1 chapter 1 forks

On the last day I lived in Phoenix, my mother drove me to the airport with the windows rolled down. It was seventy-five degrees, the sky was its signature, cloudless, blue and the wind was electrifying. As a farewell gesture, I decided to wear a shirt my mom had bought me for my last birthday – a sleeveless, white tank top shirt. The smile on her face when she saw me in it was the warmth I needed to keep the heat alive for the foreseeable future...and when I boarded the plane, all I had was my bag, a suitcase, and a parka.

My dad, Charlie, lives in the Olympic Peninsula of the northwest Washington State, in a small town named Forks that is under an almost constant cover and clouds and rain. It rains more often in this inconsequential town than any other place that I know of, at least within the States. It was from this tiny, gloomy, omnipresent shadow that my mother escaped with me when I was only a few months old. It was in this tiny town that I'd been compelled to spend an entire month almost every summer until I was fourteen. That was the year I finally put my foot down and Charlie took time off work to vacation with me for two weeks instead.

As much as I loved Phoenix, the sun, and even the blistering heat, this change was worth it. I don't know how convincing my smile was at the airport, maybe my mom was trying hard to pretend I wasn't happy with this self-imposed exile, but before we turned in my ticket she stopped me.

"Beau," She said to me – the last of a thousand times. "You don't have to do this."

Watching her face, her eyes so wide and childlike with worry, my resolve strengthened me. No one could say in this moment, regardless of how many harebrained things she had said or done in my life, that she didn't love me and want me to be happy. Even with having met and married my Step-dad Phil, and with it the reassurance that there would be someone to remind her to do things like 'pay bills' or 'cook without the smoke-alarm as a timer', staying simply wasn't a choice I could live with.

"Mom, I want to go," the lie fell from me, with more eloquence than any other lie I could remember making.

"I'll see you soon," She promised, her eyes insisting, even as I knew the likelihood of seeing her soon was like waiting on rain in the desert. "You can come home whenever you want – I'll come right back as soon as you need me."

She was so earnest, which was part of the problem. We both needed to learn how to stand on our own feet. There was pain in her eyes, more than just the pain of parting, and she couldn't hide it from me anymore than I could hide my dislike of Forks from her.

"Don't worry, okay?" I urged, squeezing her hand. "I'll manage, see how dad likes being babysat for a while," the joke fell from me, and for a moment there was laughter in her eyes.

"Say hi to Charlie for me."

"I will," I replied, slightly pained, as she squeezed my hand back a mite too hard.

"I'll see you soon," She insisted with anxiety creeping back into her voice. "And if you want to come ho-"

"Mom, I'm gonna have a great time with Dad. I'll call you when I land," I promised her, and she wrapped her arms around me. That one minute felt like all the sun from Phoenix was pooling into my skin, and in a moment I was on the plane, and she was gone.

It's about a four hour flight from Phoenix to Seattle, on a good day, and another hour in a small plane to arrive at Port Angeles – a city near the Canadian Border. The time spent in the air didn't really bother me...the hour-long drive to Forks with Charlie was another story.

To commend him, Charlie had been pretty nice about this whole situation. He seemed genuinely happy that I was coming to live with him with any degree of permanence. Before I left Phoenix, he'd already gotten me registered for their local high school, and he promised to help me get a car.

Charlie was a great man to have as a father, but being alone with him for any lengthy period of time was uncomfortably awkward. Neither one of us was what anyone would call 'verbose', and two people who aren't prone to lengthy conversation often end up sitting in silence for hours together. An hour of silence, with no radio, was hard enough. An hour of my father asking me questions? Even worse.

I didn't doubt that he was more than a little confused as to why I wanted to move to Forks – I'd never made a secret of how I hated it there. So when I landed to the familiar rainy climate of Port Angeles, I didn't see it as an omen more-so than the inevitable. Olive, muted, green parka strapped around me, I'd made my peace with the loss of sunshine. My father's brown eyes waiting for me in the driver's seat of his police cruiser, were equally inevitable.

Stepping out of the Cruiser when I approached, my father – Police Chief Swan, of Forks – moved to give me an awkward, one-armed, hug.

"Hey, Beau, don't fall over," he said, smiling as he caught and steadied me against his side. Which was, in hindsight, a good thing, as my shoes weren't made for the rain and I about stumbled down the ramp toward him.

"I'm fine, thanks, Dad," I said with some effort to at least pretend to be as thrilled to be here as Charlie seemed to be.

"This all your bags?" He asked, ever the practical person, and I shook my head as his arm moved out from around me. Hugs that were too long made both of us uncomfortable, especially with onlookers present.

What I brought was soon packed into the back seat of the Police Cruiser, very little of which were actually clothes. After all, most of the things one wears in Arizona simply aren't warm enough for constant rainfall, so while mom and I had pooled our resources to buy me enough to get by for a while, I had brought mostly books, necessities, and things I couldn't bear to leave behind.

"I found a good car for you," Charlie announced as soon as we were both strapped in.

"What kind of car?" My voice could only thinly veil my concern, what did 'good car – for you -' signify, anyway? Was it cheap?

His mouth curled into a mild grumble, a usual expression he made when he was having trouble wording himself. "Well, it's not so much a car...but a truck. A Chevy, Billy Black's old truck."

My confusion when he glanced over at me made him pause. "You know, Billy Black from La Push? He used to go fishing with us during the summer," Charlie prompted, several times, but still I could feel myself blinking far too much in confusion. A gesture most recognized as 'Deer in headlights' or 'please stop trying to talk to me, I'm uncomfortable,' and my father struggled to tow the line between explaining and alienating.

"Sorry, it's been a long time..."

The apology soothed him, and he relented from making explanations. "Well, He's in a wheelchair now, so he can't drive anymore and offered it to me."

If I could acknowledge how much my mouth pursing in response looked like my father's uncomfortable grumble, it might have bothered me, but still – I made it. "How old is it?" Or the veiled question: Is it going to fall apart half-way down the street?

My father's sinking expression, nay the powerful cringe that made his mustache twist into a half-open curtain, meant he had been hoping I wouldn't ask.

