的幾個夏天，我的父親，查理，只好帶我去加利福尼亞度過兩周的假期作為替代。

現(xiàn)在，我把自己放逐到了�？怂埂�—這是一個我自認為十分崇高的舉動。我討厭�？怂埂�

我熱愛鳳凰城。我熱愛這里的陽光和熱浪。我熱愛這個生氣勃勃，不斷擴張著的城市。

“貝拉，”在我上飛機前，我母親第一千遍地對我說，“你真的不必這樣做�！�

我母親和我長得很像，除了短短的頭發(fā)和笑紋。當我注視著她大大的，孩童般的雙眼時，我感到一陣突如其來的痙攣。我怎能離開我摯愛的、穩(wěn)定性極差的、粗心大意的母親，讓她自己照顧自己呢？當然現(xiàn)在她有菲爾，賬單有人付，冰箱有人補充食物，車有人加油，當她迷路時也有可打電話求助的人，但是……

“我真的想去�！蔽胰鲋e道。我通常是個蹩腳的說謊者，但我如此頻繁地重復這個謊言，以至于它現(xiàn)在聽起來很有說服力。

“替我向查理問好�！�

“我會的�！�

“我很快就會來看你的，”她強調�！安还苋魏螘r候，只要你想回家，你就只管回來——只要你需要，我會立刻趕過來。”

但我能從她的雙眼里看出她會為此作出的犧牲。

“不用擔心我，”我竭力勸說�！耙磺卸紩�順利的。我愛你，媽媽�！�

她緊緊地擁抱了我一分鐘，然后我上飛機，她離去。

從鳳凰城飛到西雅圖要四個小時，然后轉到一架小飛機飛一個小時到天使港，最后還要開一個小時車才能到達�？怂�。飛行對我沒什么影響，但我卻有些害怕和查理待在一輛車里的那一個小時。

查理對整件事相當?shù)慕邮�。他真的很高興，因為這是我第一次，也幾乎是永久性的搬來和他住在一起。他甚至為我辦好了高中入學手續(xù)，還打算幫我弄輛車。

但和查理相處仍毫無疑問地是件尷尬事。我們都不擅長談話，我也不知道有什么事情可以讓我們毫無顧忌地談論。我知道他對我的決定仍有些困惑，就像我母親在我面前表現(xiàn)的那樣，因為我從未掩飾過我對�？怂沟膮拹骸�

當我抵達天使港時，天下著雨。我不打算把這視為某種征兆——這只是不可避免的現(xiàn)實。我已經(jīng)和陽光作別了。

查理在一輛巡邏車旁等著我，這也是我預料之中的事。查理是�？怂规�(zhèn)的良好市民的史溫警長。我雖然囊中羞澀也要買輛車的主要動機，就是不想坐著頂上有紅藍色燈的車在鎮(zhèn)里亂晃。警察可是造成交通堵塞的萬惡之首。

我跌跌絆絆地從飛機上下來以后，查理只伸出一只手有些尷尬地擁抱了我一下。

“很高興見到你，貝拉。”他微笑著說，不假思索地抓住我讓我穩(wěn)住�！澳銢]多大變化。蕾妮好嗎？”

“媽媽很好。我也很高興見到你，爸爸�！彼麄儾蛔屛耶斆娼兴�查理。

我只帶了幾袋行李，我在亞利桑那州的大部分衣物對華盛頓州的氣候來說都太薄了。我母親和我把錢湊起來給我添置了一些冬裝，但這仍遠遠不夠。這幾袋行李很容易就塞進了巡邏車的后備箱。

“我弄了輛適合你的好車，相當便宜�！碑斘覀兿瞪习踩珟�時，他宣布道。

“什么樣的車？”我對他放著簡簡單單的“好車”不說，卻故意說是“適合你的好車”這點很是懷疑。

“嗯，確切地說是輛卡車，一輛雪佛蘭�！�

“你在哪兒弄到的？”

“你還記得拉普什的黑仔比利吧？”拉普什是在海岸線上的一個小小的印第安人保留區(qū)。

“不記得�！�

“夏天時他曾經(jīng)跟我們一起去釣魚。”查理提示我。

這解釋了我為什么不記得他。把那些充滿痛苦的，不必要的回憶抹去是我的拿手好戲。

“他現(xiàn)在坐輪椅了，”我不作聲，查理只得繼續(xù)說道：“所以他再也不能開車了，他主動把他的卡車便宜賣我了�！�

“哪年的車？”我可以從他驟變的神色看出，這是一個他不希望我提起的問題。

“嗯，比利在引擎上下了不少力氣——才幾年的車，真的�！�

我希望他不要這樣小看我，認為我會輕易放棄�！八�哪年買的？”

“我想，他是在1984年買的。”

“他買的時候是輛新車嗎？”

“嗯，不，我想它是六十年代早期的車——最早也是五十年代的�！彼�爽快地承認了。

“查——爸爸，我對汽車一無所知。如果它壞了我沒辦法自己去修理它，我也沒有錢請個修理工……”

“真的，貝拉。這家伙跑得棒極了。他們再也沒有生產(chǎn)過像這樣的好車。”

這家伙，我暗自思索著……這可能是——是個昵稱，極有可能。

“好了，寶貝，作為歡迎你回家的禮物，我?guī)缀跻呀?jīng)算是買下來了。”查理滿懷希望地偷看著我。

哈，免費。

“你不必這樣做的，爸爸。我打算自己買輛車的�！�

“我不介意。我只想讓你在這里過得快樂�！彼�說這些時直視著前方的路面。查理不擅長坦白地表達自己的感受。在這方面我受他的遺傳。于是作為回應我也直直地向前看著。

“真的太棒了，爸爸。謝謝。我真的很感激�！辈槐匮a充我在�？怂垢械娇鞓肥莻�不可能事件。他本不必忍受與我相處的漫長時光。更何況，饋贈之馬不看牙——或者引擎。

“嗯，現(xiàn)在，歡迎回來�！彼�喃喃道，對我的感謝尷尬不已。

我們交換了一點對天氣的看法，包括今天是否有些潮濕。在沒有更多的話題可供討論以后，我們都沉默地看著窗外。

當然，這里很美。我不能否認這一點。一切都是綠色的：那些樹，樹干上長滿了苔蘚，枝干上掛著的綠葉宛如穹廬，地面覆蓋著蕨科植物。就連空氣都像被葉子過濾了一樣彌漫著綠意。

這里太綠了——對我來說像外星球一樣。

最終我們抵達了查理的房子。他依然住在那棟小小的、只有兩個臥室的房子里。那是他和我母親新婚燕爾時他買下來的房子。他們的婚姻也只持續(xù)了那些日子——較早的那些。在那兒，停靠在房子前的街道上的，確鑿無疑，是我的新——嗯，對我來說是新的——卡車。它是輛褪色的紅色卡車，有著巨大的圓形的擋泥板，還有一個燈泡狀的駕駛室。讓我十分吃驚的是，我喜歡這輛車。我不知道它還能不能動，但我從它身上看到了我自己。它是那種永遠也撞不壞堅硬的鐵家伙——就是那種你在事故現(xiàn)場看到的車，漆都沒蹭掉半塊，周圍全是它毀壞的外國汽車的碎片。

