Extensive Reading for English Education Study Program: ROMANTIC NOVEL BY C.4.1

1. YESY FRANICA (12 23 022)

Angel Without Wings

Played by Duke dolken ( Vino ) , Maudy Ayunda ( Mura ) , there is also Surya Saputra ( Amir , his father Vino ) , Ikang Fawzi ( father Mura ) , Kinaryosih ( miRNA , ibuknya Vino ) , Agus Kuncoro ( Calo ) , Geccha Qheagaveta ( Vienna , brother Vino ) . Vino tells about the high school kids who opt out of school due to family economic hardship . Originally Vino 's family rich , until finally , for a reason that a large family home to be seized banks , mengontraklah any contract they are paid in arrears . Vino mother could not bear with the situation then left her husband and her children . Vino himself had a less harmonious relationship in the family , because it was during this time he would rather outside the home than pay attention to the state of his family . Any relationship with the father and his sister , not close . Until finally to Vienna disaster occurs that requires surgery or if his brother was not foot had to be amputated . Vino who began to feel part of the family which endured this hardship was moved to save his brother . Then Meet him with someone who offers a way out for him : Calo .

On the other hand , there is a Mura . Single child is now cared for by a single parent , her father . Her mother had died from the disease . Mura was suffering from a disease that is not arbitrary , heart disease . Because of his illness that he was guarded by his father , because he homeschooling , because he arguably does not have many friends , its existence is limited to the virtual world . Mura is felt day just waiting for fate death came as the birds that always fly without hours in the afternoon sky . " Death knows the time , " he said . Mura is tough , who do not want to be pitied because of illness , which do not want to be loved just because mercy . Mura routine checkups sick to the hospital , especially to look forward to a donor heart can be transplanted for him , giving new hope . This is where the two sides met , in the hospital . Vino and Mura .

Vino brain decided to remember Mura since their first meeting . Brain Vino will also not forget that his brother and questioned what he had done to his family . He remembered he consented to the broker accepts the offer : donate heart rewarded with a fee that is more than enough for a foot operated Vienna . Vino was his duty to be the hero runs ... by sacrificing himself .

Short stories Vienna successfully operated . Bank seized homes can be redeemed . Vino is getting close to the Mura though he did not know that the new women known and loved was dying. Because of this ignorance , Vino almost any harm Mura . Mr. Mura also hardly blame her , if not immediately prevented by Mura which again reminds his father that Vino was the one who loved her , not because of sheer pity . " Dew does not need to change herself to be loved leaves , " says Vino to Mura .

Vino who feels his life more meaningful , re- doubt on his intention to donate the heart . Tantamount to suicide or otherwise , sells itself . Vino who want to live longer for his father , to Vienna , to Mura . Oscillated dissuade him want to be a hero . Until the open in front of him ... the fact that Mura was dying of heart disease . That heart will didonorkannya is to Mura .

In the midst of indecision Vino choose to continue what has become a decision , donated heart . But before she wanted to do something for his father and for Mura , he also wrote " testament " to loved ones . After that , he met the broker to complete the deal . Meanwhile , Mura and his father get ready to go to Singapore for heart transplant surgery . Mura still ask absence Vino .

Vino is ready to face death in his room . Drugs that will deliver the death may have accumulated in his hands just like candy . Next , she was left alone unconscious , lying by piles of drugs like candy . Vino also unconscious , in other parts of the house , his mother 's long gone back to try to persuade Vienna to join together to leave father and brother . Not willing to Vienna . The father defended , preventing child seized beloved ex-wife who left his family . Even the father was shot by the " new boyfriend " of his wife .

Two family members dying , Vino and his father , was taken to hospital by ambulance wailing . Calo organs already waiting . Waiting for the heart , like a car broker who already find the latest car to the client customer. Not unexpectedly , unbeknownst to anyone, the father Vino secretly already know will Vino . In the midst of dying he pleaded replace Vino promises to deliver heart .

Vino saved . Mura saved . Vienna got a new father who is no longer a taxi driver , father Mura sired Vienna . And they live together as a new family .

2. INDAH PERMATA SARI (12 23 013)

SENSE AND SENSIBILITY

The family of Dashwood had long been settled in Sussex. Their estate was large, and their residence was at Norland Park, in the centre of their property, where, for many generations, they had lived in so respectable a manner as to engage the general good opinion of their surrounding acquaintance. The late owner of this estate was a single man, who lived to a very advanced age, and who for many years of his life, had a constant companion and housekeeper in his sister. But her death, which happened ten years before his own, produced a great alteration in his home; for to supply her loss, he invited and received into his house the family of his nephew Mr. Henry Dashwood, the legal inheritor of the Norland estate, and the person to whom he intended to bequeath it. In the society of his nephew and niece, and their children, the old Gentleman's days were comfortably spent. His attachment to them all increased. The constant attention of Mr. and Mrs. Henry Dashwood to his wishes, which proceeded not merely from interest, but from goodness of heart, gave him every degree of solid comfort which his age could receive; and the cheerfulness of the children added a relish to his existence.

By a former marriage, Mr. Henry Dashwood had one son: by his present lady, three daughters. The son, a steady respectable young man, was amply provided for by the fortune of his mother, which had been large, and half of which devolved on him on his coming of age. By his own marriage, likewise, which happened soon afterwards, he added to his wealth. To him therefore the succession to the Norland estate was not so really important as to his sisters; for their fortune, independent of what might arise to them from their father's inheriting that property, could be but small. Their mother had nothing, and their father only seven thousand pounds in his own disposal; for the remaining moiety of his first wife's fortune was also secured to her child, and he had only a life-interest in it.

The old gentleman died: his will was read, and like almost every other will, gave as much disappointment as pleasure. He was neither so unjust, nor so ungrateful, as to leave his estate from his nephew;--but he left it to him on such terms as destroyed half the value of the bequest. Mr. Dashwood had wished for it more for the sake of his wife and daughters than for himself or his son;--but to his son, and his son's son, a child of four years old, it was secured, in such a way, as to leave to himself no power of providing for those who were most dear to him, and who most needed a provision by any charge on the estate, or by any sale of its valuable woods. The whole was tied up for the benefit of this child, who, in occasional visits with his father and mother at Norland, had so far gained on the affections of his uncle, by such attractions as are by no means unusual in children of two or three years old; an imperfect articulation, an earnest desire of having his own way, many cunning tricks, and a great deal of noise, as to outweigh all the value of all the attention which, for years, he had received from his niece and her daughters. He meant not to be unkind, however, and, as a mark of his affection for the three girls, he left them a thousand pounds a-piece.

Mr. Dashwood's disappointment was, at first, severe; but his temper was cheerful and sanguine; and he might reasonably hope to live many years, and by living economically, lay by a considerable sum from the produce of an estate already large, and capable of almost immediate improvement. But the fortune, which had been so tardy in coming, was his only one twelvemonth. He survived his uncle no longer; and ten thousand pounds, including the late legacies, was all that remained for his widow and daughters.

His son was sent for as soon as his danger was known, and to him Mr. Dashwood recommended, with all the strength and urgency which illness could command, the interest of his mother-in-law and sisters.

