Chapter One: Biology

I woke up early, wanting to make sure that I was dressed and ready in plenty of time for my first class-biology. It was an early class, starting at 8:30, but by finishing classes earlier in the day, I would have a better chance of getting a part-time job to work with my schedule. It was also a two-hour lecture course, which I figured was best to get out of the way early in the day before I wanted to throw in the towel altogether.

I felt like I was going to enjoy the freedom that college offered. I wasn't going to be forced to hang out with people I didn't like, and if someone invited me to a party, I could always give a very valid excuse that I had a paper to write or test to study for. Not to mention, as a Literature major, I was essentially getting a grade to read. What could be better than that?

At eight o'clock, I was fully ready for the day. It would only take me fifteen minutes to walk to the life sciences building, so I sat down on my bed and pulled out my biology textbook-a behemoth of a book which had set me back over $200. Honestly, textbook prices were an absolute crime.

I glanced at my phone-8:15. It was time to head out. I could just hear the girls beginning to stir and was glad once again that I'd decided to register for some earlier classes this semester-it was make sharing a bathroom that much easier. Perhaps I had been overconcerned about Jessica hogging the bathroom to do her makeup.

I grabbed my bag and my class list and checked it for the fourth time to verify what direction I should be walking in. My heart stopped as I reread the schedule.

Bio 114

Prof. Barnes

Life Sciences Building RM 130

MW, 8:00-10:00am

8:00? How had I thought it said 8:30? Maybe it was the room number that had thrown me off. I looked at my phone again. 8:16. I was already sixteen minutes late, and it was at least a fifteen-minute walk to the life sciences building. I couldn't believe I was going to be late on my first day of class-my very first class as a bonafide adult. I had been ready, just sitting there reading the textbook like an imbecile! It was mortifying.

I arrived at the Life Sciences Building out of breath and sweaty. I hastily pulled my hair back, hoping the sweat at the back of my neck would dry faster that way and praying that my antiperspirant was doing its job.

I made a B-line for the classroom, extremely glad that I had scouted it out beforehand instead of winging it as Jessica had suggested. I looked at my phone as a peeked into the room. 8:31. Thirty-freaking-one minutes late. Kill me now. My only hope was that there was a seat available near the back.

No such luck. There were only three empty seats in the whole lecture hall-one on the very front row, which was just...no. I was ridiculously late. There was no way I was going to embarrass myself further by broadcasting it to the entire room of over a hundred students. I'd rather hover against the wall than deal with that level of humiliation.

The other two seats were on either side of a guy towards the end of the center group of seats, one of them being an end seat. Nodding, I propelled myself forward, hoping that the momentum would keep me going towards my goal before my nerves gave out.

"So good of you to join us," called Professor Barnes as I slipped into the aisle seat next to the bronze haired boy.

"Sorry," I mumbled, but Professor Barnes had already moved on in his lecture of the syllabus and how our grades would be weighted this semester. Sighing with relief, I pulled my backpack off of my shoulders and began searching my bag for my textbook and notebook. In doing so, I glanced at the guy sitting next to me and inhaled sharply.

The first reason was reasonably obvious-he was without a doubt the most beautiful man I had ever seen in my short nineteen years. His features were angular, his dark eyes perfectly complimenting his pale skin and bronze hair, a shade which I couldn't recall ever having seen before. It-and he, really-was, for lack of a better word, stunning. Perfect.

The other reason for my quick inhalation and sudden lack of breath was that those dark, impossibly handsome eyes were boring into mine. Not in the "let-me-stare-into-your-soul" kind of way, but in the "I-utterly-despise-you" kind of way. And I had no idea why. Maybe he didn't like it when people were late for class. Perhaps he didn't want anyone sitting next to him. Or perhaps he wasn't a morning person.

But then I noticed that he wasn't breathing and his mouth pulled down at the sides into a pronounced frown. He looked away quickly, turning his attention to the professor, but his muscles were locked and his fists were clenched in his lap.

As discreetly as possible, I bent down into my bag again, checking quickly to see if my antiperspirant was, indeed, holding up. All I smelled was the synthetic "fresh rain" scent. Was that particular smell offensive to him? I knew some people were really sensitive to perfumes and lotions. Maybe he was one of those people. I quickly pulled my hairband out, letting my hair cascade over my shoulder and create a curtain between myself and my neighbor, wishing I'd just sucked it up and taken the seat at the front of the class.

After several minutes of furious note-taking, trying to keep up with Professor Barnes and wishing I'd arrived in time to grab a syllabus, I chanced a glance between my hair, only to find the bronze-haired boy in motion. He was making his way between the students on our row, muttering apologies as he did so. When he reached the opposite aisle, he walked stiffly towards the vacant seat at the front. Far away from me, and my extreme proximity to an aisle. Rather than get any closer to me, he'd gone out of his way to inconvenience at least twenty other students in our row-or my row, now, I supposed.

And I still had no idea what I'd done. I glanced at his former desk, completely puzzled, and more than a little hurt and irritated. There lay a syllabus, the stapled corner fresh and unpressed. I grabbed it quickly, skimming over the pages as I compared them to the notes I'd taken, realizing that I'd done a fairly good job for arriving so late.

