My mother drove me to the airport, the windows were rolled down, and the humid, Phoenix wind warmed my face. It was seventy-five degrees, the sky a perfect, cloudless blue, and it hit me just how much I would miss this place. I would miss how the barren landscape of Arizona, in many ways, matched the colors of a setting sun. I would miss the sparse, but ever present greenery that always looked as if it were on the verge of death. And most of all, I would miss the ever present warmth that seemed to accompany the state even in the coldest of months.
My sleeveless, white shirt flapped with the air rushing through the windows, and I became cognizant of the thought that this might be the last time I would wear it— one final goodbye to the sun, to Phoenix, and to my old life. From here on out, it would be nothing but the parka tucked away in my carry-on bag.
You see, in the Olympic Peninsula of northwest Washington State, a small town named Forks exists under a near-constant cover of clouds. It rains on this inconsequential town more than any other place in the United States of America. It was from this town and its gloomy, omnipresent shade that my mother escaped with me when I was only a few months old. It was in this town that I'd been compelled to spend a month every summer until I was fourteen. That was the year I finally put my foot down; these past three summers, my dad, Charlie, vacationed with me in California for two weeks instead.
It was to Forks that I now exiled myself— an action that I took with great horror. I detested Forks.
"Anna," my mom said to me — the last of a thousand times — before I got on the plane. "You don't have to do this."
A spasm of panic fluttered through my chest as I studied the face that looked so similar to my own; Sky blue eyes, shoulder-length red hair, and pale skin that seemed out of place in the sunny state of Arizona. It would be hard to leave my erratic mother to fend for herself. Though thankfully, she now had Phil. At least her new husband--in my absence--would make sure the bills were paid, food was in the fridge, and gas was in her car. Yet, I still couldn't help but worry.
"I want to go," I lied. I'd always been a bad liar, but I'd been saying this lie so frequently lately that it sounded almost convincing now.
"Tell Charlie I said hi."
"I will."
"I'll see you soon," she insisted. "You can come home whenever you want — I'll come right back as soon as you need me."
But I could see the sacrifice in her eyes behind the promise.
"Don't worry about me," I urged. "It'll be great. I love you, Mom."
She hugged me tightly for a minute, and then I got on the plane, and she was gone.
It's a four-hour flight from Phoenix to Seattle, another hour in a small plane up to Port Angeles, and then an hour drive back down to Forks. Flying doesn't bother me; the hour in the car with my dad, though, I was a little worried about.
My father had been genuinely pleased when he learned I was coming to live with him permanently--in fact, he had been fairly nice about the whole ordeal. He had gotten me registered for high school, and he even offered to help me buy a car. All told, Charlie was a good dad, and I appreciated how willing he had been to alter his life for me.
But it was sure to be awkward with Charlie. Charlie at least wasn't what anyone would call verbose, and I didn't know what there was to say regardless. I knew he was more than a little confused by my decision — like my mother before me, I hadn't made a secret of my distaste for Forks.
When I landed in Port Angeles, it was raining. I didn't see it as an omen — just unavoidable. I'd already said my goodbyes to the sun.
My dad was waiting for me with the cruiser, which I had expected. Charlie was the Chief of Police in Forks, and his car was the primary motivation for me wanting to buy my own despite how scarce my money was. I refused to be taxied around town by a police cruiser--nothing slowed down traffic like a cop.
Dad gave me an awkward, one-armed hug when I stumbled my way off the plane.
"It's good to see you, Anna" he said, smiling as he automatically caught and steadied me. "You haven't changed much. How's Renée?"
"Mom's fine. It's good to see you, too, Dad," I replied with a genuine, though awkward smile of my own.
I had only a few bags. Most of my Arizona clothes were too permeable for Washington. My mom and I had pooled our resources to supplement my winter wardrobe, but it was still scanty. It all fit easily into the trunk of the cruiser.
"I found a good car for you, really cheap," he announced when we were strapped in.
What kind of car?" I was suspicious of the way he said "good car for you" as opposed to just "good car."
"Well, it's a truck actually, a Chevy."
