Preface
I'd never given much thought to how I would die — though I'd had reasonenough in the last few months — but even if I had, I would not haveimagined it like this.
I stared without breathing across the long room, into the dark eyes ofthe hunter, and he looked pleasantly back at me.
Surely it was a good way to die, in the place of someone else, someone Iloved. Noble, even. That ought to count for something.
I knew that if I'd never gone to Forks, I wouldn't be facing death now.
But, terrified as I was, I couldn't bring myself to regret the decision.
When life offers you a dream so far beyond any of your expectations, it'snot reasonable to grieve when it comes to an end.
The hunter smiled in a friendly way as he sauntered forward to kill me.

我从未仔细思考过，我将如何死去——尽管在最近的几个月里我有足够的理由去考虑这个问题——但即使我想过，我也想象不到它将会像这样发生。
我屏住呼吸，盯着长长的房间对面，捕猎者黑色的双眼。他愉快地回视我。
显然，这是一种令人愉快的死亡方式：在别人的地方，我所爱的人的地方死去。甚至是，高尚的。这应该是值得的。
我知道如果我不回福克斯，我现在就不会面临着死亡。但是，尽管我十分恐惧，我依然无法让自己后悔这个决定。如果命运赐予你的美梦，远远超出了你所期待的那样美好，那么当它结束时你没有任何理由感到悲伤。
捕猎者温柔地微笑着，漫步过来给我最后的死亡。

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 under
my 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 large
black "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, les**ulky, 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.

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.

Chapter 2 Open Book
The next day was better… and worse.
It was better because it wasn't raining yet, though the clouds were denseand opaque. It was easier because I knew what to expect of my day. Mikecame to sit by me in English, and walked me to my next class, with ChessClub Eric glaring at him all the while; that was nattering. People didn'tlook at me quite as much as they had yesterday. I sat with a big group atlunch that included Mike, Eric, Jessica, and several other people whosenames and faces I now remembered. I began to feel like I was treadingwater, instead of drowning in it.
It was worse because I was tired; I still couldn't sleep with the windechoing around the house. It was worse because Mr. Varner called on me inTrig when my hand wasn't raised and I had the wrong answer. It wasmiserable because I had to play volleyball, and the one time I didn'tcringe 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 mewanted to confront him and demand to know what his problem was. While Iwas lying sleepless in my bed, I even imagined what I would say. But Iknew myself too well to think I would really have the guts to do it. Imade the Cowardly Lion look like the terminator.
But when I walked into the cafeteria with Jessica — trying to keep myeyes from sweeping the place for him, and failing entirely — I saw thathis four siblings of sorts were sitting together at the same table, andhe was not with them.
Mike intercepted us and steered us to his table. Jessica seemed elated bythe attention, and her friends quickly joined us. But as I tried tolisten to their easy chatter, I was terribly uncomfortable, waitingnervously for the moment he would arrive. I hoped that he would simplyignore 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, hestill hadn't showed. Mike, who was taking on the qualities of a goldenretriever, walked faithfully by my side to class. I held my breath at thedoor, but Edward Cullen wasn't there, either. I exhaled and went to myseat. Mike followed, talking about an upcoming trip to the beach. Helingered by my desk till the bell rang. Then he smiled at me wistfullyand went to sit by a girl with braces and a bad perm. It looked like Iwas going to have to do something about Mike, and it wouldn't be easy. Ina town like this, where everyone lived on top of everyone else, diplomacywas essential. I had never been enormously tactful; I had no practicedealing with overly friendly boys.
I was relieved that I had the desk to myself, that Edward was absent. Itold myself that repeatedly. But I couldn't get rid of the naggingsuspicion that I was the reason he wasn't there. It was ridiculous, andegotistical, to think that I could affect anyone that strongly. It wasimpossible. 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 mycheeks from the volleyball incident, I changed quickly back into my jeansand navy blue sweater. I hurried from the girls' locker room, pleased tofind that I had successfully evaded my retriever friend for the moment. Iwalked swiftly out to the parking lot. It was crowded now with fleeingstudents. I got in my truck and dug through my bag to make sure I hadwhat I needed.
Last night I'd discovered that Charlie couldn't cook much besides friedeggs and bacon. So I requested that I be assigned kitchen detail for theduration of my stay. He was willing enough to hand over the keys to thebanquet hall. I also found out that he had no food in the house. So I hadmy 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 inmy direction, and backed carefully into a place in the line of cars thatwere waiting to exit the parking lot. As I waited, trying to pretend thatthe earsplitting rumble was coming from someone else's car, I saw the twoCullens and the Hale twins getting into their car. It was the shiny newVolvo. Of course. I hadn't noticed their clothes before — I'd been toomesmerized by their faces. Now that I looked, it was obvious that theywere all dressed exceptionally well; simply, but in clothes that subtlyhinted at designer origins. With their remarkable good looks, the stylewith which they carried themselves, they could have worn dishrags andpulled 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. Itdidn't look as if it bought them any acceptance here.
No, I didn't fully believe that. The isolation must be their desire; Icouldn't imagine any door that wouldn't be opened by that degree ofbeauty.
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 freeof the school grounds.
The Thriftway was not far from the school, just a few streets south, offthe highway. It was nice to be inside the supermarket; it felt normal. Idid the shopping at home, and I fell into the pattern of the familiartask gladly. The store was big enough inside that I couldn't hear thetapping of the rain on the roof to remind me where I was.
When I got home, I unloaded all the groceries, stuffing them in whereverI could find an open space. I hoped Charlie wouldn't mind. I wrappedpotatoes in foil and stuck them in the oven to bake, covered a steak inmarinade 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. Beforestarting my homework, I changed into a pair of dry sweats, pulled my damphair up into a pony-tail, and checked my e-mail for the first time. I hadthree messages.
"Bella," my mom wrote…Write me as soon as you get in. Tell me how your flight was. Is itraining? I miss you already. I'm almost finished packing for Florida, butI 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 somethingto write about. School isn't bad, just a little repetitive. I met somenice kids who sit by me at lunch.
Your blouse is at the dry cleaners - you were supposed to pick it upFriday.
Charlie bought me a truck, can you believe it? I love it. It's old, butreally sturdy, which is good, you know, for me.
I miss you, too. I'll write again soon, but I'm not going to check mye-mail every five minutes. Relax, breathe. I love you.
Bella.
I had decided to read Wuthering Heights — the novel we were currentlystudying in English — yet again for the fun of it, and that's what I wasdoing when Charlie came home. I'd lost track of the time, and I hurrieddownstairs 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 Ibustled about the kitchen. As far as I was aware, he'd never shot the gunon the job. But he kept it ready. When I came here as a child, he wouldalways remove the bullets as soon as he walked in the door. I guess heconsidered me old enough now not to shoot myself by accident, and notdepressed 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, thathe 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; helumbered into the living room to watch TV while I worked. We were bothmore comfortable that way. I made a salad while the steaks cooked, andset the table.
I called him in when dinner was ready, and he sniffed appreciatively ashe 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 forliving together.
"So, how did you like school? Have you made any friends?" he asked as hewas taking seconds.
"Well, I have a few classes with a girl named Jessica. I sit with herfriends 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 thesporting goods store just outside of town. He makes a good living off allthe 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 verywell at school."Charlie surprised me by looking angry.

