Chapter One - Story written in Edward's perspective

Edward: Stupid & rich, Bella: clever & poor

What can you say about a beautiful twenty-five-year-old girl

who is gone forever?

You can say that she was wonderful and intelligent.

She loved Mozart and Bach and the Beatles. And me.

Once, when she told me that, I asked her who came first.

'Alphabetically', she answered, smiling, ''Like in the ABC's.'

I smiled too. But now I wonder.

Was she talking about my first name? If she was, I came next to last.

Right before Mozart. Or did she mean my last name? If she did,

I still came in next to last. But I still didn't come first.

That worries me terribly now. You see, I always had

to be Number One. Cullen Family pride, you see.

In the autumn 2005, of my last year at Harvard university,

I studied a lot in the Radcliffe library.

The library was quiet, nobody knew me there, and they

had the books that I needed for my studies. The day before

an examination I went over to the library desk to ask for a

book. Two girls were working there. One was tall, blonde and

sporty. The other was small, quiet and brunette. I chose her,

and asked for my book. She gave me an unfriendly look.

'Don't you have a library at Harvard?' she asked.

'Radcliffe lets us use their library,' I answered.

'Yes, Fratboy, they do - but is it fair? Harvard has five

million books. We have a few measly thousand.' she said.

Oh crap, I thought. A smartass Radcliffe girl. I can usually make

girls like her feel very small. But I needed that damn

book, so I had to be polite.

'Listen, I need that damn book.' I said

'Don't speak like that to a lady, Fratboy.' she answered

'Why are you so sure that I'm a fratboy?' I asked her.

She looked at me with her chocolate eyes and said,

'You look stupid and rich."

'You're wrong,' I said. 'I'm actually clever and poor.'

'Oh no, Fratie,' she said. 'I'm clever and poor.'

She was looking straight at me. All right, she had pretty

chocolate brown eyes; and OK, perhaps I looked rich.

But I don't let anyone call me stupid.

'What makes you so clever?' I asked.

'I'm not going to go for coffee with you,' she said.

'Listen - I'm not going to ask you!' I retorted.

'That', she said, 'is what makes you so stupid.'

Let me explain why I took Bella for coffee. I got the book

that I wanted, didn't I? And she couldn't leave the library

until closing time. So I was able to study the book for a good

long time. I got an A in my exam the next day.

I gave Bella's legs an A too, when she came out from

behind the library desk. We went to a Starbucks and I

ordered coffee for both of us.

'I'm Isabella Swan,' she said. 'My dad calls me Isabella,

but I prefer Bella. I'm studying music.' she finished.

'My name is Edward,' I said.

'That's an interesting name. Do you have a last name?' she asked.

'My last name is Cullen.' I said to her.

'Oh,' Bella said. 'Like Countee Cullen the poet?'

'Yes,' I said. 'No relation.'

I was pleased that she hadn't said, 'Cullen, like Cullen

Hall?' That Cullen is a relation of mine. Cullen Hall is a

large, unlovely building at Harvard University. My great-grandfather

gave it to Harvard long ago, and I am deeply ashamed of it.

Bella was silent. She sat there, half-smiling at me.

I looked at her notebooks.

'Sixteenth-century music?' I said. 'That sounds difficult.'

'It's too difficult for you, Fratboy,' she said coldly.

Why was I letting her talk to me like this? Didn't she read

the university magazine? Didn't she know who I was?

'Hey, don't you know who I am?' I asked her.

'Yes,' she answered. 'You're the guy who owns Cullen Hall.'

Bella didn't know who I was.

'I don't own Cullen Hall,' I argued. 'My great-grandfather

gave it to Harvard, that's all.'

'So that's why his not-so-great grandson could get into

Harvard so easily!' she answered teasingly.

I was angry now. 'Bella, if I'm no good, why did you want

me to invite you for coffee?' I demanded

She looked straight into my eyes and smiled.

'I like your body,' she said.

Every big winner has to be a good loser too. Every good

Harvard man knows that. But it's better if you can win. And

so, as I walked with Bella to her dormitory, I made my

winning move.

'Listen, Friday night is the Dartmouth hockey match.' I said.

'So?' Bella answered.

'So I'd like you to come.' I said.

These Radcliffe girls, they really care about sports - NOT!

'And why', she asked, 'should I come to a stupid ice-hockey match?'

'Because I'm playing,' I answered.

There was a moment's silence. I think I heard snow falling.

'For which team?' Bella asked.

