Principles of Sociology Essay

In H. Spencer s Principles of Sociology, he likened society to an organism where its functions and characteristics such as growth, expansion, division and the like, he believed, also occurs in the society and social life, thus coining the term social organism. A novel, likewise takes the form of an organism according to Henry James. He argues in the Art of Fiction (a commentary to Walter Besant’s lecture in the royal institution) that a novel is a personal impression of life. The main issue of the article is representation and how writers should treat it. James clarified that representation takes two forms; one is the direct representation, which according to him is limiting, and another is representation based on a writer’s impression of the experience which he considers what the art of novel is all about. The reality â€Å"colored by the writer’s vision† is the reality of the novel. An organism he believes best describe the complexity of a novel because an organism has in itself the individuality and unity of functions. The totality of the organism is dependent upon both the independence and the unity of its parts. Similarly, Freese in â€Å"Henry James and the application of his theory in ‘What Maisie knew’† believes that James viewpoint is that â€Å"†¦ it is not possible to examine fiction only by its individual parts because these have to be seen as interacting elements. †(p. 2) James believes that the uniqueness of every novel is determined by the â€Å"liberty of interpretation† afforded by the author. The principles of form being dictated by convention only hamper the creation of the being that is the novel. The impression of reality, the personal process of making sense of an experience, is the ultimate measure of achieving the reality. Thus, a novel is not just a product but a creative process as in painting and the other arts where each step contributes to the wholeness of the craft. The writer has the power to determine the shape and complexity of the novel and ultimately the reality that the novel contains. All these elements, as in an organism is determined by a creator and his idea of representation.

Maya Angelou: A Remarkable Renaissance Woman

A Remarkable Renaissance Maya Angelo: A Remarkable Renaissance Woman Maya Angelo is a poet, educator, historian, best-selling author, actress, playwright, civil-rights activist, producer and director. Throughout Angelinos writings, she expresses the realities of growing up in difficult circumstances and has now become one of the most influential figures of American literature. The works of Angelo reflect the strength of womanhood and the impact she has made during her lifetime. Despite being abused and molested as a young girl, Angelo has proven to the world her capability of accomplishing her dreams.Maya Angelo, originally known as Marguerite Johnson, was born on April 4, 1928, in SST. Louis, Missouri (Williams). She adopted the name Maya Angelo in 1953. Angelinos parent's divorced when she was only three years of age. Once the divorce took place, she and her brother, Bailey, were sent to live with their grandmother in the small town of Stamps, Arkansas (America's Renaissance Woman) . While living in Stamps, Angelo experienced the racial discrimination that was the legally enforced way of life in the American south, but she also absorbed the deep religious faith and old-fashioned courtesy of traditional African American life (Williams).After living with her grandmother for four years, Angelo went through a phase of silence. The silence was the result of being sexually molested by her mother's boyfriend (Williams). Angelo felt as if she did not have the right to speak after hearing news of her uncle murdering her attacker. Angelo felt guilty and that it were her words that had killed the man. Angelo fell silent and did not speak for five years after the death of her attacker (Williams). It was not until the age of thirteen, when Angelo and her rather rejoined their mother in San Francisco that she began to speak again.Maya was finally able to overcome her fear of speaking. Throughout the years that Angelo attended Mission High School, she excelled in her school work. Angelo was not only able to excel at school, she also surpassed in the workforce outside of school life. When Angelo was seventeen, she became the first African American streetcar conductor on San Franciscans Market Street Railway Cones). She also worked various jobs such as a cook, dancer, and singer Cones). Angelo proved that she was a very active teenager and worked diligently at whatever task she was given.It was during this time that Angelo was exposed to the progressive ideals that animated her later political activism. Maya gave birth to her son, Guy, at the age of sixteen. She and her son moved to New York City in 1957 Cones). While living in New York, Angelo became involved in many different activities. During her time there, she raised money for the Southern Christian Leadership Conference (CLC) with a show called Cabaret for Freedom Cones). Angelo wrote, directed, and starred in the show. In 1972, Angelo rote the script for another movie titled Georgia, Georgia.The many plays and movies that Maya produced contributed to the fame she has received today. Although Angelo has a varied career as a singer, dancer, actress, composer, and Hollywood first female black director, she is most famous as a writer, editor, essaying, playwright and poet (Angelo). Given Angelinos reallocates existence – from poverty in Arkansas to Journalism in Egypt and Ghana and ultimately to her destiny as a successful writer and professor in the States – it has been no surprise that Angelo has not limited herself to only one or two genres (Meet the Writers).Angelinos career ranges in a wide variety from writing poetry to directing shows. She has written books of poetry, autobiographies, children's books, and screenplays Cones). Angelo has also been a singer, actress, and movie director. As a child, Maya loved to read and dreamed of one day being the author of her own book. Her favorite writers were William Shakespeare, Paul Laurence Dunbar, Longs Hughes, and W. E. B. Dubious Cones). These writers inspired Angelo to be the excellent writer she has become today. Angelo published her first short story in a Journal called Revolute ¶n in 1958 Cones).The events that took place during Mama's childhood in Stamps, Arkansas, led her to writing the well-known auto-biography, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings. This auto-biography illustrates the life that Angelo had to live and the struggles that she had to face to finally reach where she is now. Maya Angelo has been a strong influence in American literature. She has also made an impact with her involvement during the civil rights movement and being a women's rights activist. Angelo was among the first, if not the first, to create a literary franchise based on autobiographical writings (Meet the Writers).Angelo has become a populist poet due to her writings on paper and being a suede-voiced speaker. Angelo has been awarded numerous awards for her various products she produces or writes. An award do es not always have to be materialistic. It is Just as much or a greater award for Angelinos works to still be shared throughout the world today. Angelinos 1993 poem â€Å"On the Pulse of Morning,† written for Bill Silicon's presidential inauguration, was later released as a Grammar-winning album (Meet the Writers). The Springing medal in 1994 was awarded to her for her achievement in literature (Williams).Angelinos 1995 poem â€Å"Phenomenal Woman† is still passed along the Web among woman as inspiration (Meet the Writers). Before Angelo received these awards, she had become involved with helping Martin Luther King Jar. , and his Southern Christian Leadership Conference fight against racism Cones). Angelo also agreed to help Malcolm X, but two days after Angelo returned to the United States from a trip, Malcolm X was killed. Martin Luther King, Jar. And Malcolm X both influenced the decisions that Angelo wanted to change in her life. Angelo realized that she could infl uence people the same as they were both able to.Angelo decided that she would help African Americans achieve equality through her writings. Angelo was able to accomplish her goal, plus take on many more challenges. Angelo is now a great-grandmother and is a professor of American Studies at Wake Forest University in Winston-Salem, N. C (Angelo). Angelo states that she does like to be called Dry. Angelo (Angelo). Although she never went to college, she has been awarded more than 30 honorary degrees. Angelo is an American study herself. â€Å"l created myself,† she says. â€Å"l have taught myself so much. † The multi-talentedAngelo is very proud of her accomplishments in life. She still enjoys being politically involved and making a difference in the United States. Angelo shared, â€Å"I'm not a writer who teaches. I'm a teacher who writes. But I had to work at Wake Forest to know that. † This statement Just shows how important it is to Angelo to make a difference in others' lives. Maya Angelo has been a hard worker since she was a young girl. As a result of her hard work, Angelo has written and published many successful pieces of literature. She has also been awarded numerous prestigious awards.

Aurora Borealis Essay

The Aurora Borealis is a beautiful display of lights created by nature that appear in the night sky. â€Å"Aurora Borealis†, the Latin name of the aurora of the northern hemisphere, means the red dawn of the north. The name comes from the famous Italian scientist Galileo Galilei who, among other things, studied the lights around the year 1600. In Rome, were Galileo was living, the red color dominates, but the most common color is actually greenish-yellow, which I will cover later in the presentation. The Vikings in the year 700-1000 called it simply â€Å"northern lights,† and in early England they called it â€Å"The Merry Dancers† referring to the way the aurora moves. Originating in the atmosphere high above the surface of the earth, the northern lights can be seen during dark hours in the polar regions of the northern hemisphere. There are similar lights that appear in the southern hemisphere. The southern lights and northern lights are identical phenomenons. When you have a northern lights display, you will also have an equally large southern lights display. The only reason we don’t hear about southern lights much is that there aren’t much settlements in Antarctica. Southern lights occur around the geomagnetic South Pole. The scientific name for southern lights is Aurora Australis. The amazing occurrence of the aurora actually starts high above the earth’s atmosphere. The sun emits a continuous stream of ionized gas during its solar flares. This gas consists of electrons, protons and helium nuclei. The stream of gasses leaving the sun is known as the solar wind. As the solar wind approaches Earth, the particles are influenced by the Earth’s magnetic field and are guided toward oval zones around the magnetic poles. The solar wind particles then collide with air molecules in the upper atmosphere. The collisions impart energy to air molecules, primarily oxygen and nitrogen, and cause them to emit light, called the aurora. The display of lights occurs only above altitudes of 80 kilometers and occasionally above 500 kilometers. The average altitude is between 110 and  200 kilometers. Due to the nature of our magnetic field, the aurora can only been seen in certain parts of the sky. The northern lights exist in an oval shaped area called the aurora oval, and this oval rotates with its center in the geomagnetic north pole. The size of this oval varies on an hourly basis with the amount of incoming solar particles. The best observation sites of the aurora borealis are underneath the oval where there is the most geomagnetic activity. Geomagnetic energy is measured in Kp index, which is a scale from 0 to 9. A high Kp indicates a higher chance of auroral activity. One usually needs a Kp of around 3 to be capable to witness an aurora. The oval usually occurs over northern parts of the Nordic countries, including all of Greenland and Svalbard, northern parts of Alaska, Canada and Russia. Here one may observe northern lights 90% of the time, which is almost every clear dark night. Though auroras occur all day, the day-side aurora has much weaker light than the night-side auroras. Strong daylight also outshines the day-side aurora, so you will have to observe the aurora during night- usually in the hours around midnight. Further down south observation time decreases rapidly as one reaches the outskirts of the aurora oval. Though the oval usually stays high in the Northern Hemisphere it does have capabilities to reach parts of the southern United States. On November 6th, 2001, it reached down to Texas, and once every 200th year it goes all the way down to the equator. After years of recording the aurora, one has discovered that February, March and October enjoys a little bit more â€Å"aurora time† than other months, although this doesn’t mean spectacular displays won’t occur during other months. Auroras are more frequent late autumn and early spring. Brilliant auroras often occur at 27-day intervals as active areas on the Sun’s surface face Earth during its 27-day rotation cycle. Also, the sun has an eleven year sun spot cycle. Every eleventh year the number of spots peak and the number of solar particles thrown out into space increases dramatically. Aurora activity remains high one to two years after this event, which is called Solar Maximum. We had solar maximum around new year, 2001, and the next is expected to occur around 2011 or 2012. These lights come in a variation of colors. The Sun radiates all visible  colors, which is why sunlight appears white. The spectrum of visible light associated with the aurora is much narrower. The aurora is caused by particles of the solar wind colliding with atmospheric atoms and ions. The atmosphere consists mainly of nitrogen and oxygen, which when hit, emits characteristic colors. The colors that these gasses emit are green, red, bluish, and yellow. There are also seven differentiations in the shape that the auroras will take: Homogeneous arc, arc with ray structure, homogeneous band, band with ray structure, curtains, rays, and corona. These different shapes and colors form one of the earths greatest phenomenon’s that to this day continue to boggle the mind of scientists and everyday society. In the early 20th century, auroral research focused on light emission, altitude, distribution and color. Today, scientists strive to understand the processes that produce the various forms of the northern lights and attempt to explain their changes in time and space. Scientists are especially interested in the effects of solar activity on the Earth’s near-space. General interest in possible global climatic change has increased in recent decades. Because atmospheric conditions in the altitudes of the aurora appear to have a long-term effect on weather, auroral research has received heightened attention.

