twiligth | Page 5

me at la st .
"Of course," she said. She dug 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 to show me.
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-inco me
neighborhoods that were included in the Paradise Valley District. It was a commo n 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… and boring. 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 an oil slick leaned across the aisle to talk to me.
"You're Isabella Swan, aren't you?" He looked like the overly helpful, chess club type.
"Bella," I corrected. 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 over-helpful.
"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.

"Very."
"It doesn't rain much there, does it?"
"Three or four times a year."
"Wow, what must that be like?" he wondered.
"Sunny," I told him.
"You don't look very tan."
"My mother is part albino."
He studied my face apprehensively, and I sighed. It looked like clouds and a sense of
humor didn't mix. A few months of this and I'd forget how to use sarcasm.