"Well, Billy's done a lot of work on the engine over the years, so it's not in as rough shape as one might think."

My stomach knotted, my mouth curled...my father reluctantly explained more.

"It's a 1984, around there."

I didn't need to ask if 'around there' meant he shaved off a year or...twenty.

"...I don't know, Dad, I don't know the first thing about Trucks. If it broke down, I really can't afford to pay for something like that-"

He interrupted me, with an optimistic chuckle. "I wouldn't tell ya about it if it wasn't up to snuff. They don't make engines like that anymore, it's been thoroughly examined, Beau."

"And how cheap was this...truck, Dad."

"Oh, not too much," he said in a cryptic sort of manner.

My head turned, so I could study his face as he struggled. "That doesn't help me, Dad."

"Erm, well, son, I kind of already bought it for you," he confessed, peeking sideways at me as he drove with a gleam of hope in his expression.

I blinked, this time from being stunned. Charlie bought me a car. It sounded too good to be true.

"How much do I owe you, then?"

His mustache wiggled in distaste at the question. "Keep your spending money, I got it for you as a" – he strained for a reason – "homecoming present."

The word felt weird to me, so weird it diminished what joy I had of having a free car. Forks. Home. Those words were like oil and water; but, they didn't weigh me down for long.

"That's really nice, Dad. Thanks," it was all I could say, and it was more than enough to perk up my father.

"I don't mind, you'll be happier to not be cooped up at the house all the time, anyway," he said, looking ahead at the road now that any risk of troubling conversation was out of the way. We both weren't comfortable with expressing our emotions out loud, and when he stopped watching me, I turned my head to look out the window.

"Thanks, Dad, I appreciate it," my reply seemed to make him uncomfortably bashful, as compliments often do to the socially obscure.

"Well, you're welcome," he said simply, albeit, embarrassed by my thanks.

We continued on for the rest of the drive in mutual silence, which wasn't as abhorrent as I imagined it would be. The scenery was beautiful, the tall stretching trees reaching up into the gray clouds and torrential rain above. Even though it had no warmth, no sun, the green had wick, had a vibrancy, that Phoenix didn't have. A world covered in a blanket of moss, canopies of gnarled branches and leafy ferns. Even the air seemed to soak down through the leaves with an aura of green mist.

It was simply too green for me, an alien landscape when one is used to dust and unencumbered sun.

Eventually, the Cruiser arrived to Charlie's house. He still lived in the small, two-bedroom house that he'd bought with my mother when they first got married. It was there, parked on the street near the mailbox – and to my intense surprise, I loved it. My 'new to me' truck – faded red with large rounded fenders, and a bulbous cab. It had tales to tell, history to whisper of, and even though I had no idea how to drive a truck – I could imagine myself driving it. For a moment, I understood what excited Tim Taylor about Hot Rods. A glimmer of a car buff lurked inside me, and in that moment I had to touch it.

My father was eerily silent, waiting and watching for any kind of abhorrence from me. In the back of my mind, I could feel his eyes on my face; but, I didn't care.

The smile filled me, even if it barely showed on my inexpressive mouth. "Wow, Dad, I love him!"

The car was open and my feet led me to the driver's door before I could hear his reaction. I just held my hands against the rusted paint of the Driver's door. Watching inside the window, which was too wet from the rain to properly see inside. I didn't need to see inside to know the seats had been cleaned and any belongings of Billy Black's had been removed.

The Cruiser door shut, but I didn't look away as my father approached me. "Him?"

The worry in his voice made my stomach knot uncomfortably. "Well, this car kinda feels like a guy, is all." I commented, which was true to me, as this car was so large it reminded me of Red Asphalt. A video warning teenagers to drive safely in Driver's Ed Class, often showing the grueling carnage of vehicular manslaughter in all its brash glory. Watching the truck, I felt like he would be on the side of the road next to whatever foreign car tried to crash into him. A little paint chipped, but otherwise okay. This truck was a moving shield, a modern affordable tank, and I felt safer knowing this beast of a truck was mine.

Beast, that sounded like a good name.

My father, who seemed to think it weird that any person would declare love to a car, awkwardly shrugged beside me. "Well...I'm glad you like him...er, it."

Charlie gruffly walked away, and I could hear him opening the Cruiser's back seat to start carrying my things inside.

Reluctantly, I left the Beast and headed inside.

It only took one trip to get all my belongings upstairs to my bedroom, which had stayed 'my room' since before I was born. As weirdly relieved as I was that he hadn't gotten rid of my twin bed and other things when I stopped coming up here for the Summer, it was a comfort to see a place I was familiar with. The crib had been switched out for a bed and desk when I was too old to be in a crib; but, otherwise the room remained the same. Yellowed lace curtains still hung from the windows, which faced west, toward the front yard. Taking in the wooden floor, the paled blue walls, the peaked ceiling – memories of my childhood filled me.

With one difference, my room was untouched. A secondhand computer, with a phone line for the modem stapled along the floor, greeted me as it sat on my desk. My mom had insisted on my having one, so we could stay in touch more easily with calls being so expensive long-distance.

Sitting down in the rocking chair that remained in the corner from my baby days, my eyes drifted to the hallway. There was only one small bathroom at the top of the stairs, and I tried not to dwell on the fact that I would have to share it with Charlie.

Taking in my room, unchanged after years of gathering time, I was relieved that Charlie didn't check on me now that we were home. He was never one to hover, and it was one of the best things about him. He always left me alone to unpack and get settled in, which was something that was impossible for my mom to do. It was nice to be left alone, not to have to pretend to smile and look pleased; a relief to be able to stare dejectedly out the window at the sheeting rain and let them water unencumbered. I wasn't in the mood to let the tears fall into a crying session; but, it was only a matter of time – days, weeks, hours, before it happened.