Mr. John Dashwood had not the strong feelings of the rest of the family; but he was affected by a recommendation of such a nature at such a time, and he promised to do every thing in his power to make them comfortable. His father was rendered easy by such an assurance, and Mr. John Dashwood had then leisure to consider how much there might prudently be in his power to do for them.

He was not an ill-disposed young man, unless to be rather cold hearted and rather selfish is to be ill-disposed: but he was, in general, well respected; for he conducted himself with propriety in the discharge of his ordinary duties. Had he married a more amiable woman, he might have been made still more respectable than he was:--he might even have been made amiable himself; for he was very young when he married, and very fond of his wife. But Mrs. John Dashwood was a strong caricature of himself;--more narrow-minded and selfish.

When he gave his promise to his father, he meditated within himself to increase the fortunes of his sisters by the present of a thousand pounds a-piece. He then really thought himself equal to it. The prospect of four thousand a-year, in addition to his present income, besides the remaining half of his own mother's fortune, warmed his heart, and made him feel capable of generosity.-- "Yes, he would give them three thousand pounds: it would be liberal and handsome! It would be enough to make them completely easy. Three thousand pounds! he could spare so considerable a sum with little inconvenience."-- He thought of it all day long, and for many days successively, and he did not repent.

No sooner was his father's funeral over, than Mrs. John Dashwood, without sending any notice of her intention to her mother-in-law, arrived with her child and their attendants. No one could dispute her right to come; the house was her husband's from the moment of his father's decease; but the indelicacy of her conduct was so much the greater, and to a woman in Mrs. Dashwood's situation, with only common feelings, must have been highly unpleasing;--but in HER mind there was a sense of honor so keen, a generosity so romantic, that any offence of the kind, by whomsoever given or received, was to her a source of immoveable disgust. Mrs. John Dashwood had never been a favourite with any of her husband's family; but she had had no opportunity, till the present, of shewing them with how little attention to the comfort of other people she could act when occasion required it.

So acutely did Mrs. Dashwood feel this ungracious behaviour, and so earnestly did she despise her daughter-in-law for it, that, on the arrival of the latter, she would have quitted the house for ever, had not the entreaty of her eldest girl induced her first to reflect on the propriety of going, and her own tender love for all her three children determined her afterwards to stay, and for their sakes avoid a breach with their brother.

Elinor, this eldest daughter, whose advice was so effectual, possessed a strength of understanding, and coolness of judgment, which qualified her, though only nineteen, to be the counsellor of her mother, and enabled her frequently to counteract, to the advantage of them all, that eagerness of mind in Mrs. Dashwood which must generally have led to imprudence. She had an excellent heart;--her disposition was affectionate, and her feelings were strong; but she knew how to govern them: it was a knowledge which her mother had yet to learn; and which one of her sisters had resolved never to be taught.

Marianne's abilities were, in many respects, quite equal to Elinor's.

She was sensible and clever; but eager in everything: her sorrows, her joys, could have no moderation. She was generous, amiable, interesting: she was everything but prudent. The resemblance between her and her mother was strikingly great.

Elinor saw, with concern, the excess of her sister's sensibility; but by Mrs. Dashwood it was valued and cherished. They encouraged each other now in the violence of their affliction. The agony of grief which overpowered them at first, was voluntarily renewed, was sought for, was created again and again. They gave themselves up wholly to their sorrow, seeking increase of wretchedness in every reflection that could afford it, and resolved against ever admitting consolation in future. Elinor, too, was deeply afflicted; but still she could struggle, she could exert herself. She could consult with her brother, could receive her sister-in-law on her arrival, and treat her with proper attention; and could strive to rouse her mother to similar exertion, and encourage her to similar forbearance.

Margaret, the other sister, was a good-humored, well-disposed girl; but as she had already imbibed a good deal of Marianne's romance, without having much of her sense, she did not, at thirteen, bid fair to equal her sisters at a more advanced period of life.

3. IGA BARIKA ROZA (12 2 3 120)

SUNRISE SERENADE

Dian the course of his life so suddenly smooth face diagnosalupus, the disease of a thousand faces. Born of middle class families, Dian beautiful, intelligent and slang is completing his studies in Pharmacy ITB. Great career in a private bank, was married to a man's dream liver, Dian is a way of life that is full of happiness. Until lupus come say hello, and life changed completely ...

This book is able to make me sob when I read it. However, the story is not the story of Dian's sadness, but the story of the morning sun, Syamsi Duha ...

Reading this book made me go into the story of Dian who suffered brain abscess due to lupus-up needs to undergo brain surgery many times. The story is so vivid that I come to feel the pain Dian living with lupus and face low vision.

Very happy to read Dian trip that could rise up and be able to establish the Foundation Syamsi Duha. The foundation helps people denganlupus and / or low vision by providing information, assistance to efforts to get drugs at affordable prices.

Children are not always born of the womb itself. The work of writing, songs, social bhakti, foundation or whatever sharing is also a child for someone. Foundation Syamsi Duha, in my opinion, is the son of the mother Dian and Mr. Eko Pratomo. Hope is a charity that pobud jari'ah flow.

Many life lessons can we get from this book. Just my opinion, there can not be emulated by women. Ie do not expect to have a husband who is attentive, patient and compassionate as Mr. Eko hehehe. My friends who have read this book to comment, "Mr. Eko was one in a billion men. Expect our husbands like Mr. Eko hernia can make us. "Hahaha

It rarely does a man like Mr. Eko. Handsome, career and financial yangoke has yet to remain faithful and dear wife. Care for his wife, the wife seeking the best treatment for, tolerate a wife who sometimes depression in pain, a rare quality in the Father. And ... can accept a wife who can not produce offspring! God bless you Mr. Eko ...

I love the story of Mr Blake, a doctor at the Eye Foundation Friend. Mr Blake is also the chairman of the Indonesian Association of the Blind. He is independent, can go back and forth on a plane alone, is also able to tamper with the gadgets themselves skilled. Mr Blake could pair Jaws and SMS Talk program on gadgets. Jaws and SMS Talk are two very important tools for the blind and people with low vision.

"We're just not able to see, the more we can," said Mr Blake at Dian at a time. Always optimistic. (halaman70).

Page 72:

I remember one time, my eyes ever alert and healthy. When I could read anything. Watch anything. Observe anything with cermat.But sometimes, you do not know what you've got 'til it's gone. Only after carrying low vision I have often envied Mas Eko fun read for hours. Only after carrying low vision as well, as I just heard and no longer watch television, I realized how interesting to watch the shows like National Geographic. Supposedly flowers, animals, nature, highlighted in detail it is a valuable gift to our eyes. Beautiful. Magical. And will lead us to wonder and infinite gratitude.

I then remembered the empty tabloids and soap operas that kulalap with both eyes into me first. Next thing I know I feel embarrassed.

Page 160:

Another thing I learned is that deeply held expectations is something that makes our souls are always strong. However, in certain circumstances, sincerity and kepasrahanlah it should be used as a weapon that strengthens our souls. Life is magical. God teaches us to address a variety of situations in different ways, but always maintained in tact. The soul is the pedestal. And in leans in whom pearls of wisdom that keep the soul always dangling.

