twi saga | Page 6

cafeteria, building three was easy to spot. A large
black "3" was painted on a white square on the east corner. I felt my
breathing gradually creeping toward hyperventilatio n as I approached
the door. I tried holding my breath as I followed t wo unisex raincoats
through the door.
The classroom was small. The people in front of me stopped just inside
the door to hang up their coats on a long row of ho oks. I copied them.
They were two girls, one a porcelain-colored blonde , the other also pale,
with light brown hair. At least my skin wouldn't be a standout here.
I took the slip up to the teacher, a tall, balding man whose desk had a
nameplate identifying him as Mr. Mason. He gawked a t me when he saw
my name — not an encouraging response — and of course I flushed
tomato red. But at least he sent me to an empty des k at the back
without introducing me to the class. It was harder for my new
classmates to stare at me in the back, but somehow, they managed. I
kept my eyes down on the reading list the teacher h ad given me. It was
fairly basic: Bronte, Shakespeare, Chaucer, Faulkne r. I'd already read
everything. That was comforting… and boring. I wond ered if my mom
would send me my folder of old essays, or if she wo uld think that was
cheating. I went through different arguments with h er in my head while
the teacher droned on.
When the bell rang, a nasal buzzing sound, a gangly boy with skin
problems and hair black as an oil slick leaned acro ss the aisle to talk to
me.
"You're Isabella Swan, aren't you?" He looked like the overly helpful,
chess club type.
"Bella," I corrected. Everyone within a three-seat radius turned to look
at me.

"Where's your next class?" he asked.
I had to check in my bag. "Um, Government, with Jefferson, in building
six."
There was nowhere to look without meeting curious e yes.
"I'm headed toward building four, I could show you the way…" Definitely
over-helpful. "I'm Eric," he added.
I smiled tentatively. "Thanks."
We got our jackets and headed out into the rain, wh ich had picked up. I
could have sworn several people behind us were walk ing close enough
to eavesdrop. I hoped I wasn't getting paranoid.
"So, this is a lot different than Phoenix, huh?" he asked.
"Very."
"It doesn't rain much there, does it?"
"Three or four times a year."
"Wow, what must that be like?" he wondered.
"Sunny," I told him.
"You don't look very tan."
"My mother is part albino."
He studied my face apprehensively, and I sighed. It looked like clouds
and a sense of humor didn't mix. A few months of th is and I'd forget
how to use sarcasm.
We walked back around the cafeteria, to the south b uildings by the gym.
Eric walked me right to the door, though it was cle arly marked.
"Well, good luck," he said as I touched the handle. "Maybe we'll have
some other classes together." He sounded hopeful.
I smiled at him vaguely and went inside.
The rest of the morning passed in about the same fa shion. My
Trigonometry teacher, Mr. Varner, who I would have hated anyway just
because of the subject he taught, was the only one who made me stand
in front of the class and introduce myself. I stamm ered, blushed, and
tripped over my own boots on the way to my seat.
After two classes, I started to recognize several o f the faces in each
class. There was always someone braver than the oth ers who would
introduce themselves and ask me questions about how I was liking
Forks. I tried to be diplomatic, but mostly I just lied a lot. At least I
never needed the map.
One girl sat next to me in both Trig and Spanish, a nd she walked with
me to the cafeteria for lunch. She was tiny, severa l inches shorter than
my five feet four inches, but her wildly curly dark hair made up a lot of
the difference between our heights. I couldn't reme mber her name, so I
smiled and nodded as she prattled about teachers an d classes. I didn't
try to keep up.
We sat at the end of a full table with several of h er friends, who she
introduced to me. I forgot all their names as soon as she spoke