Tomorrow I was starting out at Forks High School, home of the Spartans. While it only had a terrifying total of three hundred and fifty-eight students, there were over seven hundred people in my junior class alone back in Phoenix. In the large crowd, you could blend in and disappear if you wanted to. All the kids here had grown up together – hell, their grandparents had probably been toddlers together. I would be the new boy from a big city, a curiosity, maybe even a freak. Maybe, if I looked like a 'normal' guy from Phoenix should, I could work this to my advantage. But physically, I wasn't a tan, sporty, blond basketball player. Nor did I have the charisma to pretend I was ever a football player – all the things that tend to give you away for living in the valley of the sun didn't apply to me. Pale skin, dark brown hair, no muscle mass, and no hand-eye coordination to play any kind of sport without humiliating myself...or worse, harming whoever happened to be standing too close when I tried.

When I finished putting my clothes in the old pine dresser, I took my bag of guy's necessities to the bathroom to clean up after a long day of travel. In the mirror, as I shaved the patch off my face, it was strange to see the person looking back at me. He looked as melancholy as I felt, and maybe it was the light – but I looked malnourished or sallow. In the sun, my skin could be pretty sometimes – it was clear of acne and almost translucent – but it all depended on the color. Here, I had no color and I felt like a specter, a ghost of myself haunting the mirror.

It wasn't so much my appearance that bothered me though, I wasn't unattractive, but if I couldn't find a niche in a school with three thousand people, what were my chances of finding something here? I didn't relate well to people my age, or maybe the truth was I just didn't relate well to people in general.

Even my mother, who I was closer to than anyone else on the planet, was never in harmony with me. We were never exactly on the same page, and sometimes I wondered if I was seeing the same world that she was. Our worlds and frame of mind were so different, and she would never understand why I needed to be here in Forks. She had Phil now, and when I was there she couldn't be with him as often as she wanted to be. She'd always been like that, flying too close to the sun. Phil was good for her, and he was a nice guy to have as a step-dad, but they needed time to be alone and I didn't want to keep feeling like a third wheel.

In the morning, I awoke with red eyes. Whether it was the constant whooshing of wind and rain against the roof that never faded into the background, or the tears I had shed before exhaustion finally broke me, sleep remained an elusive mayfly. Right now the rain was a quieter drizzle on the roof, and even with knowing I woke up earlier than the alarm, the chances of me going back to sleep were slim.

Thick fog was all I could see outside my window, and the claustrophobia began creeping up on me. You could never see the sky here; a gray cage holding you in.

After another shower, breakfast with Charlie was a quiet event. He wished me good luck at school, and I thanked him for the thought. Good luck tended to avoid me, and I didn't think my stars would be changing anytime soon. Charlie left soon after, to go to the police station that was his wife and family, now. After he left, I sat at the old square oak table in one of the three un-matching chairs and examined the small kitchen, with its dark paneled walls, bright yellow cabinets, and linoleum floor.

Nothing had changed.

My mother had painted these cabinets eighteen years ago in an attempt to bring some sunshine into the house. Over the small fireplace in the adjoining living room was a row of pictures. My mom and Charlie looked happy together in Las Vegas. The next photo was one of the three of us in the hospital after I had been born, taken by a helpful nurse, with mom looking happy; but, worn out. The next photos were a progression of my school pictures up until last year's photo, which was embarrassing to look at and I found myself turning those photos of me around or face down so I wasn't staring at myself.

Charlie had never gotten over my mom, and being in this house was a constant reminder of a past I was too small to remember. Trying to think of my parents as a couple just reminded me of arguments and shouting matches, things best put in the back of my mind and left there.

With the photos there, haunting me, I couldn't stand to stay here alone in the house any longer. Donning my olive green parka, which felt more like a bio-hazard suit than a jacket, I headed out into the rain with my school bag.

It was still mildly drizzling, though not enough to soak me through immediately. Keys in my pocket, I rushed through the wet puddles on the way to my new truck, waterproof shoes feeling weird as I wobbled from the front door. In Phoenix, the crunching of gravel was a comforting sensation before school, and my soles missed it.

Inside the truck, however, it was nice and dry. The tan upholstered seats smelled faintly of tobacco, gasoline, and peppermint, which was nicer than I had expected the truck to smell. For a few minutes I just breathed it in, turning the car on to get some heat brewing and letting it roar to life.

The Beast was loud, and he purred at full vroom. But, well, a truck this old was bound to have a flaw. At least the radio worked, a plus I hadn't expected to find, and an oldies rock station was better than listening to the rain when I finally pulled out of the driveway.

Finding Forks High wasn't that difficult, even though I'd never been here before. Almost all things near Forks, it could be found off the highway. However, if not for the large sign, I might not have known it was even a school. It was just a collection of matching houses, built with maroon-colored bricks. There were so many trees and shrubs around them that I couldn't see how large the school was at first. Where was the feel of the institution? I wondered, with some nostalgia. Where were the chain-link fences, the metal detectors, the security guards patrolling out front by the parking lot?

Parking in front of the first building, which had a small sign over the door which read 'front office', I stepped out of the toasty truck cab. No one else had parked near me, so I guessed that this area was off limits for student parking; but, it was better to park here than circle around the parking lot like an idiot. Walking beside a path lined with dark hedges, I paused to take a deep breath before I opened the door.

Inside, the office was brightly lit and warmer than I'd hoped it would be. A little waiting area with padded folding chairs, orange-flecked commercial carpet, notices and awards cluttering the walls, and a large clock ticking loudly greeted me. Plants grew everywhere in large plastic pots, as if there simply wasn't enough greenery outside, which made me feel like I could never escape the clustered forest. The small office was cut in half by a long counter, cluttered with wire baskets full of papers and brightly colored fliers taped to its front. There were three desks behind the counter, one of which was mannered by a large, red-haired woman wearing glasses. She was wearing a purple t-shirt, which immediately made me feel overdressed.

Eventually, the red-haired woman looked up at me. "Can I help you?"

Now or never, I braced myself as I approached the counter. "Hi, I'm Beau Swan."

She stared at me, as though that was not enough of an explanation for her.

I blinked a reply, and finally she realized who I was. "Oh! Beaufort?"

My face burned from embarrassment. "Yeah, Beaufort," I corrected, always feeling strange when someone used my full name that I'd almost forgotten to mention it.