“哇，爸爸。我喜歡它！謝謝！”現(xiàn)在我恐怖的明天將不會那么嚇人了。我不必再面對是在雨中步行兩英里去學校還是坐著警長開的巡邏車去學校的兩難選擇了。

只一趟我的全部行李就被全部搬上了樓。我住在西面正對著前院的臥室。這個臥室對我來說毫不陌生，從我出生時起它就屬于我了。原木地板，淡藍色的壁紙，尖尖的天花板，窗上淡黃色的蕾絲窗簾——這些都是我童年的一部分。唯一的變化是隨著我天天長大查理把搖籃換成了床鋪還添了一個寫字桌。寫字桌上現(xiàn)在擺著一臺二手電腦，連著長長的拖過地板的電話線接著調制解調器到最近的電話接口。這是與我母親的約定，這樣我們就可以更方便地聯(lián)系了。我孩提時的搖椅依然放在角落里。

福克斯中學有著驚人的學生數(shù)目，357——現(xiàn)在是358——名學生；在我家那邊僅初中部就有超過700名學生。所有的孩子都是在一塊兒長大的——他們的爺爺奶奶在蹣跚學步時就在一起了。

我將成為從大城市里轉來的女孩，一個新鮮的，古怪的存在。

也許，如果我看起來像是個來自鳳凰城的女孩，我能更占些優(yōu)勢。但事實上，我和任何地方都格格不入。我應當是棕褐色的，運動型的，發(fā)色發(fā)淺的——一個排球運動員，或者一個拉拉隊隊長，也許——擁有一些看起來像是生活在日光城的特征。

但相反的，我擁有著象牙白色的肌膚——不是因為藍眼睛或者紅頭發(fā)的反襯——持續(xù)充足的陽光對我毫無作用。我身材纖細，但有些單薄，顯然不是個運動家的身材；我也沒有足夠的平衡感來參與運動而不讓自己蒙羞——不傷到自己或者任何離我太近的人。

把所有的衣服都塞進那口老舊的松木衣櫥后，我拿上洗漱包到與查理共用的浴室里，洗去身上的一路風塵。在我洗那一團糾結的、潮濕的頭發(fā)時，我盯著鏡中自己的臉。也許是光線的緣故，我看上去臉色發(fā)黃，形容憔悴。我的肌膚本可以很美的——它原是明亮的，近乎透明的雪白——但它需要好氣色。我現(xiàn)在毫無神采。（這段翻譯得很爛。。。我對外表描述最沒轍了……）

看著鏡子里我黯淡的身影，我被迫承認我一直在對自己撒謊。我只是不能接受現(xiàn)實。如果我在一個三千人的學校里都找不到自己的位置，我在這里又有什么機遇可言？

我和同齡人相處得并不好。也許事實是我無法與人相處。甚至是我的母親，她是我在這個星球上最親近的人，她也從未與我和諧相處過，至少從未步調一致過。有時我會懷疑透過我眼睛所看到的世界是否和他們所看到的一致。也許是我的腦子有問題。但這都無關緊要。重要的是結果。而明天即將開始。

那天晚上我睡得不好，即便在我大哭一場以后也沒睡好。連綿的風雨聲穿透屋頂，絲毫沒有減弱為背景音樂的跡象。我扯過褪色的舊棉被蒙住頭，最后連枕頭也壓上了。但我直到午夜才能入睡，那時侯降雨終于變?yōu)楸容^安靜的毛毛細雨。

清晨，當我向窗外望去時，我只能看到濃重的霧霾。我可以感到幽閉恐懼癥正在向我襲來。你不會有機會看到這里的天空。這像個籠子。

和查理共進早餐是件安靜的事。他祝我在學校過得愉快。我感謝他，但知道他的希望只是白費。好運總是躲著我。查理先走了，去了警署，那里更像是他的家。在他離開后，我坐進靠著那張老舊的橡木方桌放著的三張不配對的椅子的其中一張，審視著他小小的廚房�；野档膲Ρ谇栋�，明黃色的壁櫥，白色的油毯地面。什么都沒變。壁櫥是我母親十八年前粉刷的，她想給這座房子引些陽光進來。小小的壁爐上方，緊挨著只有手帕大小的家庭活動室，是一組照片。第一張是查理和我母親在拉斯維加斯拍的結婚照，然后是我們三個在醫(yī)院的合照，是一位好心的護士幫忙拍的。緊接著的是一系列之后我在學校里的照片�？吹竭@些實在讓人尷尬——我希望我能說服查理把這些照片放到別處去，至少在我住在這里的時候。

呆在這所房子里，很難讓人不意識到查理根本從未真正忘掉我母親。這讓我感到不自在。

我不想太早去學校，但我在這房子里再也呆不下去了。我穿上我的夾克——感覺更像是生化防護服——一頭沖進雨中。

天仍然下著蒙蒙細雨，但不足以在我拿藏在門檐下的鑰匙并鎖門時把我淋透。我新買的防水靴濺起泥水的聲音讓人煩躁。當我走動時我懷念著踏在碎石上的應該有的吱嘎聲。我無法像我期望的那樣停下來確認我的卡車。我急于離開這種霧蒙蒙的潮濕，它讓我的頭一陣陣眩暈，讓我的頭發(fā)緊貼著我的兜帽。

卡車里舒適而干燥。不是比利就是查理把這里清理得干干凈凈。但皮制軟墊座椅上依然散發(fā)著淡淡的煙草，汽油和薄荷的味道。引擎發(fā)動得很快，這讓我感到寬慰，但噪聲很大，響得要命，在空轉時到達最高聲量。好吧，這把年紀的卡車不可避免地會有一點瑕疵。那臺老古董收音機居然還能用，這可是個意外收獲。 

 找到學校并不困難，盡管我此前從未去過那里。這所學校，像其他大多數(shù)建筑一樣，就建在高速公路旁。但作為一所學校它太不顯眼了；除了那個標志，聲明它就是�？怂怪袑W，才讓我停下車來。它看上去像是由一組一模一樣的，用紅磚砌成的樓房組成的。這里有太多的大樹和灌木，讓我無法一眼看清它的校園大小。教育機構的感覺在哪里？我懷著滿腹鄉(xiāng)愁思索著。插著鐵藜的高墻在哪里？金屬探測器在哪里？

我把車停在了第一棟建筑物前面，這里的門上有個小小的牌子寫著總務處。沒有人把車停在這兒，所以我確定這里是不許停車的。但我決定不管它，徑直走進去，而不是像個白癡一樣在雨里兜圈子。我不情愿地離開暖和舒適的駕駛室，走過一段小石子砌成的、圍著暗色樹籬的小徑。我深深吸了一口氣，然后推開門。

屋子里比我希望的還要明亮和溫暖。這間辦公室很小，有一個擺著折疊椅的小小的等待區(qū)，地上鋪著橘黃色斑點的商用地毯，布告和獎狀混雜著貼滿墻壁，墻上的鐘滴答滴答，聲音響亮。養(yǎng)在大大的塑料容器里的綠色植物隨處可見，就好像外頭還不夠綠一樣。這間屋子被一張長長的柜臺切成兩半，柜臺上雜亂地擺了裝滿了文件的、前端綁著亮彩絲帶的鐵絲筐。柜臺后有三張辦公桌，其中一張屬于一位身軀龐大戴眼鏡的紅發(fā)女士。她只穿著一件粉色T恤衫，這立刻讓我感到自己穿得太多了。

