Chapter Two
Edward Cullen.
No one had ever called him ordinary or average.
No one would dare.
He had messy reddish-brown hair, frequently mussed by long, moon-white fingers. It stood in peaks and spikes, lay wavy and appealing across his forehead. It seemed alive, constantly moving like down feathers. It shone like bronze in the sun, the exact shade shifting continuously until no one knew what color it actually was. Even his freaking hair was a miracle.
He had the eyes of an angel – oh so peaceful and serene. They were precisely, intensely blue – so much so that the color blue almost didn't exist to a person until those eyes were viewed for the first time. They were shaped strangely, almost trapezoidally, in a way that made them seem exotic and sad and miles deep.
He was a strange height – tall for his age, but not generally tall – not yet. It was impossible to pinpoint his height and when anyone asked him what it was, he'd shake his head and narrow his eyes and say "a true gentleman never reveals his height" in his bass voice. Then he'd laugh and everyone around him forgot what the question was as he revealed his startlingly white teeth – teeth that made his unbelievably pale skin look bluish in contrast.
He worked at his mothers' music store, playing the Kawai baby grand piano in the window. He'd sit, ruffling his already-crazy hair absently and moving sheet music – with his poetic scrawl sprawled over the staff – across the polished black sheen. He'd sing too, words of his own making that meant nothing and everything at the same time
He had the grace of someone who floated endlessly through life. He played the civilized sports, things like tennis and cross country running, but stayed as close to under the radar in them as anyone with his looks and talent could. But girls still came to his meets just to watch his long, pale arms push the air to either side as he ran or the way he grimaced as his racket connected. Strangely, for all his grace, he couldn't dance, just move his limbs awkwardly from side to side while he smiled apologetically at those who had to be seen with him. Fortunately, the way the light flashed off of his skin – covered with a light sheen of sweat – at school dances was almost a dance in itself.
His father was the most prominent doctor at the hospital in Forks. He was attractive and soothing and soon the giggling gaggles of girls in the small town were calling him things like Doctor Love. He was the tennis coach and a family man. A leader of his church. And herein lay the problem with the Cullens. Carlisle and Esme, Alice, Rosalie, and even Edward. They were Mormon. Strictly. They couldn't drink coffee or read certain books. And they certainly could not date girls outside of their religion. Especially before they were of marrying age. And all of them were completely secure in their stifling religion. The family was close and kept each other from straying from the "flock" or considering the strange or unnecessary tenets of their church.
So when Edward's eyes looked into Bella Swan's, when he felt a tug on his heart and a pressure in his throat, he knew he was in trouble. He was questioning something he had known his entire life to be right for a person he didn't even know. Her eyes turned lighter as he watched them in that interminable second. The orange and gold colors were all warmth to his cool blue paleness. She was melting him in a vat full of everything he was certain of. And he was smiling despite the pain. He hadn't known how cold he was until she set him on fire.
He didn't know this, but when Bella met his eyes – murmuring obscenities in some back corner of her mind – she watched his eyes change from the tranquil, peaceful blue they usually were (the very color of heaven) to a blue fire. They darkened – still bright, still dancing with his smile – but full of self-mockery and a little bit of danger. Just like that, they sucked her in. And in that mix of heaven and hellfire, she found the truth. She was efficiently, effortlessly attached to the one person in this school that was unattainable and forbidden in so many ways. She would burn for this.
Edward slowly bent to her level to help her gather the fliers – as if she were going to run away.
"Where do I sign up?" he asked cautiously, eyes still smoldering.
"For which one?"
"Umm…" he looked at the fliers in his hands for the first time, "the musical and choir."
She handed him a few clip boards and smiled at him, walking to the debate team table.
She didn't hear Edward groan and then mumble to himself, "Who knew the devil would actually get me to sign over my soul with a clip board and a smile?"