Immediate awareness lit up the woman's eyes as she clicked on her mouse and began typing things into her keyboard to pull up my information. I didn't doubt she hadn't heard of me, Chief Swan's long lost son, finally coming home to Forks. Probably the best gossip one managed to get around this tight knit community.

"Of course, of course," She said before digging through a precariously stacked pile of documents on her desk. She kept flipping through paperwork until 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 and set them down in front of me.

With a highlighter pen, the annoying pink kind, she went through my classes for me, highlighting the best routes to each class on the map, and gave me a slip to have each of my teachers sign.

"Just bring that back at the end of the day, Beau," were the last words I payed attention to before I turned away. She had smiled at me with hopeful eyes, the way Charlie had looked at me this morning, that I might like it here in Forks. Smiling back as convincingly as I could, it was gone by the time I reached the door.

Other students were starting to arrive by the time I made it back to my truck, and I drove around the school to follow the line of traffic. At least most of the cars were older like mine, nothing new or flashy. At home, I'd lived in one of the few lower-income neighborhoods in the Paradise Valley District. It was a common thing to see a new Mercedes or Porsche in the student lot, there. Still, I cut the engine as soon as I found a parking spot, so that the thunderous bellowing of my Beast wouldn't draw extra attention to me.

Alone, I looked at the school map in my truck, trying to memorize it so I wouldn't get too lost before first period. While I hoped I wouldn't have to walk around with my nose stuck into the map all day, it was no doubt another inevitability of my being here.

Stuffing everything I needed back into my bag, slinging it over my shoulder, I took in a deep breath. Sucking the air in and holding it in my lungs so I didn't look like a chipmunk. You can do this, I told myself with more confidence than I felt.

No one was going to bite me, after all.

Finally exhaling, I stepped out of the truck and locked it behind me. Keeping my face pulled back into the hood of my parka, I walked to the sidewalk – which was crowded with teenagers – and hoped my plain black sweater didn't stand out.

Once I moved around the cafeteria, building three was easy to spot. A large black '3' was painted on a white square on the east corner. Feeling my breathing gradually creeping toward hyperventilation, I approached the door. Holding my breath, my feet followed a pair of raincoats through the doorway.

The classroom was small, smaller than I had imagined it to have been. The people in front of me stopped just outside the door to hang up their coats on a long row of hooks, so I copied them. Choosing a nail on the back edge of the classroom, my eyes darted back out of sheer curiosity to watch the two girls I had followed into the room. One was a porcelain-skinned blond, the other was slightly less pale with light brown hair. At least my skin wouldn't stand out here, I relished with some relief.

Uncomfortably approaching a balding man I presumed to be the teacher, Mr. Mason, his eyes rose to study my face immediately before he took my slip. The instantaneous gawking he made when he read my name was not an encouraging response, and like anyone who was now being watched by everyone in the room – I could feel my face flush with blood.

To my rescue, Mr. Mason sent me to an empty desk at the back without introducing me to the rest of the class. As nice as it was to be there, it didn't stop the other students from turning around to look at me. So, I kept my eyes down and pretended to have more interest in the reading list my teacher had given me. It was fairly basic: Bronte, Shakespeare, Chaucer, Faulkner. Most of which were rather boring to me. I'd already done essays and reports on their work back in Phoenix, and in my head I went over what my mom would say if I asked her to mail me my old essays to turn in. It did not go well, assuming of course my mom could even find where I stored my old papers.

When the bell rang it's loud and nasaly buzzing sound, a gangly girl with acne and black hair leaned across the aisle to talk to me.

"You're Beaufort Swan, aren't you?" She looked like she belonged in the Chess club, or something.

"Just Beau," I corrected, and unfortunately everyone in a three-seat radius turned to look at my face.

"Where's your next class?"

I had to tug the map back out of my bag to check before I could answer. "Um, Government in Building Six, with Jefferson?"

There was nowhere to look that wasn't filled with curious eyes, so I kept watching my hands.

"I'm headed to building four, I can show you the way, if you want," She asked, far too helpful and obliging for my comfort zone. "I'm Erica," she added, and I could feel my mouth torn between a smile and a grimace from unease.

"Thanks," I muttered before standing up.

Walking back to the row of wet coats, I picked out my olive jacket and slid it back on before we headed into the rain – which had gone from a drizzle to wet and sloppy droplets. It may have been the constant battering of rain against the top of my hood, but it felt like there were several people behind us walking close enough to eavesdrop, and to be honest I worried of being paranoid.

Realizing I wasn't going to initiate a conversation, Erica began to prattle on. "So, this is a lot different than Phoenix, huh?"

The question was so obvious it hurt. "Very."

"It doesn't rain much there, does it?"

My time here was doomed if rain was the only thing these people could talk about. "No, not really. Couple times."

Erica looked genuinely awed, which made it worse. "Wow, what must that be like?"

"Um, sunny," I tried to smile, but in my heart I knew it was a grimace.

"Huh, you don't look very tan."

Great, I'm being rescued by captain obvious. "I must be part albino."

Erica studied my face apprehensively as we walked, and I quietly sighed under my breath. It looked like clouds and a sense of humor didn't mix well. A few months of this and I might even forget how to use sarcasm altogether.

Poor girl didn't get it, until I blurted out an awkward laugh and she realized I was joking.

"Oh, sorry, I just thought everyone in Phoenix was really tan."

"Nah, I just roast," I said honestly.

She laughed, I guess she thought this was another one of my 'weird jokes'. We walked in silence the rest of the way around the cafeteria, to the south buildings by the gym. She walked me right to the door, even though it was clearly marked.

"Well, good luck," she said as I touched the door handle. "Maybe we'll have some other classes together?" She sounded so hopeful, and I felt bad that my stomach could only cringe in response.

Smiling as best I could fake, I waved lightly before turning to head inside.

The rest of the morning passed in about the same fashion. My trigonometry teacher, Mr. Varner, was the only professor to make me stand in front of the classroom and introduce myself. If that wasn't a reason enough to dislike him, trigonometry was the worst class I could think of besides P.E, and now I had even more reasons to not want to be in here.