The Twilight Saga 5: Midnight Sun 6. Blood Type

I followed her all day through other people's eyes, barely aware of my own surroundings. Not Mike Newton's eyes, because I couldn't stand any more of his offensive fantasies, and not Jessica Stanley's, because her resentment toward Bella made me angry in a way that was not safe for the petty girl. Angela Weber was a good choice when her eyes were available; she was kind – her head was an easy place to be. And then sometimes it was the teachers who provided the best view. I was surprised, watching her stumble through the day – tripping over cracks in the sidewalk, stray books, and, most often, her own feet – that the people I eavesdropped on thought of Bella as clumsy. I considered that. It was true that she often had trouble staying upright. I remembered her stumbling into the desk that first day, sliding around on the ice before the accident, falling over the low lip of the doorframe yesterday†¦ How odd, they were right. She was clumsy. I didn't know why this was so funny to me, but I laughed out loud as I walked from American History to English and several people shot me wary looks. How had I never noticed this before? Perhaps because there was something very graceful about her in stillness, the way she held her head, the arch of her neck†¦ There was nothing graceful about her now. Mr. Varner watched as she caught the toe of her boot on the carpet and literally fell into her chair. I laughed again. The time moved with incredible sluggishness while I waited for my chance to see her with my own eyes. Finally, the bell rang. I strode quickly to the cafeteria to secure my spot. I was one of the first there. I chose a table that was usually empty, and was sure to remain that way with me seated here. When my family entered and saw me sitting alone in a new place, they were not surprised. Alice must have warned them. Rosalie stalked past me without a glance. Idiot. Rosalie and I had never had an easy relationship – I'd offended her the very first time she'd heard me speak, and it was downhill from there – but it seemed like she was even more ill-tempered than usual the last few days. I sighed. Rosalie made everything about herself. Jasper gave me half a smile as he walked by. Good luck, he thought doubtfully. Emmett rolled his eyes and shook his head. Lost his mind, poor kid. Alice was beaming, her teeth shining too brightly. Can I talk to Bella now â€Å"Keep out of it,† I said under my breath. Her face fell, and then brightened again. Fine. Be stubborn. It's only a matter of time. I sighed again. Don't forget about today's biology lab, she reminded me. I nodded. No, I hadn't forgotten that. While I waited for Bella to arrive, I followed her in the eyes of the freshman who was walking behind Jessica on his way to the cafeteria. Jessica was babbling about the upcoming dance, but Bella said nothing in response. Not that Jessica gave her much of a chance. The moment Bella walked through the door, her eyes flashed to the table where my siblings sat. She stared for a moment, and then her forehead crumpled and her eyes dropped to the floor. She hadn't noticed me here. She looked so†¦sad. I felt a powerful urge to get up and go to her side, to comfort her somehow, only I didn't know what she would find comforting. I had no idea what made her look that way. Jessica continued to jabber about the dance. Was Bella sad that she was going to miss it? That didn't seem likely†¦ But that could be remedied, if she wished. She bought a drink for her lunch and nothing else. Was that right? Didn't she need more nutrition than that? I'd never paid much attention to a human's diet before. Humans were quite exasperatingly fragile! There were a million different things to worry about†¦ â€Å"Edward Cullen is staring at you again,† I heard Jessica say. â€Å"I wonder why he's sitting alone today?† I was grateful to Jessica – though she was even more resentful now – because Bella's head snapped up and her eyes searched until they met mine. There was no trace of sadness in her face now. I let myself hope that she'd been sad because she'd thought I'd left school early, and that hope made me smile. I motioned with my finger for her to join me. She looked so startled by this that I wanted to tease her again. So I winked, and her mouth fell open. â€Å"Does he mean you?† Jessica asked rudely. â€Å"Maybe he needs help with his Biology homework,† she said in a low, uncertain voice. â€Å"Um, I'd better go see what he wants.† This was another yes. She stumbled twice on her way to my table, though there was nothing in her way but perfectly even linoleum. Seriously, how had I missed this before? I'd been paying more attention to her silent thoughts, I supposed†¦ What else had I missed? Keep it honest, keep it light, I chanted to myself. She stopped behind the chair across from me, hesitating. I inhaled deeply, through my nose this time rather than my mouth. Feel the burn, I thought dryly. â€Å"Why don't you sit with me today?† I asked her. She pulled the chair out and sat, staring at me the whole while. She seemed nervous, but her physical acceptance was yet another yes. I waited for her to speak. It took a moment, but, finally, she said, â€Å"This is different.† â€Å"Well†¦Ã¢â‚¬  I hesitated. â€Å"I decided as long as I was going to hell, I might as well do it thoroughly.† What had made me say that? I supposed it was honest, at least. And perhaps she'd hear the unsubtle warning my words implied. Maybe she would realize that she should get up and walk away as quickly as possible†¦ She didn't get up. She stared at me, waiting, as if I'd left my sentence unfinished. â€Å"You know I don't have any idea what you mean,† she said when I didn't continue. That was a relief. I smiled. â€Å"I know.† It was hard to ignore the thoughts screaming at me from behind her back – and I wanted to change the subject anyway. â€Å"I think your friends are angry at me for stealing you.† This did not appear to concern her. â€Å"They'll survive.† â€Å"I may not give you back, though.† I didn't even know if I was trying to be honest now, or just trying to tease her again. Being near her made it hard to make sense of my own thoughts. Bella swallowed loudly. I laughed at her expression. â€Å"You look worried.† It really shouldn't be funny†¦ She should worry. â€Å"No.† She was a bad liar; it didn't help that her voice broke. â€Å"Surprised, actually†¦. What brought this on?† â€Å"I told you,† I reminded her. â€Å"I got tired of trying to stay away from you. So I'm giving up.† I held my smile in place with a bit of effort. This wasn't working at all – trying to be honest and casual at the same time. â€Å"Giving up?† she repeated, baffled. â€Å"Yes – giving up trying to be good.† And, apparently, giving up trying to be casual. â€Å"I'm just going to do what I want now, and let the chips fall where they may.† That was honest enough. Let her see my selfishness. Let that warn her, too. â€Å"You lost me again.† I was selfish enough to be glad that this was the case. â€Å"I always say too much when I'm talking to you – that's one of the problems.† A rather insignificant problem, compared to the rest. â€Å"Don't worry,† she reassured me. â€Å"I don't understand any of it.† Good. Then she'd stay. â€Å"I'm counting on that.† â€Å"So, in plain English, are we friends now?† I pondered that for a second. â€Å"Friends†¦Ã¢â‚¬  I repeated. I didn't like the sound of that. It wasn't enough. â€Å"Or not,† she mumbled, looking embarrassed. Did she think I didn't like her that much? I smiled. â€Å"Well, we can try, I suppose. But I'm warning you now that I'm not a good friend for you.† I waited for her response, torn in two – wishing she would finally hear and understand, thinking I might die if she did. How melodramatic. I was turning into such a human. Her heart beat faster. â€Å"You say that a lot.† â€Å"Yes, because you're not listening to me,† I said, too intense again. â€Å"I'm still waiting for you to believe it. If you're smart, you'll avoid me.† Ah, but would I allow her to do that, if she tried? Her eyes tightened. â€Å"I think you've made your opinion on the subject of my intellect clear, too.† I wasn't exactly sure what she meant, but I smiled in apology, guessing that I must have offended her accidentally. â€Å"So,† she said slowly. â€Å"As long as I'm being†¦not smart, we'll try to be friends?† â€Å"That sounds about right.† She looked down, staring intently at the lemonade bottle in her hands. The old curiosity tormented me. â€Å"What are you thinking?† I asked – it was a relief to say the words out loud at last. She met my gaze, and her breathing sped while her cheeks flushed faint pink. I inhaled, tasting that in the air. â€Å"I'm trying to figure out what you are.† I held the smile on my face, locking my features that way, while panic twisted through my body. Of course she was wondering that. She wasn't stupid. I couldn't hope for her to be oblivious to something so obvious. â€Å"Are you having any luck with that?† I asked as lightly as I could manage. â€Å"Not too much,† she admitted. I chuckled in sudden relief. â€Å"What are your theories?† They couldn't be worse than the truth, no matter what she'd come up with. Her cheeks turned brighter red, and she said nothing. I could feel the warmth of her blush in the air. I tried using my persuasive tone on her. It worked well on normal humans. â€Å"Won't you tell me?† I smiled encouragingly. She shook her head. â€Å"Too embarrassing.† Ugh. Not knowing was worse than anything else. Why would her speculations embarrass her? I couldn't stand not knowing. â€Å"That's really frustrating, you know.† My complaint sparked something in her. Her eyes flashed and her words flowed more swiftly than usual. â€Å"No, I can't imagine why that would be frustrating at all – just because someone refuses to tell you what they're thinking, even if all the while they're making cryptic little remarks specifically designed to keep you up at night wondering what they could possibly mean†¦now, why would that be frustrating?† I frowned at her, upset to realize that she was right. I wasn't being fair. She went on. â€Å"Or better, say that person also did a wide range of bizarre things – from saving your life under impossible circumstances one day to treating you like a pariah the next, and he never explained any of that either, even after he promised. That, also, would be very non-frustrating.† It was the longest speech I'd ever heard her make, and it gave me a new quality for my list. â€Å"You've got a bit of a temper, don't you?