By the second quarter of the game on Friday night, we were

winning 0 - 0. That is, Davey Johnson and I were getting

ready to score a goal. The crowd were screaming for blood

- or a goal. I always feel that it's my job to give them both

these things. I didn't look up at Bella once, but I hoped she

was watching me.

I got the puck and started off across the ice. Davey

Johnson was there on my left, but I didn't pass the puck to

him. I wanted to score this goal myself. But before I could

shoot, two big Dartmouth men were after me. In a moment

we were hitting the puck and each other as hard as we could.

'You!' said a voice suddenly. 'Two minutes in the penalty box.'

I looked up. He was talking to me. 'What did I do?' I asked.

'Don't argue.' He called to the officials' desk: 'Number

seven, two minutes in the penalty box, for fighting.'

Angrily I climbed into the penalty box.

'Why are you sitting here when all your friends are playing?'

The voice was Bella's. I didn't answer.

'Come on, Harvard, get that puck!' I shouted.

'What did you do wrong?' Bella asked.

'I tried too hard.' i replied

Out there on the ice Harvard were playing with only five men.

'Is that something to be ashamed of?' Bella asked.

'Bella, please. I'm thinking.'

'What about?' she asked.

'About those two Dartmouth men. When I get back onto

the ice, I'll break them into little pieces.' I said.

'Do you always fight when you play hockey?' asked Bella.

'I'll fight you, Bella, if you don't keep quiet.' I threatened.

'Fine then, I'm leaving. Goodbye,' snapped Bella.

I looked round, but she had gone. Just then the bell rang.

My two-minute penalty had finished. I jumped onto the ice again.

'Good old Cullen!' shouted the crowd. Bella will hear

them shouting for me, I thought. But where was she?

Had she left?

As I went for the puck, I looked up into the crowd. Bella

was standing there. I took the puck and went towards the

goal line. Two Dartmouth players were coming straight at me.

'Go, Edward, go! Knock their heads off!'

That was Bellas's voice above the crowd. It was crazily,

beautifully violent. I pushed past one Dartmouth man. I

knocked hard into the other. Then I passed the puck to

Davey Johnson, and he banged it into the Dartmouth goal.

The crowd went wild.

In a moment we were all shouting and kissing and banging

each other on the back. The crowd were screaming with

excitement. After that, we murdered Dartmouth - seven

goals to zero.

After the match I lay in the hot bath and thought with pride

about the game. I'd scored one goal, and helped to score

another. Now the water felt wonderful on my tired body.

Ahhhh!

Suddenly I remembered Bella. Was she still waiting

outside? I hoped so! I jumped out of that bath and dressed

as fast as I could.

Outside, the cold winter air hit me. I looked round for

Bella. Had she walked back to her dormitory alone?

Suddenly I saw her.

'Hey, Fratie, it's cold out here.' Bella said.

I was really pleased to see her, and gave her a quick kiss.

'Did I say you could kiss me?' she said.

'Sorry. I was just excited.' I replied.

'I wasn't.' Bella said.

It was dark and quiet, out there in the cold. I kissed her

again, more slowly. When we reached her dormitory, I did

not kiss her goodnight.

'Listen, Bella, perhaps I won't phone you for a few

months.' I told her

Bella was silent for a moment. 'Why?' she asked at last.

'But perhaps I'll call you as soon as I get back to my

dorm.' I said and turned and began to walk away.

'Damn Fratboy!' I heard Bella say. I turned again.

From twenty feet away I scored another goal.

I said, 'You see, Bella, that's the kind of thing you say.

And when other people do it to you, you don't like it.'

I wished I could see the look on her face. But I couldn't

look back. My pride wouldn't let me.

When I returned to my dorm, Ray Stratton was there. He and

I slept in the same room. Ray was playing cards with some

of his football-playing friends.

'Hullo, Edward,' said Ray. 'How many goals did you score?'

'I scored one, and I made one,' I answered.

'With Swan?'

'That's none of your damn business!' I replied quickly.

'Who's Swan?' asked one of the footballers.

'Isabella Swan. Studies music. Plays the piano with the

Music Group.'

'What does she play with Edward?'

"She probably plays hard to get!' Everyone laughed.

'Up yours!' I said as I entered my room.

There I took off my shoes, lay back on my bed and

telephoned Bella's dormitory.

'Hey, Bella . . .' I said softly.

'Yes?'

'I think I'm falling in love with you.' I told her.

Bella was silent for a few moments. Then she answered,

very softly:

'Edward, I think you're full of crap.'

Then she hung up the phone.

I wasn't unhappy. Or surprised.