First Impression
I had been hearing about her for so long that I almost felt like I knew her already. For the past several months, my schoolmates would talk about nothing else. Awaiting her arrival felt horribly like the impending delivery of a child: it takes so long, but when the baby finally comes, crying and covered in blood in the mother's arms, there is but mingling anticipation and apprehension.
When she finally turned up in the campus of Forks High School, she looked like nothing special. Her ride—a faded red 1963 Chevy pickup truck—was no fancier than any of the others in the school lot, or mine—a charcoal-colored 1989 Ford Ranger. She looked wary, even afraid, when she stepped out of her truck and into the main building. She kept her hood up, avoiding the eyes of the other students in the halls. I was disappointed, to say the least. I had been expecting something of a beaming fairy princess strutting into the entrance, by the way everyone, especially the boys, talked about Isabella Swan.
It was even more unbearable that with the next issue of the school paper coming up, my close friend Eric Yorkie wouldn't shut up about the plan that we'd put Miss Swan on the headline, the main feature of the school paper. I was glad that I was in charge of the literary section and would have little part in the editorial section. But being Eric's friend, I was still the one he approached whenever he wanted advice on how to describe Miss Swan. Until she finally arrived in the school, I had believed that whatever adoration my schoolmates reserved for Miss Swan was mere fantasy.
She stepped into the entrance hall looking eager to avoid everyone. Such a task was virtually impossible because everyone knew who she was. But when she removed her hood, I saw that she was certainly pretty. I could see by her pale, flawless skin contrasting with her brown hair, which had a hint of auburn in it. I was even a little envious of her plump lips and her soft chocolate brown eyes.
My own lips are shapely but they don't have Isabella's seductive pout. My eyes are brown too, but very dark brown with a reddish tint. The color of my eyes matches that of my elbow-length, curly hair, something I had inherited from several generations of Sephardic Jews. My skin is a little pale, but it bears an olive tint that betrays my Mediterranean heritage. It looks even paler than it really is because I like to wear heavy makeup to match the rest of my goth look. Most of my friends probably didn't even know what I looked like in the morning.
"Oh my God, Beulah, here she comes!" squeaked Eric.
"Go!" I said patiently.
Eric approached the girl, chest out, like he usually did when addressing the student council or the staff of the school paper or the principal. Busy with reading her schedule, Isabella Swan hadn't seen him coming until he spoke.
"Hey, you're Isabella Swan, the new girl," said Eric in his somewhat unnatural advertisement announcer voice. "Hi, I'm Eric, the eyes and ears of this place. Um, anything you need?—tour guide?—lunch date?—Crayola crayon?"
He said all of that very fast, before Miss Isabella Swan could properly react. I smiled to myself as I watched them, leaning against the wall. But I was not amused when the girl smiled gingerly and said to my friend, "Uh—I'm really kind of the more … sufferer-in-silence type." I knew Eric could be overbearing sometimes, but she could have at least thanked him for the warm welcome.
Eric handled it better than I might have. He retained his smile and brought it up: "Good headline for the feature! I'm on the paper, and you're news, baby—front page!"
I wished he hadn't brought it up yet. The girl was obviously really shy; he could have gone easy on her so she could relax about it. "No, I'm not," blurted the girl in shock. When she composed herself, she tried to smile again. "Please, don't …"
"Whoa, whoa, chillax," said Eric soothingly, "no feature."
Isabella sighed with relief and smiled before scurrying to her first class.
"Five seconds!" I screeched. "In five seconds, you dropped the feature! Tell me you were bluffing!"
"I wasn't," said Eric, still grinning. But I could tell from being here since freshman year that Eric was not one to display any negative emotion, no matter how much he was brimming with it.
"Eric, that feature is precious to you—to Angela—to everybody! Since the news came out that Chief Swan's daughter is coming to live in Forks, you've been looking forward to composing it!"
Eric clapped his hand on my shoulder. "Beulah, really, it's cool. She doesn't want to be center of attention like that. Let's respect it."
I could tell he didn't mean what he said. But more importantly, I didn't understand why Eric would go that far for one little request. He could have persuaded her a little more. He was good at that. We featured new students once in a while even before Miss Swan came into the picture. Eric was just a little more enthusiastic about her than anyone else.
"Oh, classes start in fifteen minutes," said Eric, his smile never fading. He left me in the hall.
I went straight to Building Three for my Literature class—my first class of the day. When I arrived in the classroom, Isabella Swan was there, giving her slip to our teacher, Mr. Mason, who was a tall man with a scalp shining through a thin sheet of hair. He gawked at Miss Swan when he saw her name. I couldn't hide my distaste. Even the prettiest people I've ever seen didn't get this kind of attention.