Page 161:

"Dian, depression was as mired in a very deep hole. We can only get out when to do something. And only ourselves who can remove ourselves from the hole, "said Mas Eko in one day.

The phrase was like water splashed into my face. I like waking suddenly. After a long time to sink into depression, that's the first words that made me feel the need to immediately bounce back.

Many lessons to be learned in this book. We wish to make our lives more meaningful. Hopefully we can take advantage of every second of our lives for the benefit of themselves and others. When darkness was struck, believe pobud morning sun will appear ...

Life is a mystery. We never know what will happen when we open our eyes and start the day. Even an astrologer could not predict with certainty what will happen to ourselves and our lives. Almighty God, He is the All-Knowing.

This is the story of the struggle of the people with lupus, or which they call the odapus (people with lupus). No one knows for sure what it is lupus, how lupus can attack humans, etc.. The first time I heard about lupus is when I watch American's Next Top Model where there is one of the finalists with lupus and required him to take medication in large quantities every day.

Dian Syarief is a career woman who has a normal and happy life with her husband and family. But everything had changed when a series of illnesses him. At first he thought it was just a common illness, but when it does not go away, and even more frequent bleeding, she and her husband, Mas Eko also consult a doctor, and ketahuanlah that Dian disease lupus.

I was upset also saw a doctor who handles Dian not serious, cool, and there is no brass tacks at all. The doctor even told Dian relevant consume twenty tablets each day that cause a number of side effects and the most severe, Dian lost most of his eyesight due to a condition that has pale eyes.

Dian was the lowest point in his life, a life that was initially fine now changed. Fortunately Dian is always accompanied by his family, Bi'ah, Mr. Ade, and Mas Eko who constantly struggle through everything with him.

synopsis:

It is the story of the morning sun and expectations. This story began when the sky is still black. When cold and piercing sound into skin and pointy ears. When we have only the promise of light and firmness to believe. At that time we plant life in a simple word: hope.

review:

"Dian, when there is something missing from our bodies, there will be other cells that replace function. You will see the skin, with hearing, with the smell ..."

"IF we had a boy, we'll give him the name Ishmael, yea, Dian, Ishmael was a prophet who could face anything as heavy as a test."

Sunrise Serenade reminds me Hairless written Ranti Hannah, a cancer survivor. Both of these stories are so touched my heart, made me shed tears, and indirectly suing to change into a healthier lifestyle.

"I learned that mental health is far more important than physical health. Because mental illness will drag with him physically ill to participate. Conversely, a strong spirit will strengthen the weak physically strong to come with him."

Sunrise Serenade, the struggle of the strong women, where in the pain that they feel, they are still able to give comfort to the other lupus sufferers. I was surprised when Dian decided to set up a foundation called SDF (Syamsi Duha Foundation) during disease treatment. And I believe that with a lot of giving, we also will automatically receive a lot. And Thank God, Dian got a new family, friends, and the people who once did not know, but now a large family.

"Our creator designed beyond our mind. It does not take without replacing with better ones."

SDF with the slogan 'Care for Lupus, caring Cell saves lives' to provide assistance to people with lupus and low vision. SDF has two main divisions, namely: Care for Lupus (CFL) and Care for Low Vision (CFLV). SDF itself has been expanding to overseas with the hope that all human beings, no different view of race, religion, ethnicity, and culture will stretch out their hands to help ease the burden of the people with lupus.

"BUT, trust me on this: the hopes of continued dikayuh rarely let you down. Sometimes it comes as a gift at the time that we did not expect, from the people who we do not think."

Thank you Dian Syarif who already share his story, thanks Mas Eko who go to the side mba Dian it under any circumstances. now I know that true love does exist, and thanks Gagas Media has re-published the book 'true story' like this.

4. AYU ANDIRA

NOVEL

Preface

I'd never given much thought to how I would die -- though I'd had reason enough in
the last few months -- but even if I had, I would not have imagined it like this.
I stared without breathing across the long room, into the dark eyes of the hunter, and he
looked pleasantly back at me.
Surely it was a good way to die, in the place of someone else, someone I loved. Noble,
even. That ought to count for something.
I knew that if I'd never gone to Forks, I wouldn't be facing death now. But, terrified as I
was, I couldn't bring myself to regret the decision. 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.
The hunter smiled in a friendly way as he sauntered forward to kill me.
1. First Sight

My mother drove me to the airport with the windows rolled down. It was seventy-five
degrees in Phoenix, the sky a perfect, cloudless blue. I was wearing my favorite shirt --
sleeveless, white eyelet lace; I was wearing it as a farewell gesture. My carry-on item was
a parka.
In the Olympic Peninsula of northwest Washington State, a small town named Forks
exists under a near-constant cover of clouds. It rains on this inconsequential town more
than any other place in the United States of America. It was from this town and its
gloomy, omnipresent shade that my mother escaped with me when I was only a few
months old. It was in this town that I'd been compelled to spend a month every summer
until I was fourteen. That was the year I finally put my foot down; these past three
summers, my dad, Charlie, vacationed with me in California for two weeks instead.
It was to Forks that I now exiled myself-- an action that I took with great horror. I

detested Forks.
I loved Phoenix. I loved the sun and the blistering heat. I loved the vigorous, sprawling
city.
"Bella," my mom said to me -- the last of a thousand times -- before I got on the
plane. "You don't have to do this."
My mom looks like me, except with short hair and laugh lines. I felt a spasm of panic
as I stared at her wide, childlike eyes. How could I leave my loving, erratic, harebrained
mother to fend for herself ? Of course she had Phil now, so the bills would probably get
paid, there would be food in the refrigerator, gas in her car, and someone to call when she
got lost, but still...
"I want to go," I lied. I'd always been a bad liar, but I'd been saying this lie so
frequently lately that it sounded almost convincing now.
"Tell Charlie I said hi."
"I will."
"I'll see you soon," she insisted. "You can come home whenever you want -- I'll come

right back as soon as you need me."
But I could see the sacrifice in her eyes behind the promise.
"Don't worry about me," I urged. "It'll be great. I love you, Mom."
She hugged me tightly for a minute, and then I got on the plane, and she was gone.
It's a four-hour flight from Phoenix to Seattle, another hour in a small plane up to Port
Angeles, and then an hour drive back down to Forks. Flying doesn't bother me; the hour
in the car with Charlie, though, I was a little worried about.
Charlie had really been fairly nice about the whole thing. He seemed genuinely pleased
that I was coming to live with him for the first time with any degree of permanence. He'd
already gotten me registered for high school and was going to help me get a car.
But it was sure to be awkward with Charlie. Neither of us was what anyone would call
verbose, and I didn't know what there was to say regardless. I knew he was more than a
little confused by my decision -- like my mother before me, I hadn't made a secret of my

