PREFACE

If you really, really think about it, you notice millions of things every fraction of a second. Information is constantly demanding your attention every way you look. Try it now —just sit still, and think about every little thing you see, hear, and feel. Try and lose yourself in all of the tiny idiosyncrasies of your surroundings. Don't think of anything else…focus only on what your senses are telling you. Embrace every aspect of your world's existence.

Actually, nevermind. I've given you too broad of a scope for the analogy I'm trying to make. Instead, if you will, focus on a single object. Focus on one thing within your line of sight. Get to know it as thoroughly as you can. Stare at it —memorize each seemingly inconsequential element as it is revealed to you. What color is the object? What is its relative size? What makes this object unique in comparison to absolutely everything else in the universe?

Maybe you feel calm without thoughts of your social life buzzing around in your head. Maybe you feel peaceful after truly appreciating whatever thing you gazed at.

But maybe you're feeling truly alarmed; only now realizing how many miniscule details make up this item. I know that's how I felt the first time I tried this exercise.

However, needless to say, I'm very different than you. You only know the facets of your object because you buckled down and concentrated. Every single factor of every single sight, sound, smell, texture, and taste I'm exposed to, I register. I literally see, hear, smell, touch, and taste everything in my surroundings.

Think about all the odd little quirks you learned about whatever item you selected. Now imagine if you had learned all that in 1/100th of a second, and you learn the same amount of data every 1/100th of a second you look at it. Now imagine you understood that number of facts about everything —every speck of dust— in your line of sight. Can you even envision the overwhelming tidal wave of observations?

Maybe you can't wrap your head around it, but that's okay. That's why we're different. Because knowing everything about every single molecule of water in that tidal wave is my reality. I learn it without thinking. It doesn't even take me a second to know positively everything about everything in my line of sight.

It's the same thing about the other four senses, and it's because of the hypersensitivity and speed of my mind. If an average vampire's mind is as fast as a Ferrari, mine can teleport.

A very insightful man once told me my hypersensitivity was a gift, and I've always believed that wholeheartedly. But I'm going to cast the clock backwards, to a time before my gift was an ability, and previous to being told by the vampire I mentioned that it was even a gift. No, this was back when I thought my awareness was only a knack.

ONE

I was the new kid, so it goes without saying that every pair of eyes was glued to me that first day of school. In this inconvenience, however, I was not alone. There was a girl —another junior, in fact— who was joining Forks High School that Tuesday of January 18th as well. Her name was Isabella Swan.

I knew this only because in a town the microscopic size of Forks, news travels like wildfire.

She and I were seated in the front office. It was similar to every other front office I'd ever encountered —the padded folding chairs, commercial carpet, notice-crowded walls, and abundance of indoor plant life were unremarkable. My acquaintance, who sat to my right, shared my views if her expression was anything to go by. And with me analyzing it, her face was as good as an encyclopedia. I was more observant and intuitive than your usual run-of-the-mill John Doe.

The room was cut in half by a long counter, cluttered with wire baskets full of papers and brightly colored flyers taped to the fronts. There were three desks behind the counter, one of which was manned by a large, red-haired woman wearing glasses. She wasn't particularly attractive —excuse my wandering eyes. Even at the time, my constant vigilance of every iota in existence had some potency. Of course, it was nowhere near as developed. I could only read people's expressions more thoroughly, read and see with perfect clarity at greater distances, and see fairly well in the dark at this point. My other senses were only slightly more finely-tuned than my fellow humans'.

"Alright!" exclaimed Mrs. Cope (or so her name tag called her), tucking away a folder she had been sifting through. "Can Mr. Jordan Castro and Isabella Swan stand?"

"It's Bella," the girl said, a small undercurrent of annoyance in her reply. So she preferred 'Bella' to her birth name…maybe I could change her mind.

Bella was not the textbook definition of drop-dead gorgeous, but she had very symmetrical features and was easy to look at. Her eyes were brown and especially expressive compared to others I knew —brown eyes are commonly depthless. She was very pretty, actually. Pale, but pretty.

Mrs. Cope nodded, delving into another stack of paperwork. Her body language indicated at least another five minutes of waiting. I sighed, letting my head fall gently against the plaster wall. Boredom nipped at my heels.

"Bella," I said, attempting to dodge the dullness of the moment. Those communicative eyes fell upon my own, and I gave her a reassuring smile. After a moment, she smiled a small smile back. "Where are you from?"

"Phoenix," she replied, and with one look at her white skin, an eyebrow of mine raised in doubt. "My mother is part albino," she explained, jokingly I was sure.

