Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight

Chapter 2 - First Sight

The next morning I wake up early; when I feel tense I probably shouldn't even bother with an alarm clock. I throw on some jeans and a flannel shirt on top of my underwear, brush my hair, worry over the appearance of a potential new zit near my chin and then run downstairs to cobble together a breakfast of toast buried in butter and jam, with a side of yogurt. I don my black parka, and grab my knapsack on the way out. The truck starts with a loud, agonized growl rather than a purr but all that matters is that I'm on the road.

The school is only three miles or so from here. If the weather didn't suck as hard as it actually does, I could just walk. Instead, I hop on and off the highway in my giant lawn-mower and find myself in a fairy-land high school: low wood-frame buildings painted in muted colors and strung along tree-lined paths. The campus blends with the forests around it.

I follow other vehicles to the parking area for students and make quite an entrance. If news of my arrival hadn't impressed the local kids, the deafening din from my vehicle surely does. Fortunately, most cars are as old and beat up as my truck so I won't stand out too much once I turn off the engine. Only a black BMW seems newer and more expensive. Every school has a rich kid I guess. As I traipse toward my first class, a printout of my schedule and a campus map in my hands, some of the guys offer mocking comments on my ride. I thank them all politely, and sarcastically.

At least my casual clothes won't stand out here, in the land of jeans and dark parkas. In Phoenix, at times I thought I had wandered by accident on the set for a fashion shoot. Nobody will ever say that in Forks.

I find building 4 easily, and like the other kids, all rubbernecking to make sure they have a look at me, I hang my parka on a peg and find a seat at the back, hoping the teacher will skip formal introductions. Before class begins, a guy is brave enough to sit next to me.

"Hi, I'm Mike Newton. You must be the chief's son…." He says cheerfully, his eyes scrutinizing me from under a crown of blond, gel-styled spikes. I barely brushed my hair and left it at that.

"Yes, hi. I'm Brandon Swan."

"How do you like Forks, so far?"

I groan inwardly; I will probably hear this question a few million times. Better use a stock reply.

"I love the nature, but hate the rain."

"Your dad told mine you're into sports. Are you going to be on the football team? We could use a good running back…"

"Oh, no, I play soccer. My coach in Phoenix already talked to the school about it. I'll practice with the team from tomorrow."

"Okay, cool. At lunch I'll introduce you to Jeff. He's the captain of the soccer team. But you know, this is just a small town. It won't be the same as in Phoenix, I guess."

"It's alright. I just want to play." I dreamed of playing professionally when I was a child, but could never make it into the best academies. The bitter disappointment still smarts.

After class, we agree we'll have lunch together, so he can introduce me to a few locals, and I head to trig. Not my favorite subject, and the teacher, Mr. Bennet, doesn't make it any more palatable when he forces me to introduce myself to the rest of the class. At the bell, a short girl with long curly hair and glasses, wearing pressed jeans and a nice purple sweater, approaches me. I learn her name is Jessica and, inevitably, she asks me how I like Forks. She also wonders why I'm not tanned. Taken aback by her friendliness, and the fact that she's a cute girl, I mumble that I have an allergy to sunlight and in Phoenix I spent a lot of time indoors. She's also in my history class, so we head there together. I tell her how my old school looked like a prison, while Forks High feels more like an elven village. She seems unnecessarily thrilled.

A little later, she follows me to the cafeteria, still interrogating me about Arizona. I spot Mike, sitting next to a guy slightly shorter than him. He has longish hair and clever, restless eyes. He's Jeff, captain of the soccer team. Jessica and I end up sitting with them at a large table, soon joined by more of their friends, but I have a poor memory for names and I soon lose track of who's who. In between bites, I answer more questions, as briefly as possible, and counter by asking Jeff about the soccer program, which he admits is not great. Somehow I'm not surprised. He plays striker.