Stammering, blushing, and flopping when I almost tripped several times back to my seat, I just spent the rest of the class with my book held up in front of my face. Just, waiting to die, I guess.

After two more classes, I started to recognize several of the faces in each class. There was always someone braver than the others who would introduce themselves and ask me questions about how I was liking Forks. As much as I tried to be diplomatic, lies and grimace-smiles were the only kindness I could muster. At least I never needed the map again, people seemed to like escorting the fresh meat around.

One boy, who sat next to me in both Trig and Spanish, walked with me to the cafeteria for lunch. He was short, several inches shorter than my five foot nine inches; but, his short curly dark hair made up for the difference in our heights. Bad as I felt to admit it to myself, his name escaped me. Doing my best to smile and nod as he prattled on about teachers and classes, I didn't try and keep up with the conversation.

After the long line to get something for lunch, we sat at the end of a full table with several of his friends. He introduced me to all of them, immediately; but, I couldn't retain them longer than about three seconds. They seemed impressed by his bravery in trying to adopt the introvert, and Erica waved at me from across the lunchroom.

It was all so overwhelming, and while I was grateful that so many were trying to make me feel welcome, all the new faces and thousand questions drowned me.

Desperate to avoid being roped into a larger conversation, my eyes strayed to other tables, ones more empty or distant from the one I had been led to. It was there, feigning interest in trying to respond to seven curious strangers, that I first saw them.

They were sitting together in the corner of the cafeteria, as far away from where I sat as possible in the long room. There were five of them, and they weren't talking or eating, even though each had a tray of untouched food in front of them. They were the only ones not gawking at me, they didn't seem to notice or care that I was here.

It was refreshing, and I felt safe to stare at them without fear of meeting another excessively interested pair of eyes.

It was none of these comforts that caught, and held, my attention. They didn't look anything alike, for starters. One of the three boys was huge – muscled like a weight lifter, with dark, curly, hair. The other was taller; but, slender. Lean with honey blond hair.

my eyes fell on the girls they were opposites, which was fascinating to me. The tallest girl was so statuesque, she had a model's figure, the kind that made every girl in the room feel a blow to their self esteem. I half expected her to be in a cheerleader's uniform; but, she was too resigned a posture to make me think she would want to be one. Her hair was her crown, a rich and golden wave that ended at the middle of her back.

Beside her, a shorter girl reminded me of Julia Roberts as Tinkerbell – only her hair was black instead of red. She was so slender, like she had been plucked from a French foreign film and set down at the table impeccably dressed. Short pixie hair vibrant with life and pointing elegantly in every direction that framed her face.

Still, my attention wasn't held, because there was one other boy seated beside the pixie-haired fairy. He had bronze hair, dark eyes, and he looked more boyish than the others. He was lanky when compared to the other boys; but, he was so poised and for whatever reason, he was radiant.

Despite all these differences, they were ironically alike. Every one of them had a chalky, pale, color to their skin. The palest of all the students I had seen today who were living in this sunless town. Paler than me, even, which was not something I saw very often. They all had dark eyes, despite their range in hair tones. Dark shadows, purplish like faint bruises, rested under their eyes. As if all of them were suffering from a sleepless night, or nearly recovered from broken noses. For the first, a sleepless night might explain their silence. For the second, their noses – nay, all their features – looked too perfect, straight, or angular, to make me think they had broken their noses.

Even this, strange as it is, was not why I couldn't look away.

I stared because all of their faces – so different and similar – were all devastatingly, inhumanly, beautiful. They were faces you never expected to see outside of purposefully airbrushed fashion covers. I would sooner have believed that they were cut out sheets painted by Michealangelo and held up to look like students than that they were real.

It was impossible to tell who was the most beautiful; but, my eyes kept sliding back and forth between the blond girl and the bronze-haired boy who was partially blocked from view.

They were all looking away – away from each other, away from the other students, away from anything in particular as far as I could tell. As if they all decided to just sit there and daydream, or they could sleep with their eyes open. As I watched, the small fairy rose with her tray – unopened soda, unbitten apple, and walked away with a quick, graceful, loop. Ballet feet in shoes I couldn't see moved toward the trash cans to dump her tray and pause.

She stayed, as though looking past the crowd during an opera performance, and almost looked in my direction before she glided – floated – out the door. Glancing back to the others, it amazed me that they had not moved, despite the departure of their friend.

Unable to resist my curiosity any longer, I reached out to touch the arm of the boy from my Spanish class. He stopped listening to his friend to look at me with curious eyes, and it was all the incentive I needed.

"Who are they?" I asked, gently pointing toward the table.

He looked up for a fraction of a second, enough to tell where I was pointing to, before he lost interest and focused on his sandwich long enough to take a bite out of it.

"Those are the Cullen's. Dr. Cullen and his wife's foster kids," he whispered, once he had swallowed that bite of sandwich.

Foster kids, I thought quietly to myself, unable to wrap my head around it. The guy next to me took this as his moment to explain more, and did so with a quietly bashful look. "That one that left, her name is Alice. The boys are Emmett" – she pointed to the weight lifter – "and Jasper," the lithe blond boy with his thick blond locks was gestured to.

"I wish they weren't all...dating," he said with morose.

That comment just raised too many questions. "Dating?"

He nodded to me, setting down his sandwich. "Yeah, they all live together, it's weird. Rumor is that Dr. Cullen is some kind of matchmaker, but my friend Josie has seen Emmett and Rosalie kiss before class sometimes, and Alice and Jasper hold hands and cuddle all the time."

My attention was drawn to the boy with bronze hair, and held there with some strange sinking feeling in my stomach. "Is that Emmett?"

He followed my finger to the boy who was looking down at his tray, picking a bagel to pieces with his long, pale, fingers. His mouth was moving very quickly, his perfect lips were barely opening. Was he mumbling to himself? The other three were still looking away, out the window, daydreaming; I couldn't guess.

Sandwich guy responded with a giggle. "No, that's Emmett's brother, Edward," he said with amusement before he took another bite from his meal.