"Where did you find it?"
"Do you remember Billy Black down at La Push?" La Push is the tiny Indian reservation on the coast.
"The one who used to go fishing with us in the summer?" I asked. I remembered him, he had a younger daughter and two older sons who would always tag along on our trips. It had been awhile since I had last seen their family.
"Yeah, that would be him. He's in a wheelchair now, so he can't drive anymore. He offered to sell me his truck cheap," Charlie explained.
"What year is it?" I could see from his change of expression that this was the question he was hoping I wouldn't ask.
"Well, Billy's done a lot of work on the engine — it's only a few years old, really."
I hoped he didn't think so little of me as to believe I would give up that easily. "When did he buy it?"
"He bought it in 1984, I think."
"Did he buy it new?"
"Well, no. I think it was new in the early sixties — or late fifties at the earliest," he admitted sheepishly.
"Dad, I don't really know anything about cars. I wouldn't be able to fix it if anything went wrong, and I couldn't afford a mechanic…"
"Really, Anna, the thing runs great. They don't build them like that anymore."
The thing I thought to myself… it had possibilities — as a nickname, at the very least.
"How cheap is cheap?" After all, that was the part I couldn't compromise on.
"Well, honey, I kind of already bought it for you. As a homecoming gift." Charlie peeked sideways at me with a hopeful expression.
Wow. Free.
"You didn't need to do that, Dad. I was going to buy myself a car."
"I don't mind. I want you to be happy here." He was looking ahead at the road when he said this.
"That's really nice, Dad. Thanks. I really appreciate it." My dad wasn't comfortable with expressing his emotions out loud--a trait I had inherited from him--but it was moments like these that showed me how much he cared.
"Well, now, you're welcome," he mumbled, embarrassed by my thanks.
We exchanged a few more comments on the weather, and he asked passing questions about my life in Phoenix. I asked him about work, and he briefed me on a few of the more interesting cases that had passed by his desk over the years. That was pretty much it for conversation however, and once we ran out of small talk, we stared out the windows in silence.
Washington was beautiful, of course; I couldn't deny that. Everything was a rich, healthy green here: the trees, their trunks covered with moss, their branches hanging with a canopy of it, the ground covered with ferns. It was all so vibrant, full of life, and alien. The differences between Arizona and Washington were stark, and while the new views were breathtaking, it would take some getting used to again.
Eventually we made it to Charlie's. He still lived in the small, two-bedroom house that he'd bought with my mother in the early days of their marriage. Those were the only kind of days their marriage had — the early ones. There, parked on the street in front of the house that never changed, was my new — well, new to me — truck. It was a faded red color, with big, rounded fenders and a bulbous cab. To my intense surprise, I loved it. I didn't know if it would run, but I could see myself in it. Plus, it was one of those solid iron affairs that never gets damaged — the kind you see at the scene of an accident, paint unscratched, surrounded by the pieces of the foreign car it had destroyed.
"Wow, Dad, I love it! Thanks!" My voice carried excitement in it, and I turned to offer my father a look of gratitude. Though I dreaded tomorrow, it would be much easier now that I'd be driving to school in a car I liked.
I wouldn't be faced with the choice of either walking two miles in the rain or accepting a ride in the Chief's cruiser.
"I'm glad you like it," Charlie said gruffly, embarrassed again.
It took only one trip to get all my stuff upstairs. I got the west bedroom that faced out over the front yard.
The room was familiar; after all, it had belonged to me since I was born. The faded wooden flooring, the light blue paint on the walls, the peaked ceiling, and the soft, gray curtains around the window--these were all part of my childhood. The only changes my dad had ever made were switching the crib out for a bed, and adding a desk when it had become necessary. It surprised me to see a second-hand computer on the desk, and a phone line for the modem stapled along the floor to the nearest phone jack. More gifts from my dad I assumed, I would have to thank him later. Staying in touch with my mother would be easier now.
There was only one small bathroom at the top of the stairs, which I would have to share with Charlie.
I was trying not to dwell too much on that fact. It would take some getting used to, especially since I had my own bathroom back in Phoenix.