Mr. Mason gave her the syllabus of the class and sent her to the back of the classroom. My seat was near hers. I liked sitting at the back of the classroom; I could see the blackboard better from the back. Out of curiosity, I observed Miss Swan for a while. She looked indifferent when she read the syllabus. I tried not to look too deep into it, but I felt a bit offended. This semester, we were covering Chaucer, Shakespeare, Brontë, and Faulkner—to name a few. This is something no one should take lightly.
I thought no more of that through this class and the next ones. After Literature, I wasn't classmates with Miss Swan again. When the lunch bell rang, I came face-to-face with her again. She was with Jessica Stanley, another friend of mine. "Hi, Beulah!" she said.
"You know her?" asked Chief Swan's daughter. She looked at me with a small smile and a curious gaze. I didn't like how surprised she seemed that bright and blonde Jessica would be friends with a goth girl. I did not miss the way her eyes looked me up and down—at my floor-length, maxi dress with violet, yellow, and pink Arabesque pattern; the midnight blue woolen cardigan; and border tartan scarf around my neck.
"Are you having lunch with us?" I said, smiling anyway.
"Yeah, come on!" said Jessica enthusiastically as she led us to the cafeteria.
"I'm Beulah," I said, shaking her hand. "You're—umm—Isabella?" I began, just for small talk.
"Bella," she corrected.
"Bella," I repeated. "Where are you from?"
"Phoenix, Arizona," she said.
I looked at her face. For a moment, I thought she was lying.
"What?" she said, as though alarmed by my gaze.
"Shouldn't you be tan?" I asked.
"I prefer staying indoors," she said quickly.
"Okay," I said, pursing my lips. "How long have you been here?"
"I arrived yesterday. I'm living with my dad now."
"Until now, you had been living with your mom in Arizona?"
"She's moving to Jacksonville soon, with her new husband Phil."
"Is Phil nice?" I had to ask. I had known too many unhappy kids from unhappy parents.
Bella smiled, more genuinely this time. She looked a lot prettier with it, because her cheeks became a little fuller. Her face looked a little like that of a mannequin—wide forehead, prominent cheekbones, and a noticeably full lips that didn't seem to fit with the jaw but looked good anyway. She would be this attractive all the time if she weren't wearing her blank expression most of the time.
"Phil's really nice," she said fondly. But her smile abruptly vanished. Her cheeks went slightly pink and she looked away briefly as if from shame.
"How long have you been away from your dad?—your real dad?"
"I used to come here for three weeks every summer. But it's been years," she said sadly.
"I hope you like it here now that you're staying long," I said.
She smiled again. But it was forced now. She cast a look of hate upon the rain pattering against the windowpanes.
Jessica led us to our table, where Eric and blond, blue-eyed jock Mike Newton were already eating. When we took our seats, Angela Weber sat across the table from Bella, aimed a camera at her, and said, "Smile!"
Bella barely reacted by the time the light flashed at her face. "Okay?" she breathed in shock.
"Sorry," said Angela. "We need a candid for the feature."
"The feature's dead, Angela," snapped Eric. "Don't bring it up again." With an uncharacteristic display of aggression, he pushed his plate away and left the table.
I glanced at Bella, whose eyes were on a group of slightly older teenagers sitting together in the corner of the cafeteria. She gazed upon them in awe. Who could blame her? The Cullen kids—three boys and two girls—were a gorgeous bunch.
Emmett Cullen, who looked like he was the oldest, had dark, curly hair and a big, muscular build. Jasper Hale, Mrs. Cullen's nephew, who looked much leaner than Emmett, had honey-blond hair and a permanently surprised look in his face. Edward Cullen was by far the handsomest among them. He was lean like Jasper, but he held a more graceful posture, and a more normal (albeit sulky) expression. He had striking but messy auburn-colored hair that shone like bronze in the light.
Of the girls, Rosalie Hale, Jasper's twin, was the taller one. She had elbow-length, wavy golden blonde hair and a curvy, athletic figure. The shorter girl, Alice Cullen, on the other hand, had a pixie-cut black hair. She was also quite thin, in contrast to her shapely companion. But Alice was nothing short of beautiful. She could pass off as a fairy. Alice picked up her tray and walked away, her steps like that of a runway model. I could never tell whether that was her normal gait or that she was showing off.
"Who are they?" asked Bella.
Jessica giggled. "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.
"They are—very nice-looking," said Bella stiffly.