For whatever reason I had no appetite. Maybe it was being in the same room with Zeus' long lost children, or I just didn't feel comfortable eating around a giant group of people, but my stomach was in knots. It twisted and churned, like a slow-spin washing machine turning delicates. Their names didn't seem odd to me at the time, true they were old names; but, there were worse names I'd heard of and a lot of kids were named after their grandparents.

If not for one of the other guys at my table saying it, I wouldn't have remembered that sandwich guy was named Jeremy. A name that was easy enough to remember, one could hope.

"Do they...always look so..." I didn't know what to say, I just trailed off.

"It's insane how good they look," Jeremy agreed with another laugh. All the condemnation of his earlier statements had begun to leave his voice.

"But, if Rosalie or Alice – weren't – off the market, who would you go for?"

The question unsettled me, so much so that I blinked. "I don't know..."

Jeremy chuckled again. "Come on, it's a fun game."

His insistence in noticing the girls made it worse, for some reason. "I didn't really think about it. They're both good looking, though."

Jeremy sighed as he tilted his head playfully at me. "Well, you're no fun, but if you make up your mind, tell me."

Desperate to change the subject from 'love interests' and flirting, I tried to say the least sexy question on my mind. "So, they're not really related? Or..."

He nodded. "Pfft, no way. Dr. Cullen is pretty young – early thirties if you can even imagine him being that old. But, they've been with Mrs. Cullen since they were eight. She's like Edward, Alice, and Emmett's aunt or something? I don't know all the history."

"That's really kind of her, to take care of all of them like that, did something bad happen with their parents?"

"I guess," Jeremy said with some reluctance, and I got the impression that he didn't like Dr. Cullen or his wife for some reason. With all the glances he was throwing at the adopted children, I could only guess he was feeling some kind of jealousy. A vibe that made me very uncomfortable to be around, so I gently pushed my try away from me to not have the smell of food in my nose. "I think Mrs. Cullen can't have any kids, anyway."

While I thought that only added to the kindness of Mrs. Cullen's loving heart, I felt like if I mentioned it verbally, Jeremy's jealous nature, or annoyance, would grow. A can of worms I didn't want to risk opening, tonight.

"So, have they always lived in Forks?" I asked, surely I would have noticed them on one of my summers here.

"No," Jeremy said in a harsher tone than he might have meant, as if I had asked a stupid question. "They moved down two years ago, from somewhere in Alaska."

A surge of pity and relief filled me. Pity, because as beautiful as they were – they were outsiders who were clearly not accepted. Relief that I wasn't the only newcomer here, and certainly not the most interesting newcomer by anyone's standards.

Examining all of them, each different work of art, my eyes fell to the bronze-haired Cullen. His fingers were still tearing apart the bagel with no interest in eating it, and I felt like he had artist's hands, but he was too far away for me to say that with any degree of certainty.

This time; however, the boy looked up and for a moment I felt like his eyes bore into my soul. Evident curiosity in his expression as he gazed across the tables back at me. I don't know what it was, a pull, an undertow, but I couldn't bear to look into his eyes when he watched me. I could feel him watching me, even as I looked down at my hands.

If ever there was a reason to sink into a table and disappear, now would have been the perfect time. I don't know if I blushed or paled, the sting to my face burned and froze, and I found myself listless and dizzy.

Desperate for Jeremy to remain oblivious to my social awkwardness, I pressured myself into asking more. "W-Who is that boy with the reddish-bronze hair dating?"

I peeked with the corner of my eye to see if he was still watching me, and he was still staring with those piercing, lion, eyes. This time he looked frustrated, as though I had in some way insulted him by not holding eye-contact. In fear, my eyes darted down again.

"Who, Edward? He's the only one who doesn't have a girlfriend," Jeremy said, with some relief. "I guess none of the girls here are good enough for him, which just leaves more for us, huh?" he leaned in with a cheshire smile and playfully poked me with his elbow.

"Urm, yeah. Sure, Jeremy."

It felt strange to feel elated that Edward didn't have a girlfriend, even if I couldn't put my finger on why at the time. Someone who doesn't have a girlfriend has time to do whatever they want to do, and I thought that maybe if he was single he might have time to make friends.

I don't know why I cared so much that Edward have a friend, maybe because his siblings had someone to share their pain with and he didn't. It was rare in my life that someone had both a lover and a best friend. One or the other was the way it went, at least for my mom.

Unable to stop myself, I flicked my eyes up to sneak another glance at Edward. His face was turned away from me now; but, it looked as though his cheek was lifted. I hoped he was smiling, even if the likelihood of him smiling because of me was slim.

After a few more minutes of watching Edward and his family, the four of them left the table together. They all were noticeably graceful – even the big, brawny, Emmett moved with some measure of ease. I found it unsettling to watch. Edward didn't look at me again before he left; but, that didn't stop me from watching him until I couldn't see him anymore.

Sitting with Jeremy and his friends for longer than I usually sat down during lunch when I was alone, I began to feel incredibly restless. Anxiety filled me, and the only reason I could pin it on was that I didn't want to risk being late for my next class. One of my new acquaintances, who reminded me constantly that his name was Allen, had Biology with me for the next period.

When I stood, Allen stood too, and any hope I had of catching another glimpse of Edward and his family outside was dashed. Thankfully, he was shy, and we walked in comfortable silence together.

When we entered the classroom, Allen went to sit at a black-topped lab table with his lab partner, and I felt some comfort that these lab tables looked to be the same kind I had used in Phoenix. The comfort didn't last, as all the seats were taken, except one. Glancing across the room which had quickly filled up, the only seat left in the class made my heart race and my pulse quicken.

Next to the center aisle, Edward Cullen sat beside the window, scribbling something that looked like random dots or doodles on an expensive looking notebook. Even though he hadn't noticed me, yet, a strange sort of panic filled me at the idea of being so close to him.

Unsure if my mouth was more dry or wet, the lump in my throat nearly suffocating me, I turned as quietly as I could and nearly pummeled into the teacher's desk. The sound wasn't very loud, but it was enough to make my wide eyes flit in his direction to see if he noticed my clumsiness. My side throbbed, but I didn't feel it until later.