One of the best things about my dad is he doesn't hover. He left me alone to unpack and get settled, a feat that would have been altogether impossible for my mother. It was nice to be alone; a relief to stare dejectedly out the window at the sheeting rain and let just a few tears escape. Change was hard, but I still wasn't in the mood to go on a real crying jag. I would save that for bedtime, when I would have to think about the coming morning.
Forks High School had a frightening total of only three hundred and fifty-seven — now fifty-eight students; there were more than seven hundred people in my junior class alone back home. All of the kids here had grown up together — their grandparents had been toddlers together.
I would be the new girl from the big city, a curiosity.
Maybe, if I looked like a girl from Phoenix should, I could work this to my advantage. But physically, I'd never fit into the stereotypes. I should be tan, sporty, blond — a volleyball player, or a cheerleader, perhaps — all the things that go with living in the valley of the sun.
Instead, I was ivory-skinned, without even the excuse of tan skin or anything close, despite the constant sunshine. I had always been slender, but soft somehow, obviously not an athlete; I didn't have the necessary hand-eye coordination to play sports without humiliating myself.
When I finished putting my clothes in the old pine dresser, I took my bag of bathroom necessities and went to the communal bathroom to clean myself up after the day of travel. I looked at my face in the mirror as I brushed through my tangled, damp hair. Maybe it was the light, but already I looked sallower, unhealthy. My skin could be pretty—it was very clear, almost translucent-looking—but it all depended on color. I had no color here under the gloomy sky.
Facing my pallid reflection in the mirror, I was forced to admit that I was scared for tomorrow. It would be a new school with new faces, and I wasn't sure that I could manage to make friends. I didn't relate well to people, my need to talk constantly making it hard to form connections. The friendships I had made back in Phoenix had mostly been born out of convenience. But still, at least I had friends there. Here, I wouldn't have anyone, and that made tomorrow hard to swallow.
I didn't sleep well that night, even after I was done crying. The constant whooshing of the rain and wind across the roof wouldn't fade into the background. I pulled the faded old quilt over my head, and later added the pillow, too. But I couldn't fall asleep until after midnight, when the rain finally settled into a quieter drizzle.
Thick fog was all I could see out my window in the morning, and I could feel the claustrophobia creeping up on me. You could never see the sky here; it was like a cage.
Breakfast with my dad was a quiet event. He wished me good luck at school. I thanked him, knowing his hope was wasted. Good luck tended to avoid me. He left first, off to the police station. After he left, I sat at the old square oak table in one of the three unmatching chairs and examined his small kitchen, with its dark paneled walls, bright yellow cabinets, and white linoleum floor.
Nothing was changed. My mother had painted the cabinets eighteen years ago in an attempt to bring some sunshine into the house. Over the small fireplace in the adjoining handkerchief-sized family room was a row of pictures. First a wedding picture of my parents in Las Vegas, then one of the three of us in the hospital after I was born, taken by a helpful nurse, followed by the procession of my school pictures up to last year's. Those were embarrassing to look at--I would have to see what I could do to get Dad to put them somewhere else, at least while I was living here.
It was impossible, being in this house, to realize that my dad had never gotten over my mom. It made me uncomfortable. It was heartbreaking the way dad had stayed hung up on my mom after all these years. If anything, I wished he would move on and find someone who made him happy. Just as my mother had. I know he loved her still, but my mom was too much of a free spirit to have ever been able to settle down in a comfortable life with him. And he deserved a comfortable life with someone who wanted the same.
I didn't want to be too early to school, but I couldn't stay in the house anymore. I donned my jacket--which had the feel of a biohazard suit--and headed out into the rain.
It was just drizzling still, not enough to soak me through immediately as I reached for the house key that was always hidden under the eaves by the door, and locked up. The sloshing of my new waterproof boots was unnerving. I missed the normal crunch of gravel as I walked. I couldn't pause and admire my truck again as I wanted; I was in a hurry to get out of the misty wet that swirled around my head and clung to my hair under my hood.