那位紅發(fā)女士抬頭看過來：“有什么事嗎？”

“我是伊莎貝拉?史溫�！蔽腋嬖V她，卻見她眼睛一亮。毫無疑問，我是期待已久的八卦頭條。警長輕浮的前妻的女兒終于回家了。

“當然�！彼�說。她在桌上搖搖欲墜的文件堆里翻找著，直到找到她想要找的那些文件�！斑@是你的課程表，還有一張校園地圖。”她拿著幾份表格到柜臺給我看。

她和我一起討論了我的課程，在地圖上標出上課的最佳路線，然后給我一張紙條讓各科老師在上面簽名，一天結束以后我再把紙條帶回來給她。她對我微笑，像查理一樣，希望我將會喜歡這里。我也向她微笑，盡可能笑得更讓人信服一些。

當我回到車上時，別的一些學生也陸續(xù)到校了。我開車穿過校園，緊跟著大部隊。我很高興看到大多數(shù)的車都像我的車老舊，一點兒也不浮華。在鳳凰城我住在少數(shù)幾個由天堂谷區(qū)轄管的低收入?yún)^(qū)里。但在學生堆里看到一輛奔馳或是保時捷是件尋常事。而在這里，最好的車是一輛閃閃發(fā)光的沃爾沃，它顯得格外突出。我在陷入窘境以前迅速地關掉了引擎，防止它雷鳴般的轟鳴給我招來太多關注。

我在車里看著地圖，力求現(xiàn)在就記住它的內容。我可不想一整天都把它展在鼻子底下走路。我把所有東西都塞進書包里，把書包帶甩到肩后，然后深吸一口氣。我能做到的，我對自己說著蒼白無力的謊言。沒有人正等著咬我一口。（我喜歡這句話，草蛇伏灰，線在千里之外，呵呵）最終我呼了口氣，走下車來。

我把臉隱藏在兜帽下，走向擠滿了少男少女的人行道。我式樣簡潔的黑夾克在人群里一點兒也不突出，這讓我感到欣慰。

在我繞過自助餐廳后，很容易就找到了三號樓。一個大大的黑色的“3”寫在樓東角一處白色方塊里。在走到門前時，我能感到我的呼吸越來越用力，快透不過氣來了。我試圖穩(wěn)住自己的呼吸，跟著兩個穿著不分男女的雨衣的人走進大門。

這間教室很小。走在我前面的兩個人一進門就停住了，把他們的雨衣掛在長長的一排掛鉤上。我學著他們的樣子做。原來那是兩個女孩，一個有著瓷器般的肌膚和明亮的金發(fā)，另一個膚色也很淺，頭發(fā)是淺褐色的。至少我的膚色在這里不是那么突兀的存在了。

我把紙條拿給老師，那是一個高大的、有些謝頂?shù)哪腥�，桌上的名牌寫著他是梅森老師。當他看到我的名字時他目瞪口呆地看著我——對我來說這不是個令人鼓舞的舉動——當然我立刻滿臉通紅。但最終他把我領到一張空桌子旁，沒讓我向全班自我介紹。這樣我的新同班同學們就很難從后面偷偷瞄我了，但無論如何，他們還是辦到了。我埋頭看老師開給我的閱讀清單。都是些很基本的內容：布朗蒂，莎士比亞，喬叟，�？思{。這些我都讀過。這讓人感到寬慰……也感到無聊。我思索著能不能讓我母親把我裝著舊論文的文件夾給寄過來，或者說她會不會認為這是作弊。老師講課的時候，我在腦海里和母親不停著作著各種爭論。

鈴聲響了起來，一個嗓音尖細，身材瘦長，滿臉粉刺的黑發(fā)男孩像油一樣滑行沖過過道來和我說話。

“你是伊莎貝拉?史溫，對吧？”他看上去像是過分熱情的象棋俱樂部成員。

“貝拉，”我更正。距我半徑三排以內的每一個人都轉過頭來看我。

“你下一堂課是什么？”他問道。

我不得不在我書包里翻找著�！班�，gover-nment課，杰斐遜的課，在六號樓�！�

無論我向哪個方向看，都無法避開一雙雙好奇的眼睛。

“我要去四號樓，我可以給你帶路……”顯然是熱情過頭了�！拔沂前＠锟��！彼�補充到。

我嘗試著微笑：“謝謝�！�

我們穿上夾克，沖進如影隨行的雨幕中。我可以發(fā)誓有好幾個人緊跟在我們后面，近得都能偷聽到我們對話。我希望我不要變得這樣多疑。

“嗯，這里跟鳳凰城很不一樣，嗯？”他問道。

“很不一樣�！�

“那里不常下雨，對吧？”

“一年三四次�！�

“哇，那會是什么樣的感覺？”他疑惑地問。

“陽光燦爛。”我告訴他。

“你看上不太黑�！�

“我母親是半個白化病人�！�

他擔心地審視著我的臉。我嘆了口氣。這里看上去烏云密布，和幽默感格格不入。幾個月以后我就會忘記怎么說反諷話了。

我們往回走，繞過自助餐廳，走到南邊體育館旁的建筑物那里。埃里克讓我直走到門口，盡管門上標得清清楚楚。

“好了，祝你好運，”當我摸到門把手時他說�！耙苍S我們還會有別的課一起上�！彼�聽上去滿心期待。

我對他敷衍地一笑，走了進去。

這個上午的余下時間都在同樣的模式中度過。教我三角函數(shù)的瓦爾納老師——我本該只因為他教的科目而討厭他——是唯一一個讓我站在全班面前做自我介紹的人。我紅著臉，結結巴巴地說完，然后在回到座位的路上還絆到了我自己。

兩堂課后，我開始認得每堂課上的一些面孔�？傆幸恍┤吮葎e人更勇敢地過來介紹他自己，問我是否喜歡�？怂沟戎T如此類的問題。我試圖回答得更老練些，但大多數(shù)情況下我只是在不停地說謊。至少我用不著那張地圖了。

有個女孩在三角函數(shù)課和西班牙語課上都坐在我旁邊，午餐時間她和我一起去自助餐廳。她個子嬌小，比我五英尺四英寸的身高矮幾英寸，但她蓬松的黑色卷發(fā)填補了一些我們身高上的差距。我沒記住她的名字，所以當她喋喋不休地談論著老師和課程時我只能微笑和點頭。我不打算跟進她的話題。

我們坐在一張坐滿她的朋友的長桌盡頭，她向她的幾個朋友介紹我。她一說完我就忘掉了他們的名字。他們看上去對她敢于和我說話這點印象深刻。那個來自英國的男孩，埃里克，從房間的另一頭向我招手。

就在這里，坐在餐廳里，嘗試著和七個好奇的陌生人對話的時候，我第一次見到他們。

他們坐在自助餐廳的一角，與我坐的地方隔著長長的房間。他們五個人，既不交談，也不吃東西，盡管他們每個人面前都擺著一盤不曾動過的食物。他們不像大多數(shù)學生那樣呆呆地盯著我看，因此盯著他們看很安全，不必擔心遇上一雙太過感興趣的眼睛。但這些都不是吸引我注意力的原因。