† â€Å"I don't like double standards.† She was completely justified in her irritation, of course. I stared at Bella, wondering how I could possibly do anything right by her, until the silent shouting in Mike Newton's head distracted me. He was so irate that it made me chuckle. â€Å"What?† she demanded. â€Å"Your boyfriend seems to think I'm being unpleasant to you – he's debating whether or not to come break up our fight.† I would love to see him try. I laughed again. â€Å"I don't know who you're talking about,† she said in an icy voice. â€Å"But I'm sure you're wrong anyway.† I very much enjoyed the way she disowned him with her dismissive sentence. â€Å"I'm not. I told you, most people are easy to read.† â€Å"Except me, of course.† â€Å"Yes. Except for you.† Did she have to be the exception to everything? Wouldn't it have been more fair – considering everything else I had to deal with now – if I could have at least heard something from her head? Was that so much to ask? â€Å"I wonder why that is?† I stared into her eyes, trying again†¦ She looked away. She opened her lemonade and took a quick drink, her eyes on the table. â€Å"Aren't you hungry?† I asked. â€Å"No.† She eyed the empty table between us. â€Å"You?† â€Å"No, I'm not hungry,† I said. I was definitely not that. She stared at the table her lips pursed. I waited. â€Å"Could you do me a favor?† she asked, suddenly meeting my gaze again. What would she want from me? Would she ask for the truth that I wasn't allowed to tell her – the truth I didn't want her to ever, ever know? â€Å"That depends on what you want.† â€Å"It's not much,† she promised. I waited, curious again. â€Å"I just wondered†¦Ã¢â‚¬  she said slowly, staring at the lemonade bottle, tracing its lip with her littlest finger. â€Å"If you could warn me beforehand the next time you decide to ignore me for my own good? Just so I'm prepared.† She wanted a warning? Then being ignored by me must be a bad thing†¦ I smiled. â€Å"That sounds fair,† I agreed. â€Å"Thanks,† she said, looking up. Her face was so relieved that I wanted to laugh with my own relief. â€Å"Then can I have one in return?† I asked hopefully. â€Å"One,† she allowed. â€Å"Tell me one theory.† She flushed. â€Å"Not that one.† â€Å"You didn't qualify, you just promised one answer,† I argued. â€Å"And you've broken promises yourself,† she argued back. She had me there. â€Å"Just one theory – I won't laugh.† â€Å"Yes, you will.† She seemed very sure of that, though I couldn't imagine anything that would be funny about it. I gave persuasion another try. I stared deep into her eyes – an easy thing to do, with eyes so deep – and whispered, â€Å"Please?† She blinked, and her face went blank. Well, that wasn't exactly the reaction I'd been going for. â€Å"Er, what?† she asked. She looked dizzy. What was wrong with her? But I wasn't giving up yet. â€Å"Please tell me just one little theory,† I pleaded in my soft, non-scary voice, holding her eyes in mine. To my surprise and satisfaction, it finally worked. â€Å"Um, well, bitten by a radioactive spider?† Comic books? No wonder she thought I would laugh. â€Å"That's not very creative,† I chided her, trying to hide my fresh relief. â€Å"I'm sorry, that's all I've got,† she said, offended. This relieved me even more. I was able to tease her again. â€Å"You're not even close.† â€Å"No spiders?† â€Å"Nope.† â€Å"And no radioactivity?† â€Å"None.† â€Å"Dang,† she sighed. â€Å"Kryptonite doesn't bother me either,† I said quickly – before she could ask about bites – and then I had to laugh, because she thought I was a superhero. â€Å"You're not supposed to laugh, remember?† I pressed my lips together. â€Å"I'll figure it out eventually,† she promised. And when she did, she would run. â€Å"I wish you wouldn't try,† I said, all teasing gone. â€Å"Because†¦?† I owed her honesty. Still, I tried to smile, to make my words sound less threatening. â€Å"What if I'm not a superhero? What if I'm the bad guy?† Her eyes widened by a fraction and her lips fell slightly apart. â€Å"Oh,† she said. And then, after another second, â€Å"I see.† She'd finally heard me. â€Å"Do you?† I asked, working to conceal my agony. â€Å"You're dangerous?† she guessed. Her breathing hiked, and her heart raced. I couldn't answer her. Was this my last moment with her? Would she run now? Could I be allowed to tell her that I loved her before she left? Or would that frighten her more? â€Å"But not bad,† she whispered, shaking her head, no fear in her clear eyes. â€Å"No, I don't believe that you're bad.† â€Å"You're wrong,† I breathed. Of course I was bad. Wasn't I rejoicing now, that she thought better of me than I deserved? If I were a good person, I would have stayed away from her. I stretched my hand across the table, reaching for the lid to her lemonade bottle as an excuse. She did not flinch away from my suddenly closer hand. She really was not afraid of me. Not yet. I spun the lid like a top, watching it instead of her. My thoughts were in a snarl. Run, Bella, run. I couldn't make myself say the words out loud. She jumped to her feet. â€Å"We're going to be late,† she said, just as I'd started to worry that she'd somehow heard my silent warning. â€Å"I'm not going to class.† â€Å"Why not?† Because I don't want to kill you. â€Å"It's healthy to ditch class now and then.† To be precise, it was healthier for the humans if the vampires ditched on days when human blood would be spilt. Mr. Banner was blood typing today. Alice had already ditched her morning class. â€Å"Well, I'm going,† she said. This didn't surprise me. She was responsible – she always did the right thing. She was my opposite. â€Å"I'll see you later then,† I said, trying for casual again, staring down at the whirling lid. And, by the way, I adore you†¦in frightening, dangerous ways. She hesitated, and I hoped for a moment that she would stay with me after all. But the bell rang and she hurried away. I waited until she was gone, and then I put the lid in my pocket – a souvenir of this most consequential conversation – and walked through the rain to my car. I put on my favorite calming CD – the same one I'd listened to that first day – but I wasn't hearing Debussy's notes for long. Other notes were running through my head, a fragment of a tune that pleased and intrigued me. I turned down the stereo and listened to the music in my head, playing with the fragment until it evolved into a fuller harmony. Instinctively, my fingers moved in the air over imaginary piano keys. The new composition was really coming along when my attention was caught by a wave of mental anguish. I looked toward the distress. Is she going to pass out? What do I do? Mike panicked. A hundred yards away, Mike Newton was lowering Bella's limp body to the sidewalk. She slumped unresponsively against the wet concrete, her eyes closed, her skin chalky as a corpse. I almost took the door off the car. â€Å"Bella?† I shouted. There was no change in her lifeless face when I yelled her name. My whole body went colder than ice. I was aware of Mike's aggravated surprise as I sifted furiously through his thoughts. He was only thinking of his anger toward me, so I didn't know what was wrong with Bella. If he'd done something to harm her, I would annihilate him. â€Å"What's wrong – is she hurt?† I demanded, trying to focus his thoughts. It was maddening to have to walk at a human pace. I should not have called attention to my approach. Then I could hear her heart beating and her even breath. As I watched, she squeezed her eyes more tightly shut. That eased some of my panic. I saw a flicker of memories in Mike's head, a splash of images from the Biology room. Bella's head on our table, her fair skin turning green. Drops of red against the white cards†¦ Blood typing. I stopped where I was, holding my breath. Her scent was one thing, her flowing blood was another altogether. â€Å"I think she's fainted,† Mike said, anxious and resentful at the same time. â€Å"I don't know what happened, she didn't even stick her finger.† Relief washed through me, and I breathed again, tasting the air. Ah, I could smell the tiny flow of Mike Newton's puncture wound. Once, that might have appealed to me. I knelt beside her while Mike hovered next to me, furious at my intervention. â€Å"Bella. Can you hear me?† â€Å"No,† she moaned. â€Å"Go away.† The relief was so exquisite that I laughed. She was fine. â€Å"I was taking her to the nurse,† Mike said. â€Å"But she wouldn't go any farther.† â€Å"I'll take her. You can go back to class,† I said dismissively. Mike's teeth clenched together. â€Å"No. I'm supposed to do it.† I wasn't going to stand around arguing with the wretch. Thrilled and terrified, half-grateful to and half-aggrieved by the predicament which made touching her a necessity, I gently lifted Bella from the sidewalk and held her in my arms, touching only her clothes, keeping as much distance between our bodies as possible. I was striding forward in the same movement, in a hurry to have her safe – farther away from me, in other words. Her eyes popped open, astonished. â€Å"Put me down,† she ordered in a weak voice – embarrassed again, I guessed from her expression. She didn't like to show weakness. I barely heard Mike's shouted protest behind us. â€Å"You look awful,† I told her, grinning because there was nothing wrong with her but a light head and a weak stomach. â€Å"Put me back on the sidewalk,† she said. Her lips were white. â€Å"So you faint at the sight of blood?† Could it get any more ironic? She closed her eyes and pressed her lips together. â€Å"And not even your own blood,† I added, my grin widening. We were to the front office. The door was propped an inch open, and I kicked it out of my way. Ms. Cope jumped, startled. â€Å"Oh, my,† she gasped as she examined the ashen girl in my arms. â€Å"She fainted in Biology,† I explained, before her imagination could get too out of hand. Ms. Cope hurried to open the door to the nurse's office. Bella's eyes were open again, watching her. I heard the elderly nurse's internal astonishment as I laid the girl carefully on the one shabby bed. As soon as Bella was out of my arms, I put the width of the room between us. My body was too excited, too eager, my muscles tense and the venom flowing. She was so warm and fragrant. â€Å"She's just a little faint,† I reassured Mrs. Hammond. â€Å"They're blood typing in biology.† She nodded, understanding now. â€Å"There's always one.† I stifled a laugh. Trust Bella to be that one. â€Å"Just lie down for a minute, honey,† Mrs. Hammond said. â€Å"It'll pass.