distaste for Forks.
When I landed in Port Angeles, it was raining. I didn't see it as an omen -- just
unavoidable. I'd already said my goodbyes to the sun.
Charlie was waiting for me with the cruiser. This I was expecting, too. Charlie is Police
Chief Swan to the good people of Forks. My primary motivation behind buying a car,
despite the scarcity of my funds, was that I refused to be driven around town in a car with
red and blue lights on top. Nothing slows down traffic like a cop.
Charlie gave me an awkward, one-armed hug when I stumbled my way off the plane.
"It's good to see you, Bells," he said, smiling as he automatically caught and steadied
me. "You haven't changed much. How's Renée?"
"Mom's fine. It's good to see you, too, Dad." I wasn't allowed to call him Charlie to his
face.
I had only a few bags. Most of my Arizona clothes were too permeable for Washington.
My mom and I had pooled our resources to supplement my winter

wardrobe, but it was
still scanty. It all fit easily into the trunk of the cruiser.
"I found a good car for you, really cheap," he announced when we were strapped in.
"What kind of car?" I was suspicious of the way he said "good car for you" as opposed
to just "good car."
"Well, it's a truck actually, a Chevy."
"Where did you find it?"
"Do you remember Billy Black down at La Push?" La Push is the tiny Indian
reservation on the coast.
"No."
"He used to go fishing with us during the summer," Charlie prompted.
That would explain why I didn't remember him. I do a good job of blocking painful,
unnecessary things from my memory.
"He's in a wheelchair now," Charlie continued when I didn't respond, "so he can't drive
anymore, and he offered to sell me his truck cheap."
"What year is it?" I could see from his change of expression that this was the question

he was hoping I wouldn't ask.
"Well, Billy's done a lot of work on the engine -- it's only a few years old, really."
I hoped he didn't think so little of me as to believe I would give up that easily. "When
did he buy it?"
"He bought it in 1984, I think."
"Did he buy it new?"
"Well, no. I think it was new in the early sixties -- or late fifties at the earliest," he
admitted sheepishly.
"Ch -- Dad, I don't really know anything about cars. I wouldn't be able to fix it if
anything went wrong, and I couldn't afford a mechanic..."
"Really, Bella, the thing runs great. They don't build them like that anymore."
The thing, I thought to myself... it had possibilities -- as a nickname, at the very least.
"How cheap is cheap?" After all, that was the part I couldn't compromise on.
"Well, honey, I kind of already bought it for you. As a homecoming gift." Charlie
peeked sideways at me with a hopeful expression.

Wow. Free.
"You didn't need to do that, Dad. I was going to buy myself a car."
"I don't mind. I want you to be happy here." He was looking ahead at the road when he
said this. Charlie wasn't comfortable with expressing his emotions out loud. I inherited
that from him. So I was looking straight ahead as I responded.
"That's really nice, Dad. Thanks. I really appreciate it." No need to add that my being
happy in Forks is an impossibility. He didn't need to suffer along with me. And I never
looked a free truck in the mouth -- or engine.
"Well, now, you're welcome," he mumbled, embarrassed by my thanks.
We exchanged a few more comments on the weather, which was wet, and that was
pretty much it for Conversation. We stared out the windows in silence.
It was beautiful, of course; I couldn't deny that. Everything was green: the trees, their
trunks covered with moss, their branches hanging with a canopy of it, the ground covered

with ferns. Even the air filtered down greenly through the leaves.
It was too green -- an alien planet.
Eventually we made it to Charlie's. He still lived in the small, two-bedroom house that
he'd bought with my mother in the early days of their marriage. Those were the only kind
of days their marriage had -- the early ones. There, parked on the street in front of the
house that never changed, was my new -- well, new to me -- truck. It was a faded red
color, with big, rounded fenders and a bulbous cab. To my intense surprise, I loved it. I
didn't know if it would run, but I could see myself in it. Plus, it was one of those solid
iron affairs that never gets damaged -- the kind you see at the scene of an accident, paint
unscratched, surrounded by the pieces of the foreign car it had destroyed.
"Wow, Dad, I love it! Thanks!" Now my horrific day tomorrow would be just that much
less dreadful. I wouldn't be faced with the choice of either walking two miles in the rain

to school or accepting a ride in the Chief's cruiser.
"I'm glad you like it," Charlie said gruffly, embarrassed again.
It took only one trip to get all my stuff upstairs. I got the west bedroom that faced out
over the front yard. The room was familiar; it had been belonged to me since I was born.
The wooden floor, the light blue walls, the peaked ceiling, the yellowed lace curtains
around the window -- these were all a part of my childhood. The only changes Charlie
had ever made were switching the crib for a bed and adding a desk as I grew. The desk
now held a secondhand computer, with the phone line for the modem stapled along the
floor to the nearest phone jack. This was a stipulation from my mother, so that we could
stay in touch easily. The rocking chair from my baby days was still in the corner.
There was only one small bathroom at the top of the stairs, which I would have to share
with Charlie. I was trying not to dwell too much on that fact.
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. I wasn't in the mood to go on
a real crying jag. I would save that for bedtime, when I would have to think about the
coming morning.
Forks High School had a frightening total of only three hundred and fifty-seven -- now
fifty-eight -- students; there were more than seven hundred people in my junior class
alone back home. All of the kids here had grown up together -- their grandparents had
been toddlers together.
I would be the new girl from the big city, a curiosity, a freak.
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 had always been slender, but soft somehow, obviously not an
athlete; I didn't have the necessary hand-eye coordination to play sports without
humiliating myself -- and harming both myself and anyone else who stood too close.
When I finished putting my clothes in the old pine dresser, I took my bag of bathroom
necessities and went to the communal bathroom to clean myself up after the day of travel.
I looked at my face in the mirror as I brushed through my tangled, damp hair. Maybe it
was the light, but already I looked sallower, unhealthy. My skin could be pretty -- it was
very clear, almost translucent-looking -- but it all depended on color. I had no color here.
Facing my pallid reflection in the mirror, I was forced to admit that I was lying to

myself. It wasn't just physically that I'd never fit in. And if I couldn't find a niche in a
school with three thousand people, what were my chances here?
I didn't relate well to people my age. Maybe the truth was that I didn't relate well to
people, period. Even my mother, who I was closer to than anyone else on the planet, was
never in harmony with me, never on exactly the same page. 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. But the cause didn't matter. All that mattered
was the effect. And tomorrow would be just the beginning.
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 pulled the faded
old quilt over my head, and later added the pillow, too. But I couldn't fall asleep until
after midnight, when the rain finally settled into a quieter drizzle.
Thick fog was all I could see out my window in the morning,

and I could feel the
claustrophobia creeping up on me. You could never see the sky here; it was like a cage.
Breakfast with Charlie was a quiet event. He wished me good luck at school. I thanked
him, knowing his hope was wasted. Good luck tended to avoid me. Charlie left first, off
to the police station that was his wife and family. After he left, I sat at the old square oak
table in one of the three unmatching chairs and examined his small kitchen, with its dark
paneled walls, bright yellow cabinets, and white linoleum floor. Nothing was changed.
My mother had painted the cabinets eighteen years ago in an attempt to bring some
sunshine into the house. Over the small fireplace in the adjoining handkerchief-sized
family room was a row of pictures. First a wedding picture of Charlie and my mom in
Las Vegas, then one of the three of us in the hospital after I was born, taken by a helpful
nurse, followed by the procession of my school pictures up to last year's. Those were