他們的長相并不相似。三個男孩中的一個體格健碩——渾身的肌肉像個專業(yè)舉重運動員——長著一頭卷曲的黑發(fā)。另一個男孩更高些，瘦削些，但還是很健壯，頭發(fā)是蜜色的。最后一個男孩身材瘦長，更纖細些，有著慵懶凌亂的紅發(fā)。他比另外兩個顯得更孩子氣些，那兩個看上去更像是大學生，或者說，更像這里的老師而不像是學生。

兩個女孩剛好是相反的類型。高個子的女孩長得像雕像一樣。她有著美麗的輪廓，就是你會在運動畫報游泳版封面上看到的那種，只是和她呆在一個房間，就能讓她周圍的每個女孩子自尊都深受打擊的美麗。她的頭發(fā)是金黃色的，輕輕地飄拂在她的后背中間。那個矮個子女孩看上去像個精靈，身材極其纖細，有著小巧精致的五官。她黝黑的頭發(fā)剪得很短，向各個方向張揚著。

但是，他們也有相似之處。他們都像粉筆一樣蒼白，比生活在這個缺乏陽光的小鎮(zhèn)里的任何學生都要蒼白。比我這個白化病人還要白。無論發(fā)色深淺，他們都有著黑色的眸子。在他們的眼睛下都有著黑色的陰影——略帶紫色的，瘀傷一樣的陰影。就好像他們經(jīng)歷了一個無眠之夜，又或者是鼻子折斷了還沒好。盡管他們的鼻子，他們的五官，都既筆挺又完美，棱角分明。

但這都不是我無法收回視線的緣故。

我盯著看是因為他們的臉，如此不同而又如此相似的，近乎嘲諷的，超越常人的美麗。他們的面孔，你不會有機會在時尚雜志的彩頁以外的任何地方看到這樣的面孔。就像是古老的畫家所畫出的天使的面孔。很難判斷誰長得最美——也許是那個完美的金發(fā)女孩，又或者是那個紅發(fā)男孩。

他們都看著別處——沒有看著彼此，也沒有看著別的學生，沒有看著任何我能確定他們在看的東西。在我這樣看著的時候，那個小個子女孩端著盤子站起來——盤子上的蘇打水沒有開封，蘋果也沒被咬過——用一種敏捷優(yōu)雅的，只屬于T型臺的步子走起來。我驚異地看著她柔美的舞者般的步子，直到她把盤子倒掉，行云流水般地從后門走出去，速度超乎我想象的快。我重新把目光投向剩下的幾個人，他們仍一動不動地坐著。

“他們是誰？”我詢問和我一起上西班牙語課，名字我忘了的女孩。

當她抬頭看向我所指的人時——也許從我的聲音里就已經(jīng)聽出來了——忽然，他看著她，那個最瘦的，最孩子氣的，也許是最年輕的男孩。他只盯著我的鄰座看了幾分之一秒，然后，他深邃的雙眼對上了我的眼睛。

他很快收回了目光，比我還快，盡管我立刻就紅著臉尷尬得垂下了眼。在那驚鴻一瞥中，他臉上沒有任何感興趣的神情。也許只是因為她說了他的名字，他本能的看了過來，但決定了不作回應。

我的鄰座局促不安地傻笑著，跟我一樣盯著桌子看。

“那是愛德華和艾密特?卡倫兄弟，還有羅莎莉和賈斯帕?黑爾姐弟。走了的那個是愛麗絲?卡倫，他們都和卡倫博士夫婦住在一起�！彼�低聲說道。

我從一旁瞥了一眼那個俊美的男孩，他現(xiàn)在盯著自己的盤子看，用纖長蒼白的手指拿起一個面包圈撕成一片片。他的嘴動得很快，他漂亮的嘴唇只是微微張開。其余三個依然看著別處，但我可以感覺到他是在小聲跟他們說話。

奇怪的，復古的名字，我這樣想著。這樣的名字是祖父母輩才用的名字。但也許在這里很時髦？——小鎮(zhèn)里的名字？我最終想起來坐我旁邊的女孩叫杰西卡，一個相當普通的名字。在我家那邊我的歷史課上就有兩個叫杰西卡的女生。

“他們……很好看�！蔽遗�力但又太過明顯地掩飾著。

“沒錯！”杰西卡表示贊成，又是一陣傻笑�！暗�他們都成雙成對——我是指，艾密特和羅莎莉，賈斯帕和愛麗絲。而且他們都住在一起。

廈門譯語翻譯譯文如下：

My mother drove me to the airport with the windows rolled down. It wasseventy-five degrees in Phoenix, the sky a perfect, cloudless blue. I waswearing my favorite shirt — sleeveless, white eyelet lace; I was wearingit as a farewell gesture. My carry-on item was a parka.

In the Olympic Peninsula of northwest Washington State, a small townnamed Forks exists under a near-constant cover of clouds. It rains onthis inconsequential town more than any other place in the United Statesof America. It was from this town and its gloomy, omnipresent shade thatmy mother escaped with me when I was only a few months old. It was inthis town that I'd been compelled to spend a month every summer until Iwas fourteen. That was the year I finally put my foot down; these pastthree summers, my dad, Charlie, vacationed with me in California for twoweeks instead.

It was to Forks that I now exiled myself— an action that I took withgreat horror. I detested Forks.

I loved Phoenix. I loved the sun and the blistering heat. I loved thevigorous, sprawling city.

"Bella," my mom said to me — the last of a thousand times — before I goton the plane. "You don't have to do this."My mom looks like me, except with short hair and laugh lines. I felt aspasm of panic as I stared at her wide, childlike eyes. How could I leavemy loving, erratic, harebrained mother to fend for herself? Of course shehad Phil now, so the bills would probably get paid, there would be foodin the refrigerator, gas in her car, and someone to call when she gotlost, but still…"I want to go," I lied. I'd always been a bad liar, but I'd been sayingthis lie so frequently lately that it sounded almost convincing now.

"Tell Charlie I said hi.""I will.""I'll see you soon," she insisted. "You can come home whenever you want —I'll come right back as soon as you need me."But I could see the sacrifice in her eyes behind the promise.

"Don't worry about me," I urged. "It'll be great. I love you, Mom."She hugged me tightly for a minute, and then I got on the plane, and shewas gone.

It's a four-hour flight from Phoenix to Seattle, another hour in a smallplane up to Port Angeles, and then an hour drive back down to Forks.

Flying doesn't bother me; the hour in the car with Charlie, though, I wasa little worried about.

Charlie had really been fairly nice about the whole thing. He seemedgenuinely pleased that I was coming to live with him for the first timewith any degree of permanence. He'd already gotten me registered for highschool and was going to help me get a car.

But it was sure to be awkward with Charlie. Neither of us was what anyonewould call verbose, and I didn't know what there was to say regardless. Iknew he was more than a little confused by my decision — like my motherbefore me, I hadn't made a secret of my distaste for Forks.

When I landed in Port Angeles, it was raining. I didn't see it as an omen— just unavoidable. I'd already said my goodbyes to the sun.

Charlie was waiting for me with the cruiser. This I was expecting, too.

