Edward Cullen.
For days, I couldn't concentrate. My mind kept wandering back to those piercing eyes, the unnerving sense of calm and power that seemed to emanate from him. My classmates seemed to know him, but they spoke of him in hushed tones, with a mixture of awe and fear.
"I don't usually...talk to people," he said, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made my heart flutter.
He offered a slight, enigmatic smile. "I'm not very good at it," he said.
The first few days passed slowly. Charlie, my dad, was kind and tried to make me feel at home, but I could see the concern etched on his face. He was a chief of police in a small town like Forks, and I knew he had his hands full. I started at a new high school, and it was...different. The kids seemed cliquey, and I stuck out like a sore thumb, a transplant from the desert with a perpetual tan.
As I made my way to the small apartment I would share with my father, Charlie, I couldn't help but feel a sense of unease. Forks was a far cry from the sunny, dry climate of Phoenix, Arizona, where I had spent most of my life. Everything about this place seemed foreign, and I wondered if I would ever adjust.
And I knew, deep down, that my life was about to change in ways I couldn't even begin to imagine.
The rain poured down relentlessly as I stepped off the bus and onto the wet pavement of Forks. It was a dreary, gray day, much like the pictures I had seen of the town. My mother had told me it was a gloomy place, but I wasn't prepared for the melancholy that seemed to cling to every wet leaf and fog-shrouded tree.