Inside the truck, it was nice and dry. Either Billy or my father had obviously cleaned it up, but the tan upholstered seats still smelled faintly of tobacco, gasoline, and peppermint. The engine started quickly, to my relief, but loudly, roaring to life and then idling at top volume. Well, a truck this old was bound to have a flaw. The antique radio worked, a plus that I hadn't expected.
I had never visited the high school before, but thankfully finding it wasn't a difficult task. The school, much like everything else in this town, was just off the highway. It was a collection of buildings made from maroon-colored bricks, they almost looked like homes. If it hadn't been for the lone sign which declared these buildings to be Forks High School, it would be near impossible to distinguish it as such.
There were so many trees and shrubs that I couldn't see its size at first. Upon closer inspection however, I realized the school was tiny, quaint. Where was the feel of the institution? I wondered nostalgically. Where were the chain-linked fences, the metal detectors, the security guards that patrolled the parking lots? Where were the crowds of kids who looked miserable to be there at eight in the morning?
I parked in front of the first building, which had a small sign over the door which read 'front office'. No one else was parked there, so I was sure it was off limits, but I decided I would get directions inside instead of circling around in the rain like an idiot. I stepped unwillingly out of the toasty truck cab and walked down a little stone path lined with dark hedges. I took a deep breath before opening the door.
Inside, it was brightly lit, and warmer than I'd hoped.
The office was small; a little waiting area with padded folding chairs, orange-flecked commercial carpet, notices and awards cluttering the walls, a big clock ticking loudly. Plants grew everywhere in large plastic pots, as if there wasn't enough greenery outside. The room was cut in half by a long counter, cluttered with wire baskets full of papers and brightly colored flyers taped to its front. There were three desks behind the counter, one of which was manned by a large, red-haired woman wearing glasses. She was wearing a purple t-shirt, which immediately made me feel overdressed.
The red-haired woman looked up. "Can I help you?"
"I'm Anna Swan," I informed her, and saw the immediate awareness light her eyes. There was no doubt my arrival had been expected, after all this was a small town. The police chief's freshly returned daughter would probably be the talk of town for a while.
"Of course," she said, digging through a precariously stacked pile of documents on her desk till she found the ones she was looking for. "I have your schedule right here, and a map of the school." She brought several sheets to the counter.
She went through my classes for me, highlighting the best route to each on the map, and gave me a slip to have each teacher sign, which I was to bring back at the end of the day. She smiled at me and hoped, like Charlie, that I would like it here in Forks. I smiled back as convincingly as I could.
When I went back out to my truck, other students were starting to arrive. I drove around the school, following the line of traffic. I was glad to see that most of the cars were older like mine, nothing flashy. At home I'd lived in one of the few lower-income neighborhoods that were included in the Paradise Valley District. It was a common thing to see a new Mercedes or Porsche in the student lot. The nicest car here was a shiny Volvo, and it stood out. Still, I cut the engine as soon as I was in a spot, so that the thunderous volume wouldn't draw attention to me.
I looked at the map in the truck, trying to memorize it now; hopefully I wouldn't have to walk around with it stuck in front of my nose all day. I stuffed everything in my bag, slung the strap over my shoulder, and sucked in a huge breath. I can do this, I lied to myself feebly. No one was going to bite me. I finally exhaled and stepped out of the truck.
I kept my face pulled back into my hood as I walked to the sidewalk, crowded with teenagers. My plain black jacket didn't stand out, I noticed with relief.
Once I got around the cafeteria, building three was easy to spot. A large black "3" was painted on a white square on the east corner. I felt my breathing gradually creeping toward hyperventilation as I approached the door. I tried holding my breath as I followed two unisex raincoats through the door.
The classroom was small. The people in front of me stopped just inside the door to hang up their coats on a long row of hooks. I copied them. They were two girls, one a porcelain-colored blonde, the other also pale, with light brown hair. At least my skin wouldn't be a standout here.