† â€Å"I know,† Bella said. â€Å"Does this happen often?† the nurse asked. â€Å"Sometimes,† Bella admitted. I tried to disguise my laughter as coughing. This brought me to the nurse's attention. â€Å"You can go back to class now,† she said. I looked her straight in the eye and lied with perfect confidence. â€Å"I'm supposed to stay with her.† Hmm. I wonder†¦ oh well. Mrs. Hammond nodded. It worked just fine on her. Why did Bella have to be so difficult? â€Å"I'll go get you some ice for your forehead, dear,† the nurse said, slightly uncomfortable from looking into my eyes – the way a human should be – and left the room. â€Å"You were right,† Bella moaned, closing her eyes. What did she mean? I jumped to the worst conclusion: she'd accepted my warnings. â€Å"I usually am,† I said, trying to keep the amusement in my voice; it sounded sour now. â€Å"But about what in particular this time?† â€Å"Ditching is healthy,† she sighed. Ah, relief again. She was silent then. She just breathed slowly in and out. Her lips were beginning to turn pink. Her mouth was slightly out of balance, her lower lip just a little too full to match the top. Staring at her mouth made me feel strange. Made me want to move closer to her, which was not a good idea. â€Å"You scared me for a minute there,† I said – to restart the conversation so that I could hear her voice again. â€Å"I thought Newton was dragging your dead body off to bury it in the woods.† â€Å"Ha ha,† she said. â€Å"Honestly – I've seen corpses with better color.† This was actually true. â€Å"I was concerned that I might have to avenge your murder.† And I would have. â€Å"Poor Mike,† she sighed. â€Å"I'll bet he's mad.† Fury pulsed through me, but I contained it quickly. Her concern was surely just pity. She was kind. That was all. â€Å"He absolutely loathes me,† I told her, cheered by that idea. â€Å"You can't know that.† â€Å"I saw his face – I could tell.† It was probably true that reading his face would have given me enough information to make that particular deduction. All this practice with Bella was sharpening my skill at reading human expressions. â€Å"How did you see me? I thought you were ditching.† Her face looked better – the green undertone had vanished from her translucent skin. â€Å"I was in my car, listening to a CD.† Her expression twitched, like my very ordinary answer had surprised her somehow. She opened her eyes again when Mrs. Hammond returned with an ice pack. â€Å"Here you go, dear,† the nurse said as she laid it across Bella's forehead. â€Å"You're looking better.† â€Å"I think I'm fine,† Bella said, and she sat up while pulling the ice pack away. Of course. She didn't like to be taken care of. Mrs. Hammond's wrinkled hands fluttered toward the girl, as if she were going to push her back down, but just then Ms. Cope opened the door to the office and leaned in. With her appearance came the smell of fresh blood, just a whiff. Invisible in the office behind her, Mike Newton was still very angry, wishing the heavy boy he dragged now was the girl who was in here with me. â€Å"We've got another one,† Ms. Cope said. Bella quickly jumped down from the cot, eager to be out of the spotlight. â€Å"Here,† she said, handing the compress back to Mrs. Hammond. â€Å"I don't need this.† Mike grunted as he half-shoved Lee Stevens through the door. Blood was still dripping down the hand Lee held to his face, trickling toward his wrist. â€Å"Oh no.† This was my cue to leave – and Bella's, too, it seemed. â€Å"Get out to the office, Bella.† She stared up at me with bewildered eyes. â€Å"Trust me – go.† She whirled and caught the door before it had swung shut, rushing through to the office. I followed a few inches behind her. Her swinging hair brushed my hand†¦ She turned to look at me, still wide-eyed. â€Å"You actually listened to me.† That was a first. Her small nose wrinkled. â€Å"I smelled the blood.† I stared at her in blank surprise. â€Å"People can't smell blood.† â€Å"Well, I can – that's what makes me sick. It smells like rust†¦and salt.† My face froze, still staring. Was she really even human? She looked human. She felt soft as a human. She smelled human – well, better actually. She acted human†¦sort of. But she didn't think like a human, or respond like one. What other option was there, though? â€Å"What?† she demanded. â€Å"It's nothing.† Mike Newton interrupted us then, entering the room with resentful, violent thoughts. â€Å"You look better,† he said to her rudely. My hand twitched, wanting to teach him some manners. I would have to watch myself, or I would end up actually killing this obnoxious boy. â€Å"Just keep your hand in your pocket,† she said. For one wild second, I thought she was talking to me. â€Å"It's not bleeding anymore,† he answered sullenly. â€Å"Are you going back to class?† â€Å"Are you kidding? I'd just have to turn around and come back.† That was very good. I'd thought I was going to have to miss this whole hour with her, and now I got extra time instead. I felt greedy, a miser hording over each minute. â€Å"Yeah, I guess†¦Ã¢â‚¬  Mike mumbled. â€Å"So are you going this weekend? To the beach?† Ah, they had plans. Anger froze me in place. It was a group trip, though. I'd seen some of this in other students' heads. It wasn't just the two of them. I was still furious. I leaned motionlessly against the counter, trying to control myself. â€Å"Sure, I said I was in,† she promised him. So she'd said yes to him, too. The jealousy burned, more painful than thirst. No, it was just a group outing, I tried to convince myself. She was just spending the day with friends. Nothing more. â€Å"We're meeting at my dad's store, at ten.† And Cullen's NOT invited. â€Å"I'll be there,† she said. â€Å"I'll see you in Gym, then.† â€Å"See you,† she replied. He shuffled off to his class, his thoughts full of ire. What does she see in that freak? Sure, he's rich, I guess. Chicks think he's hot, but I don't see that. Too†¦too perfect. I bet his dad experiments with plastic surgery on all of them. That's why they're all so white and pretty. It's not natural. And he's sort of†¦scary-looking. Sometimes, when he stares at me, I'd swear he's thinking about killing me†¦ Freak†¦ Mike wasn't entirely unperceptive. â€Å"Gym,† Bella repeated quietly. A groan. I looked at her, and saw that she was sad about something again. I wasn't sure why, but it was clear that she didn't want to go to her next class with Mike, and I was all for that plan. I went to her side and bent close to her face, feeling the warmth of her skin radiating out to my lips. I didn't dare breathe. â€Å"I can take care of that,† I murmured. â€Å"Go sit down and look pale.† She did as I asked, sitting in one of the folding chairs and leaning her head back against the wall, while, behind me, Ms. Cope came out of the back room and went to her desk. With her eyes closed, Bella looked as if she'd passed out again. Her full color hadn't returned yet. I turned to the secretary. Hopefully Bella was paying attention to this, I thought sardonically. This was how a human was supposed to respond. â€Å"Ms. Cope?† I asked, using my persuasive voice again. Her eyelashes fluttered, and her heart sped up. Too young, get a hold of yourself! â€Å"Yes?† That was interesting. When Shelly Cope's pulse quickened, it was because she found me physically attractive, not because she was frightened. I was used to that around human females†¦yet I hadn't considered that explanation for Bella's racing heart. I rather liked that. Too much, in fact. I smiled, and Mrs. Cope's breathing got louder. â€Å"Bella has gym next hour, and I don't think she feels well enough. Actually, I was thinking I should take her home now. Do you think you could excuse her from class?† I stared into her depthless eyes, enjoying the havoc that this wreaked on her thought processes. Was it possible that Bella†¦? Mrs. Cope had to swallow loudly before she answered. â€Å"Do you need to be excused, too, Edward?† â€Å"No, I have Mrs. Goff, she won't mind.† I wasn't paying much attention to her now. I was exploring this new possibility. Hmm. I'd like to believe that Bella found me attractive like other humans did, but when did Bella ever have the same reactions as other humans? I shouldn't get my hopes up. â€Å"Okay, it's all taken care of. You feel better, Bella.† Bella nodded weakly – overacting a bit. â€Å"Can you walk, or do you want me to carry you again?† I asked, amused by her poor theatrics. I knew she would want to walk – she wouldn't want to be weak. â€Å"I'll walk,† she said. Right again. I was getting better at this. She got up, hesitating for a moment as if to check her balance. I held the door for her, and we walked out into the rain. I watched her as she lifted her face to the light rain with her eyes closed, a slight smile on her lips. What was she thinking? Something about this action seemed off, and I quickly realized why the posture looked unfamiliar to me. Normal human girls wouldn't raise their faces to the drizzle that way; normal human girls usually wore makeup, even here in this wet place. Bella never wore makeup, nor should she. The cosmetics industry made billions of dollars a year from women who were trying to attain skin like hers. â€Å"Thanks,† she said, smiling at me now. â€Å"It's worth getting sick to miss Gym.† I stared across the campus, wondering how to prolong my time with her. â€Å"Anytime,† I said. â€Å"So are you going? This Saturday, I mean?† She sounded hopeful. Ah, her hope was soothing. She wanted me with her, not Mike Newton. And I wanted to say yes. But there were many things to consider. For one, the sun would be shining this Saturday†¦ â€Å"Where are you all going, exactly?† I tried to keep my voice nonchalant, as if it didn't matter much. Mike had said beach, though. Not much chance of avoiding sunlight there. â€Å"Down to La Push, to First Beach.† Damn. Well, it was impossible, then. Anyway, Emmett would be irritated if I cancelled our plans. I glanced down at her, smiling wryly. â€Å"I really don't think I was invited.† She sighed, already resigned. â€Å"I just invited you.† â€Å"Let's you and I not push poor Mike any further this week. We don't want him to snap.† I thought about snapping poor Mike myself, and enjoyed the mental picture intensely. â€Å"Mike-schmike,† she said, dismissive again. I smiled widely. And then she started to walk away from me. Without thinking about my action, I reached out and caught her by the back of her rain jacket. She jerked to a stop. â€Å"Where do you think you're going?