"People in this town," he muttered. "Dr. Cullen is a brilliant surgeonwho could probably work in any hospital in the world, make ten times thesalary he gets here," he continued, getting louder. "We're lucky to havehim — lucky that his wife wanted to live in a small town. He's an assetto the community, and all of those kids are well behaved and polite. Ihad my doubts, when they first moved in, with all those adoptedteenagers. I thought we might have some problems with them. But they'reall 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 livedin this town for generations. And they stick together the way a familyshould — camping trips every other weekend… Just because they'renewcomers, people have to talk."It was the longest speech I'd ever heard Charlie make. He must feelstrongly about whatever people were saying.
I backpedaled. "They seemed nice enough to me. I just noticed they keptto themselves. They're all very attractive," I added, trying to be morecomplimentary.
"You should see the doctor," Charlie said, laughing. "It's a good thinghe's happily married. A lot of the nurses at the hospital have a hardtime concentrating on their work with him around."We lapsed back into silence as we finished eating. He cleared the tablewhile I started on the dishes. He went back to the TV, and after Ifinished washing the dishes by hand — no dishwasher — I went upstairsunwillingly to work on my math homework. I could feel a tradition in themaking.
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 myclasses. By Friday I was able to recognize, if not name, almost all thestudents at school. In Gym, the kids on my team learned not to pass methe ball and to step quickly in front of me if the other team tried totake 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 thecafeteria without him. Then I could relax and join in the lunchtimeconversation. Mostly it centered around a trip to the La Push Ocean Parkin two weeks that Mike was putting together. I was invited, and I hadagreed to go, more out of politeness than desire. Beaches should be hotand dry.

By Friday I was perfectly comfortable entering my Biology class, nolonger 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 totallysuppress the worry that I was responsible for his continued absence,ridiculous as it seemed.
My first weekend in Forks passed without incident. Charlie, unused tospending time in the usually empty house, worked most of the weekend. Icleaned the house, got ahead on my homework, and wrote my mom morebogusly cheerful e-mail. I did drive to the library Saturday, but it wasso poorly stocked that I didn't bother to get a card; I would have tomake a date to visit Olympia or Seattle soon and find a good bookstore. Iwondered idly what kind of gas mileage the truck got… and shuddered atthe 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 alltheir names, but I waved back and smiled at everyone. It was colder thismorning, but happily not raining. In English, Mike took his accustomedseat by my side. We had a pop quiz on Wuthering Heights. It wasstraightforward, very easy.
All in all, I was feeling a lot more comfortable than I had thought Iwould feel by this point. More comfortable than I had ever expected tofeel 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 mycheeks, my nose.
"Wow," Mike said. "It's snowing."I looked at the little cotton fluffs that were building up along thesidewalk 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 thoughtit was supposed to come down in flakes — you know, each one unique andall 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 intothe back of his head. We both turned to see where it came from. I had mysuspicions about Eric, who was walking away, his back toward us — in thewrong 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 peoplestart 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 mouthshut. Sure, it was drier than rain — until it melted in your socks.
I walked alertly to the cafeteria with Jessica after Spanish. Mush ballswere flying everywhere. I kept a binder in my hands, ready to use it as ashield if necessary. Jessica thought I was hilarious, but something in myexpression kept her from lobbing a snowball at me herself.
Mike caught up to us as we walked in the doors, laughing, with icemelting the spikes in his hair. He and Jessica were talking a***tedlyabout the snow fight as we got in line to buy food. I glanced toward thattable in the corner out of habit. And then I froze where I stood. Therewere five people at the table.