Fortunately, Mike seems to be taking a liking to Jessica, and the others indulge in the ancient tradition of high school gossip; I finally have the time to look around at the other tables. I discover that many heads are turned toward me. I feel rather conspicuous today, but I'm surprised to realize that I will fit in better than I ever did in Phoenix. I was born in Washington so maybe doom and gloom are in my blood, I muse. I still feel like the weight of the world is about to crush me, but for the first time in a while I also know it won't; my fears will pass.

I'm still slowly scanning the room, gawking at my new peers like they are gawking at me, when my attention is suddenly monopolized by the table in the northwest corner of the cafeteria, maybe about thirty feet from my group. Actually, the table is cheap red Formica like all the others, but its occupants intrigue me. Five people sit there, three girls and two boys…. There is something different about them. I stare at them, the rest of the cafeteria forgotten, trying to figure out why they stand out.

The two males look rather mature for a high school. One of them is a huge bear of a guy, tall, muscular, as big as my father. Short black hair above a square-jawed face. The other is more normally built, blue eyes surrounded by a leonine mane of blond hair; he seems too serious for the occasion.

And the three girls… Where do I even start? One is tiny, almost elfin, maybe about five feet tall. Her eyes look as alive and mirthful as the blond guys' are drawn and tense. Her jet-black hair is styled in gravity-defying spikes. She sits next to him and might be holding his hand. The second girl is another blond, a Valkyrie of a woman, tall and graced by curves that would make any man dizzy; she's like a sports illustrated image come to life, a perfect hourglass. She sits close to the big guy. The third girl has long, thick hair, dark brown or maybe a dark bronze. Hard to tell in the anemic light that manages to evade the clouds and filter through the dusty windows. It falls over her shoulders in messy waves summarily brushed back. She doesn't wear any makeup and still looks real good; her beguiling eyes are dark onyx. Her beauty is not as flashy as that of the two goddesses at her table, and yet I cannot stop looking at her.

They are all dressed very simply, in various colors. The girl with bronze hair is wearing gray jeans and a black t-shirt under a purple leather jacket. Despite the simplicity of their garments, they all look decidedly more stylish than the average denizen of Forks. They are all pale, but that's normal around here.

There is something else that makes them stand out though, and keeps me casting puzzled glances in their direction. For one thing, none of them is looking at me. It's clear that the whole school has heard of my arrival but they don't seem interested in the slightest. They are wrapped up in their own world, their own agenda. And really, nobody looks at them. Nobody talks to them. They don't fit in but they don't seem to care. I like them already.

"Mike," I ask, tugging his shoulder and distracting him from a heated argument about the Mariners. "Who are those guys?" I nod toward the corner table, still looking at the cute one and her unruly hair.

"Those are the Cullen and Hales kids." He replies, clearly not surprised I noticed them. The girl suddenly turns in his general direction and immediately looks away. But she couldn't have heard him, not in this noisy cafeteria.

"They're freaks, if you ask me." He adds.

"Mike, that's too much." A girl whose name I can't remember replies.

"Well," Jessica adds, "The Cullens kids were all adopted, and the Hales siblings were foster kids. But they're paired up, and they live together. It's weird."

"Come on, it's not like they are related…." Mike comments, dredging whatever sympathy he can muster. "But still…. They are polite enough in class but as soon as the bell rings they ignore everybody around them. They are always together and shun everybody else. It's like nobody else is good enough for them…."

"Who's the girl on the right?" I ask no one in particular.

"She's a Cullen. Lynn. She's beautiful, right?"

"Yes." I say simply. The girl is still looking at the ceiling, but her lips twitch.

"But don't get any ideas about her in that Arizona-head of yours, dude." Jeff says leaning toward me. "She's your typical stuck-up princess. Nobody's good enough for her majesty…." A smile softens the features of the girl, still looking at the ceiling. I think of midnight clouds parting and moonlight shining through. I blink and her neck swivels; expressive dark eyes bore straight into the depths of my soul. After a few seconds of deer-in-the-headlights panic I manage to turn away. It's odd, but I think she looked at me as if something bothered her, as if she had expectations that are going unmet. I shrug; I must be imagining things, as I often do.