embarrassing to look at -- I would have to see what I could do to get Charlie to put them
somewhere else, at least while I was living here.
It was impossible, being in this house, not to realize that Charlie had never gotten over
my mom. It made me uncomfortable.
I didn't want to be too early to school, but I couldn't stay in the house anymore. I
donned my jacket -- which had the feel of a biohazard suit -- and headed out into the
rain.
It was just drizzling still, not enough to soak me through immediately as I reached for
the house key that was always hidden under the eaves by the door, and locked up. The
sloshing of my new waterproof boots was unnerving. I missed the normal crunch of
gravel as I walked. I couldn't pause and admire my truck again as I wanted; I was in a

hurry to get out of the misty wet that swirled around my head and clung to my hair under
my hood.
Inside the truck, it was nice and dry. Either Billy or Charlie

had obviously cleaned it up,
but the tan upholstered seats still smelled faintly of tobacco, gasoline, and peppermint.
The engine started quickly, to my relief, but loudly, roaring to life and then idling at top
volume. Well, a truck this old was bound to have a flaw. The antique radio worked, a plus
that I hadn't expected.
Finding the school wasn't difficult, though I'd never been there before. The school was,
like most other things, just off the highway. It was not obvious that it was a school; only
the sign, which declared it to be the Forks High School, made me stop. It looked like a
collection of matching houses, built with maroon-colored bricks. There were so many
trees and shrubs I couldn't see its size at first. Where was the feel of the institution? I
wondered nostalgically. Where were the chain-link fences, the metal detectors?
I parked in front of the first building, which had a small sign over the door reading front
office. No one else was parked there, so I was sure it was off

limits, but I decided I would
get directions inside instead of circling around in the rain like an idiot. I stepped
unwillingly out of the toasty truck cab and walked down a little stone path lined with dark
hedges. I took a deep breath before opening the door.
Inside, it was brightly lit, and warmer than I'd hoped. The office was small; a little
waiting area with padded folding chairs, orange-flecked commercial carpet, notices and
awards cluttering the walls, a big clock ticking loudly. Plants grew everywhere in large
plastic pots, as if there wasn't enough greenery outside. The room was cut in half by a
long counter, cluttered with wire baskets full of papers and brightly colored flyers taped
to its front. There were three desks behind the counter, one of which was manned by a
large, red-haired woman wearing glasses. She was wearing a purple t-shirt, which
immediately made me feel overdressed.
The red-haired woman looked up. "Can I help you?"
"I'm Isabella Swan," I informed her, and saw the immediate

awareness light her eyes. I
was expected, a topic of gossip no doubt. Daughter of the Chief's flighty ex-wife, come
home at last.
"Of course," she said. She dug through a precariously stacked pile of documents on her
desk till she found the ones she was looking for. "I have your schedule right here, and a
map of the school." She brought several sheets to the counter to show roe.
She went through my classes for me, highlighting the best route to each on the map,
and gave me a slip to have each teacher sign, which I was to bring back at the end of the
day. She smiled at me and hoped, like Charlie, that I would like it here in Forks. I smiled
back as convincingly as I could.
When I went back out to my truck, other students were starting to arrive. I drove around
the school, following the line of traffic. I was glad to see that most of the cars were older
like mine, nothing flashy. At home I'd lived in one of the few lower-income

neighborhoods that were included in the Paradise Valley District. It was a common thing
to see a new Mercedes or Porsche in the student lot. The nicest car here was a shiny
Volvo, and it stood out. Still, I cut the engine as soon as I was in a spot, so that the
thunderous volume wouldn't draw attention to me.
I looked at the map in the truck, trying to memorize it now; hopefully I wouldn't have
to walk around with it stuck in front of my nose all day. I stuffed everything in my bag,

slung the strap over my shoulder, and sucked in a huge breath. 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.
I kept my face pulled back into my hood as I walked to the sidewalk, crowded with
teenagers. My plain black jacket didn't stand out, I noticed with relief.
Once I got around the 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 hyperventilation as I approached the door. I tried holding my breath as I followed
two 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 hooks. 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 at 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 desk 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 had given me. It was fairly basic: Bronte, Shakespeare,

Chaucer, Faulkner. I'd already read everything. That was comforting... and boring. I
wondered if my mom would send me my folder of old essays, or if she would think that
was cheating. I went through different arguments with her 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 across 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 eyes.
"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, which had

picked up. I could have
sworn several people behind us were walking 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 this and I'd forget how to use sarcasm.
We walked back around the cafeteria, to the south buildings by the gym. Eric walked
me right to the door, though it was clearly 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 fashion. 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 stammered,
blushed, and tripped over my own boots on the way to my seat.
After two classes, I started to recognize several of the faces in each class. There was
always someone braver than the others 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, and she walked with me to the
cafeteria for lunch. She was tiny, several 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
remember her name, so I smiled and nodded as she prattled about teachers and classes. I
didn't try to keep up.

We sat at the end of a full table with several of her friends, who she introduced to me. I
forgot all their names as soon as she spoke them. They seemed impressed by her bravery
in speaking to me. The boy from English, Eric, waved at me from across the room.
It was there, sitting in the lunchroom, trying to make conversation with seven curious
strangers, that I first saw them.
They were sitting in the corner of the cafeteria, as far away from where I sat as possible
in the long room. There were five of them. They weren't talking, and they weren't eating,
though they each had a tray of untouched food in front of them. They weren't gawking at
me, unlike most of the other students, so it was safe to stare at them without fear of
meeting an excessively interested pair of eyes. But it was none of these things that
caught, and held, my attention.
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. He was
more boyish than the others, who looked like they could be in college, or even teachers
here rather than students.
The girls were opposites. The tall one was statuesque. She had a beautiful figure, the
kind you saw on the cover of the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue, the kind that made
every girl around her take a hit on her self-esteem just by being in the same room. Her
hair was golden, gently waving to the middle of her back. The short girl was pixielike,
thin in the extreme, with small features. Her hair was a deep black, cropped short and
pointing in every direction.
And yet, they were all exactly alike. Every one of them was chalky pale, the palest of
all the students living in this sunless town. Paler than me, the albino. They all had very
dark eyes despite the range in hair tones. They also had dark shadows under those eyes --

purplish, bruiselike shadows. As if they were all suffering from a sleepless night, or
almost done recovering from a broken nose. Though their noses, all their features, were
straight, perfect, angular.
But all this is not why I couldn't look away.
I stared because their faces, so different, so similar, were all devastatingly, inhumanly
beautiful. They were faces you never expected to see except perhaps on the airbrushed
pages of a fashion magazine. Or painted by an old master as the face of an angel. It was
hard to decide who was the most beautiful -- maybe the perfect blond girl, or the bronze-
haired boy.
They were all looking away -- away from each other, away from the other students,
away from anything in particular as far as I could tell. As I watched, the small girl rose
with her tray -- unopened soda, unbitten apple -- and walked away with a quick,
graceful lope that belonged on a runway. I watched, amazed at her lithe dancer's step, till