I took the slip up to the teacher, a tall, balding man whose desk had a nameplate identifying him as Mr. Mason. He gawked at me when he saw my name--not an encouraging response--and of course I flushed tomato red. But at least he sent me to an empty desk at the back without introducing me to the class. It was harder for my new classmates to stare at me in the back, but somehow, they managed. I kept my eyes down on the reading list the teacher had given me.
It was fairly basic: Bronte, Shakespeare, Chaucer, Faulkner. I'd already read everything. That was comforting. I wondered if my mom would send me my folder of old essays, or if she would think that was cheating. I went through different arguments with her in my head while the teacher droned on.
When the bell rang, a nasal buzzing sound, a gangly boy with skin problems and hair black as oil leaned across the aisle to talk to me.
"You're Anna Swan, aren't you?" He looked like the helpful, chess club type.
"That's me" I answered. Everyone within a three-seat radius turned to look at me.
"Where's your next class?" he asked.
I had to check in my bag. "Um, Government, with Jefferson, in building six."
There was nowhere to look without meeting curious eyes.
"I'm headed toward building four, I could show you the way…" Definitely the helpful type. "I'm Eric," he added.
I smiled tentatively. "Thanks."
We got our jackets and headed out into the rain, which had picked up. I could have sworn several people behind us were walking close enough to eavesdrop. I hoped I wasn't getting paranoid.
"So, this is a lot different than Phoenix, huh?" he asked.
"Yeah," I responded politely, "it's very different here."
"It doesn't rain much there, does it?"
"Not really, about three or four times a year. It's pretty rare."
"Wow, what must that be like?" he wondered.
"Sunny," I told him wistfully, "and warm."
"You don't look very tan."
"My mother is part albino," I joked dryly.
He studied my face apprehensively, and I sighed. It looked like clouds and a sense of humor didn't mix.
"I'm just kidding," I reassured him, "I don't tan well. I've always been kind of pasty like this."
Eric finally let out a small laugh, having realized that I wasn't being serious. "Don't worry, if you haven't noticed, everyone here is a little pasty." He pointed to his own skin as if to prove his point.
We walked back around the cafeteria, to the south buildings by the gym. Eric walked me right to the door, though it was clearly marked.
"Well, good luck," he said as I touched the handle. "Maybe we'll have some other classes together."
He sounded hopeful.
"Yeah, maybe," I smiled at him, "thanks for the help. I'll see you around." Eric gave a small wave, and I returned the gesture before heading inside.
The rest of the morning passed in about the same fashion. My Trigonometry teacher, Mr. Varner, who I would have hated anyway just because of the subject he taught, was the only one who made me stand in front of the class and introduce myself. I stammered, blushed, and tripped over my own boots on the way to my seat.
After two classes, I started to recognize several faces. There was always someone braver than the others who would introduce themselves and ask me questions about how I was liking Forks. I tried to be diplomatic, but mostly I just lied a lot. At least I never needed the map.
One girl sat next to me in both Trig and Spanish, and she walked with me to the cafeteria for lunch.
She was tiny, several inches shorter than my five feet four inches, but her wildly curly dark hair made up a lot of the difference between our heights. I couldn't remember her name, so I smiled and nodded as she prattled about teachers and classes. I did my best to keep up, but found most of the information going in one ear and out the other.
We sat at the end of a full table with several of her friends, who she introduced to me. I forgot all their names as soon as she spoke them, though I was sure I would learn them in time. The boy from English, Eric, waved at me from across the room. It was there, sitting in the lunchroom, trying to make conversation with seven curious strangers, that I first saw them.
They were sitting in the corner of the cafeteria, as far away from where I sat as possible in the long room.
There were five of them. They weren't talking, and they weren't eating, though they each had a tray of untouched food in front of them. They weren't gawking at me, unlike most of the other students, so it was safe to stare at them without fear of meeting an excessively interested pair of eyes. But it was none of these things that caught, and held, my attention.
They didn't look anything alike. Of the three boys, one was big—muscled like a serious weight lifter, with dark, curly hair. Another was taller, leaner, but still muscular, and honey blond. The last was lanky, less bulky, with untidy, bronze-colored hair. He was more boyish than the others, who looked like they could be in college, or even teachers here rather than students.