Charlie is Police Chief Swan to the good people of Forks. My primarymotivation behind buying a car, despite the scarcity of my funds, wasthat I refused to be driven around town in a car with red and blue lightson top. Nothing slows down traffic like a cop.

Charlie gave me an awkward, one-armed hug when I stumbled my way off theplane.

"It's good to see you, Bells," he said, smiling as he automaticallycaught and steadied me. "You haven't changed much. How's Renée?""Mom's fine. It's good to see you, too, Dad." I wasn't allowed to callhim Charlie to his face.

I had only a few bags. Most of my Arizona clothes were too permeable forWashington. My mom and I had pooled our resources to supplement my winterwardrobe, but it was still scanty. It all fit easily into the trunk ofthe cruiser.

"I found a good car for you, really cheap," he announced when we werestrapped in.

"What kind of car?" I was suspicious of the way he said "good car foryou" as opposed to just "good car.""Well, it's a truck actually, a Chevy.""Where did you find it?""Do you remember Billy Black down at La Push?" La Push is the tiny Indianreservation on the coast.

"No.""He used to go fishing with us during the summer," Charlie prompted.

That would explain why I didn't remember him. I do a good job of blockingpainful, unnecessary things from my memory.

"He's in a wheelchair now," Charlie continued when I didn't respond, "sohe can't drive anymore, and he offered to sell me his truck cheap.""What year is it?" I could see from his change of expression that thiswas the question he was hoping I wouldn't ask.

"Well, Billy's done a lot of work on the engine — it's only a few yearsold, really."I hoped he didn't think so little of me as to believe I would give upthat easily. "When did he buy it?""He bought it in 1984, I think.""Did he buy it new?""Well, no. I think it was new in the early sixties — or late fifties atthe earliest," he admitted sheepishly.

"Ch — Dad, I don't really know anything about cars. I wouldn't be able tofix it if anything went wrong, and I couldn't afford a mechanic…""Really, Bella, the thing runs great. They don't build them like thatanymore."The thing, I thought to myself… it had possibilities — as a nickname, atthe very least.

"How cheap is cheap?" After all, that was the part I couldn't compromiseon.

"Well, honey, I kind of already bought it for you. As a homecoming gift."Charlie peeked sideways at me with a hopeful expression.

Wow. Free.

"You didn't need to do that, Dad. I was going to buy myself a car.""I don't mind. I want you to be happy here." He was looking ahead at theroad when he said this. Charlie wasn't comfortable with expressing hisemotions out loud. I inherited that from him. So I was looking straightahead as I responded.

"That's really nice, Dad. Thanks. I really appreciate it." No need to addthat my being happy in Forks is an impossibility. He didn't need tosuffer along with me. And I never looked a free truck in the mouth — orengine.

"Well, now, you're welcome," he mumbled, embarrassed by my thanks.

We exchanged a few more comments on the weather, which was wet, and thatwas pretty much it for Conversation. We stared out the windows in silence.

It was beautiful, of course; I couldn't deny that. Everything was green:

the trees, their trunks covered with moss, their branches hanging with acanopy of it, the ground covered with ferns. Even the air filtered downgreenly through the leaves.

It was too green — an alien planet.

Eventually we made it to Charlie's. He still lived in the small,two-bedroom house that he'd bought with my mother in the early days oftheir marriage. Those were the only kind of days their marriage had — theearly ones. There, parked on the street in front of the house that neverchanged, was my new — well, new to me — truck. It was a faded red color,with big, rounded fenders and a bulbous cab. To my intense surprise, Iloved it. I didn't know if it would run, but I could see myself in it.

Plus, it was one of those solid iron affairs that never gets damaged —the kind you see at the scene of an accident, paint unscratched,surrounded by the pieces of the foreign car it had destroyed.

"Wow, Dad, I love it! Thanks!" Now my horrific day tomorrow would be justthat much less dreadful. I wouldn't be faced with the choice of eitherwalking two miles in the rain to school or accepting a ride in theChief's cruiser.

"I'm glad you like it," Charlie said gruffly, embarrassed again.

It took only one trip to get all my stuff upstairs. I got the westbedroom that faced out over the front yard. The room was familiar; it hadbeen belonged to me since I was born. The wooden floor, the light bluewalls, the peaked ceiling, the yellowed lace curtains around the window —these were all a part of my childhood. The only changes Charlie had evermade were switching the crib for a bed and adding a desk as I grew. Thedesk now held a secondhand computer, with the phone line for the modemstapled along the floor to the nearest phone jack. This was a stipulationfrom my mother, so that we could stay in touch easily. The rocking chairfrom my baby days was still in the corner.

There was only one small bathroom at the top of the stairs, which I wouldhave to share with Charlie. I was trying not to dwell too much on thatfact.

One of the best things about Charlie is he doesn't hover. He left mealone to unpack and get settled, a feat that would have been altogetherimpossible for my mother. It was nice to be alone, not to have to smileand look pleased; a relief to stare dejectedly out the window at thesheeting rain and let just a few tears escape. I wasn't in the mood to goon a real crying jag. I would save that for bedtime, when I would have tothink about the coming morning.

Forks High School had a frightening total of only three hundred andfifty-seven — now fifty-eight — students; there were more than sevenhundred people in my junior class alone back home. All of the kids herehad grown up together — their grandparents had been toddlers together.

I would be the new girl from the big city, a curiosity, a freak.

Maybe, if I looked like a girl from Phoenix should, I could work this to my advantage. But physically, I'd never fit in anywhere. I should be tan,sporty, blond — a volleyball player, or a cheerleader, perhaps — all thethings that go with living in the valley of the sun.

Instead, I was ivory-skinned, without even the excuse of blue eyes or redhair, despite the constant sunshine. I had always been slender, but softsomehow, obviously not an athlete; I didn't have the necessary hand-eyecoordination to play sports without humiliating myself — and harming bothmyself and anyone else who stood too close.

When I finished putting my clothes in the old pine dresser, I took my bagof bathroom necessities and went to the communal bathroom to clean myselfup after the day of travel. I looked at my face in the mirror as Ibrushed through my tangled, damp hair. Maybe it was the light, butalready I looked sallower, unhealthy. My skin could be pretty — it wasvery clear, almost translucent-looking — but it all depended on color. Ihad no color here.

Facing my pallid reflection in the mirror, I was forced to admit that Iwas lying to myself. It wasn't just physically that I'd never fit in. Andif I couldn't find a niche in a school with three thousand people, whatwere my chances here?

I didn't relate well to people my age. Maybe the truth was that I didn'trelate well to people, period. Even my mother, who I was closer to thananyone else on the planet, was never in harmony with me, never on exactlythe same page. Sometimes I wondered if I was seeing the same thingsthrough my eyes that the rest of the world was seeing through theirs.

Maybe there was a glitch in my brain. But the cause didn't matter. Allthat mattered was the effect. And tomorrow would be just the beginning.

I didn't sleep well that night, even after I was done crying. Theconstant whooshing of the rain and wind across the roof wouldn't fadeinto the background. I pulled the faded old quilt over my head, and lateradded the pillow, too. But I couldn't fall asleep until after midnight,when the rain finally settled into a quieter drizzle.