Edward had become rigid in his seat, and his eyes were no longer on his notebook. He was staring at me again, meeting my eyes with the strangest bewildered expression on his face – he looked hostile, furious, and it terrified me. If it was possible to turn away from his venom faster without bumping my knee into the table, I would have. My knee and side throbbed now, and my teacher had nothing but humor and pity for me when I finally managed to hand him my slip for him to sign. Fingers shaking so badly that I worried the form would slide right out of my hand when he handed it back to me.

Everything burned, from pain or embarrassment, I couldn't tell anymore. It wasn't just my knee or side that ached, my chest ached; I barely breathed, my stomach throbbed.

"Woah, there, are you alright?" The teacher asked.

My reply was hidden under the laughter of students behind me. "Yeah, fine."

The sheet was handed back to me after my teacher signed it, and all hope of saving face was lost when he pointed behind me...towards Edward.

"Have a seat, Mr. Swan," he said, and while I turned and looked around like a boat lost at sea, there was still only one seat open. The one beside Edward; the one beside the guy who for reasons unknown hated me.

Was it because I had been watching him at lunch? Didn't everyone watch him? Was I ugly? Did I have something in my nose?

Nearly tripping over a book that some girl had haphazardly left in the middle aisle between tables, I pretended not to hear the laughter as I stood and sat down beside Edward. Avoiding his face for one long, terrible, minute before I turned my head to peek at him and see if he was still glaring at me.

He was...and I noticed something else. His eyes, they were black – coal black.

Glancing away, bewildered by the antagonistic stare he bore into me, I felt a stir in the table we shared. In the corner of my eye, I saw his posture change. He was leaning away from me, sitting on the extreme edge of his chair; averting his face. As though I reeked and he couldn't stand how badly I smelled. Concerned, I hunched lower to try and breathe in the smell of my own shirt; laundry how's that offensive? It seemed an innocent enough odor, though.

Had I offended him at lunch? When he caught me staring at him? Was there food on my teeth? New acne I hadn't noticed? Not really the type to carry around mini camera's or mini mirrors, I had no means to check my face; but, the question haunted me.

Mr. Banner started the lesson without the need to introduce me to the rest of the class. The lecture was on cellular anatomy, something I already knew from my last Biology teacher, and with nothing new to engage my mind I felt myself look back over at Edward. Seeing him through my fingers through my hand over my face, he kept looking out the window. Leaning against the glass, unwilling to be bothered by me.

For the entire lecture, he never moved. No more notes were made, and his notebook that I had seen earlier must have vanished into his bag shortly after he had glared at me. When I managed to look down from notes, I saw that his hand was balled into a fist; tendons standing out underneath his pale skin. He was so angry, and I had never noticed how athletic his forearm was. Long white sleeves pulled up to his elbows, he looked on edge, like he wanted to reach out and punch someone for making him sit next to the new kid.

He wasn't nearly as slender as I'd thought he looked earlier, next to his burly brother and pixie-haired sister. Captivated, the class seemed to go on for longer than an hour. Maybe because I kept hoping that his fist would loosen, he would relax, and maybe just casually ignore me than the constant dismissal he vehemence portrayed. Was he always like this around new people? Doubts of Jeremy's earlier resentment rose up in my head – maybe he wasn't as prejudiced as I thought…

Surely whatever it was that was bothering him couldn't have been about me. He didn't know me, everyone had to stare at him once in a while – why would that bother him so much? Maybe he was just going through something and he'd be better tomorrow? Daring fate, I moved my hand from my face to look over at his face and instantly regretted it.

His eyes were daggers set to kill, and even though I flinched and scooted my chair away from him, it wasn't enough. His look was too intense, and I couldn't bear to watch his face anymore. Hand moving over my face again, I added my left hand to further protect my face from being offensive to the other while my right hand came down and scribbled notes on the lecture which I could care less about.

Under the weight of his hateful eyes, the bell finally rang, and I jumped up in my chair from surprise. Startled by the sound, I looked up to see Edward was out of his chair. Moving fluidly around the table, overwhelming me with how tall he was when I was shriveled in the chair, he was out the door before anyone else had a chance to get out of their seat.

Numb; stunned into silence, I stared blankly after the spot I had last seen Edward. Morose at the absence of his presence from the room, even as the anger of how he treated me filled me with contempt.

What the hell was his problem? Why was he so pissed off at me?

Why the hell did I care...

With the eloquence of a zombie, I started gathering my things and sliding my books back into my backpack; trying desperately to block out the anger before it consumed me. Whenever I was this pissed off, my eyes had a horrible tendency to water up. My temper was hard-wired to my tear-ducts; something I inherited from my mother. As humiliating as it was, I usually wept when I was angry, and my eyes burned as they welled up.

Now that he was gone, my eyes were going into overdrive. I barely saw through them as I shoved books and pens into my bag, hoping I didn't miss and spill my pens all over the floor as I did so.

A female voice from behind me startled me. "Are you Beaufort Swan?"

Not turning around, as I could feel my eyes watering, I just nodded and gave her an awkward 'thumbs up' gesture so I didn't have to turn and face her. Hiding like a coward behind my fingers again.

"I'm McKayla," She started to say, and I felt horror tug at my stomach when her footsteps approached me. Oh God, this was horrible, and I found myself speechless for fear of my voice sounding watery.

Unfortunately, she noticed without my needing to wobble out any words. "Woah, are you okay?"

Great, now I had to talk. "Yeah, I'm fine."

My words were a lie, and maybe she sensed it. "You sure?"

Looking up, McKayla was a classically pretty girl with long pale blond hair, and she was smiling at me with such gentle eyes. It was such a stark contrast from the hatred in Edward's face that it reassured me. She clearly didn't think I smelled bad, or that I was annoying.

Wiping under my eyes, which thankfully started to dry out from the encouragement, I nodded to her. "I'm fine," I reassured before outstretching my hand. "Beau."

Her shoulders relaxed, and she smiled at me in a friendly way. "Do you need any help finding your next class?"

So many helpful students here, it almost made my head spin. "I'm headed to gym, I think I can find the big building okay," I said with an awkward laugh.