The girls were opposites. The tall one was statuesque. She had a beautiful figure, the kind you saw on the cover of the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue, the kind that made every girl around her take a hit on her self-esteem just by being in the same room. Her hair was golden, gently waving to the middle of her back. The short girl was pixielike, thin in the extreme, with small features. Her hair was a deep black, cropped short and pointing in every direction.
And yet, they were all exactly alike. Every one of them was chalky, pale, the palest of all the students living in this sunless town. Paler than me, the albino. Though their hair tones ranged from dark to light, all of their eyes were various shades of a deep brown, almost black. They had shadows beneath those eyes—purplish, and bruise-like as if they were all suffering from a sleepless night, or at the tailend of recovering from a broken nose. All of their features were straight, perfectly angular and symmetrical. It was almost unnatural how devastatingly, inhumanly beautiful they were.
Their faces were something you would expect to see airbrushed onto the pages of fashion magazines. Or painted by an old master as the face of an angel. It was hard to decide who was the most beautiful—maybe the perfect blonde girl, or perhaps the spiky-haired one.
They were all looking away—from each other, from the other students, from anything in particular as far as I could tell. As I watched, the spiky-haired girl rose with her tray of uneaten food, walking away with a quick, graceful lope. I watched, amazed by how light she was on her feet, till she dumped her tray and glided through the back door faster than I would have thought possible. None of the others seemed to react at her departure. It felt odd somehow.
"Who are they?" I asked the girl from my Spanish class, whose name I'd forgotten.
As she looked up to see who I meant—though already knowing, probably, from my tone—suddenly she looked at me, the tall one, the blonde-haired one, the supermodel, perhaps. She looked at me for a fraction of a second, though her face held nothing of interest. Then, she looked away quickly, more quickly than I could, and in a flush of embarrassment I dropped my eyes at once.
My neighbor giggled, looking at the table like I did.
"That's Edward and Emmett Cullen, and Elsa and Jasper Hale. The one who left was Alice Cullen; they all live together with Dr. Cullen and his wife." She said this under her breath.
I glanced sideways at the beautiful girl, who was looking at her tray now, picking a bagel to pieces with long, pale fingers. Her mouth was moving very quickly, her perfect lips barely opening. The other three still looked away, and yet I felt she was speaking quietly to them.
Strange, unpopular names, I thought. The kinds of names grandparents had. But maybe that was in vogue here — small town names? I finally remembered that my neighbor was called Jessica, a perfectly common name. There were two girls named Jessica in my History class back home.
"They are very...good looking," I struggled with the conspicuous understatement though I cringed internally at what fell from my mouth.
Yes!" Jessica agreed with another giggle. "They're all but spoken for though—Edward and Emmett apparently have girlfriend's in other states. And Jasper and Alice are dating," she paused her voice holding all the shock and condemnation of the small town, "and they live together."
I thought critically. But, if I was being honest, I had to admit that even in Phoenix, it would cause gossip.
"Which ones are the Cullens?" I asked. "They don't look related…"
"Oh, they're not. Dr. Cullen is really young, in his twenties or early thirties. They're all adopted. The Hales are brother and sister, twins—the blondes—and they're foster children."
"They look a little old for foster children."
"They are now, Jasper and Elsa are both eighteen, but they've been with Mrs. Cullen since they were eight. She's their aunt or something like that."
"That's really kind of nice—for them to take care of all those kids like that, when they're so young and everything."
"It is," Jessica agreed with the nod of her head. "I think that Mrs. Cullen can't have any kids, so she was more than happy to take all of them in as her own."
Throughout all this conversation, my eyes flickered again and again to the table where the strange family sat. They continued to look at the walls and not eat.
"Have they always lived in Forks?" I asked. Surely I would have noticed them on one of my summers here.
"No," she said in a voice that implied it should be obvious, even to a new arrival like me. "They just moved down two years ago from somewhere in Alaska."