† I was almost angry that she was leaving me. I hadn't had enough time with her. She couldn't go, not yet. â€Å"I'm going home,† she said, baffled as to why this should upset me. â€Å"Didn't you hear me promise to take you safely home? Do you think I'm going to let you drive in your condition?† I knew she wouldn't like that – my implication of weakness on her part. But I needed to practice for the Seattle trip, anyway. See if I could handle her proximity in an enclosed space. This was a much shorter journey. â€Å"What condition?† she demanded. â€Å"And what about my truck?† â€Å"I'll have Alice drop it off after school.† I pulled her back to my car carefully, as I now knew that walking forward was challenging enough for her. â€Å"Let go!† she said, twisting sideways and nearly tripping. I held one hand out to catch her, but she righted herself before it was necessary. I shouldn't be looking for excuses to touch her. That started me thinking about Ms. Cope's reaction to me, but I filed it away for later. There was much to be considered on that front. I let her go beside the car, and she stumbled into the door. I would have to be even more careful, to take into account her poor balance†¦ â€Å"You are so pushy!† â€Å"It's open.† I got in on my side and started the car. She held her body rigidly, still outside, though the rain had picked up and I knew she didn't like the cold and wet. Water was soaking through her thick hair, darkening it to near black. â€Å"I am perfectly capable of driving myself home!† Of course she was – I just wasn't capable of letting her go. I rolled her window down and leaned toward her. â€Å"Get in, Bella.† Her eyes narrowed, and I guessed that she was debating whether or not to make a run for it. â€Å"I'll just drag you back,† I promised, enjoying the chagrin on her face when she realized I meant it. Her chin stiffly in the air, she opened her door and climbed in. Her hair dripped on the leather and her boots squeaked against each other. â€Å"This is completely unnecessary,† she said coldly. I thought she looked embarrassed under the pique. I just turned up the heater so she wouldn't be uncomfortable, and set the music to a nice background level. I drove out toward the exit, watching her from the corner of my eye. Her lower lip was jutting out stubbornly. I stared at this, examining how it made me feel†¦ thinking of the secretary's reaction again†¦ Suddenly she looked at the stereo and smiled, her eyes widening. â€Å"Clair de Lune?† she asked. A fan of the classics? â€Å"You know Debussy?† â€Å"Not well,† she said. â€Å"My mother plays a lot of classical music around the house – I only know my favorites.† â€Å"It's one of my favorites, too.† I stared at the rain, considering that. I actually had something in common with the girl. I'd begun to think that we were opposites in every way. She seemed more relaxed now, staring at the rain like me, with unseeing eyes. I used her momentary distraction to experiment with breathing. I inhaled carefully through my nose. Potent. I clutched the steering wheel tighter. The rain made her smell better. I wouldn't have thought that was possible. Stupidly, I was suddenly imaging how she would taste. I tried to swallow against the burn in my throat, to think of something else. â€Å"What is your mother like?† I asked as a distraction. Bella smiled. â€Å"She looks a lot like me, but she's prettier.† I doubted that. â€Å"I have too much Charlie in me,† she went on. â€Å"She's more outgoing than I am, and braver.† I doubted that, too. â€Å"She's irresponsible and slightly eccentric, and she's a very unpredictable cook. She's my best friend.† Her voice had turned melancholy; her forehead creased. Again, she sounded more like parent than child. I stopped in front of her house, wondering too late if I was supposed to know where she lived. No, this wouldn't be suspicious in such a small town, with her father a public figure†¦ â€Å"How old are you, Bella?† She must be older than her peers. Perhaps she'd been late to start school, or been held back†¦that wasn't likely, though. â€Å"I'm seventeen,† she answered. â€Å"You don't seem seventeen.† She laughed. â€Å"What?† â€Å"My mom always says I was born thirty-five years old and that I get more middleaged every year.† She laughed again, and then sighed. â€Å"Well, someone has to be the adult.† This clarified things for me. I could see it now†¦how the irresponsible mother helped explain Bella's maturity. She'd had to grow up early, to become the caretaker. That's why she didn't like being cared for – she felt it was her job. â€Å"You don't seem much like a junior in high school yourself,† she said, pulling me from my reverie. I grimaced. For everything I perceived about her, she perceived too much in return. I changed the subject. â€Å"So why did your mother marry Phil?† She hesitated a minute before answering. â€Å"My mother†¦she's very young for her age. I think Phil makes her feel even younger. At any rate, she's crazy about him.† She shook her head indulgently. â€Å"Do you approve?† I wondered. â€Å"Does it matter?† she asked. â€Å"I want her to be happy†¦and he is who she wants.† The unselfishness of her comment would have shocked me, except that it fit in all too well with what I'd learned of her character. â€Å"That's very generous†¦I wonder.† â€Å"What?† â€Å"Would she extend the same courtesy to you, do you think? No matter who your choice was?† It was a foolish question, and I could not keep my voice casual while I asked it. How stupid to even consider someone approving of me for their daughter. How stupid to even think of Bella choosing me. â€Å"I-I think so,† she stuttered, reacting in some way to my gaze. Fear†¦or attraction? â€Å"But she's the parent, after all. It's a little bit different,† she finished. I smiled wryly. â€Å"No one too scary then.† She grinned at me. â€Å"What do you mean by scary? Multiple facial piercings and extensive tattoos?† â€Å"That's one definition, I suppose.† A very nonthreatening definition, to my mind. â€Å"What's your definition?† She always asked the wrong questions. Or exactly the right questions, maybe. The ones I didn't want to answer, at any rate. â€Å"Do you think that I could be scary?† I asked her, trying to smile a little. She thought it through before answering me in a serious voice. â€Å"Hmm†¦I think you could be, if you wanted to.† I was serious, too. â€Å"Are you frightened of me now?† She answered at once, not thinking this one through. â€Å"No.† I smiled more easily. I did not think she was entirely telling the truth, but nor was she truly lying. She wasn't frightened enough to want to leave, at least. I wondered how she would feel if I told her she was having this discussion with a vampire. I cringed internally at her imagined reaction. â€Å"So, now are you going to tell me about your family? It's got to be a much more interesting story than mine.† A more frightening one, at least. â€Å"What do you want to know?† I asked cautiously. â€Å"The Cullens adopted you?† â€Å"Yes.† She hesitated, then spoke in a small voice. â€Å"What happened to your parents?† This wasn't so hard; I wasn't even having to lie to her. â€Å"They died a very long time ago.† â€Å"I'm sorry,† she mumbled, clearly worried about having hurt me. She was worried about me. â€Å"I don't really remember them that clearly,† I assured her. â€Å"Carlisle and Esme have been my parents for a long time now.† â€Å"And you love them,† she deduced. I smiled. â€Å"Yes. I couldn't imagine two better people.† â€Å"You're very lucky.† â€Å"I know I am.† In that one circumstance, the matter of parents, my luck could not be denied. â€Å"And your brother and sisters?† If I let her push for too many details, I would have to lie. I glanced at the clock, disheartened that my time with her was up. â€Å"My brother and sister, and Jasper and Rosalie for that matter, are going to be quite upset if they have to stand in the rain waiting for me.† â€Å"Oh, sorry, I guess you have to go.† She didn't move. She didn't want our time to be up, either. I liked that very, very much. â€Å"And you probably want your truck back before Chief Swan gets home, so you don't have to tell him about the Biology incident.† I grinned at the memory of her embarrassment in my arms. â€Å"I'm sure he's already heard. There are no secrets in Forks.† She said the name of the town with distinct distaste. I laughed at her words. No secrets, indeed. â€Å"Have fun at the beach.† I glanced at the pouring rain, knowing it would not last, and wishing more strongly than usual that it could. â€Å"Good weather for sunbathing.† Well, it would be by Saturday. She would enjoy that. â€Å"Won't I see you tomorrow?† The worry in her tone pleased me. â€Å"No. Emmett and I are starting the weekend early.† I was mad at myself now for having made the plans. I could break them†¦but there was no such thing as too much hunting at this point, and my family was going to be concerned enough about my behavior without me revealing how obsessive I was turning. â€Å"What are you going to do?† she asked, not sounded happy with my revelation. Good. â€Å"We're going to be hiking in the Goat Rocks Wilderness, just south of Rainier.† Emmett was eager for bear season. â€Å"Oh, well, have fun,† she said halfheartedly. Her lack of enthusiasm pleased me again. As I stared at her, I began to feel almost agonized at the thought of saying even a temporary goodbye. She was just so soft and vulnerable. It seemed foolhardy to let her out of my sight, where anything could happen to her. And yet, the worst things that could happen to her would result from being with me. â€Å"Will you do something for me this weekend?† I asked seriously. She nodded, her eyes wide and bewildered by my intensity. Keep it light. â€Å"Don't be offended, but you seem to be one of those people who just attract accidents like a magnet. So†¦try not to fall into the ocean or get run over or anything, all right?† I smiled ruefully at her, hoping she couldn't see the sadness in my eyes. How much I wished that she wasn't so much better off away from me, no matter what might happen to her there. Run, Bella, run. I love you too much, for your good or mine. She was offended by my teasing. She glared at me. â€Å"I'll see what I can do,† she snapped, jumping out into the rain and slamming the door as hard as she could behind her. Just like an angry kitten that believes it's a tiger. I curled my hand around the key I'd just picked from her jacket pocket, and smiled as I drove away.

