When we entered the classroom, Angela went to sit at a black-topped lab table exactly like the ones that I was used to; exactly like all the others in the room, and in most Biology IV classrooms. She already had a neighbor. In fact, all the tables already had a neighbor, except for one. Next to the center aisle, I recognized Fredward Cullen by his unusual hair.
As I walked down the aisle to introduce myself to the teacher and get my slip-document teacher-signed, I was watching him surreptitiously. Just as I passed, he suddenly went rigid, hard in his seat. He stared at me again, meeting my eyes with the strangest expression on his face—it was unconditionally hostile and irrevocably furious, and probably some other things I wished I could describe. I looked away quickly, shocked, going red again. I stumbled over a book in the walkway and had to catch myself on the edge of a table. The girl sitting there giggled. I didn't blame her.
I'd noticed that his eyes were black—coal black.35
Mr. Banner36 signed my slip-document and handed me a book and made sure there was no nonsense about introductions. I could tell we were going to get along. Of course, he had no choice but to send me to the one open seat in the middle of the room. I kept my eyes down as I went to sit by him, Fredward, the love of my life, the undying love of my young life who'd just now bewildered me with an antagonistic glare from the depths of Hell, no doubt conjured to disguise his confused but reciprocal feelings.
I didn't look up as I set my book on the table and took my seat, but I saw him stiffen even harder from the corner of my eye. He was leaning away from me, sitting on the extreme edge of his chair and averting his face like he smelled something bad. Inconspicuously, I sniffed my hair. It smelled like strawberries, the scent of my favorite shampoo, which my one-armed Charlie-father had bought me at the Forks Wal-Mart the day prior. It seemed an innocent enough odor, although perhaps a bit red-based. I let my hair fall
35. Among some European cultures, it is a burial practice to insert lumps of coal in place of the eyes. With this, the author is suggesting that Fredward is a dead European.
36. Hulk out... !