I felt a surge of pity, and relief. Pity because, as beautiful as they were, they were outsiders just like me; and I knew how alienating it was to be the newest face in town. Relief that I wasn't the only newcomer here, and certainly not the most interesting by any standard.
As I examined them, the tall girl looked up and met my gaze, this time with evident curiosity in her expression. As I looked swiftly away, it seemed to me that her glance held some kind of unmet expectation. Or perhaps it was a sense of familiarity, or knowing. As if she had some sort of information that I didn't.
"Which one is the girl with the blonde hair?" I asked. I peeked at her from the corner of my eye, and she was still staring at me, but not gawking like the other students had today—she had a slightly frustrated expression, as if something was bothering her. I looked down again.
"That's Elsa. She's gorgeous, of course, but don't waste your time. She doesn't date. Apparently nobody here is good-looking enough for her. Just ask Eric," Jessica chuckled, looking over to the boy. Eric frowned, a tint of red flooding his cheeks. Perhaps he had been turned down by her at some point.
"Hey, that was months ago, let it go Jessica," he protested, "I don't even like her anymore!"
I bit my lip to hide my smile, entertained by Eric's embarrassment. Then I glanced at her again. Her face was turned away, but I thought her cheek appeared lifted, as if she were smiling, too.
After a few more minutes, the four of them left the table together. They all were noticeably graceful—even the big, brawny one. It was unsettling to watch. The one named Elsa gave me one final glance before disappearing from the cafeteria with her siblings.
I sat at the table with Jessica and her friends longer than I would have if I'd been sitting alone. I was anxious not to be late for class on my first day. One of my new acquaintances, who considerately reminded me that her name was Angela, had Biology II with me the next hour. We walked to class together in silence. She was shy, too.
When we entered the classroom, Angela went to sit at a black-topped lab table exactly like the ones I was used to. She already had a neighbor. In fact, all the tables were filled but one. Next to the center aisle, I recognized Elsa Cullen sitting next to that single open seat.
As I walked down the aisle to introduce myself to the teacher and get my slip signed, I was watching her surreptitiously. Just as I passed, she suddenly went rigid in her seat. She stared at me again, meeting my eyes with the strangest expression on her face—it was hostile, furious. I looked away quickly, shocked, going red again. I stumbled over a book in the walkway and had to catch myself on the edge of a table.
The girl sitting there giggled at my clumsiness.
I'd noticed that Elsa's eyes were black—coal black. I had never seen eyes like hers.
Mr. Banner signed my slip and handed me a book with no nonsense about introductions. I could tell we were going to get along. Of course, he had no choice but to send me to the one open seat in the middle of the room. I kept my eyes down as I went to sit by her, bewildered by the antagonistic stare she'd given me.
I didn't look up as I set my book on the table and took my seat, but I saw her posture change from the corner of my eye. She was leaning away from me, sitting on the extreme edge of her chair and averting her face like she smelled something bad. Inconspicuously, I sniffed my hair. It smelled like strawberries, the scent of my favorite shampoo. It seemed an innocent enough odor. I let my hair fall over my right shoulder, making a dark curtain between us, and tried to pay attention to the teacher.
Unfortunately the lecture was on cellular anatomy, something I'd already studied. I took notes carefully anyway, always looking down.
I couldn't stop myself from peeking occasionally through the screen of my hair at the strange girl next to me. During the whole class, she never relaxed her stiff position on the edge of her chair, sitting as far from me as possible. I could see her hand on her left leg was clenched into a fist, tendons standing out under her pale skin. This, too, she never relaxed. She had the long sleeves of her white shirt pushed up to her elbows, and her forearm was surprisingly hard and muscular beneath her light skin. Although her frame was objectively lean, she wasn't nearly as slight as she'd looked.
The class seemed to drag on longer than the others. Was it because the day was finally coming to a close, or because I was waiting for her tight fist to loosen? It never did; she continued to sit so still it looked like she wasn't breathing. What was wrong with her? Was this her normal behavior?
I peeked up at her one more time, and regretted it. She was glaring down at me again, her black eyes full of revulsion. I flinched away from the intense gaze, briefly wondering if I had done something to anger her. She seemed to look at me as if I did, and the way she tried to keep her distance from me only seemed to back that idea up.