The rest of the class went without incident, although my eyes were inexplicably drawn to a specific head of bronze hair several times throughout the lecture as I tried to recall his features and analyze a possible reason for his sudden and violent feelings of disdain for me. I couldn't put my thumb on it, and in the end, I stopped trying and tried to focus instead of the lecture. It was all review for me, at this point, and I hoped that the entire semester would be like this. It would feel nice to feel like I was ahead in something so that I could focus my time on any subjects in which I wasn't as fortunate.

By the time class ended, I'd resolved to give Mr. Angry-Eyes his syllabus back, if only to see if I could ascertain what his problem was, but he easily dodged around me as I held it out to him when he was pushed by the throng of students into the center aisle next to my seat.

He held his hands up defensively, his voice coming out in a tight whisper. "Keep it."

Fine. I would.

#

"Maybe he was in the wrong class?" Jessica had surmised as I told the story to my roommates later that night on our walk back to our dorm from the dining hall.

"If that were the case, then he would have walked out of the class, not to the front row," I had reminded her.

"I don't know, Bella," Angela had said. "Some people are really just crazy. I wouldn't worry too much about it, especially if it's a big class. He probably won't sit near you again so you may not even have to deal with it."

Angela was right. On Friday, I made sure to arrive at my biology class on time, but there was no sign of him. The entire next week came and went, and he still never came to class again.

Because my biology class was so large, we had to participate in discussions on the online platform. Next to our names, there was an option to add a profile picture. I admit I spent way too much time clicking on any of the guy's names, which had pictures, trying to figure out who the mysterious Mr. Angry-Eyes might be. But he wasn't there.

Finally, I concluded that he had dropped the class, as was fairly common. That first week, all of my classes saw a shift in my classmates, but as the deadline for transfers approached, it became less common. On Monday of the second full week of school, the last day to transfer loomed, I held my breath as I entered my biology class. Still no gorgeous Angry-Eyes.

But I wasn't going to let my apprehensive disappointment ruin my day. I was thoroughly enjoying my classes, especially my Intro to Literary Theory class. There was a lot of reading, but discussions were riveting, and I knew it wouldn't be too difficult to get an A, which meant I could finally start looking for that part-time job in earnest.

Everything seemed to be looking up...until I walked into my Intro to Literary Theory class. There he was, with that beautiful bronze head of his, handing Professor Poole a piece of paper.

"I was hoping to transfer into your class, professor," he said smoothly, his voice every bit as beautiful as his face.

Professor Poole nodded, not looking up from her notes at the podium. She held a hand out to take his transfer request.

"That should be fine," she said. "I had someone transfer out yesterday. You can have the last spot. Take a seat, Mr.-" her eyes searched the paper for a moment, "Mr. Cullen."

I had a name for the face at last, and despite the anxiety that was washing over me, knowing he would have to notice me before long, I was happy to finally solve that one part of the mystery, at least. He made to turn around but stopped, the muscles in his shoulders tightening. Suddenly, his head whipped around, and our eyes met.

They were lighter than I remembered them being but blamed that on the human mind and memory's fragility. He was also far more beautiful than my mind had recalled. There was no doing justice to that face, and I felt almost annoyed with my mind that it hadn't been able to fully conjure up his appearance for me to admire at will.

My lungs were screaming for air, and I realized I'd been holding my breath. I took in a shaky breath, realizing he was still staring at me, his gaze, thankfully, slightly less intense than that morning in biology. He was waiting for me to make a move. I slipped wordlessly into the desk nearest the door, and Mr. Cullen walked purposefully to the opposite end of the room, making sure to sit on the front row to juxtapose my back-row seat. There was no misconstruing the action-he was trying to avoid me, putting as much distance between us as humanly possible. I just didn't know why.

"We'll be focusing on new historicism this week," Professor Poole was saying, but I had a difficult time focusing on her face, as my eyes kept flickering of their own accord to the back of Mr. Cullen's head. Why did he always have to sit in front where I couldn't glance at his face?

"But first, I wanted to assign groups for the presentation at the end of the month. Remember, you'll need to choose two novels from our reading list to compare and contrast, which will mean...what?"

A girl at the front of the class shot her hand up. "We will actually have to read both novels?"

"Yes," said Professor Poole, her lined face pulling into a smile, creating even more wrinkles. "Exactly. You'll need to read both novels. Also remember, I will be assigning the literary theory you will use, which will be the lens by which you will view both novels."

She began listing off names and assigning literary theories. As each person's name was called, they raised their hand so that those around them could see what their group members looked like.

"Robby Jenkins," Professor Poole said, and I cringed, knowing what was coming next. It would just be my luck. Robby was always late for class, always had to borrow a pencil, and in general, seemed somewhat out of his depth. With that kind of track record, I just knew he wouldn't be pulling his weight in a group project.

"You'll be using deconstruction with Bella Swan," here, I raised my hand and chanced a glance towards the front row, where the Cullen kid was eying me curiously. "And Edward Cullen."

Edward rose his hand slowly, our eyes still locked. Feeling brave, I cocked an eyebrow at him questioningly, and he finally looked away.