Mike kept up a string of complaints on the way to Building Four. I began to wonder, why was I even walking beside him? Why didn't I just make an excuse or run away and leave him to drown in his boring, shallow, Aryan sea of dissatisfaction? Why couldn't I meet a real Aryan for once?
Once inside the classroom, I saw with relief that my table was still empty. Mr. Banner53 was walking around the room, distributing one microscope and a box of slides to each table. Class didn't start for a few minutes, and the room buzzed with conversation. I kept my eyes away from the door, doodling idly in my notebook54.
I heard very clearly when the chair next to me moved, but my eyes stayed carefully focused on the pattern55 I was drawing.
"Hello," he said a quiet, musical voice. It was strange, unreal, gorgeous.
I looked up, stunned that he was speaking to me. He was sitting as far away from me as the desk allowed, but his chair was angled toward me. His hair was dripping wet, disheveled—even though his hair looked less glamorous than usual, he still looked like he'd just finished shooting a commercial for hair gel. His dazzling face was friendly, open, a slight smile on his flawless lips. His eyes were on me.
"My name is Fredward Cullen," he continued. "I didn't have a chance to introduce myself last week; how rude. You must be Bella Duck."
My head was spinning with confusion. Had I made the
52. A notorious gang based in the Forks High School in Forks, Washington. They are known for their specialization in eyeballs in the international black market organ trade. Their name, the Snowball Snipers, comes from their predilection to collect eyes by hitting people in the back of head with snowballs.
53. Hulk... out!
54. One can only assume that her "doodles" consisted of coloring the entire page black.
55. Presumably less of a pattern than a 8.5" x 11" black rectangle.