she dumped her tray and glided through the back door, faster than I would have thought
possible. My eyes darted back to the others, who sat unchanging.
"Who are they ?" I asked the girl from my Spanish class, whose name I'd forgotten.
As she looked up to see who I meant -- though already knowing, probably, from my
tone -- suddenly he looked at her, the thinner one, the boyish one, the youngest, perhaps.
He looked at my neighbor for just a fraction of a second, and then his dark eyes flickered
to mine.
He looked away quickly, more quickly than I could, though in a flush of embarrassment
I dropped my eyes at once. In that brief flash of a glance, his face held nothing of interest
-- it was as if she had called his name, and he'd looked up in involuntary response,
already having decided not to answer.
My neighbor giggled in embarrassment, looking at the table like I did.
"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.
I glanced sideways at the beautiful boy, who was looking at his tray now, picking a
bagel to pieces with long, pale fingers. His mouth was moving very quickly, his perfect
lips barely opening. The other three still looked away, and yet I felt he was speaking
quietly to them.
Strange, unpopular names, I thought. The kinds of names grandparents had. But maybe
that was in vogue here -- small town names? I finally remembered that my neighbor was
called Jessica, a perfectly common name. There were two girls named Jessica in my
History class back home.
"They are... very nice-looking." I struggled with the conspicuous understatement.
"Yes!" Jessica agreed with another giggle. "They're all together though -- Emmett and
Rosalie, and Jasper and Alice, I mean. And they live together." Her voice held all the

shock and condemnation of the small town, I thought critically. But, if I was being
honest, I had to admit that even in Phoenix, it would cause gossip.
"Which ones are the Cullens?" I asked. "They don't look related..."
"Oh, they're not. Dr. Cullen is really young, in his twenties or early thirties. They're all
adopted. The Hales are brother and sister, twins -- the blondes -- and they're foster
children."
"They look a little old for foster children."
"They are now, Jasper and Rosalie are both eighteen, but they've been with Mrs. Cullen
since they were eight. She's their aunt or something like that."
"That's really kind of nice -- for them to take care of all those kids like that, when

they're so young and everything."
"I guess so," Jessica admitted reluctantly, and I got the impression that she didn't like
the doctor and his wife for some reason. With the glances she was throwing at their
adopted children, I would presume the reason was jealousy. "I

think that Mrs. Cullen can't
have any kids, though," she added, as if that lessened their kindness.
Throughout all this conversation, my eyes flickered again and again to the table where
the strange family sat. They continued to look at the walls and not eat.
"Have they always lived in Forks?" I asked. Surely I would have noticed them on one
of my summers here.
"No," she said in a voice that implied it should be obvious, even to a new arrival like
me. "They just moved down two years ago from somewhere in Alaska."
I felt a surge of pity, and relief. Pity because, as beautiful as they were, they were
outsiders, clearly not accepted. Relief that I wasn't the only newcomer here, and certainly
not the most interesting by any standard.
As I examined them, the youngest, one of the Cullens, looked up and met my gaze, this
time with evident curiosity in his expression. As I looked swiftly away, it seemed to me

that his glance held some kind of unmet expectation.
"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." She sniffed, a clear
case of sour grapes. I wondered when he'd turned her down.
I bit my lip to hide my smile. Then I glanced at him again. His face was turned away,
but I thought his cheek appeared lifted, as if he were smiling, too.
After a few more minutes, the four of them left the table together. They all were
noticeably graceful -- even the big, brawny one. It was unsettling to watch. The one
named Edward didn't look at me again.
I sat at the table with Jessica and her friends longer than I would have if I'd been sitting

alone. I was anxious not to be late for class on my first day. One of my new
acquaintances, who considerately reminded me that her name was Angela, had Biology II
with me the next hour. We walked to class together in silence. She was shy, too.
When we entered the classroom, Angela went to sit at a black-topped lab table exactly
like the ones I was used to. She already had a neighbor. In fact, all the tables were filled
but one. Next to the center aisle, I recognized Edward Cullen by his unusual hair, sitting
next to that single open seat.
As I walked down the aisle to introduce myself to the teacher and get my slip signed, I
was watching him surreptitiously. Just as I passed, he suddenly went rigid in his seat. He
stared at me again, meeting my eyes with the strangest expression on his face -- it was
hostile, furious. I looked away quickly, shocked, going red again. I stumbled over a book
in the walkway and had to catch myself on the edge of a table. The girl sitting there

giggled.
I'd noticed that his eyes were black -- coal black.
Mr. Banner signed my slip and handed me a book with no nonsense about
introductions. I could tell we were going to get along. Of course, he had no choice but to
send me to the one open seat in the middle of the room. I kept my eyes down as I went to

sit by him, bewildered by the antagonistic stare he'd given me.
I didn't look up as I set my book on the table and took my seat, but I saw his posture
change from the corner of my eye. 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. It seemed
an innocent enough odor. I let my hair fall over my right shoulder, making a dark curtain
between us, and tried to pay attention to the teacher.
Unfortunately the lecture was on cellular anatomy, something I'd already studied. I took
notes carefully anyway, always looking down.

I couldn't stop myself from peeking occasionally through the screen of my hair at the
strange boy next to me. During the whole class, he never relaxed his stiff position on the
edge of his chair, sitting as far from me as possible. I could see his hand on his left leg
was clenched into a fist, tendons standing out under his pale skin. This, too, he never
relaxed. He had the long sleeves of his white shirt pushed up to his elbows, and his
forearm was surprisingly hard and muscular beneath his light skin. He wasn't nearly as
slight as he'd looked next to his burly brother.
The class seemed to drag on longer than the others. Was it because the day was finally
coming to a close, or because I was waiting for his tight fist to loosen? It never did; he
continued to sit so still it looked like he wasn't breathing. What was wrong with him?
Was this his normal behavior? I questioned my judgment on Jessica's bitterness at lunch
today. Maybe she was not as resentful as I'd thought.
It couldn't have anything to do with me. He didn't know me from

Eve.
I peeked up at him one more time, and regretted it. He was glaring down at me again,
his black eyes full of revulsion. As I flinched away from him, shrinking against my chair,
the phra seif looks could kill suddenly ran through my mind.
At that moment, the bell rang loudly, making me jump, and Edward Cullen was out of
his seat. Fluidly he rose -- he was much taller than I'd thought -- his back to me, and he
was out the door before anyone else was out of their seat.
I sat frozen in my seat, staring blankly after him. He was so mean. It wasn't fair. I began
gathering up my things slowly, trying to block the anger that filled me, for fear my eyes
would tear up. For some reason, my temper was hardwired to my tear ducts. I usually
cried when I was angry, a humiliating tendency.
"Aren't you Isabella Swan?" a male voice asked.
I looked up to see a cute, baby-faced boy, his pale blond hair carefully gelled into
orderly spikes, smiling at me in a friendly way. He obviously didn't think I smelled bad.

