Twilight (Twilight, #1)

by Stephenie Meyer

When life offers you a dream so far beyond any of your expectations, it’s not reasonable to grieve when it comes to an end.

I loved the sun and the blistering heat.

Can't relate.

How could I leave my loving, erratic, harebrained mother to fend for herself?

When I landed in Port Angeles, it was raining. I didn’t see it as an omen—just unavoidable.

Glorious.

Nothing slows down traffic like a cop.

It was too green—an alien planet.

Perfection.

One of the best things about Charlie is he doesn’t hover. He left me alone to unpack and get settled, a feat that would have been altogether impossible for my mother. It was nice to be alone, not to have to smile and look pleased; a relief to stare dejectedly out the window at the sheeting rain and let just a few tears escape.

Maybe, if I looked like a girl from Phoenix should, I could work this to my advantage. But physically, I’d never fit in anywhere. I should be tan, sporty, blond—a volleyball player, or a cheerleader, perhaps—all the things that go with living in the valley of the sun. Instead, I was ivory-skinned, without even the excuse of blue eyes or red hair, despite the constant sunshine.

I didn’t relate well to people my age. Maybe the truth was that I didn’t relate well to people, period.

Sometimes I wondered if I was seeing the same things through my eyes that the rest of the world was seeing through theirs. Maybe there was a glitch in my brain.

I didn’t sleep well that night, even after I was done crying. The constant whooshing of the rain and wind across the roof wouldn’t fade into the background.

I miss that.

Thick fog was all I could see out my window in the morning,

Miss that, too!!

I can do this, I lied to myself feebly. No one was going to bite me. I finally exhaled and stepped out of the truck.

No one was going to bite me. I finally exhaled and stepped out of the truck.

“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.”

It was there, sitting in the lunchroom, trying to make conversation with seven curious strangers, that I first saw them.

They didn’t look anything alike. Of the three boys, one was big—muscled like a serious weight lifter, with dark, curly hair. Another was taller, leaner, but still muscular, and honey blond. The last was lanky, less bulky, with untidy, bronze-colored hair.

It was hard to decide who was the most beautiful—maybe the perfect blond girl, or the bronze-haired boy.

“That’s Edward and Emmett Cullen, and Rosalie and Jasper Hale. The one who left was Alice Cullen; they all live together with Dr. Cullen and his wife.” She said this under her breath.

“Which one is the boy with the reddish brown hair?” I asked. I peeked at him from the corner of my eye, and he was still staring at me, but not gawking like the other students had today—he had a slightly frustrated expression. I looked down again. “That’s Edward. He’s gorgeous, of course, but don’t waste your time. He doesn’t date. Apparently none of the girls here are good-looking enough for him.”

I’d noticed that his eyes were black—coal black.

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.

Part of me wanted to confront him and demand to know what his problem was. While I was lying sleepless in my bed, I even imagined what I would say. But I knew myself too well to think I would really have the guts to do it. I made the Cowardly Lion look like the terminator.

But I knew myself too well to think I would really have the guts to do it. I made the Cowardly Lion look like the terminator.

Mike, who was taking on the qualities of a golden retriever, walked faithfully by my side to class.

It seemed excessive for them to have both looks and money. But as far as I could tell, life worked that way most of the time.

“You should see the doctor,” Charlie said, laughing. “It’s a good thing he’s happily married. A lot of the nurses at the hospital have a hard time concentrating on their work with him around.”

“Wow,” Mike said. “It’s snowing.” I looked at the little cotton fluffs that were building up along the sidewalk and swirling erratically past my face. “Ew.” Snow. There went my good day.

Megan lol

“Edward Cullen is staring at you,” Jessica giggled in my ear.

“Did you get contacts?”

“You don’t like the cold.” It wasn’t a question. “Or the wet.”

I laughed without humor. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you? Life isn’t fair.” “I believe I have heard that somewhere before,” he agreed dryly.

“On the contrary, I find you very difficult to read.” Despite everything that I’d said and he’d guessed, he sounded like he meant it. “You must be a good reader then,” I replied. “Usually.” He smiled widely, flashing a set of perfect, ultrawhite teeth.

“I’ve done the lab before, though,” I added before he could get his feelings hurt.

Don't diminish yourself, girl.

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.

Charlie had gotten up who knows how early to put snow chains on my truck. My throat suddenly felt tight. I wasn’t used to being taken care of, and Charlie’s unspoken concern caught me by surprise.

Team daddy Charlie forever.

“Will you promise to explain everything to me later?” “Fine,” he snapped, abruptly exasperated.

I tried to think of a logical solution that could explain what I had just seen—a solution that excluded the assumption that I was insane.

Then a doctor walked around the corner, and my mouth fell open. He was young, he was blond… and he was handsomer than any movie star I’d ever seen.

“Nobody will believe that, you know.” His voice held an edge of derision now.

Damn, Edward with the gaslighting.

That was the first night I dreamed of Edward Cullen.

I wondered to myself why no one else had seen him standing so far away, before he was suddenly, impossibly saving my life. With chagrin, I realized the probable cause—no one else was as aware of Edward as I always was. No one else watched him the way I did. How pitiful.

I couldn’t allow him to have this level of influence over me. It was pathetic. More than pathetic, it was unhealthy.

“You think I regret saving your life?” “I know you do,” I snapped. “You don’t know anything.” He was definitely mad.

I considered taking out the rear of his shiny Volvo, but there were too many witnesses.

In his rearview mirror, Edward’s eyes were on me. He was unquestionably shaking with laughter,

Of course he wasn’t interested in me, I thought angrily, my eyes stinging—a delayed reaction to the onions.

“How do you do that?” I asked in amazed irritation. “Do what?” He held my key out as he spoke. As I reached for it, he dropped it into my palm. “Appear out of thin air.” “Bella, it’s not my fault if you are exceptionally unobservant.” His voice was quiet as usual—velvet, muted.

“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.”