By Friday I was perfectly comfortable entering my Biology class, no
longer worried that Edward would be there. For all I knew, he had dropped
out of school. I tried not to think about him, but I couldn't totally
suppress the worry that I was responsible for his continued absence,
ridiculous as it seemed.
My first weekend in Forks passed without incident. Charlie, unused to
spending time in the usually empty house, worked most of the weekend. I
cleaned the house, got ahead on my homework, and wrote my mom more
bogusly cheerful e-mail. I did drive to the library Saturday, but it was
so poorly stocked that I didn't bother to get a card; I would have to
make a date to visit Olympia or Seattle soon and find a good bookstore. I
wondered idly what kind of gas mileage the truck got… and shuddered at
the thought.
The rain stayed soft over the weekend, quiet, so I was able to sleep well.
People greeted me in the parking lot Monday morning. I didn't know all
their names, but I waved back and smiled at everyone. It was colder this
morning, but happily not raining. In English, Mike took his accustomed
seat by my side. We had a pop quiz on Wuthering Heights. It was
straightforward, very easy.
All in all, I was feeling a lot more comfortable than I had thought I
would feel by this point. More comfortable than I had ever expected to
feel here.
When we walked out of class, the air was full of swirling bits of white.
I could hear people shouting excitedly to each other. The wind bit at my
cheeks, my nose.
"Wow," Mike said. "It's snowing."
I looked at the little cotton fluffs that were building up along the
sidewalk and swirling erratically past my face.
"Ew." Snow. There went my good day.
He looked surprised. "Don't you like snow?"
"No. That means it's too cold for rain." Obviously. "Besides, I thought
it was supposed to come down in flakes — you know, each one unique and
all that. These just look like the ends of Q-tips."
"Haven't you ever seen snow fall before?" he asked incredulously.
"Sure I have." I paused. "On TV."
Mike laughed. And then a big, squishy ball of dripping snow smacked into
the back of his head. We both turned to see where it came from. I had my
suspicions about Eric, who was walking away, his back toward us — in the
wrong direction for his next class. Mike appatently had the same notion.
He bent over and began scraping together a pile of the white mush.
"I'll see you at lunch, okay?" I kept walking as I spoke. "Once people
start throwing wet stuff, I go inside."
He just nodded, his eyes on Eric's retreating figure.
Throughout the morning, everyone chattered excitedly about the snow;
apparently it was the first snowfall of the new year. I kept my mouth
shut. Sure, it was drier than rain — until it melted in your socks.
I walked alertly to the cafeteria with Jessica after Spanish. Mush balls
were flying everywhere. I kept a binder in my hands, ready to use it as a
shield if necessary. Jessica thought I was hilarious, but something in my
expression kept her from lobbing a snowball at me herself.
Mike caught up to us as we walked in the doors, laughing, with ice
melting the spikes in his hair. He and Jessica were talking animatedly
about the snow fight as we got in line to buy food. I glanced toward that
table in the corner out of habit. And then I froze where I stood. There
were five people at the table.
Jessica pulled on my arm.
"Hello? Bella? What do you want?"
I looked down; my ears were hot. I had no reason to feel self-conscious,
I reminded myself. I hadn't done anything wrong.
"What's with Bella?" Mike asked Jessica.
"Nothing," I answered. "I'll just get a soda today." I caught up to the
end of the line.
"Aren't you hungry?" Jessica asked.
"Actually, I feel a little sick," I said, my eyes still on the floor.
I waited for them to get their food, and then followed them to a table,
my eyes on my feet.
I sipped my soda slowly, my stomach churning. Twice Mike asked, with
unnecessary concern, how I was feeling.
I told him it was nothing, but I was wondering if I should play it up and
escape to the nurse's office for the next hour.
Ridiculous. I shouldn't have to run away.
I decided to permit myself one glance at the Cullen family's table. If he
was glaring at me, I would skip Biology, like the coward I was.
I kept my head down and glanced up under my lashes. None of them were
looking this way. I lifted my head a little.
They were laughing. Edward, Jasper, and Emmett all had their hair
entirely saturated with melting snow. Alice and Rosalie were leaning away
as Emmett shook his dripping hair toward them. They were enjoying the
snowy day, just like everyone else — only they looked more like a scene
from a movie than the rest of us.
But, aside from the laughter and playfulness, there was something
different, and I couldn't quite pinpoint what that difference was. I
examined Edward the most carefully. His skin was less pale, I decided —
flushed from the snow fight maybe — the circles under his eyes much less
noticeable. But there was something more. I pondered, staring, trying to
isolate the change.
"Bella, what are you staring at?" Jessica intruded, her eyes following my
stare.
At that precise moment, his eyes flashed over to meet mine.
I dropped my head, letting my hair fall to conceal my face. I was sure,
though, in the instant our eyes met, that he didn't look harsh or
unfriendly as he had the last time I'd seen him. He looked merely curious
again, unsatisfied in some way.
"Edward Cullen is staring at you," Jessica giggled in my ear.
"He doesn't look angry, does he?" I couldn't help asking.
"No," she said, sounding confused by my question. "Should he be?"
"I don't think he likes me," I confided. I still felt queasy. I put my
head down on my arm.
"The Cullens don't like anybody… well, they don't notice anybody enough
to like them. But he's still staring at you."
"Stop looking at him," I hissed.
She snickered, but she looked away. I raised my head enough to make sure
that she did, contemplating violence if she resisted.
Mike interrupted us then — he was planning an epic battle of the blizzard
in the parking lot after school and wanted us to join. Jessica agreed
enthusiastically. The way she looked at Mike left little doubt that she
would be up for anything he suggested. I kept silent. I would have to
hide in the gym until the parking lot cleared.