"Bella," I corrected him, with a smile.
"I'm Mike."
"Hi, Mike."
"Do you need any help finding your next class?"
"I'm headed to the gym, actually. I think I can find it."
"That's my next class, too." He seemed thrilled, though it wasn't that big of a
coincidence in a school this small.
We walked to class together; he was a chatterer -- he supplied most of the
conversation, which made it easy for me. He'd lived in California till he was ten, so he
knew how I felt about the sun. It turned out he was in my English class also. He was the
nicest person I'd met today.
But as we were entering the gym, he asked, "So, did you stab Edward Cullen with a
pencil or what? I've never seen him act like that."
I cringed. So I wasn't the only one who had noticed. And, apparently, that wasn't
Edward Cullen's usual behavior. I decided to play dumb.
"Was that the boy I sat next to in Biology?" I asked artlessly.
"Yes," he said. "He looked like he was in pain or something."

"I don't know," I responded. "I never spoke to him."
"He's a weird guy." Mike lingered by me instead of heading to the dressing room. "If I
were lucky enough to sit by you, I would have talked to you."
I smiled at him before walking through the girls' locker room door. He was friendly and
clearly admiring. But it wasn't enough to ease my irritation.
The Gym teacher, Coach Clapp, found me a uniform but didn't make me dress down for
today's class. At home, only two years of RE. were required. Here, P.E. was mandatory
all four years. Forks was literally my personal hell on Earth.
I watched four volleyball games running simultaneously. Remembering how many
injuries I had sustained -- and inflicted -- playing volleyball, I felt faintly nauseated.
The final bell rang at last. I walked slowly to the office to return my paperwork. The
rain had drifted away, but the wind was strong, and colder. I wrapped my arms around
myself.
When I walked into the warm office, I almost turned around and walked back out.

Edward Cullen stood at the desk in front of me. I recognized again that tousled bronze
hair. He didn't appear to notice the sound of my entrance. I stood pressed against the back
wall, waiting for the receptionist to be free.
He was arguing with her in a low, attractive voice. I quickly picked up the gist of the
argument. He was trying to trade from sixth-hour Biology to another time -- any other
time.
I just couldn't believe that this was about me. It had to be something else, something
that happened before I entered the Biology room. The look on his face must have been
about another aggravation entirely. It was impossible that this stranger could take such a
sudden, intense dislike to me.
The door opened again, and the cold wind suddenly gusted through the room, rustling
the papers on the desk, swirling my hair around my face. The girl who came in merely
stepped to the desk, placed a note in the wire basket, and walked out again. But Edward

Cullen's back stiffened, and he turned slowly to glare at me -- his face was absurdly
handsome -- with piercing, hate-filled eyes. For an instant, I felt a thrill of genuine fear,
raising the hair on my arms. The look only lasted a second, but it chilled me more than
the freezing wind. He turned back to the receptionist.
"Never mind, then," he said hastily in a voice like velvet. "I can see that it's impossible.
Thank you so much for your help." And he turned on his heel without another look at me,
and disappeared out the door.
I went meekly to the desk, my face white for once instead of red, and handed her the
signed slip.
"How did your first day go, dear?" the receptionist asked maternally.
"Fine," I lied, my voice weak. She didn't look convinced.
When I got to the truck, it was almost the last car in the lot. It seemed like a haven,
already the closest thing to home I had in this damp green hole. I sat inside for a while,

just staring out the windshield blankly. But soon I was cold

enough to need the heater, so
I turned the key and the engine roared to life. I headed back to Charlie's house, fighting
tears the whole way there.
2. Open Book

The next day was better... and worse.
It was better because it wasn't raining yet, though the clouds were dense and opaque. It
was easier because I knew what to expect of my day. Mike came to sit by me in English,
and walked me to my next class, with Chess Club Eric glaring at him all the while; that
was nattering. People didn't look at me quite as much as they had yesterday. I sat with a
big group at lunch that included Mike, Eric, Jessica, and several other people whose
names and faces I now remembered. I began to feel like I was treading water, instead of
drowning in it.
It was worse because I was tired; I still couldn't sleep with the wind echoing around the
house. It was worse because Mr. Varner called on me in Trig when

my hand wasn't raised
and I had the wrong answer. It was miserable because I had to play volleyball, and the
one time I didn't cringe out of the way of the ball, I hit my teammate in the head with it.
And it was worse because Edward Cullen wasn't in school at all.
All morning I was dreading lunch, fearing his bizarre glares. 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 when I walked into the cafeteria with Jessica -- trying to keep my eyes from
sweeping the place for him, and failing entirely -- I saw that his four siblings of sorts
were sitting together at the same table, and he was not with them.
Mike intercepted us and steered us to his table. Jessica seemed elated by the attention,
and her friends quickly joined us. But as I tried to listen to

their easy chatter, I was
terribly uncomfortable, waiting nervously for the moment he would arrive. I hoped that
he would simply ignore me when he came, and prove my suspicions false.
He didn't come, and as time passed I grew more and more tense.
I walked to Biology with more confidence when, by the end of lunch, he still hadn't
showed. Mike, who was taking on the qualities of a golden retriever, walked faithfully by
my side to class. I held my breath at the door, but Edward Cullen wasn't there, either. I
exhaled and went to my seat. Mike followed, talking about an upcoming trip to the beach.
He lingered by my desk till the bell rang. Then he smiled at me wistfully and went to sit
by a girl with braces and a bad perm. It looked like I was going to have to do something
about Mike, and it wouldn't be easy. In a town like this, where everyone lived on top of
everyone else, diplomacy was essential. I had never been enormously tactful; I had no
practice dealing with overly friendly boys.

I was relieved that I had the desk to myself, that Edward was absent. I told myself that
repeatedly. But I couldn't get rid of the nagging suspicion that I was the reason he wasn't
there. It was ridiculous, and egotistical, to think that I could affect anyone that strongly. It
was impossible. And yet I couldn't stop worrying that it was true.
When the school day was finally done, and the blush was fading out of my cheeks from
the volleyball incident, I changed quickly back into my jeans and navy blue sweater. I
hurried from the girls' locker room, pleased to find that I had successfully evaded my
retriever friend for the moment. I walked swiftly out to the parking lot. It was crowded
now with fleeing students. I got in my truck and dug through my bag to make sure I had
what I needed.
Last night I'd discovered that Charlie couldn't cook much besides fried eggs and bacon.
So I requested that I be assigned kitchen detail for the duration of my stay. He was