Twilight 1. FIRST SIGHT

Meyer, Stephanie, 1973- Twilight : a novel / by Stephanie Meyer. – 1st ed. Summary: Grade 9 Up – Headstrong, sun-loving, 17-year-old Bella declines her mom's invitation to move to Florida, and instead reluctantly opts to move to her dad's cabin in the dreary, rainy town of Forks, WA. She becomes intrigued with Edward Cullen, a distant, stylish, and disarmingly handsome senior, who is also a vampire. When he reveals that his specific clan hunts wildlife instead of humans, Bella deduces that she is safe from his blood-sucking instincts and therefore free to fall hopelessly in love with him. The feeling is mutual, and the resulting volatile romance smolders as they attempt to hide Edward's identity from her family and the rest of the school. Meyer adds an eerie new twist to the mismatched, star-crossed lovers theme: predator falls for prey, human falls for vampire. This tension strips away any pretense readers may have about the everyday teen romance novel, and kissing, touching, and talking take on an entirely new meaning when one small mistake could b e life-threatening. Bella and Edward's struggle to make their relationship work becomes a struggle for survival, especially when vampires from an outside clan infiltrate the Cullen territory and head straight for her. As a result, the novel's danger-factor skyrockets as the excitement of secret love and hushed affection morphs into a terrifying race to stay alive. Realistic, subtle, succinct, and easy to follow, Twilight will have readers dying to sink their teeth into it. For my big sister, Emily, without whose enthusiasm this story might still be unfinished. But of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, thou shalt not eat of it: for in the day that thou eatest thereof thou shalt surely die. Genesis 2:17 PREFACE I'd never given much thought to how I would die – though I'd had reason enough in the last few months – but even if I had, I would not have imagined it like this. I stared without breathing across the long room, into the dark eyes of the hunter, and he looked pleasantly back at me. Surely it was a good way to die, in the place of someone else, someone I loved. Noble, even. That ought to count for something. I knew that if I'd never gone to Forks, I wouldn't be facing death now. But, terrified as I was, I couldn't bring myself to regret the decision. When life offers you a dream so far beyond any of your expectations, it's not reasonable to grieve when it comes to an end. The hunter smiled in a friendly way as he sauntered forward to kill me. 1. FIRST SIGHT My mother drove me to the airport with thewindows rolled down. It was seventy-five degrees inPhoenix, 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 on this 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 in this 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 past three 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. â€Å"Bella,† my mom said to me – the last of athousand times – before I goton the plane. â€Å"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 leave my loving, erratic, harebrained mother to fend for herself? Of course shehad Phil now, so the bills would probably get paid, there would be food in the refrigerator, gas in her car, and someone to call when she got lost, but still†¦ â€Å"I want to go,† I lied. I'd always been a bad liar, but I'd been saying this lie so frequently lately that it sounded almost convincing now. â€Å"Tell Charlie I said hi.† â€Å"I will.† â€Å"I'll see you soon,† she insisted. â€Å"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. â€Å"Don't worry about me,† I urged. â€Å"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 small plane up to Port Angeles, and then an hour drive back down to Forks. Flying doesn't bother me; the hour in the car with Charlie, though, I 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. I knew 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. â€Å"It's good to see you, Bells,† he said, smiling as he automaticallycaught and steadied me. â€Å"You haven't changed much. How's Ren? ¦e?† â€Å"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 winter wardrobe, but it was still scanty. It all fit easily into the trunk ofthe cruiser. â€Å"I found a good car for you, really cheap,† he announced when we werestrapped in. â€Å"What kind of car?† I was suspicious of the way he said â€Å"good car foryou† as opposed to just â€Å"good car.† â€Å"Well, it's a truck actually, a Chevy.† â€Å"Where did you find it?† â€Å"Do you remember Billy Black down at La Push?† La Push is the tiny Indianreservation on the coast. â€Å"No.† â€Å"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. â€Å"He's in a wheelchair now,† Charlie continued when I didn't respond, â€Å"sohe can't drive anymore, and he offered to sell me his truck cheap.† â€Å"What year is it?† I could see from his change of expression that thiswas the question he was hoping I wouldn't ask. â€Å"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 up that easily. â€Å"When did he buy it?† â€Å"He bought it in 1984, I think.† â€Å"Did he buy it new?† â€Å"Well, no. I think it was new in the early sixties – or late fifties atthe earliest,† he admitted sheepishly. â€Å"Ch – Dad, I don't really know anything about cars. I wouldn't be able to fix it if anything went wrong, and I couldn't afford a mechanic†¦Ã¢â‚¬  â€Å"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. â€Å"How cheap is cheap?† After all, that was the part I couldn't compromise on. â€Å"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. â€Å"You didn't need to do that, Dad. I was going to buy myself a car.† â€Å"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 his emotions out loud. I inherited that from him. So I was looking straightahead as I responded. â€Å"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 to suffer along with me. And I never looked a free truck in the mouth – or engine. â€Å"Well, now, you're welcome,† he mumbled,embarrassed by my thanks. We exchanged a few more comments on the weather, which was wet, and that was pretty much it for Conversation. We stared out the windows in silence. It was beautiful, of course; I couldn't deny that. Everything was green:the trees, their trunks covered with moss, their branches hanging with a canopy of it, the ground covered with ferns. Even the air filtered down greenly through the leaves. It was too green – an alien planet. Eventually we made it to Charlie's. He still lived in the small,two-bedroom house that he'd bought with my mother in the early days oftheir marriage. Those were the only kind of days their marriage had – the early ones. There, parked on the street in front of the house that never changed, was my new – well, new to me – truck. It was a faded red color,with big, rounded fenders and a bulbous cab. To my intense surprise, I loved it. I didn't know if it would run, but I could see myself in it.Plus, it was one of those solid iron affairs that never gets damaged -the kind you see at the scene of an accident, paint unscratched, surrounded by the pieces of the foreign car it had destroyed. â€Å"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 either walking two miles in the rain to school or accepting a ride in the Chief's cruiser. â€Å"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 had been belonged to me since I was born. The wooden floor, the light blue walls, the peaked ceiling, the yellowed lace curtains around the window -these were all a part of my childhood. The only changes Charlie had ever made were switching the crib for a bed and adding a desk as I grew. Thedesk now held a secondhand computer, with the phone line for the modem stapled along the floor to the nearest phone jack. This was a stipulation from my mother, so that we could stay in touch easily. The rocking chair from my baby days was still in the corner. There was only one small bathroom at the top of the stairs, which I would have to share with Charlie. I was trying not to dwell too much on that fact. One of the best things about Charlie is he doesn't hover. He left me alone to unpack and get settled, a feat that would have been altogether impossible for my mother. It was nice to be alone, not to have to smile and look pleased; a relief to stare dejectedly out the window at the sheeting rain and let just a few tears escape. I wasn't in the mood to go on a real crying jag. I would save that for bedtime, when I would have to think about the coming morning. Forks High School had a frightening total of only three hundred and fifty-seven – now fifty-eight – students; there were more than seven hundred people in my junior class alone back home. All of the kids here had grown up together – their grandparents had been toddlers together. I would be the new girl from the big city, a curiosity, a freak. Maybe, if I looked like a girl from Phoenix should, I could work this tomy 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 red hair, despite the constant sunshine. I had always been slender, but soft somehow, obviously not an athlete; I didn't have the necessary hand-eye coordination to play sports without humiliating myself – and harming both myself and anyone else who stood too close. When I finished putting my clothes in the old pine dresser, I took my bag of bathroom necessities and went to the communal bathroom to clean myself up after the day of travel. I looked at my face in the mirror as I brushed through my tangled, damp hair. Maybe it was the light, but already I looked sallower, unhealthy. My skin could be pretty – it was very clear, almost translucent-looking- but it all depended on color. I had no color here. Facing my pallid reflection in the mirror, I was forced to admit that I was lying to myself. It wasn't just physically that I'd never fit in. And if I couldn't find a niche in a school with three thousand people, what were my chances here? I didn't relate well to people my age. Maybe the truth was that I didn't relate well to people, period. Even my mother, who I was closer to than anyone else on the planet, was never in harmony with me, never on exactly the same page. Sometimes I wondered if I was seeing the same things through my eyes that the rest of the world was seeing through theirs. Maybe there was a glitch in my brain. But the cause didn't matter. All that mattered was the effect. And tomorrow would be just the beginning. I didn't sleep well that night, even after I was done crying. The constant whooshing of the rain and wind across the roof wouldn't fade into the background. I pulled the faded old quilt over my head, and later added the pillow, too. But I couldn't fall asleep until after midnight, when the rain finally settled into a quieter drizzle. Thick fog was all I could see out my window in the morning, and I could feel the claustrophobiacreeping 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 at school. I thanked him, knowing his hope was wasted. Good luck tended to avoid me. Charlie left first, off to the police station that was his wife and family. After he left, I sat at the old square oak table in one of the three unmatching chairs and examined his small kitchen, with its dark paneled walls, bright yellow cabinets, and white linoleum floor. Nothingwas changed. My mother had painted the cabinets eighteen years ago in an attempt to bring some sunshine into the house. Over the small fireplace in the adjoining handkerchief-sized family room was a row of pictures. First a wedding picture of Charlie and my mom in Las Vegas, then one of the three of us in the hospital after I was born, taken by a helpful nurse, followed by the procession of my school pictures up to last year's. Those were embarrassing to look at – I would have to see what I could do to get Charlie to put them somewhere else, at least whi le 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 house anymore. I donned my jacket – which had the feel of a biohazard suit -and headed out into the rain. It was just drizzling still, not