"Yes!" Jessica giggled again. I thought it was annoying, but I had grown to get used to it. "They're all together though." Her voice was hushed now. "Like, together-together," she added. "Rosalie is with Emmett; they're, like, a thing. I'm not even sure that's legal."
"Jess, they're not actually related," said Angela.
"Yeah, but it's weird," said Jessica.
I nodded in agreement. "And Alice is with Jasper, the blond one who looks like he's in pain."
"Which ones are the Cullens?" asked Bella.
"Dr. Cullen is really young, in his twenties or early thirties. They're all adopted. The Hales are brother and sister, twins—the blonds—and they're foster children," said Jessica.
"They look a little old for foster children," said Bella.
"Well, I guess they've grown up, and Dr. Cullen must have adopted them when he was much younger," I said, a little annoyed with Bella's comment.
"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," explained Jessica.
"That's really kind of nice—for them to take care of all those kids like that, when they're so young and everything," said Bella.
"I guess so," said Jessica somewhat reluctantly. She was looking at the Cullens with dislike. "I think that Mrs. Cullen can't have any kids, though," she added.
I looked at the Cullens again. They weren't touching their food; nor were they conversing with each other. They were just sitting there. It was somehow disturbing to see.
"Have they always lived in Forks?" I heard Bella ask.
"No," answered Jessica. "They just moved down two years ago from somewhere in Alaska."
Edward glanced at our direction. Handsome as he was, I didn't like the way he stared.
"Which one is the boy with the reddish brown hair?" asked Bella. I looked at her; Bella was peeking at Edward from the corner of her eye. I looked back at him, who I noticed to be staring at Bella.
"That's Edward. He's gorgeous, of course, but don't waste your time," said Jessica. "He doesn't date. Apparently none of the girls here are good-looking enough for him," she added bitterly. I watched the corner of Bella's mouth barely curling upwards; she must have guessed that Jessica had a thing for Edward. Again, who could blame her? But last year, fed up with waiting for him to respond to her flirting, she decided to talk with him. That was when I thought that there must be something wrong with the dude; Jessica was a beautiful girl with a fun disposition to match, but he promptly rejected her invitation to hang out. Needless to say, Jessica was deeply insulted.
Edward turned away. Thank goodness, I was starting to get tired of his glare. Shortly afterwards, the four of them left the table together, just in time for the end of lunch period.
My next class was Biology; I would be with Bella again. The classroom was a laboratory with wooden tables with tops made of black ceramic. Each table had two occupants; only two of them were missing one occupant each. Bella was made to sit with Edward Cullen; I sat just behind her.
I felt a little worried that Edward would hurt Bella. I knew it was unlikely, but I didn't like the way he stared at her. If I were in Bella's place, I would have asked the teacher to let me transfer to a new seat, but she didn't. I was sure she knew. I didn't blame her for not confronting him about it, but she could have at least glared back at him.
The period passed, quite slowly. I listened to the lecture and took down notes, but most of the time, I just kept glancing at Edward and Bella. He wouldn't stop staring at her; he would only look away when she would look back at him. I felt an urge to call his attention and tell him that he was being rude. But I didn't want to be glowered at, at the moment.
The bell rang again, and Edward left his seat, practically jumping out of it. Bella looked upset. "Are you alright?" I asked.
It was Bella's turn to frown. "What was his problem? He was so mean!" she said, gathering her things. I noticed her eyes filling with tears.
"I was more worried he would hurt you," I said.
"It wasn't fair!" she said.
"What wasn't fair? Would you prefer that he ogled at you like everybody else?" I blurted out.
She didn't hear, busy as she was with wiping her tears.
"Hey, Bella," I said, glancing at the wall clock, "my next class is Spanish. What's yours?"
"I'm headed to the gym, actually," she told me.
"That's my next class, too," said Mike, who was in Biology class with us, too. He seemed unusually thrilled. I had to try not to frown at him.
"In that case, I guess I'll see you tomorrow," I said to them both.
Spanish was my last class for the day. Spanish was my favorite subject because I understood and spoke a little of it. When my family lived in the Jewish community in Seattle, some of the older people spoke some Ladino, which is Castilian with some Turkish and Hebrew mixed into it. So it wasn't too hard for me to get through this class.
While taking down notes and reciting, Edward's face kept popping in my head. I really hated his look. If I were the one sitting beside him, I would have poked him right in the eye.
When classes were over, I thought no more of today's events and drove home. I loved Forks and its cool and moist climate. I loved the peaceful town and its mild-mannered inhabitants. I loved the tight-knit community; I loved my friends, including the ones in the nearby La Push reservation. I would be visiting them on the weekend. I loved playing in the snow and watching my dog play in it.