I gave her another smile —in appreciation of her joke— and returned my gaze to Mrs. Cope. My thoughts, however, were still centered on Bella. Would she be my first girlfriend here in Forks? I couldn't think of a reason why not.

"Where are you from?" she asked after a moment. I met her gaze once more, and she looked away. I didn't see this as rude. People often don't look straight back at me when we first meet. I've been told I have penetrating eyes.

"The question is, where am I not from," I told her. "My family moves at least twice a year…my parents are travel-buffs."

"Oh." A pause. "Charlie —my dad, I mean— is the chief of police here. My mom's back in Florida."

"Oh."

Time passed. I didn't want to press her for information, because she seemed like the kind of person who would expect information in return, and I'm the kind of person who'd rather know everything about a body before a body knew anything about me.

Mrs. Cope stood and motioned us to the counter. A class schedule was proffered to each of us. I scanned it quickly ––English, government, trigonometry, gym, lunch, biology, and Spanish, in that order. I took a glance at hers ––English, government, trigonometry, Spanish, lunch, biology, then gym.

So we had four classes together. Excellent.

Mrs. Cope handed us a school map and told us to share, highlighting the best routes to our classes, Bella's in yellow, mine in blue. Once we were back in the rain of Forks, I gave my fellow newcomer the map. I had long before discovered I was more apt at finding my way around a new school without an atlas.

I continued to watch Bella as I walked with her. The girl's nose was buried in that map. My eyes scanned over it involuntarily. I reached out and grabbed it, tossing it into a nearby waste basket.

She narrowed her eyes at me. "What was that for?" she demanded, her anger resembling that of a kitten's.

"Don't worry, I got this," I told her, taking her arm gently and steering the both of us in the direction of Building three.

There weren't many students at Forks High School ––maybe 400. Everyone looked more or less the same, clad in dark-colored raincoats, faces obscured by umbrellas. The low sound of Bella's teeth chattering poked my ears, though she wore a black coat. For a moment I wished I had a sweater to offer her, but since I had none, we continued in silence.

"So your name is Jordan," she said, hugging herself as we passed the cafeteria, which (according to the long-forsaken map) was central to the campus. "Where did you live right before you came to Forks?"

"LA," I said, rain trailing down my face and dampening my hair and clothes. "Before that, Atlanta, NYC, New Orleans, Denver, Springfield, the Jersey Shore, Albuquerque… and about a dozen more."

"Wow," she stated simply, crossing her arms. "You weren't kidding."

"No," I agreed. "Now it's your turn ––your parents are divorced, and you've probably lived with your mom for the majority of the time…why the move?"

She shifted uneasily. My filling-in-the-blanks was another thing all my new friends learned to get accustomed to. "Umm, yes and yes. Rene, my mom, has a new boyfriend named Phil. Phil travels a lot, and Rene didn't want to uproot me, but I know traveling with him makes her happy, so I moved here."

I thought about that for a moment. She prized her mother's happiness over her own; Bella was selfless. I nodded to myself, creating a mental list of her character traits. "Huh," was all I actually said to her as we reached the door to Building three. I opened it for her, and we made our way inside.

A tall, balding man with a nametag identifying him as Mr. Mason greeted us with overt enthusiasm. My pale friend was quick to transform her face into a tomato. As he began speaking to us about the required reading he'd assigned a few days previous, I took a look around. There were maybe eighteen other people in the class ––very small numbers in comparison to what I was used to. I shrugged it off, and after his invitation, took one of the two empty desks in the back.

Bella joined me, blatantly relieved at not being introduced to the class. I doubt how necessary it would have been, because even as we talked in the hallways, I heard countless murmured 'Isabella Swan's and 'Jordan Castro's. There was no disputing that everyone in the room knew exactly who we were.

Mr. Mason rambled about Shakespeare, Bronte, Chaucer, and Faulkner as he pointed at the whiteboard with a yardstick. It was comforting that I had read everything already ––and an assurance of free time. I sank into my chair, making myself comfortable, and began to contemplate ways to approach Bella.

Getting girls was different in small towns versus, say, Los Angeles. I'd inferred that much myself. Care need be taken that you don't sleep with two or more members of any social circle, which vets your options right away at a smaller school. In either case, it was possible to gain a reputation, which I managed to do virtually every time despite my taking every effort to avoid doing so. Some girls, it's just for fun, and that's established mutually beforehand. Sometimes it's a friends-with-benefits arrangement, and other times I ask a girl to be my girlfriend. But, I haven't fallen in love. Not yet.

I took another gander at the other teenagers that filled Mr. Mason's classroom. All of them were seated ahead of Bella and I, and while one would think that would deter them from staring, they still managed. My eyes reflected into any pair that wandered near me. Each looked away.