Thick fog was all I could see out my window in the morning, and I couldfeel the claustrophobia creeping up on me. You could never see the skyhere; it was like a cage.

Breakfast with Charlie was a quiet event. He wished me good luck atschool. I thanked him, knowing his hope was wasted. Good luck tended toavoid me. Charlie left first, off to the police station that was his wifeand family. After he left, I sat at the old square oak table in one ofthe three unmatching chairs and examined his small kitchen, with its darkpaneled walls, bright yellow cabinets, and white linoleum floor. Nothingwas changed. My mother had painted the cabinets eighteen years ago in anattempt to bring some sunshine into the house. Over the small fireplacein the adjoining handkerchief-sized family room was a row of pictures.

First a wedding picture of Charlie and my mom in Las Vegas, then one ofthe three of us in the hospital after I was born, taken by a helpfulnurse, followed by the procession of my school pictures up to lastyear's. Those were embarrassing to look at — I would have to see what Icould do to get Charlie to put them somewhere else, at least while I wasliving here.

It was impossible, being in this house, not to realize that Charlie hadnever gotten over my mom. It made me uncomfortable.

I didn't want to be too early to school, but I couldn't stay in the houseanymore. I donned my jacket — which had the feel of a biohazard suit —and headed out into the rain.

It was just drizzling still, not enough to soak me through immediately asI reached for the house key that was always hidden under the eaves by thedoor, and locked up. The sloshing of my new waterproof boots wasunnerving. I missed the normal crunch of gravel as I walked. I couldn'tpause and admire my truck again as I wanted; I was in a hurry to get outof the misty wet that swirled around my head and clung to my hair undermy hood.

Inside the truck, it was nice and dry. Either Billy or Charlie hadobviously cleaned it up, but the tan upholstered seats still smelledfaintly of tobacco, gasoline, and peppermint. The engine started quickly,to my relief, but loudly, roaring to life and then idling at top volume.

Well, a truck this old was bound to have a flaw. The antique radioworked, a plus that I hadn't expected.

Finding the school wasn't difficult, though I'd never been there before.

The school was, like most other things, just off the highway. It was notobvious that it was a school; only the sign, which declared it to be theForks High School, made me stop. It looked like a collection of matchinghouses, built with maroon-colored bricks. There were so many trees andshrubs I couldn't see its size at first. Where was the feel of theinstitution? I wondered nostalgically. Where were the chain-link fences,the metal detectors?

I parked in front of the first building, which had a small sign over thedoor reading front office. No one else was parked there, so I was sure itwas off limits, but I decided I would get directions inside instead ofcircling around in the rain like an idiot. I stepped unwillingly out ofthe toasty truck cab and walked down a little stone path lined with darkhedges. I took a deep breath before opening the door.

Inside, it was brightly lit, and warmer than I'd hoped. The office wassmall; a little waiting area with padded folding chairs, orange-fleckedcommercial carpet, notices and awards cluttering the walls, a big clockticking loudly. Plants grew everywhere in large plastic pots, as if therewasn't enough greenery outside. The room was cut in half by a longcounter, cluttered with wire baskets full of papers and brightly coloredflyers taped to its front. There were three desks behind the counter, oneof which was manned by a large, red-haired woman wearing glasses. She waswearing a purple t-shirt, which immediately made me feel overdressed.

The red-haired woman looked up. "Can I help you?""I'm Isabella Swan," I informed her, and saw the immediate awarenesslight her eyes. I was expected, a topic of gossip no doubt. Daughter ofthe Chief's flighty ex-wife, come home at last.

"Of course," she said. She dug through a precariously stacked pile ofdocuments on her desk till she found the ones she was looking for. "Ihave your schedule right here, and a map of the school." She broughtseveral sheets to the counter to show roe.

She went through my classes for me, highlighting the best route to eachon the map, and gave me a slip to have each teacher sign, which I was tobring back at the end of the day. She smiled at me and hoped, likeCharlie, that I would like it here in Forks. I smiled back asconvincingly as I could.

When I went back out to my truck, other students were starting to arrive.

I drove around the school, following the line of traffic. I was glad tosee that most of the cars were older like mine, nothing flashy. At homeI'd lived in one of the few lower-income neighborhoods that were includedin the Paradise Valley District. It was a common thing to see a newMercedes or Porsche in the student lot. The nicest car here was a shinyVolvo, and it stood out. Still, I cut the engine as soon as I was in aspot, so that the thunderous volume wouldn't draw attention to me.

I looked at the map in the truck, trying to memorize it now; hopefully Iwouldn't have to walk around with it stuck in front of my nose all day. Istuffed everything in my bag, slung the strap over my shoulder, andsucked in a huge breath. I can do this, I lied to myself feebly. No onewas going to bite me. I finally exhaled and stepped out of the truck.

I kept my face pulled back into my hood as I walked to the sidewalk,crowded with teenagers. My plain black jacket didn't stand out, I noticedwith relief.

Once I got around the cafeteria, building three was easy to spot. A largeblack "3" was painted on a white square on the east corner. I felt mybreathing gradually creeping toward hyperventilation as I approached thedoor. I tried holding my breath as I followed two unisex raincoatsthrough the door.

The classroom was small. The people in front of me stopped just insidethe door to hang up their coats on a long row of hooks. I copied them.

They were two girls, one a porcelain-colored blonde, the other also pale,with light brown hair. At least my skin wouldn't be a standout here.

I took the slip up to the teacher, a tall, balding man whose desk had anameplate identifying him as Mr. Mason. He gawked at me when he saw myname — not an encouraging response — and of course I flushed tomato red.

But at least he sent me to an empty desk at the back without introducingme to the class. It was harder for my new classmates to stare at me inthe back, but somehow, they managed. I kept my eyes down on the readinglist the teacher had given me. It was fairly basic: Bronte, Shakespeare,Chaucer, Faulkner. I'd already read everything. That was comforting… andboring. I wondered if my mom would send me my folder of old essays, or ifshe would think that was cheating. I went through different argumentswith her in my head while the teacher droned on.

When the bell rang, a nasal buzzing sound, a gangly boy with skinproblems and hair black as an oil slick leaned across the aisle to talkto me.

"You're Isabella Swan, aren't you?" He looked like the overly helpful,chess club type.

"Bella," I corrected. Everyone within a three-seat radius turned to lookat me.

"Where's your next class?" he asked.

I had to check in my bag. "Um, Government, with Jefferson, in buildingsix."There was nowhere to look without meeting curious eyes.

"I'm headed toward building four, I could show you the way…" Definitelyover-helpful. "I'm Eric," he added.

I smiled tentatively. "Thanks."We got our jackets and headed out into the rain, which had picked up. Icould have sworn several people behind us were walking close enough toeavesdrop. I hoped I wasn't getting paranoid.

"So, this is a lot different than Phoenix, huh?" he asked.

"Very.""It doesn't rain much there, does it?""Three or four times a year.""Wow, what must that be like?" he wondered.

"Sunny," I told him.

"You don't look very tan.""My mother is part albino."He studied my face apprehensively, and I sighed. It looked like cloudsand a sense of humor didn't mix. A few months of this and I'd forget howto use sarcasm.

We walked back around the cafeteria, to the south buildings by the gym.

