There was one open seat- in the middle of the room, just left of Edward Cullen. I kept my eyes down on the way back, avoiding that furious gaze. As I sat down, he shifted in his seat, leaning away from me, face averted like he'd smelled something awful.
Surreptitiously, I pulled a strand of hair up to my nose and sniffed it. Strawberry shampoo. Nothing wrong there. I pulled the rest of it over my shoulder, making a nice dark curtain between us.
The lecture was cellular anatomy, something I'd studied last year - but I kept good notes anyways, grateful for the excuse to stare at my desk. Through the parts in my hair I could see Edwards fist clenched under his desk, tendons standing out under pale skin. From the muscles standing out in his forearm he wasn't nearly as slight as he seemed next to his hulk of a brother. But his arm never relaxed, not once.
The class dragged on, neither of us breathing. I started to wish I'd been a little sweeter towards Jessica and her sour grapes. Clearly she hadn't been as resentful as I thought. But it couldn't have anything to do with me. He didn't even know me.
I pulled back my hair and immediately regretted it. He was glaring again, black eyes full of revulsion. I shrunk back down into my chair. If looks could kill...
I jumped a little as the bell rang, and Edward Cullen rose fluidly out of his seat, back to me, and slid out the door before the teacher could call out the homework. I gathered up my things slowly, throat catching, vision blurring a little. He hated me. And I had no idea why.
"Aren't you Isabella Swan?" a voice asked.
I looked up and saw a boy - cute, baby-faced, pale blonde hair carefully gelled into orderly spikes, smiling hopefully at me.
"Bella," I corrected him, smiling back. He obviously didn't think I smelled bad.
"Hi, Bella. I'm Mike."
"Hi, Mike."
"Do you need any help finding your next class?"
"Um, I'm headed to the gym, actually. I think I can find it."
"Hey, that's my next class too. Can I walk with you?"
Company? I kind of just wanted to cry. "Sure."
Mike was chatty. He supplied most of the conversation, which made it easy for me. He'd lived in California until he was ten, so we shared some nostalgia over the sun we'd never see again. He'd seen me in my English class, too. The nicest boy I'd met today - and everyone, except Edward, had been nice.
"So, did you stab Edward Cullen or what? I've never seen him act like that."
I cringed, playing dumb. "The boy I sat next to in Bio?"
"Yeah. He looked like he was in pain or something."
That wasn't quite how I'd seen it. "I don't know. I never spoke to him."
"Well, he's a weird guy. If I'd been lucky enough to sit by you, I'd have talked to you."
I smiled at him as we entered the gym, but couldn't really find any words.
Here in Forks, P.E. is mandatory, all four years. You'd think that if you had the sense to eat healthy and exercise you could spend those credits on something useful, but Forks High believes in adequately preparing you for any situation, Hell on Earth included. The coach - Coach Clapp, or "The Clapp" depending on who you asked - spent the first half of class finding me a uniform but mercifully didn't make me dress down for the rest of it. I watched four volleyball games running simultaneously, remembering all of the injuries I had sustained - and inflicted - playing back home. I wanted to vomit.
The final bell rang at last, and I trudged back to the office with my slip in hand. The rain had subsided, but cold winds tugged at my coat and I drew my arms up in spite of myself. The office door gave off a blast of warm air as I pulled it open, but I stood there a moment, processing the scene in front of me.
Edward Cullen was standing at the desk in front of me, arguing with the receptionist in a low, attractive voice. He didn't appear to have noticed me. Briefly I considered walking out, but survival instincts took hold and ferried me into the warm room.
I listened for a moment, picking up the gist of the conversation. He was trying to trade his sixth hour Bio to another time - any other time would do. The receptionist wasn't having it.
This was about me. Why was this about me? I coughed, and Edward Cullen's back stiffened, drawing himself up from the desk, turning to face me. He was surprisingly tall - and freakishly handsome, too, if you ignored the cold black glare he was giving me. I suddenly felt a little colder. He turned back to the receptionist.
"Never mind, then." he said, voice like velvet. "I can see that it's impossible. Thank you so much for your help." And then he was gone.
I went meekly to the desk, handing her the signed slip.
"And how did your first day go, dear?" the receptionist asked, suddenly maternal.
"Fine," I lied, my voice weak. She didn't look convinced.
My truck was still the only car in the lot. It seemed like a haven, already the closest thing to home I had in this damp green hole. I sat inside for a while, just staring blankly out the window. Eventually the cold won out over the quiet, and I turned the key and let the engine roar to life. I headed back to Charlie's house, fighting tears the whole way.
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