enough to soak me through immediately as I reached for the house key that was always hidden under the eaves by the door, and locked up. The sloshing of my new waterproof boots was unnerving. I missed the normal crunch of gravel as I walked. I couldn't pause and admire my truck again as I wanted; I was in a hurry to get out of the misty wet that swirled around my head and clung to my hair under my hood. Inside the truck, it was nice and dry. Either Billy or Charlie had obviously cleaned it up, but the tan upholstered seats still smelled faintly of tobacco, gasoline, and peppermint. The engine started quickly,to my relief, but loudly, roaring to life and then idling at top volume. Well, a truck this old was bound to have a flaw. The antique radio worked, a plus that I hadn't expected. Finding the school wasn't difficult, though I'd never been there before. The school was, like most other things, just off the highway. It was not obvious that it was a school; only the sign, which declared it to be the Forks High School, made me stop. It looked like a collection of matching houses, built with maroon-colored bricks. There were so many trees and shrubs I couldn't see its size at first. Where was the feel of the institution? I wondered nostalgically. Where were the chain-link fences,the metal detectors? I parked in front of the first building, which had a small sign over the door reading front office. No one else was parked there, so I was sure it was off limits, but I decided I would get directions inside instead of circling around in the rain like an idiot. I stepped unwillingly out of the toasty truck cab and walked down a little stone path lined with dark hedges. I took a deep breath before opening the door. Inside, it was brightly lit, and warmer than I'd hoped. The office was small; a little waiting area with padded folding chairs, orange-flecked commercial carpet, notices and awards cluttering the walls, a big clock ticking loudly. Plants grew everywhere in large plastic pots, as if there wasn't enough greenery outside. The room was cut in half by a long counter, cluttered with wire baskets full of papers and brightly colored flyers taped to its front. There were three desks behind the counter, one of which was manned by a large, red-haired woman wearing glasses. She was wear ing a purple t-shirt, which immediately made me feel overdressed. The red-haired woman looked up. â€Å"Can I help you?† â€Å"I'm Isabella Swan,† I informed her, and saw the immediate awarenesslight her eyes. I was expected, a topic of gossip no doubt. Daughter of the Chief's flighty ex-wife, come home at last. â€Å"Of course,† she said. She dug through a precariously stacked pile of documents on her desk till she found the ones she was looking for. â€Å"I have your schedule right here, and a map of the school.† She brought several sheets to the counter to show roe. She went through my classes for me, highlighting the best route to each on the map, and gave me a slip to have each teacher sign, which I was to bring back at the end of the day. She smiled at me and hoped, like Charlie, that I would like it here in Forks. I smiled back as convincingly as I could. When I went back out to my truck, other students were starting to arrive. I drove around the school, following the line of traffic. I was glad to see that most of the cars were older like mine, nothing flashy. At home I'd lived in one of the few lower-income neighborhoods that were included in the Paradise Valley District. It was a common thing to see a new Mercedes or Porsche in the student lot. The nicest car here was a shiny Volvo, and it stood out. Still, I cut the engine as soon as I was in a spot, so that the thunderous volume wouldn't draw attention to me. I looked at the map in the truck, trying to memorize it now; hopefully I wouldn't have to walk around with it stuck in front of my nose all day. I stuffed everything in my bag, slung the strap over my shoulder, and sucked in a huge breath. I can do this, I lied to myself feebly. No one was going to bite me. I finally exhaled and stepped out of the truck. I kept my face pulled back into my hood as I walked to the sidewalk, crowded with teenagers. My plain black jacket didn't stand out, I noticed with relief. Once I got around the cafeteria, building three was easy to spot. A largeblack â€Å"3† was painted on a white square on the east corner. I felt my breathing gradually creeping toward hyperventilation as I approached the door. I tried holding my breath as I followed two unisex raincoats through the door. The classroom was small. The people in front of me stopped just inside the door to hang up their coats on a long row of hooks. I copied them. They were two girls, one a porcelain-colored blonde, the other also pale, with light brown hair. At least my skin wouldn't be a standout here. I took the slip up to the teacher, a tall, balding man whose desk had a nameplate identifying him as Mr. Mason. He gawked at me when he saw my name – not an encouraging response – and of course I flushed tomato red. But at least he sent me to an empty desk at the back without introducing me to the class. It was harder for my new classmates to stare at me in the back, but somehow, they managed. I kept my eyes down on the reading list the teacher had given me. It was fairly basic: Bronte, Shakespeare, Chaucer, Faulkner. I'd already read everything. That was comforting†¦ and boring. I wondered if my mom would send me my folder of old essays, or if she would think that was cheating. I went through different arguments with her in my head while the teacher droned on. When the bell rang, a nasal buzzing sound, a gangly boy with skin problems and hair black as an oil slick leaned across the aisle to talk to me. â€Å"You're Isabella Swan, aren't you?† He looked like the overly helpful, chess club type. â€Å"Bella,† I corrected. Everyone within a three-seat radius turned to look at me. â€Å"Where's your next class?† he asked. I had to check in my bag. â€Å"Um, Government, with Jefferson, in building six.† There was nowhere to look without meeting curious eyes. â€Å"I'm headed toward building four, I could show you the way†¦Ã¢â‚¬  Definitely over-helpful. â€Å"I'm Eric,† he added. I smiled tentatively. â€Å"Thanks.† We got our jackets and headed out into the rain, which had picked up. I could have sworn several people behind us were walking close enough to eavesdrop. I hoped I wasn't getting paranoid. â€Å"So, this is a lot different than Phoenix, huh?† he asked. â€Å"Very.† â€Å"It doesn't rain much there, does it?† â€Å"Three or four times a year.† â€Å"Wow, what must that be like?† he wondered. â€Å"Sunny,† I told him. â€Å"You don't look very tan.† â€Å"My mother is part albino.† He studied my face apprehensively, and I sighed. It looked like clouds and a sense of humor didn't mix. A few months of this and I'd forget how to use sarcasm. We walked back around the cafeteria, to the south buildings by the gym. Eric walked me right to the door, though it was clearly marked. â€Å"Well, good luck,† he said as I touched the handle. â€Å"Maybe we'll have some other classes together.† He sounded hopeful. I smiled at him vaguely and went inside. The rest of the morning passed in about the same fashion. My Trigonometry teacher, Mr. Varner, who I would have hated anyway just because of the subject he taught, was the only one who made me stand in front of the class and introduce myself. I stammered, blushed, and tripped over my own boots on the way to my seat. After two classes, I started to recognize several of the faces in each class. There was always someone braver than the others who would introduce themselves and ask me questions about how I was liking Forks. I tried to be diplomatic, but mostly I just lied a lot. At least I never needed the map. One girl sat next to me in both Trig and Spanish, and she walked with me to the cafeteria for lunch. She was tiny, several inches shorter than my five feet four inches, but her wildly curly dark hair made up a lot of the difference between our heights. I couldn't remember her name, so I smiled and nodded as she prattled about teachers and classes. I didn't try to keep up. We sat at the end of a full table with several of her friends, who she introduced to me. I forgot all their names as soon as she spoke them. They seemed impressed by her bravery in speaking to me. The boy fromEnglish, Eric, waved at me from across the room. It was there, sitting in the lunchroom, trying to make conversation with seven curious strangers, that I first saw them. They were sitting in the corner of the cafeteria, as far away from where I sat as possible in the long room. There were five of them. They weren't talking, and they weren't eating, though they each had a tray of untouched food in front of them. They weren't gawking at me, unlike most of the other students, so it was safe to stare at them without fear of meeting an excessively interested pair of eyes. But it was none of these things that caught, and held, my attention. They didn't look anything alike. Of the three boys, one was big – muscled like a serious weight lifter, with dark, curly hair. Another was taller, leaner, but still muscular, and honey blond. The last was lanky, lessbulky, with untidy, bronze-colored hair. He was more boyish than the others, who looked like they could be in college, or even teachers here rather than students. The girls were opposites. The tall one was statuesque. She had a beautiful figure, the kind you saw on the cover of the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue, the kind that made every girl around her take a hit on her self-esteem just by being in the same room. Her hair was golden, gently waving to the middle of her back. The short girl was pixielike, thin in the extreme, with small features. Her hair was a deep black,cropped short and pointing in every direction. And yet, they were all exactly alike. Every one of them was chalky pale, the palest of all the students living in this sunless town. Paler than me, the albino. They all had very dark eyes despite the range in hair tones. They also had dark shadows under those eyes – purplish, bruiselike shadows. As if they were all suffering from a sleepless night, or almost done recovering from a broken nose. Though their noses, all their features, were straight, perfect, angular. But all this is not why I couldn't look away. I stared because their faces, so different, so similar, were all devastatingly, inhumanly beautiful. They were faces you never expected to see except perhaps on the airbrushed pages of a fashion magazine. Or painted by an old master as the face of an angel. It was hard to decide who was the most beautiful – maybe the perfect blond girl, or thebronze-haired boy. They were all looking away – away from each other, away from the otherstudents, away from anything in particular as far as I could tell. As I watched, the small girl rose with her tray -unopened soda, unbittenapple – and walked away with a quick, graceful lope that belonged on a runway. I watched, amazed at her lithe dancer's step, till she dumped her tray and glided through the back door, faster than I would have thought possible. My eyes darted back to the others, who sat unchanging. â€Å"Who are they?† I asked the girl from my Spanish class, whose name I'd forgotten. As she looked up to see who I meant – though already knowing, probably, from my tone – suddenly he looked at her, the thinner one, the boyish one, the youngest, perhaps. He looked at my neighbor for just a fraction of a second, and then his dark eyes flickered to mine. He looked away quickly, more quickly than I could, though in a flush of embarrassment I dropped my eyes at once. In that brief flash of a glance, his face held nothing of interest – it was as if she had called his name, and he'd looked up in involuntary response, already having decided not to answer. My neighbor giggled in embarrassment, looking at the table like I did. â€Å"That's Edward and Emmett Cullen, and Rosalie and Jasper Hale. The one who left was Alice Cullen; they all live together with Dr. Cullen and his wife.