For the rest of the lunch hour I very carefully kept my eyes at my own
table. I decided to honor the bargain I'd made with myself. Since he
didn't look angry, I would go to Biology. My stomach did frightened
little flips at the thought of sitting next to him again.
I didn't really want to walk to class with Mike as usual — he seemed to
be a popular target for the snowball snipers — but when we went to the
door, everyone besides me groaned in unison. It was raining, washing all
traces of the snow away in clear, icy ribbons down the side of the
walkway. I pulled my hood up, secretly pleased. I would be free to go
straight home after Gym.
Mike kept up a string of complaints on the way to building four.
Once inside the classroom, I saw with relief that my table was still
empty. Mr. Banner was walking around the room, distributing one
microscope and box of slides to each table. Class didn't start for a few
minutes, and the room buzzed with conversation. I kept my eyes away from
the door, doodling idly on the cover of my notebook.
I heard very clearly when the chair next to me moved, but my eyes stayed
carefully focused on the pattern I was drawing.
"Hello," said a quiet, musical voice.
I looked up, stunned that he was speaking to me. He was sitting as far
away from me as the desk allowed, but his chair was angled toward me. His
hair was dripping wet, disheveled — even so, he looked like he'd just
finished shooting a commercial for hair gel. His dazzling face was
friendly, open, a slight smile on his flawless lips. But his eyes were
careful.
"My name is Edward Cullen," he continued. "I didn't have a chance to
introduce myself last week. You must be Bella Swan."
My mind was spinning with confusion. Had I made up the whole thing? He
was perfectly polite now. I had to speak; he was waiting. But I couldn't
think of anything conventional to say.
"H-how do you know my name?" I stammered.
He laughed a soft, enchanting laugh.
"Oh, I think everyone knows your name. The whole town's been waiting for
you to arrive."
I grimaced. I knew it was something like that.
"No," I persisted stupidly. "I meant, why did you call me Bella?"
He seemed confused. "Do you prefer Isabella?"
"No, I like Bella," I said. "But I think Charlie — I mean my dad — must
call me Isabella behind my back — that's what everyone here seems to know
me as," I tried to explain, feeling like an utter moron.
"Oh." He let it drop. I looked away awkwardly.
Thankfully, Mr. Banner started class at that moment. I tried to
concentrate as he explained the lab we would be doing today. The slides
in the box were out of order. Working as lab partners, we had to separate
the slides of onion root tip cells into the phases of mitosis they
represented and label them accordingly. We weren't supposed to use our
books. In twenty minutes, he would be coming around to see who had it
right.
"Get started," he commanded.
"Ladies first, partner?" Edward asked. I looked up to see him smiling a
crooked smile so beautiful that I could only stare at him like an idiot.
"Or I could start, if you wish." The smile faded; he was obviously
wondering if I was mentally competent.
"No," I said, flushing. "I'll go ahead."
I was showing off, just a little. I'd already done this lab, and I knew
what I was looking for. It should be easy. I snapped the first slide into
place under the microscope and adjusted it quickly to the 40X objective.
I studied the slide briefly.
My assessment was confident. "Prophase."
"Do you mind if I look?" he asked as I began to remove the slide. His
hand caught mine, to stop me, as he asked. His fingers were ice-cold,
like he'd been holding them in a snowdrift before class. But that wasn't
why I jerked my hand away so quickly. When he touched me, it stung my
hand as if an electric current had passed through us.
"I'm sorry," he muttered, pulling his hand back immediately. However, he
continued to reach for the microscope. I watched him, still staggered, as
he examined the slide for an even shorter time than I had.
"Prophase," he agreed, writing it neatly in the first space on our
worksheet. He swiftly switched out the first slide for the second, and
then glanced at it cursorily.
"Anaphase," he murmured, writing it down as he spoke.
I kept my voice indifferent. "May I?"
He smirked and pushed the microscope to me.
I looked through the eyepiece eagerly, only to be disappointed. Dang it,
he was right.
"Slide three?" I held out my hand without looking at him.
He handed it to me; it seemed like he was being careful not to touch my
skin again.
I took the most fleeting look I could manage.
"Interphase." I passed him the microscope before he could ask for it. He
took a swift peek, and then wrote it down. I would have written it while
he looked, but his clear, elegant script intimidated me. I didn't want to
spoil the page with my clumsy scrawl.
We were finished before anyone else was close. I could see Mike and his
partner comparing two slides again and again, and another group had their
book open under the table.
Which left me with nothing to do but try to not look at him…
unsuccessfully. I glanced up, and he was staring at me, that same
inexplicable look of frustration in his eyes. Suddenly I identified that
subtle difference in his face.
"Did you get contacts?" I blurted out unthinkingly.
He seemed puzzled by my unexpected question. "No."
"Oh," I mumbled. "I thought there was something different about your
eyes."
He shrugged, and looked away.
In fact, I was sure there was something different. I vividly remembered
the flat black color of his eyes the last time he'd glared at me — the
color was striking against the background of his pale skin and his auburn
hair. Today, his eyes were a completely different color: a strange ocher,
darker than butterscotch, but with the same golden tone. I didn't
understand how that could be, unless he was lying for some reason about
the contacts. Or maybe Forks was making me crazy in the literal sense of
the word.
I looked down. His hands were clenched into hard fists again.
Mr. Banner came to our table then, to see why we weren't working. He
looked over our shoulders to glance at the completed lab, and then stared
more intently to check the answers.
"So, Edward, didn't you think Isabella should get a chance with the
microscope?" Mr. Banner asked.
"Bella," Edward corrected automatically. "Actually, she identified three
of the five."
Mr. Banner looked at me now; his expression was skeptical.
"Have you done this lab before?" he asked.
I smiled sheepishly. "Not with onion root."
"Whitefish blastula?"
"Yeah."