She seemed thrilled at this, and her smile turned into a full-blown grin. "That's my next class, too," she said as though it was a huge coincidence to be in the same class in a school this small.

Walking out of the classroom together, I realized too late that McKayla was a chatterbox. On the plus side of things, she supplied most of the conversation, which made it easy for me to nod along. She'd lived in California since she was ten, so she knew how I felt about the sun. She was also in my English class earlier, and she was the nicest and most easy going person I'd met today.

As we were about to enter the Gym; though, she asked: "So...did you, like, stab Edward Cullen with a pencil or something?"

My eyes widened, a knot formed in my throat when his name hit my ears.

Her eyes filled with curiosity. "I've never seen him act like that."

My mouth tugged into a cringe, downcast that I wasn't the only person that noticed our exchanges. Torn between admitting to having been staring at him, or playing dumb, I went with the latter.

"Is that the boy who sat next to me in Biology?"

"Yeah," she shrugged. "He looked like he was in pain or something."

I could tell she was trying to ask why I had been tearing up, and going about it in a roundabout way, but I pretended not to notice. "I don't know why he would be, we've never said a word to each other."

McKayla shook her head, shrugging it off with a sort of dopey look on her face. "He's a weird guy," she said, with what looked like a subtle tilt of resentment buried in the corner of her mouth. "If I was lucky enough to have sat by you, I'd have talked to you."

As other students were heading for the locker rooms, McKayla stayed beside me, and it was starting to make the other students stare at us. Unnerved by the eyes on me, I could only afford to send McKayla a smile before I walked through the door to the boy's locker room. Clearly she was friendly, and that was really nice; but, once she was gone the anger returned to me. Irritation boiled under my skin – he had been acting weird.

So he -did- have a problem with me. What the hell was it?

Approaching Coach Clapp with my stupid slip, he signed it and found me a uniform to wear, all while I continued to brood over Biology. Why did his hatred bother me? I'd been disliked before and I got over it easily enough. The question never left my head, even as I found myself in my own personal hell.

Gym was not a class for the uncoordinated, and I had hoped my time in Gym was over. In Phoenix, the requirement was just two years of Gym. Here, you had to take it all four years. Nausea filled me, even though I didn't have to dress down in front of the other boys today. Courtesy of being able to go home and wash my gym clothes.

Whether it was the anger I felt, or watching four volleyball games running simultaneously, my good luck seemed to have waned. The last time I played volleyball, I sustained bruises and injures and caused pain to the students next to me. What friends I was making, including McKayla who waved at me from time to time, were doomed as soon as I was asked to play sports.

The final bell finally rang, and I walked hurriedly to the office to return my slip and other paperwork to the office secretary. While the rain had drifted away, the wind was strong and cold. Wrapping my arms around myself did very little to keep the chill from shivering through me.

Eager to walk into the warm and toasty office, my relief vanished and I almost walked right back out into the wind.

Edward Cullen stood at the desk in front of me. I recognized him by that tousled bronze hair and poised body posture. He didn't appear to notice the sound of my entrance, but even so I moved to stand pressed as far into the back wall as I could. All I needed to do was pass the time until the receptionist was free and pray that he didn't notice I was here and glare at me again.

Leaning against the wall, I could hear Edward arguing with the secretary in his soft, alto, voice.

"Surely there must be another class I can take, or switch out," He asked in exasperation.

The redheaded secretary sighed as she went over the schedule. "I'm very sorry, Mr. Cullen, but I can't swap out Biology in sixth period for third period, Mrs. Russet only teaches Advanced English in third period, you would have to drop out of your gifted class," she explained with as comforting a tone as possible.

"What about...switching to home schooled classes?"

I stared at the back of Edward's head; flabbergasted. This couldn't be about me – why would it? I didn't do anything to him! My brain couldn't wrap about the idea that someone could have a reason to harbor such a sudden, intense, dislike for me.

"That is something to discuss with your parents, Mr. Cullen, but we don't offer a homeschool program."

The Secretary furrowed her brows as Edward's hands bunched into fists again. For a moment, I thought he would punch a hole in the counter.

The door opened, cold wind snapped into the room in the form of a violent chilling gust that made me shrink deeper into my wrapped arms. The girl who came in merely stepped up to the desk, set a note in the wire basket, and walked out again. But, it was enough of a distraction for Edward to turn his head to look at the girl who was walking toward the door.

In the process, his black eyes found me, and we both visibly stiffened. Him, from disgust. Myself, from fear.

His face was so striking that I couldn't tear my eyes away from them. If not for his piercing – hate filled – eyes, the urge to keep staring into them might have made it impossible for me to look away from his face. The hair on my arms rise when the fear hit me, and even though he looked at me for only a few seconds, it chilled me more than the freezing wind.

Edward turned back toward the receptionist. "I see, I shall just have to endure it…" He said hastily, his voice flowing from his lips like liquid velvet. "Good day."

He turned on his heel, without another look at me, and disappeared out the front door with the same ghostly grace he had used to escape me earlier.

Stepping meekly toward the desk, my face starch white and cold instead of red, the slip was tugged from my pocket and set down on the counter.

The secretary seemed to be genuinely happy to see me. "How did your first day go, dear?"

"Fine," I lied, surprised by how weak my voice was. She did not look convinced, but had the wisened experience not to inquire further.

For her, the paperwork was turned in and sorted into the computer by hand and life went on. For me, I felt numb and detached. Lost for how someone could hate me so much. By the time I made it back to my truck, it was one of the last ones in the lot.

My feet couldn't walk fast enough to make it back to the haven my truck had become. Once inside, I locked the doors out of sheer habit, and sank defeatedly into the long bench-like seat. Curled up into a ball from the events of the long day reoccurring over and over in my head.

Why did I care if he liked me, why did it hurt that he hated me so much? Not understanding what overwhelmed me so, when my truck felt too cold to remain inside without the heater on, I sat up and turned the key.

Engine roaring to life, I didn't play the radio again. I didn't want to listen to anything that could cheer me up; my heart throbbed like it had been bludgeoned, and I fought tears the entire way back to Charlie's house.