"Jasper Hale, the blond guy, is with Alice Cullen, the short girl." Jessica volunteers, eager to discuss high school romance. "And the blond girl is Rosalie. She's with the big guy, Emmet."

"Wow, he looks built for football. He must be on the team, right Mike?"

"No. Apparently he doesn't play football. Actually, none of them play any sports here at the school. Their parents often take them out for hiking and camping trips."

"That's why they agreed to let them skip gym, or so I heard." From a guy of Asian descent, longish hair waving in the wind. "Hi, I'm Eric." He adds, addressing me. I introduce myself but I didn't need to bother. The whole school knows who I am. Right now, though, I'm more interested in those five.

"So, have they lived here their whole life? I used to spend the summers in Forks, as a child, but I don't remember ever seeing them and they don't strike me as forgettable."

"They just moved in a couple of years ago from Alaska. Doctor Cullen, their adoptive father, is a surgeon at the hospital." Jessica explains.

"I see." They've been here two years and yet they're still outsiders. I feel bad for them but at the same time I'm relieved I'm not the only newcomer, or the only weirdo. I look at them one more time and I notice Lynn is still staring at me, openly confused by something, her thin eyebrows almost drawing a question mark on her forehead. I can have that effect on people; that's just the kind of guy I am.

When I turn back to my table-mates I see they have all pulled out smart phones in various shapes and they ask me to share social media contacts. I sheepishly admit that I'm not on Facebook or Instagram. I give them my phone number instead. Their shocked expressions remind me of Lynn's confusion.

Too soon, it's time for our next classes. Let's see, I have French. Jessica and Angela, whose name I managed to dredge from tangled memories of our introductions, are in the same course and help me find the way. Angela, a lanky girl with glasses and a cute ponytail, seems rather shy and she lets Jessica chat up a storm as we walk.

While they head to their assigned seats, I wait to talk with the instructor. Miss Morrison, middle aged and chubby, wears her salt and pepper hair trimmed very short. There is only one empty seat, and it's next to Lynn Cullen herself, apparently already frowning in my direction. A little dazed, I hand my slip to the teacher. My walk to the vacant seat probably takes a few seconds, but they feel like an eternity. It goes something like this:

First step: cool, I'll have a chance to talk to one of the cutest girls in the school.

Second step: wait a minute. She's not just cute.

Third step: she is one of the hottest girls in the school.

Fourth step: since when do the hottest girls in a school even look at me?

Fifth step: well, they never do.

Sixth step: they go for the popular jocks, or the rich kids.

Seventh step: they could eat guys like me for breakfast if they wanted to….

Eighth Step: Oh well, just a polite hi and then I'll forget about her….

Ninth step: What else could I do?

Tenth step: Let's try not to be too dorky about it.

And so I walk my lonely walk, my head drooping and my feet dragging, and scramble to get in my seat. I assume the Cullen girl might be looking at me. I should say hi, or something as simple, just so I don't look like a total idiot. I absentmindedly scratch a pimple on my face and turn to look at her. I'm shocked when I see her. She's now sitting as far away from me as the desk could possibly allow, glaring and covering her mouth and nose with her hand. Her whole body seems rigid, her fists clenched so tight her knuckles are a stark white. I physically recoil and hastily look down at my books. There is blood on one of my fingers…. Damn, I must have popped a zit. I dab at my cheek with the bandanna I conveniently carry in my pocket at all times.

Miss Morrison begins the lesson, jabbering on about some grammar, and I do my best imitation of an interested student for the whole hour, but I can't say I hear anything she says. It is true that sometimes repelling chicks is my own brand of super powers, but this is a little much. I haven't even talked to this Cullen girl yet. Usually it takes girls a little longer to develop such genuine loathing for my existence.

I'm a couple of feet from her perch on the edge of the desk and that's the closest we've ever been. I furtively smell my armpit, but I had a shower last night and the people sitting with me at lunch didn't seem to mind my presence. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe Mike's assessment was right. Maybe they are freaks. I really don't know what to think. The few times I find the courage to take a peek at her she still looks at me like she wants to kill me.