At that moment, the bell rang loudly, making me jump, and Elsa Cullen was out of her seat. Fluidly she rose—she was much taller than I'd thought—her back to me, and she was out the door before anyone else was out of their seats.
I sat, frozen, staring blankly after her. She was so rude. I began gathering up my things slowly, trying to block the anger that filled me, for fear my eyes would tear up. For some reason, my temper was hardwired to my tear ducts. I usually cried when I was angry, a humiliating tendency.
"Aren't you Anna Swan?" a male voice asked.
I looked up to see a cute, baby-faced boy, his pale blond hair carefully gelled into orderly spikes, smiling at me in a friendly way. He obviously didn't think I smelled bad.
"yes," I told him, with a smile.
"I'm Mike."
"Hi, Mike."
"Do you need any help finding your next class?"
"I'm headed to the gym, actually. I think I can find it."
"That's my next class, too." He seemed thrilled, though it wasn't that big of a coincidence in a school this small.
We walked to class together; he was a chatterer—he supplied most of the conversation, which made it easy for me. He'd lived in California till he was ten, so he knew how I felt about the sun. It turned out he was in my English class also. He was the nicest person I'd met today.
But as we were entering the gym, he asked, "So, did you stab Elsa Hale with a pencil or what? I've never seen her act like that."
I cringed. So I wasn't the only one who had noticed. And, apparently, that wasn't Elsa Hale's usual behavior. I decided to play dumb.
"Was that the girl I sat next to in Biology?" I asked artlessly.
"Yes," he said. "She looked like she was in pain or something.
"I don't know," I responded. "I never spoke to her."
"She's a weird girl." Mike lingered by me instead of heading to the dressing room. "If I were lucky enough to sit by you, I would have talked to you."
I smiled at him before walking through the girls' locker room door. He was friendly and clearly admiring.
But it wasn't enough to ease my feelings of disconcertment.
The Gym teacher, Coach Clapp, found me a uniform but didn't make me dress down for today's class. At home, only two years of P.E. were required. Here, P.E. was mandatory all four years.
I watched four volleyball games running simultaneously. Remembering how many injuries I had sustained—and inflicted—playing volleyball, I felt faintly nauseated.
The final bell rang at last. I walked slowly to the office to return my paperwork. The rain had drifted away, but the wind was strong, and colder. I wrapped my arms around myself.
When I walked into the warm office, I almost turned around and walked back out.
Elsa Hale stood at the desk in front of me. I recognized again that perfectly kempt, blonde hair. She didn't appear to notice the sound of my entrance. I stood pressed against the back wall, waiting for the receptionist to be free.
She was pleading with her in a low, attractive voice. I quickly picked up the gist of the conversation. Elsa was trying to trade from sixth-hour Biology to another time—any other time.
I just couldn't believe that this was about me. It had to be something else, something that happened before I entered the Biology room. The look on her face must have been about another aggravation entirely. It was impossible that this stranger could take such a sudden, intense dislike to me.
The door opened again, and the cold wind suddenly gusted through the room, rustling the papers on the desk, swirling my hair around my face. The boy who came in merely stepped to the desk, placed a note in the wire basket, and walked out again. But Elsa Hale's back stiffened, and she turned slowly to stare at me—her face was absurdly gorgeous—with piercing, hate-filled eyes.
"Never mind, then," she said hastily in a voice like velvet. "I can see that it's impossible. Thank you so much for your help." And she turned on her heel without another look at me, and disappeared out the door.
I went meekly to the desk, and handed her the signed slip.
"How did your first day go, dear?" the receptionist asked maternally.
"Fine," I lied, my voice weak. She didn't look convinced.
When I got to the truck, it was almost the last car in the lot. It seemed like a haven, already the closest thing to home I had in this damp green hole. I sat inside for a while, just staring out the windshield blankly. But soon I was cold enough to need the heater, so I turned the key and the engine roared to life.
I headed back to Charlie's house, fighting tears the whole way there.
