My Heaven with Edward
"OMG, Izzy, did you see him?" I whispered to my friend as we sat next to each other making clay pots in the Sculpture room. Mine looked like a crushed can. Izzy's actually resembled a pot.
"What do you think I am, blind?" This is somewhat of a joke because Izzy really needs glasses. "Of course I saw him and he is hot!" We both laughed.
"So what's up with this kid?" I asked her. "I mean, it's January. Why didn't he come in the beginning of the year?"
"I don't know," Izzy mused and turned back to her pot. "But something's quite strange about this guy, mark my words."
The boy to whom we were referring was a new kid in the eighth grade. He had pale skin without being too white, dark hair without having a "dyed" look and of course golden eyes no color contacts could replicate. His name was Edward Cullen. He had supposedly moved to Chicago because he was a bad boy from Washington, but I didn't believe that. I mean, what's in Washington to be bad about. I don't know, but his story wasn't straight. But one thing was certain: all 43 girls in our grade were crushing hard.
"What art is he in, do you think?" I asked.
"I think it was Painting," Izzy said.
LATER THAT DAY
As I was in my car on the way home from school listening to "American Boy" on my iPod, I noticed the Cullen kid staring at me. I closed my eyes to block out his glance, but then a voice in my head whispered: You will regret this…