Twilight (Twilight, #1)

by Stephenie Meyer

I would have to make a date to visit Olympia or Seattle soon and find a good bookstore.

Ridiculous. I shouldn’t have to run away.

His fingers were ice cold, like he’d been holding them in a snowdrift before class.

When he touched me, it stung my hand as if an electric current had passed through us.

it seemed like he was being careful not to touch my skin again.

I vividly remembered the flat black color of his eyes the last time he’d glared at me—the color was striking against the background of his pale skin and his auburn hair. Today, his eyes were a completely different color: a strange ocher, darker than butterscotch, but with the same golden tone.

“You put on a good show,” he said slowly. “But I’d be willing to bet that you’re suffering more than you let anyone see.”

My face is so easy to read—my mother always calls me her open book.”

“On the contrary, I find you very difficult to read.”

All the rain from yesterday had frozen solid—coating the needles on the trees in fantastic, gorgeous patterns, and making the driveway a deadly ice slick.

In a lot of ways, living with Charlie was like having my own place, and I found myself reveling in the aloneness instead of being lonely.

If I was being honest with myself, I knew I was eager to get to school because I would see Edward Cullen. And that was very, very stupid.

My throat suddenly felt tight. I wasn’t used to being taken care of, and Charlie’s unspoken concern caught me by surprise.

It was a high-pitched screech, and it was fast becoming painfully loud.

Edward Cullen was standing four cars down from me, staring at me in horror.

But of more immediate importance was the dark blue van that was skidding, tires locked and squealing against the brakes, spinning wildly across the ice of the parking lot.

My head cracked against the icy blacktop, and I felt something solid and cold pinning me to the ground.

Two long, white hands shot out protectively in front of me, and the van shuddered to a stop a foot from my face, the large hands fitting providentially into a deep dent in the side of the van’s body.

I was consumed by the mystery Edward presented.

That was the first night I dreamed of Edward Cullen.

After that, he was in my dreams nearly every night, but always on the periphery, never within reach.

Jessica, Mike, Eric, and everyone else always commented that they hadn’t even seen him there till the van was pulled away.

girls’ choice spring dance in two weeks.

“I’m going to Seattle that Saturday,” I explained. I needed to get out of town anyway—it was suddenly the perfect time to go.

I couldn’t allow him to have this level of influence over me.

His voice shouldn’t have been so familiar to me, as if I’d known the sound of it all my life rather than for just a few short weeks.

“It’s better if we’re not friends,” he explained. “Trust me.”

I tried to concentrate on my feet, but he kept creeping back into my thoughts just when I really needed my balance.

I would get through my self-imposed sentence here in purgatory,

My palms tingled—I wanted so badly to hit something. I was surprised at myself. I was usually a nonviolent person.

“I heard you say you were going to Seattle that day, and I was wondering if you wanted a ride.”

“The wasting of finite resources is everyone’s business.”

“I said it would be better if we weren’t friends, not that I didn’t want to be.”

“It would be more… prudent for you not to be my friend,” he explained. “But I’m tired of trying to stay away from you, Bella.”

Once he’d caught my eye, he raised one hand and motioned with his index finger for me to join him.

It was hard to believe that someone so beautiful could be real. I was afraid that he might disappear in a sudden puff of smoke, and I would wake up.

“I decided as long as I was going to hell, I might as well do it thoroughly.”

But I’m warning you now that I’m not a good friend for you.” Behind his smile, the warning was real.

“I’m trying to figure out what you are.”

“I can’t imagine why that would be frustrating at all—just because someone refuses to tell you what they’re thinking, even if all the while they’re making cryptic little remarks specifically designed to keep you up at night wondering what they could possibly mean… now, why would that be frustrating?”

“I’m not. I told you, most people are easy to read.” “Except me, of course.” “Yes. Except for you.” His mood shifted suddenly; his eyes turned brooding. “I wonder why that is.”

Was he a hypnotist, too? Or was I just a hopeless pushover?

“I’ll figure it out eventually,” I warned him. “I wish you wouldn’t try.” He was serious again.

“What if I’m not a superhero? What if I’m the bad guy?”

He was dangerous. He’d been trying to tell me that all along.

He meant what he was saying—that was obvious. But I just felt anxious, on edge… and, more than anything else, fascinated. The same way I always felt when I was near him.

“I’m not going to class today,”

“It’s healthy to ditch class now and then.”

So few questions had been answered in comparison to how many new questions had been raised.

“Then I want you to carefully prick your finger with the lancet.…”