Eric walked me right to the door, though it was clearly marked.

"Well, good luck," he said as I touched the handle. "Maybe we'll have some other classes together." He sounded hopeful.

I smiled at him vaguely and went inside.

The rest of the morning passed in about the same fashion. My Trigonometryteacher, Mr. Varner, who I would have hated anyway just because of thesubject he taught, was the only one who made me stand in front of theclass and introduce myself. I stammered, blushed, and tripped over my ownboots on the way to my seat.

After two classes, I started to recognize several of the faces in eachclass. There was always someone braver than the others who wouldintroduce themselves and ask me questions about how I was liking Forks. Itried to be diplomatic, but mostly I just lied a lot. At least I neverneeded the map.

One girl sat next to me in both Trig and Spanish, and she walked with meto the cafeteria for lunch. She was tiny, several inches shorter than myfive feet four inches, but her wildly curly dark hair made up a lot ofthe difference between our heights. I couldn't remember her name, so Ismiled and nodded as she prattled about teachers and classes. I didn'ttry to keep up.

We sat at the end of a full table with several of her friends, who sheintroduced to me. I forgot all their names as soon as she spoke them.

They seemed impressed by her bravery in speaking to me. The boy fromEnglish, Eric, waved at me from across the room.

It was there, sitting in the lunchroom, trying to make conversation withseven curious strangers, that I first saw them.

They were sitting in the corner of the cafeteria, as far away from whereI sat as possible in the long room. There were five of them. They weren'ttalking, and they weren't eating, though they each had a tray ofuntouched food in front of them. They weren't gawking at me, unlike mostof the other students, so it was safe to stare at them without fear ofmeeting an excessively interested pair of eyes. But it was none of thesethings that caught, and held, my attention.

They didn't look anything alike. Of the three boys, one was big — muscledlike a serious weight lifter, with dark, curly hair. Another was taller,leaner, but still muscular, and honey blond. The last was lanky, lessbulky, with untidy, bronze-colored hair. He was more boyish than theothers, who looked like they could be in college, or even teachers hererather than students.

The girls were opposites. The tall one was statuesque. She had abeautiful figure, the kind you saw on the cover of the Sports Illustratedswimsuit issue, the kind that made every girl around her take a hit onher self-esteem just by being in the same room. Her hair was golden,gently waving to the middle of her back. The short girl was pixielike,thin in the extreme, with small features. Her hair was a deep black,cropped short and pointing in every direction.

And yet, they were all exactly alike. Every one of them was chalky pale,the palest of all the students living in this sunless town. Paler thanme, the albino. They all had very dark eyes despite the range in hairtones. They also had dark shadows under those eyes — purplish, bruiselikeshadows. As if they were all suffering from a sleepless night, or almostdone recovering from a broken nose. Though their noses, all theirfeatures, were straight, perfect, angular.

But all this is not why I couldn't look away.

I stared because their faces, so different, so similar, were alldevastatingly, inhumanly beautiful. They were faces you never expected tosee except perhaps on the airbrushed pages of a fashion magazine. Orpainted by an old master as the face of an angel. It was hard to decidewho was the most beautiful — maybe the perfect blond girl, or thebronze-haired boy.

They were all looking away — away from each other, away from the other students, away from anything in particular as far as I could tell. As Iwatched, the small girl rose with her tray — unopened soda, unbittenapple — and walked away with a quick, graceful lope that belonged on arunway. I watched, amazed at her lithe dancer's step, till she dumped hertray and glided through the back door, faster than I would have thoughtpossible. My eyes darted back to the others, who sat unchanging.

"Who are they?" I asked the girl from my Spanish class, whose name I'dforgotten.

As she looked up to see who I meant — though already knowing, probably,from my tone — suddenly he looked at her, the thinner one, the boyishone, the youngest, perhaps. He looked at my neighbor for just a fractionof a second, and then his dark eyes flickered to mine.

He looked away quickly, more quickly than I could, though in a flush ofembarrassment I dropped my eyes at once. In that brief flash of a glance,his face held nothing of interest — it was as if she had called his name,and he'd looked up in involuntary response, already having decided not toanswer.

My neighbor giggled in embarrassment, looking at the table like I did.

"That's Edward and Emmett Cullen, and Rosalie and Jasper Hale. The onewho left was Alice Cullen; they all live together with Dr. Cullen and hiswife." She said this under her breath.

I glanced sideways at the beautiful boy, who was looking at his tray now,picking a bagel to pieces with long, pale fingers. His mouth was movingvery quickly, his perfect lips barely opening. The other three stilllooked away, and yet I felt he was speaking quietly to them.

Strange, unpopular names, I thought. The kinds of names grandparents had.

But maybe that was in vogue here — small town names? I finally rememberedthat my neighbor was called Jessica, a perfectly common name. There weretwo girls named Jessica in my History class back home.

"They are… very nice-looking." I struggled with the conspicuousunderstatement.

"Yes!" Jessica agreed with another giggle. "They're all together though —Emmett and Rosalie, and Jasper and Alice, I mean. And they livetogether." Her voice held all the shock and condemnation of the smalltown, I thought critically. But, if I was being honest, I had to admitthat even in Phoenix, it would cause gossip.

"Which ones are the Cullens?" I asked. "They don't look related…""Oh, they're not. Dr. Cullen is really young, in his twenties or earlythirties. They're all adopted. The Hales are brother and sister, twins —the blondes — and they're foster children.""They look a little old for foster children.""They are now, Jasper and Rosalie are both eighteen, but they've beenwith Mrs. Cullen since they were eight. She's their aunt or somethinglike that.""That's really kind of nice — for them to take care of all those kidslike that, when they're so young and everything.""I guess so," Jessica admitted reluctantly, and I got the impression thatshe didn't like the doctor and his wife for some reason. With the glancesshe was throwing at their adopted children, I would presume the reasonwas jealousy. "I think that Mrs. Cullen can't have any kids, though," sheadded, as if that lessened their kindness.

Throughout all this conversation, my eyes flickered again and again tothe table where the strange family sat. They continued to look at thewalls and not eat.

"Have they always lived in Forks?" I asked. Surely I would have noticed them on one of my summers here.

"No," she said in a voice that implied it should be obvious, even to anew arrival like me. "They just moved down two years ago from somewherein Alaska."I felt a surge of pity, and relief. Pity because, as beautiful as theywere, they were outsiders, clearly not accepted. Relief that I wasn't theonly newcomer here, and certainly not the most interesting by anystandard.

As I examined them, the youngest, one of the Cullens, looked up and metmy gaze, this time with evident curiosity in his expression. As I lookedswiftly away, it seemed to me that his glance held some kind of unmetexpectation.

"Which one is the boy with the reddish brown hair?" I asked. I peeked athim from the corner of my eye, and he was still staring at me, but notgawking like the other students had today — he had a slightly frustratedexpression. I looked down again.

"That's Edward. He's gorgeous, of course, but don't waste your time. Hedoesn't date. Apparently none of the girls here are good-looking enoughfor him." She sniffed, a clear case of sour grapes. I wondered when he'dturned her down.

I bit my lip to hide my smile. Then I glanced at him again. His face wasturned away, but I thought his cheek appeared lifted, as if he weresmiling, too.

