"Twilight" by Stephenie Meyer, Preface–Chapter 3

It rains on this inconsequential town more than any other place in the United States of America.

How could I leave my loving, erratic, harebrained mother to fend for herself?

Neither of us was what anyone would call verbose, and I didn’t know what there was to say regardless.

The desk now held a second-hand computer, with the phone line for the modem stapled along the floor to the nearest phone jack. This was a stipulation from my mother, so that we could stay in touch easily.

It was nice to be alone, not to have to smile and look pleased; a relief to stare dejectedly out the window at the sheeting rain and let just a few tears escape.

Maybe it was the light, but already I looked sallower, unhealthy.

Facing my pallid reflection in the mirror, I was forced to admit that I was lying to myself.

She dug through a precariously stacked pile of documents on her desk till she found the ones she was looking for.

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.

I smiled tentatively.

He studied my face apprehensively, and I sighed.

I couldn’t remember her name, so I smiled and nodded as she prattled about teachers and classes.

I watched, amazed at her lithe dancer’s step, till she dumped her tray and glided through the back door, faster than I would have thought possible.

“They are...very nice-looking.” I struggled with the conspicuous understatement.

As I walked down the aisle to introduce myself to the teacher and get my slip signed, I was watching him surreptitiously.

He wasn’t nearly as slight as he’d looked next to his burly brother.

He was glaring down at me again, his black eyes full of revulsion.

I decided to play dumb.
“Was that the boy I sat next to in Biology?” I asked artlessly.

He lingered by my desk till the bell rang. Then he smiled at me wistfully and went to sit by a girl with braces and a bad perm.

In a town like this, where everyone lived on top of everyone else, diplomacy was essential. I had never been enormously tactful; I had no practice dealing with overly friendly boys.

I hadn’t noticed their clothes before—I’d been too mesmerized by their faces.

“Haven’t you ever seen snow fall before?” he asked incredulously.

He swiftly switched out the first slide for the second, and then glanced at it cursorily.

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.

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.

His gaze became appraising. “You put on a good show,” he said slowly. “But I’d be willing to bet that you’re suffering more than you let anyone see.”

He’d seemed engrossed in our conversation, but now I could see, from the corner of my eye, that he was leaning away from me again, his hands gripping the edge of the table with unmistakable tension.

I tried to sound indifferent. “I wonder what was with him last Monday.”

In a lot of ways, living with Charlie was like having my own place, and I found myself reveling in the aloneness instead of being lonely.

I was still frightened of the hostility I sometimes felt emanating from him, and I was still tongue-tied whenever I pictured his perfect face.

Whatever the reason, Mike’s puppy dog behavior and Eric’s apparent rivalry with him were disconcerting.

Two long, white hands shot out protectively in front of me, and the van shuddered to a stop a foot from my face, the large hands fitting providentially into a deep dent in the side of the van’s body.

But I obstinately held on to our argument; I was right, and he was going to admit it.

It took six EMTs and two teachers—Mr. Varner and Coach Clapp—to shift the van far enough away from us to bring the stretchers in. Edward vehemently refused his, and I tried to do the same, but the traitor told them I’d hit my head and probably had a concussion.

It looked like the entire school was there, watching soberly as they loaded me in the back of the ambulance.

As we spoke, nurses began unwinding his soiled bandages, exposing a myriad of shallow slices all over his forehead and left cheek.

I heard a chuckle, and looked over to see Edward’s patronizing smile.

“Nobody will believe that, you know.” His voice held an edge of derision now.

I was in danger of being distracted by his livid, glorious face. It was like trying to stare down a destroying angel.