"Do you like English?" I murmured to Bella, gazing fixatedly at Mr. Mason's reddish and balding head. His lips were moving independent of his eyes, signaling that he wasn't in touch with his emotions, or so was the case with most others. This was what I did in my spare time —people-watching— learning as much as I could about anyone and everyone. You automatically have the upper hand if you know more about someone than they do about you, and it's easier to interact with them…at least for me.

"I speak it," she replied, making me smile. "And I like to read."

"What do you like to read, Bella?"

She shrugged. "Jane Austen is my favorite."

The rest of the period, I studied her face through my peripheral vision. She was disinterested, maybe for the same reason I was. Her shrug indicated either that she considered reading just a way to pass time or did it often enough to rule it out as only a hobby. I thought the latter was more likely. So she'd read the books Mr. Mason was rambling on about, just as I had. And that's why she was bored.

I, for one, don't bore easily. People-watching is always possible unless you're alone. And since Bella was my current target, I'd discovered she was a selfless bookworm so far. But certainly there was more to her.

The bell rang, and a boy with severe acne plaguing his face and oily black hair turned around in his seat, coming nose to nose with Bella. "You're Isabella Swan, aren't you?"

I watched Bella carefully. She gave him the once-over, her face turning placid after her inspection. Judgment had been passed onto the gangly kid, one without a connotation. So she liked to read people as well. She was intuitive.

"Bella," she corrected, earning the eyes of all students within a three-desk radius of us.

"And you're Jordan Castro," he said, angling to me.

I met his gaze, smiling belatedly. "Yes," I answered.

He looked back to Bella instinctively. It appeared my 'penetrating eyes' bothered these Washingtonians more than usual. Then again, I supposed Forks was particularly sheltered, being so small and incased within a dense forest. "Where's your next class?" he asked her.

She reached for her bag. I stood up, slinging mine over my shoulder. "We both have government with Mr. Jefferson —building six."

Bella's hand closed around the handle of her bag and she stood as well. I silently but firmly told myself to watch my step. There is a certain possessiveness I feel towards everyone I meet. The more I like them, the more I try and tuck them under my wing.

There's no superiority complex, I just am very picky about my friends, and once people know things about you, it's better to keep them close than let them drift.

"I'm headed toward building four; I could show you two the way…." He was being overly helpful, meaning he was a schmoozer or had a low self-esteem and was looking for an ally. "I'm Eric," he added.

This time, I kept my mouth shut. Eric could lead the way if Bella wanted. I watched her.

She smiled tentatively. "Thanks."

The three of us headed out into the rain, which was coming down harder than before. While the majority of the students were scrambling for cover or had their raincoats pulled over their heads, I would have been perfectly content to just stand there if I didn't have a class to attend. The feeling of the cold rain droplets drumming against my skin was invigorating.

Eric kept stride with Bella, and I was one step behind them. Several people behind us were purposely walking close enough to eavesdrop. I was torn between abruptly stopping and letting one of them smack into me, scattering them all, or sticking with Bella and Eric and possibly learning more about her.

"So, this is a lot different than Phoenix, huh?" he asked, making up my mind for me. My stride stuttered slightly, and then I was in step with them, Bella in the center.

"Very," she replied.

"It doesn't rain much there, does it?"

"Three or four times a year."

He stuck his neck out to look at me past Bella. "How about you, Jordan? Where are you from?"

"Los Angeles," I told him, not caring to elaborate. After all, there was no way he would turn into any sort of romantic interest.

We passed the cafeteria again, and were approaching the gym. Eric walked the both of us right to the door of building six, though it was clearly marked. "Well, good luck," he said as I opened the door for Bella. "Maybe we'll have some other classes together." He was addressing my pale friend, and sounded hopeful.

All she gave him was a vague smile, and then went inside.

During government, my eyes diverted from Bella to the rest of the female population. There wasn't too much variety…all pale-skinned, no one caring to do much with their hair (probably because of the constant humidity and rain), all more or less dressed conservatively. LA was the opposite, but I told myself to get over the city, though it would most likely be my favorite ever residing in.

Steadily, I gained little tidbits of info about Bella. There was some awkwardness with her father as a result of the temporary unfamiliarity, but it was being dissipated gradually because apparently Charlie 'was a man of few words.' Bella told me a little about her mother, Rene's, childish and eccentric nature. The way she spoke of her, Bella sounded like the parent. She was maternal.

Government ended, and we made our way to trigonometry. Mr. Varner stopped us at the door, and we were made to stand in the front of the class as everyone else took their seats. I didn't mind this, but Bella had morphed into a tomato once more. Her evasiveness towards attention was endearing.