† She said this under her breath. I glanced sideways at the beautiful boy, who was looking at his tray now,picking a bagel to pieces with long, pale fingers. His mouth was moving very quickly, his perfect lips barely opening. The other three still looked away, and yet I felt he was speaking quietly to them. Strange, unpopular names, I thought. The kinds of names grandparents had. But maybe that was in vogue here – small town names? I finally remembered that my neighbor was called Jessica, a perfectly common name. There were two girls named Jessica in my History class back home. â€Å"They are†¦ very nice-looking.† I struggled with the conspicuous understatement. â€Å"Yes!† Jessica agreed with another giggle. â€Å"They're all together though – Emmett and Rosalie, and Jasper and Alice, I mean. And they live together.† Her voice held all the shock and condemnation of the small town, I thought critically. But, if I was being honest, I had to admit that even in Phoenix, it would cause gossip. â€Å"Which ones are the Cullens?† I asked. â€Å"They don't look related†¦Ã¢â‚¬  â€Å"Oh, they're not. Dr. Cullen is really young, in his twenties or early thirties. They're all adopted. The Hales are brother and sister, twins – the blondes – and they're foster children.† â€Å"They look a little old for foster children.† â€Å"They are now, Jasper and Rosalie are both eighteen, but they've been with Mrs. Cullen since they were eight. She's their aunt or something like that.† â€Å"That's really kind of nice – for them to take care of all those kids like that, when they're so young and everything.† â€Å"I guess so,† Jessica admitted reluctantly, and I got the impression that she didn't like the doctor and his wife for some reason. With the glances she was throwing at their adopted children, I would presume the reason was jealousy. â€Å"I think that Mrs. Cullen can't have any kids, though,† she added, as if that lessened their kindness. Throughout all this conversation, my eyes flickered again and again to the table where the strange family sat. They continued to look at the walls and not eat. â€Å"Have they always lived in Forks?† I asked. Surely I would have noticed them on one of my summers here. â€Å"No,† she said in a voice that implied it should be obvious, even to a new arrival like me. â€Å"They just moved down two years ago from somewhere in Alaska.† I felt a surge of pity, and relief. Pity because, as beautiful as they were, they were outsiders, clearly not accepted. Relief that I wasn't the only newcomer here, and certainly not the most interesting by any standard. As I examined them, the youngest, one of the Cullens, looked up and met my gaze, this time with evident curiosity in his expression. As I looked swiftly away, it seemed to me that his glance held some kind of unmet expectation. â€Å"Which one is the boy with the reddish brown hair?† I asked. I peeked at him from the corner of my eye, and he was still staring at me, but not gawking like the other students had today – he had a slightly frustrated expression. I looked down again. â€Å"That's Edward. He's gorgeous, of course, but don't waste your time. He doesn't date. Apparently none of the girls here are good-looking enough for him.† She sniffed, a clear case of sour grapes. I wondered when he'd turned her down. I bit my lip to hide my smile. Then I glanced at him again. His face was turned away, but I thought his cheek appeared lifted, as if he were smiling, too. After a few more minutes, the four of them left the table together. They all were noticeably graceful – even the big, brawny one. It was unsettling to watch. The one named Edward didn't look at me again. I sat at the table with Jessica and her friends longer than I would have if I'd been sitting alone. I was anxious not to be late for class on my first day. One of my new acquaintances, who considerately reminded me that her name was Angela, had Biology II with me the next hour. We walked to class together in silence. She was shy, too. When we entered the classroom, Angela went to sit at a black-topped lab table exactly like the ones I was used to. She already had a neighbor. In fact, all the tables were filled but one. Next to the center aisle, I recognized Edward Cullen by his unusual hair, sitting next to that single open seat. As I walked down the aisle to introduce myself to the teacher and get my slip signed, I was watching him surreptitiously. Just as I passed, he suddenly went rigid in his seat. He stared at me again, meeting my eyes with the strangest expression on his face – it was hostile, furious. I looked away quickly, shocked, going red again. I stumbled over a book in the walkway and had to catch myself on the edge of a table. The girl sitting there giggled. I'd noticed that his eyes were black – coal black. Mr. Banner signed my slip and handed me a book with no nonsense about introductions. I could tell we were going to get along. Of course, he had no choice but to send me to the one open seat in the middle of the room. I kept my eyes down as I went to sit by him, bewildered by the antagonistic stare he'd given me. I didn't look up as I set my book on the table and took my seat, but I saw his posture change from the corner of my eye. He was leaning away from me, sitting on the extreme edge of his chair and averting his face like he smelled something bad. Inconspicuously, I sniffed my hair. It smelled like strawberries, the scent of my favorite shampoo. It seemed an innocent enough odor. I let my hair fall over my right shoulder, making a dark curtain between us, and tried to pay attention to the teacher. Unfortunately the lecture was on cellular anatomy, something I'd already studied. I took notes carefully anyway, always looking down. I couldn't stop myself from peeking occasionally through the screen of my hair at the strange boy next to me. During the whole class, he never relaxed his stiff position on the edge of his chair, sitting as far from me as possible. I could see his hand on his left leg was clenched into a fist, tendons standing out under his pale skin. This, too, he never relaxed. He had the long sleeves of his white shirt pushed up to his elbows, and his forearm was surprisingly hard and muscular beneath his light skin. He wasn't nearly as slight as he'd looked next to his burly brother. The class seemed to drag on longer than the others. Was it because the day was finally coming to a close, or because I was waiting for his tight fist to loosen? It never did; he continued to sit so still it looked like he wasn't breathing. What was wrong with him? Was this his normal behavior? I questioned my judgment on Jessica's bitterness at lunch today. Maybe she was not as resentful as I'd thought. It couldn't have anything to do with me. He didn't know me from Eve. I peeked up at him one more time, and regretted it. He was glaring down at me again, his black eyes full of revulsion. As I flinched away from him, shrinking against my chair, the phrase if looks could kill suddenly ran through my mind. At that moment, the bell rang loudly, making me jump, and Edward Cullen was out of his seat. Fluidly he rose – he was much taller than I'd thought – his back to me, and he was out the door before anyone else was out of their seat. I sat frozen in my seat, staring blankly after him. He was so mean. It wasn't fair. I began gathering up my things slowly, trying to block the anger that filled me, for fear my eyes would tear up. For some reason, my temper was hardwired to my tear ducts. I usually cried when I was angry, a humiliating tendency. â€Å"Aren't you Isabella Swan?† a male voice asked. I looked up to see a cute, baby-faced boy, his pale blond hair carefully gelled into orderly spikes, smiling at me in a friendly way. He obviously didn't think I smelled bad. â€Å"Bella,† I corrected him, with a smile. â€Å"I'm Mike.† â€Å"Hi, Mike.† â€Å"Do you need any help finding your next class?† â€Å"I'm headed to the gym, actually. I think I can find it.† â€Å"That's my next class, too.† He seemed thrilled, though it wasn't that big of a coincidence in a school this small. We walked to class together; he was a chatterer – he supplied most of the conversation, which made it easy for me. He'd lived in California till he was ten, so he knew how I felt about the sun. It turned out he was in my English class also. He was the nicest person I'd met today. But as we were entering the gym, he asked, â€Å"So, did you stab Edward Cullen with a pencil or what? I've never seen him act like that.† I cringed. So I wasn't the only one who had noticed. And, apparently, that wasn't Edward Cullen's usual behavior. I decided to play dumb. â€Å"Was that the boy I sat next to in Biology?† I asked artlessly. â€Å"Yes,† he said. â€Å"He looked like he was in pain or something.† â€Å"I don't know,† I responded. â€Å"I never spoke to him.† â€Å"He's a weird guy.† Mike lingered by me instead of heading to the dressing room. â€Å"If I were lucky enough to sit by you, I would have talked to you.† I smiled at him before walking through the girls' locker room door. He was friendly and clearly admiring. But it wasn't enough to ease my irritation. The Gym teacher, Coach Clapp, found me a uniform but didn't make me dress down for today's class. At home, only two years of RE. were required. Here, P.E. was mandatory all four years. Forks was literally my personal hell on Earth. I watched four volleyball games running simultaneously. Remembering how many injuries I had sustained – and inflicted – playing volleyball, I felt faintly nauseated. The final bell rang at last. I walked slowly to the office to return my paperwork. The rain had drifted away, but the wind was strong, and colder. I wrapped my arms around myself. When I walked into the warm office, I almost turned around and walked back out. Edward Cullen stood at the desk in front of me. I recognized again that tousled bronze hair. He didn't appear to notice the sound of my entrance. I stood pressed against the back wall, waiting for the receptionist to be free. He was arguing with her in a low, attractive voice. I quickly picked up the gist of the argument. He was trying to trade from sixth-hour Biology to another time – any other time. I just couldn't believe that this was about me. It had to be something else, something that happened before I entered the Biology room. The look on his face must have been about another aggravation entirely. It was impossible that this stranger could take such a sudden, intense dislike to me. The door opened again, and the cold wind suddenly gusted through the room, rustling the papers on the desk, swirling my hair around my face. The girl who came in merely stepped to the desk, placed a note in the wire basket, and walked out again. But Edward Cullen's back stiffened, and he turned slowly to glare at me – his face was absurdly handsome – with piercing, hate-filled eyes. For an instant, I felt a thrill of genuine fear, raising the hair on my arms. The look only lasted a second, but it chilled me more than the freezing wind. He turned back to the receptionist. â€Å"Never mind, then,† he said hastily in a voice like velvet. â€Å"I can see that it's impossible. Thank you so much for your help.† And he turned on his heel without another look at me, and disappeared out the door. I went meekly to the desk, my face white for once instead of red, and handed her the signed slip. â€Å"How did your first day go, dear?† the receptionist asked maternally. â€Å"Fine,† I lied, my voice weak. She didn't look convinced. When I got to the truck, it was almost the last car in the lot. It seemed like a haven, already the closest thing to home I had in this damp green hole. I sat inside for a while, just staring out the windshield blankly. But soon I was cold enough to need the heater, so I turned the key and the engine roared to life. I headed back to Charlie's house, fighting tears the whole way there.