After a few more minutes, the four of them left the table together. Theyall were noticeably graceful — even the big, brawny one. It wasunsettling to watch. The one named Edward didn't look at me again.

I sat at the table with Jessica and her friends longer than I would haveif I'd been sitting alone. I was anxious not to be late for class on myfirst day. One of my new acquaintances, who considerately reminded methat her name was Angela, had Biology II with me the next hour. We walkedto class together in silence. She was shy, too.

When we entered the classroom, Angela went to sit at a black-topped labtable exactly like the ones I was used to. She already had a neighbor. Infact, all the tables were filled but one. Next to the center aisle, Irecognized Edward Cullen by his unusual hair, sitting next to that singleopen seat.

As I walked down the aisle to introduce myself to the teacher and get myslip signed, I was watching him surreptitiously. Just as I passed, hesuddenly went rigid in his seat. He stared at me again, meeting my eyeswith the strangest expression on his face — it was hostile, furious. Ilooked away quickly, shocked, going red again. I stumbled over a book inthe walkway and had to catch myself on the edge of a table. The girlsitting there giggled.

I'd noticed that his eyes were black — coal black.

Mr. Banner signed my slip and handed me a book with no nonsense aboutintroductions. I could tell we were going to get along. Of course, he hadno choice but to send me to the one open seat in the middle of the room.

I kept my eyes down as I went to sit by him, bewildered by theantagonistic stare he'd given me.

I didn't look up as I set my book on the table and took my seat, but Isaw his posture change from the corner of my eye. He was leaning awayfrom me, sitting on the extreme edge of his chair and averting his facelike he smelled something bad. Inconspicuously, I sniffed my hair. Itsmelled like strawberries, the scent of my favorite shampoo. It seemed aninnocent enough odor. I let my hair fall over my right shoulder, making adark curtain between us, and tried to pay attention to the teacher.

Unfortunately the lecture was on cellular anatomy, something I'd alreadystudied. I took notes carefully anyway, always looking down.

I couldn't stop myself from peeking occasionally through the screen of myhair at the strange boy next to me. During the whole class, he neverrelaxed his stiff position on the edge of his chair, sitting as far fromme as possible. I could see his hand on his left leg was clenched into afist, tendons standing out under his pale skin. This, too, he neverrelaxed. He had the long sleeves of his white shirt pushed up to hiselbows, and his forearm was surprisingly hard and muscular beneath hislight skin. He wasn't nearly as slight as he'd looked next to his burlybrother.

The class seemed to drag on longer than the others. Was it because theday was finally coming to a close, or because I was waiting for his tightfist to loosen? It never did; he continued to sit so still it looked likehe wasn't breathing. What was wrong with him? Was this his normalbehavior? I questioned my judgment on Jessica's bitterness at lunchtoday. Maybe she was not as resentful as I'd thought.

It couldn't have anything to do with me. He didn't know me from Eve.

I peeked up at him one more time, and regretted it. He was glaring downat me again, his black eyes full of revulsion. As I flinched away fromhim, shrinking against my chair, the phrase if looks could kill suddenlyran through my mind.

At that moment, the bell rang loudly, making me jump, and Edward Cullenwas out of his seat. Fluidly he rose — he was much taller than I'dthought — his back to me, and he was out the door before anyone else wasout of their seat.

I sat frozen in my seat, staring blankly after him. He was so mean. Itwasn't fair. I began gathering up my things slowly, trying to block theanger that filled me, for fear my eyes would tear up. For some reason, mytemper was hardwired to my tear ducts. I usually cried when I was angry,a humiliating tendency.

"Aren't you Isabella Swan?" a male voice asked.

I looked up to see a cute, baby-faced boy, his pale blond hair carefullygelled into orderly spikes, smiling at me in a friendly way. He obviouslydidn't think I smelled bad.

"Bella," I corrected him, with a smile.

"I'm Mike.""Hi, Mike.""Do you need any help finding your next class?""I'm headed to the gym, actually. I think I can find it.""That's my next class, too." He seemed thrilled, though it wasn't thatbig of a coincidence in a school this small.

We walked to class together; he was a chatterer — he supplied most of theconversation, which made it easy for me. He'd lived in California till hewas ten, so he knew how I felt about the sun. It turned out he was in myEnglish class also. He was the nicest person I'd met today.

But as we were entering the gym, he asked, "So, did you stab EdwardCullen with a pencil or what? I've never seen him act like that."I cringed. So I wasn't the only one who had noticed. And, apparently,that wasn't Edward Cullen's usual behavior. I decided to play dumb.

"Was that the boy I sat next to in Biology?" I asked artlessly.

"Yes," he said. "He looked like he was in pain or something.""I don't know," I responded. "I never spoke to him.""He's a weird guy." Mike lingered by me instead of heading to thedressing room. "If I were lucky enough to sit by you, I would have talkedto you."I smiled at him before walking through the girls' locker room door. Hewas friendly and clearly admiring. But it wasn't enough to ease myirritation.

The Gym teacher, Coach Clapp, found me a uniform but didn't make me dressdown for today's class. At home, only two years of RE. were required.

Here, P.E. was mandatory all four years. Forks was literally my personalhell on Earth.

I watched four volleyball games running simultaneously. Remembering howmany injuries I had sustained — and inflicted — playing volleyball, Ifelt faintly nauseated.

The final bell rang at last. I walked slowly to the office to return mypaperwork. The rain had drifted away, but the wind was strong, andcolder. I wrapped my arms around myself.

When I walked into the warm office, I almost turned around and walkedback out.

Edward Cullen stood at the desk in front of me. I recognized again thattousled bronze hair. He didn't appear to notice the sound of my entrance.

I stood pressed against the back wall, waiting for the receptionist to befree.

He was arguing with her in a low, attractive voice. I quickly picked upthe gist of the argument. He was trying to trade from sixth-hour Biologyto another time — any other time.

I just couldn't believe that this was about me. It had to be somethingelse, something that happened before I entered the Biology room. The lookon his face must have been about another aggravation entirely. It wasimpossible that this stranger could take such a sudden, intense disliketo me.

The door opened again, and the cold wind suddenly gusted through theroom, rustling the papers on the desk, swirling my hair around my face.

The girl who came in merely stepped to the desk, placed a note in thewire basket, and walked out again. But Edward Cullen's back stiffened,and he turned slowly to glare at me — his face was absurdly handsome —with piercing, hate-filled eyes. For an instant, I felt a thrill ofgenuine fear, raising the hair on my arms. The look only lasted a second,but it chilled me more than the freezing wind. He turned back to thereceptionist.

"Never mind, then," he said hastily in a voice like velvet. "I can seethat it's impossible. Thank you so much for your help." And he turned onhis heel without another look at me, and disappeared out the door.

I went meekly to the desk, my face white for once instead of red, andhanded her the signed slip.

"How did your first day go, dear?" the receptionist asked maternally.

"Fine," I lied, my voice weak. She didn't look convinced.

When I got to the truck, it was almost the last car in the lot. It seemedlike a haven, already the closest thing to home I had in this damp greenhole. I sat inside for a while, just staring out the windshield blankly.

But soon I was cold enough to need the heater, so I turned the key andthe engine roared to life. I headed back to Charlie's house, fightingtears the whole way there.