After the students had settled, Mr. Varner looked expectantly at me. He had clean-cut sandy brown hair, some lines in his face, and beady eyes. There was a smile on his face that —while genuine— seemed engraved in a disconcerting way. He stood like he was important.

I cleared my throat, obliging, and introduced myself with charm. Instead of sitting down, I waited for Bella to introduce herself. This way, the attention was shared. She stammered, blushed, and tripped over her own boots on the way to her seat. I guess I didn't do her much of a favor, although I learned of her clumsy tendency.

A girl with dark, wildly curly hair sat on Bella's other side, and she chatted incessantly to her the entire period. I did nothing to halt this and listened hard for any clues in Bella's replies, but she didn't speak very much. This girl, Jessica (or so Mr. Varner called her when he reprimanded her for talking), prattled on and on without any end in sight. Bella's face contorted every few moments, but not in correspondence with Jessica's ramble about teachers and classes and math. Her mind was somewhere else.

The bell rang, announcing the time that Bella's and my schedule differed. She looked uneasily at me as Jessica beckoned to her, apparently having Spanish next as well. I gave her a sympathetic look, standing and gathering my things. I handed her a pencil she had forgotten to pack, our hands touching briefly.

Baby steps.

The languages building was the opposite way of the gymnasium, so I lingered at Mr. Varner's door, watching Jessica and Bella as they began to walk away. After a few moments, I turned on my heel and went on my way. Bella would survive.

It was a bit of a walk to the gym, seeing as it was located near the parking lot. It didn't seem long, though, because on the way I uncovered the hidden treasure of the school.

There were four of them —all very different in appearance— walking towards the gym at an angle perpendicular to mine. They were smiling and laughing, gliding with grace instead of marching like the rest of us. Their movement was too fluid, too easy…I had never seen someone move so effortlessly. Considering, they were also going faster, though that wasn't evident and I only noticed because another group of students had walked alongside them for a few strides.

Each of the four had skin paler than Bella's and their eyes were a golden hazel —an eye-color I'd never before seen. How did they share the same skin and eyes, when their body-types and hair-color contrasted so sharply? Why was each of their facial features straight, angular, and perfect?

The four bothered me so much that I couldn't look away.

There were two boys and two girls. Of the two boys, one was seriously big and barrel-chested, bearing cannon-like muscles that —quite honestly— I envied. He had a square face and a cheesy smile, with a mop of dark brown curls as hair.

This weight-lifting buff had an arm around a girl who was truly a woman. She was tall and held herself with a haughty air. Her figure was…holy shit. She was slender, she was curvy, she was…so unbelievably sexy. Gentle waves of blonde fell about her shoulders, reaching maybe the middle of her back. My mouth watered profusely.

Next to the presumed couple (the burly one's body angled towards the model in a slightly protective way, and that doubled with the arm) walked a boy with a very serious demeanor. His blonde curls resembled the beauty's ––maybe those two were related. He was taller than the weight-lifter, leaner, although still with toned arms. His eyes caught my attention only because his were so transparently expressive. The boy was in anguish.

I blinked, bewildered. It isn't everyday you see pure anguish writhing in someone's eyes, especially while their face is so stoic. I followed his gaze, hoping to see what manifested such pain in—

Oh.

Well, the model was a model, and that was great, but this girl —it broke my heart how devastatingly, inhumanly beautiful she was. So pure, so innocent…she was so soft-looking. The lines of her face were gentle, her blackish-red hair wisped in a pixie haircut around her sprightly eyes. She made me feel as light as a feather —like I was floating…floating towards her….

Her eyebrows arched delicately, her nose sloped forward with elegance, the contours of her lips…. The model may have made my mouth water, but this girl, she… she made my mouth go dry.

I was unknowingly walking faster, hurrying towards her. Look at me, sweetheart, I begged silently in my mind, shoving past those that crowded my path. Look at me….

As if she heard me, her angelic face turned towards mine. Those golden eyes fell on my own, sending fireworks off in my brain. Her eyes held such kindness, such intelligence. I needed to talk to her, I needed to see––

The four disappeared into the gym, and I caught a glimpse of bronze hair that must have belonged to the boy I didn't get a good look at. All of a sudden reality was thrust upon me again ––here I was, Jordan Castro, junior at a new school, heading for gym class. I exhaled violently, being apprised of the fact that I'd been holding my breath.

Even though I knew the four were now in the gymnasium, my eyes scanned the section of the campus I could see, still searching for her gentle, inquisitive face. At once my feet sped up once more ––after all, those four perfectly sculpted students were in my next class, and I wasn't about to be late.