Thankfully, the bell rings, and my lab partner immediately stands up in a fluid, silky manner and bolts out of the room. She's gone before I can even start putting my books away. I guess I won't win her vote for the Mister Popularity contest. As we are about to leave, Angela finds the courage to ask me whether I said something rude to Lynn Cullen. I reply, truthfully, that I didn't utter a word. We both agree she looked really mad.

Jessica still follows me around a bit; we both have history for the last period and she sits beside me, happy to show of her courage in befriending the dangerous outsider some people might believe I am.

At the end of the day I bring my signed slips to the office and then head home. Dad and I have agreed to take turns in the kitchen. He knows I've been feeding mom for a couple of years at least, even though I hate cooking, and his culinary range is pretty much limited to various permutations of steak, fish, potatoes, bacon and eggs. Tonight I steam chopped veggies and diced wieners for the main entree. We eat in our small kitchen while he grills me about my first day in school.

"Were the other kids friendly, Brandon?"

"Yes, dad. Some of them even had lunch with me."

"Who?" He won't let go of this, might as well give him something.

"A couple of girls, Jessica and Angela. And some guys. Eric, Mike and Jeff, I think." I'm surprised I remember so many names.

"Mike Newton, I suppose. I know his dad. He owns an outdoor equipment store just out of town. Good kid."

"Jeff is on the soccer team. First practice tomorrow."

Silence meets my statement. Dad will never figure out why I would want to kick a ball around the field instead of just throwing it or hitting it with a bat. But he lives by the old saying: if you have nothing good to say, say nothing. I know he's glad I'm into sports though, and mom built up, in his eyes, my modest achievements in Phoenix.

"Jeff… Right, probably the Marsden kid. Is the team any good?"

"I'll find out tomorrow dad. But honestly, I don't expect them to be. It's okay."

"About those girls…. Any you find cute….?" I blush a little.

"They seemed nice, but I just met them." I don't tell him I'm only thinking of the girls at the Cullens' table, especially Lynn, even though they appeared to be unapproachable. But that gives me an idea.

"Dad, what do you know about the Cullens? I saw them in the cafeteria but they didn't seem to have many friends…"

"Carlisle Cullen, their adopted after, is a fantastic surgeon. We are lucky to have him here. He has saved many lives in just two years. They relocated to Forks because his wife wants to live in a small town. They are a little different, it's true; they have lived in many parts of the world, but I find it shameful that so many people in town are clearly distrustful or newcomers. Even my old friend, Billy Black, down at the reservation, dislikes them for no reason. It's very upsetting. They are really nice people. The kids are all so polite and mature. I wish we had more families like theirs in Forks."

"I see," I reply, a little surprised. My father usually doesn't talk that much. This topic must really get his goat. "Actually, dad, I thought they were very interesting. And very attractive." I add, trying to avoid another blush.

"You should see Carlisle, their father. Some of the nurses can barely manage to focus on their work when he's around. Fortunately he's happily married, and passionately in love with his wife. It makes their life a little easier, I think."

I look at my dad. I wish I could ask him if he had met any woman he likes recently, maybe among those nurses, but I know that since mom left him he's been married to his job and his fishing buddies.

After dinner I excuse myself. Since I cooked, he'll be doing the dishes while I go upstairs to do my homework and practice my guitar playing. At least, that's the plan. I find it hard to concentrate. Images of the corner table and its unusual occupants disrupt my concentration, and when I think of the way Lynn Cullen looked at me my stomach drops down an endless dark chute and my pulse speeds up a little. She looked scary, actually, and she was so rude. Not to mention her behavior just doesn't make any sense.

I still find a way to get through a few trig problems and read the first few chapters of Cannery Row, one of the books in the reading list. My guitars end up being ignored tonight, as I go to bed early with an old Chandler novel. I conk out in the middle of a slow chapter.