Mike interrupted us then — he was planning an epic battle of the blizzardin the parking lot after school and wanted us to join. Jessica agreedenthusiastically. The way she looked at Mike left little doubt that shewould be up for anything he suggested. I kept silent. I would have tohide in the gym until the parking lot cleared.
For the rest of the lunch hour I very carefully kept my eyes at my owntable. I decided to honor the bargain I'd made with myself. Since hedidn't look angry, I would go to Biology. My stomach did frightenedlittle 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 tobe a popular target for the snowball snipers — but when we went to thedoor, everyone besides me groaned in unison. It was raining, washing alltraces of the snow away in clear, icy ribbons down the side of thewalkway. I pulled my hood up, secretly pleased. I would be free to gostraight 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 stillempty. Mr. Banner was walking around the room, distributing onemicroscope and box of slides to each table. Class didn't start for a fewminutes, and the room buzzed with conversation. I kept my eyes away fromthe door, doodling idly on the cover of my notebook.
I heard very clearly when the chair next to me moved, but my eyes stayedcarefully 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 faraway from me as the desk allowed, but his chair was angled toward me. Hishair was dripping wet, disheveled — even so, he looked like he'd justfinished shooting a commercial for hair gel. His dazzling face wasfriendly, open, a slight smile on his flawless lips. But his eyes werecareful.
"My name is Edward Cullen," he continued. "I didn't have a chance tointroduce myself last week. You must be Bella Swan."My mind was spinning with confusion. Had I made up the whole thing? Hewas perfectly polite now. I had to speak; he was waiting. But I couldn'tthink 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 foryou 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 — mustcall me Isabella behind my back — that's what everyone here seems to knowme 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 toconcentrate as he explained the lab we would be doing today. The slidesin the box were out of order. Working as lab partners, we had to separatethe slides of onion root tip cells into the phases of mitosis theyrepresented and label them accordingly. We weren't supposed to use ourbooks. In twenty minutes, he would be coming around to see who had itright.
"Get started," he commanded.
"Ladies first, partner?" Edward asked. I looked up to see him smiling acrooked 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 obviouslywondering 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 knewwhat I was looking for. It should be easy. I snapped the first slide intoplace 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. Hishand 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'twhy I jerked my hand away so quickly. When he touched me, it stung myhand as if an electric current had passed through us.
"I'm sorry," he muttered, pulling his hand back immediately. However, hecontinued to reach for the microscope. I watched him, still staggered, ashe examined the slide for an even shorter time than I had.
"Prophase," he agreed, writing it neatly in the first space on ourworksheet. He swiftly switched out the first slide for the second, andthen 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 myskin again.
I took the most fleeting look I could manage.
"Interphase." I passed him the microscope before he could ask for it. Hetook a swift peek, and then wrote it down. I would have written it whilehe looked, but his clear, elegant script intimidated me. I didn't want tospoil the page with my clumsy scrawl.
We were finished before anyone else was close. I could see Mike and hispartner comparing two slides again and again, and another group had theirbook 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 sameinexplicable look of frustration in his eyes. Suddenly I identified thatsubtle 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 youreyes."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 — thecolor was striking against the background of his pale skin and his auburnhair. Today, his eyes were a completely different color: a strange ocher,darker than butterscotch, but with the same golden tone. I didn'tunderstand how that could be, unless he was lying for some reason aboutthe contacts. Or maybe Forks was making me crazy in the literal sense ofthe 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. Helooked over our shoulders to glance at the completed lab, and then staredmore intently to check the answers.
"So, Edward, didn't you think Isabella should get a chance with themicroscope?" Mr. Banner asked.
"Bella," Edward corrected automatically. "Actually, she identified threeof 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 labpartners." He mumbled something else as he walked away. After he left, Ibegan doodling on my notebook again.
"It's too bad about the snow, isn't it?" Edward asked. I had the feelingthat he was forcing himself to make small talk with me. Paranoia sweptover me again. It was like he had heard my conversation with Jessica atlunch and was trying to prove me wrong.
"Not really," I answered honestly, instead of pretending to be normallike everyone else. I was still trying to dislodge the stupid feeling ofsuspicion, 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 morethan 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 hisgaze. 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 suddenlysympathetic. "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 withpenetrating eyes, as if my dull life's story was somehow vitallyimportant.
"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 movesaround a lot.""And your mother sent you here so that she could travel with him." Hesaid 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 heseemed unnecessarily frustrated by that fact.
I sighed. Why was I explaining this to him? He continued to stare at mewith obvious curiosity.
"She stayed with me at first, but she missed him. It made her unhappy… soI decided it was time to spend some quality time with Charlie." My voicewas 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 methat 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 anyonesee."I grimaced at him, resisting the impulse to stick out my tongue like afive-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 ifhe was talking to himself. However, after a few seconds of silence, Idecided 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. "Notexactly. I'm more annoyed at myself. My face is so easy to read — mymother always calls me her open book." I frowned.
"On the contrary, I find you very difficult to read." Despite everythingthat 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 tolisten. I was in di**elief that I'd just explained my dreary life to thi**izarre, beautiful boy who may or may not despise me. He'd seemedengrossed in our conversation, but now I could see, from the corner of myeye, that he was leaning away from me again, his hands gripping the edgeof the table with unmistakable tension.
I tried to appear attentive as Mr. Banner illustrated, withtransparencies on the overhead projector, what I had seen withoutdifficulty through the microscope. But my thoughts were unmanageable.
When the bell finally rang, Edward rushed as swiftly and as gracefullyfrom the room as he had last Monday. And, like last Monday, I staredafter him in amazement.
Mike skipped quickly to my side and picked up my books for me. I imaginedhim with a wagging tail.
"That was awful," he groaned. "They all looked exactly the same. You'relucky you had Cullen for a partner.""I didn't have any trouble with it," I said, stung by his assumption. Iregretted the snub instantly. "I've done the lab before, though," I addedbefore he could get his feelings hurt.
"Cullen seemed friendly enough today," he commented as we shrugged intoour 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 mywoolgathering was only interrupted when it was my turn to serve; my teamducked 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 washappier when I was in the dry cab. I got the heater running, for once notcaring 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 dryit on the way home.
I looked around me to make sure it was clear. That's when I noticed thestill, white figure. Edward Cullen was leaning against the front door ofthe Volvo, three cars down from me, and staring intently in my direction.
I swiftly looked away and threw the truck into reverse, almost hitting arusty Toyota Corolla in my haste. Lucky for the Toyota, I stomped on thebrake in time. It was just the sort of car that my truck would make scrapmetal of. I took a deep breath, still looking out the other side of mycar, and cautiously pulled out again, with greater success. I staredstraight ahead as I passed the Volvo, but from a peripheral peek, I wouldswear I saw him laughing.