The road itself was a bit slippery as I drove home. As my truck shuffled into the garage next to the family van, my faithful Rottweiler was waiting for me at the front door, his tongue hanging out. "Hi, Golem!" I called, and he instantly trotted toward me. "Down!" I commanded when I saw he was about to get on his hind legs and rest his front paws on my shoulders. Panting, Golem obeyed, still staring happily at me.
"Good boy," I said, patting his head. Now four years old, Golem was too big and heavy. But he certainly missed being carried in my arms. I'd gotten him as a present on my bat mitzvah. He had been a one-month-old puppy back then.
My family had originally been living in Seattle, but we'd moved here in Forks for a more peaceful environment. I'd been ten years old, and my family had all been recovering from the death of a second son.
There were pictures of my two brothers among the family portraits on the wall along stairs to the bedrooms. I gave each of them a kiss every time I went down the stairs in the morning, and every time I went up the stairs from school. My first's brother's name was Asher, and he had hemophilia, a genetic disorder that prevented his blood from clotting. He tried to climb from his crib one day and fell. I was six years old when I watched his little coffin sink into the earth.
My second brother Ethan lived much longer. For a while, I imagined looking out for him as we grew up. A boy from school threw a rock at him and hit him on the head. It wouldn't have been that much of a problem if he hadn't stopped bleeding. He'd gone into shock and died by the time he was at the hospital. I was ten. Fearing of having a third son, Mama and Papa didn't try for any more children.
Shortly after Ethan died, I was found to have thrombocytopenia, a similar disorder of having too few platelets. Like my brothers, it could take a while before my wounds stop bleeding. Fortunately, my condition was not as fatal. However, it was an indication that I could pass on their disease to a son. I honestly didn't see myself having a son. I didn't even see myself with a husband. I did see myself as a university professor with a couple of poetry collections published. If I marry, that would be great. But that was not my most important goal.
When I changed my violet- and orange-colored arabesque-patterned dress and keffiyeh for a soft cotton shirt and tweed shorts, Mama knocked on my door and announced, "We're having lamb burgers tonight. It's your favorite."
"Thanks, Mama!" I called back.
The lamb burgers were exquisite. My mouth was watering as I bit into mine later that night. We had lamb burgers on my bat mitzvah. And just like that night, Golem lay on the carpet, letting me rest my feet against his warm body.
"Is it delicious, darling?" asked Mama.
Papa gave Mama his sweetest smile. "The patties are little bit toasted at the crusts, but I like it that way," he said. "It's a great meal after sitting in an office smelling like my colleagues' chips on their desks."
"It's a little oily though," I said.
"Here are some napkins, honey," said Mama, handing me three sheets. "How was today? I heard Chief Swan's daughter went to school today."
"She's okay—kinda shy—she seems fond of the Cullens—especially Edward."
"Is he the handsome one with chestnut hair? He does seem charming."
"Mama, the guy never talks to anybody. She doesn't stand a chance."
In the next day, I thought I was right. Edward Cullen hadn't shown up in school, and Bella was sad about it. Bella kept looking at the Cullens' table again and again while we were eating. I followed her gaze and then asked her, "Are you looking for Edward Cullen?"
"Umm," she muttered, looking away from that table, "yes—yes, I am."
"Why do you bother? After what he did to you, I wouldn't want to see him again," I said.
"I just want to confront him, that's all," she said.
"Well, it looks like he's not coming," I said with finality.
Bella looked taken aback and somewhat offended, perhaps surprised at how curt I was. I couldn't understand why Bella wanted to see Edward so badly.
"I want to see him," she insisted, her voice rising.
"He obviously doesn't like you. So take Jessica's advice and don't waste your time on him."
Jessica's gorgeous best friend, Lauren Mallory giggled. Bella and I glanced at this gorgeous blonde with green eyes. She looked deeply satisfied that I told off Bella.
"Why are you so against him?" asked Bella irritably.
"And why are you so desperate to see him?"
"You didn't answer my question," said Bella.
"You really want an answer?" I asked, crossing my arms while leaning closer to her. Our friends watched tensely as I said, "I tried to be friendly with him, but he rejected me …"
Bella gave a somewhat reluctant smirk and then chuckled. I thought she would have laughed out loud but was too modest for that.
"What's so funny?" I asked in a low voice.
"Do you think he'd like you?"
My mouth fell agape, unable to get any words out. "Who do you think you are, Isabella?" I asked angrily. The rest of the cafeteria abruptly grew quiet. People looked at me, but I ignored them. "You don't know anything about anyone here!"
I lost my appetite and walked away. I didn't care what my friends thought of either of us. I didn't want to see her anymore.