willing enough to hand over the keys to the banquet hall. I also found out that he had no
food in the house. So I had my shopping list and the cash from the jar in the cupboard
labeled FOOD MONEY, and I was on my way to the Thriftway.
I gunned my deafening engine to life, ignoring the heads that turned in my direction,
and backed carefully into a place in the line of cars that were waiting to exit the parking
lot. As I waited, trying to pretend that the earsplitting rumble was coming from someone
else's car, I saw the two Cullens and the Hale twins getting into their car. It was the shiny
new Volvo. Of course. I hadn't noticed their clothes before -- I'd been too mesmerized by
their faces. Now that I looked, it was obvious that they were all dressed exceptionally
well; simply, but in clothes that subtly hinted at designer origins. With their remarkable
good looks, the style with which they carried themselves, they could have worn dishrags
and pulled it off. 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. It didn't look as if it bought them
any acceptance here.
No, I didn't fully believe that. The isolation must be their desire; I couldn't imagine any
door that wouldn't be opened by that degree of beauty.
They looked at my noisy truck as I passed them, just like everyone else. I kept my eyes
straight forward and was relieved when I finally was free of the school grounds.
The Thriftway was not far from the school, just a few streets south, off the highway. It
was nice to be inside the supermarket; it felt normal. I did the shopping at home, and I
fell into the pattern of the familiar task gladly. The store was big enough inside that I
couldn't hear the tapping of the rain on the roof to remind me where I was.
When I got home, I unloaded all the groceries, stuffing them in wherever I could find
an open space. I hoped Charlie wouldn't mind. I wrapped potatoes in foil and stuck them
in the oven to bake, covered a steak in marinade and balanced it

on top of a carton of
eggs in the fridge.
When I was finished with that, I took my book bag upstairs. Before starting my
homework, I changed into a pair of dry sweats, pulled my damp hair up into a pony-tail,
and checked my e-mail for the first time. I had three messages.
"Bella," my mom wrote...
Write me as soon as you get in. Tell me how your flight was. Is it raining? I miss you
already. I'm almost finished packing for Florida, but I can't find my pink blouse. Do you
know where I put it? Phil says hi. Mom.
I sighed and went to the next. It was sent eight hours after the first.
"Bella," she wrote...
Why haven't you e-mailed me yet? What are you waiting for? Mom.
The last was from this morning.
Isabella,
If I haven't heard from you by 5:30 p.m. today I'm calling Charlie.
I checked the clock. I still had an hour, but my mom was well known for jumping the

gun.
Mom,
Calm down. I'm writing right now. Don't do anything rash.
Bella.
I sent that, and began again.
Mom,
Everything is great. Of course it's raining. I was waiting for something to write about.
School isn't bad, just a little repetitive. I met some nice kids who sit by me at lunch.
Your blouse is at the dry cleaners - you were supposed to pick it up Friday.
Charlie bought me a truck, can you believe it? I love it. It's old, but really sturdy, which
is good, you know, for me.
I miss you, too. I'll write again soon, but I'm not going to check my e-mail every five
minutes. Relax, breathe. I love you.
Bella.
I had decided to read Wuthering Heights -- the novel we were currently studying in
English -- yet again for the fun of it, and that's what I was doing when Charlie came

home. I'd lost track of the time, and I hurried downstairs to take the potatoes out and put
the steak in to broil.
"Bella?" my father called out when he heard me on the stairs.
Who else? I thought to myself.
"Hey, Dad, welcome home."
"Thanks." He hung up his gun belt and stepped out of his boots as I bustled about the
kitchen. As far as I was aware, he'd never shot the gun on the job. But he kept it ready.
When I came here as a child, he would always remove the bullets as soon as he walked in
the door. I guess he considered me old enough now not to shoot myself by accident, and
not depressed enough to shoot myself on purpose.
"What's for dinner?" he asked warily. My mother was an imaginative cook, and her
experiments weren't always edible. I was surprised, and sad, that he seemed to remember
that far back.
"Steak and potatoes," I answered, and he looked relieved.
He seemed to feel awkward standing in the kitchen doing nothing; he lumbered into the

living room to watch TV while I worked. We were both more comfortable that way. I
made a salad while the steaks cooked, and set the table.
I called him in when dinner was ready, and he sniffed appreciatively as he walked into
the room.
"Smells good, Bell."
"Thanks."
We ate in silence for a few minutes. It wasn't uncomfortable. Neither of us was
bothered by the quiet. In some ways, we were well suited for living together.
"So, how did you like school? Have you made any friends?" he asked as he was taking
seconds.
"Well, I have a few classes with a girl named Jessica. I sit with her friends at lunch. And
there's this boy, Mike, who's very friendly. Everybody seems pretty nice." With one
outstanding exception.
"That must be Mike Newton. Nice kid -- nice family. His dad owns the sporting goods
store just outside of town. He makes a good living off all the

backpackers who come
through here."
"Do you know the Cullen family?" I asked hesitantly.
"Dr. Cullen's family? Sure. Dr. Cullen's a great man."
"They... the kids... are a little different. They don't seem to fit in very well at school."
Charlie surprised me by looking angry.
"People in this town," he muttered. "Dr. Cullen is a brilliant surgeon who could
probably work in any hospital in the world, make ten times the salary he gets here," he
continued, getting louder. "We're lucky to have him -- lucky that his wife wanted to live
in a small town. He's an asset to the community, and all of those kids are well behaved
and polite. I had my doubts, when they first moved in, with all those adopted teenagers. I
thought we might have some problems with them. But they're all very mature -- I haven't
had one speck of trouble from any of them. That's more than I can say for the children of
some folks who have lived in this town for generations. And they stick together the way a

family should -- camping trips every other weekend... Just because they're newcomers,
people have to talk."
It was the longest speech I'd ever heard Charlie make. He must feel strongly about
whatever people were saying.
I backpedaled. "They seemed nice enough to me. I just noticed they kept to themselves.
They're all very attractive," I added, trying to be more complimentary.
"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."
We lapsed back into silence as we finished eating. He cleared the table while I started
on the dishes. He went back to the TV, and after I finished washing the dishes by hand --
no dishwasher -- I went upstairs unwillingly to work on my math homework. I could feel
a tradition in the making.
That night it was finally quiet. I fell asleep quickly,

exhausted.
The rest of the week was uneventful. I got used to the routine of my classes. By Friday I
was able to recognize, if not name, almost all the students at school. In Gym, the kids on
my team learned not to pass me the ball and to step quickly in front of me if the other
team tried to take advantage of my weakness. I happily stayed out of their way.
Edward Cullen didn't come back to school.
Every day, I watched anxiously until the rest of the Cullens entered the cafeteria
without him. Then I could relax and join in the lunchtime conversation. Mostly it
centered around a trip to the La Push Ocean Park in two weeks that Mike was putting
together. I was invited, and I had agreed to go, more out of politeness than desire.
Beaches should be hot and dry.
By Friday I was perfectly comfortable entering my Biology class, no longer worried
that Edward would be there. For all I knew, he had dropped out of school. I tried not to

think about him, but I couldn't totally suppress the worry that I was responsible for his
continued absence, ridiculous as it seemed.
My first weekend in Forks passed without incident. Charlie, unused to spending time in
the usually empty house, worked most of the weekend. I cleaned the house, got ahead on
my homework, and wrote my mom more bogusly cheerful e-mail. I did drive to the
library Saturday, but it was so poorly stocked that I didn't bother to get a card; I would
have to make a date to visit Olympia or Seattle soon and find a good bookstore. I
wondered idly what kind of gas mileage the truck got... and shuddered at the thought.
The rain stayed soft over the weekend, quiet, so I was able to sleep well.
People greeted me in the parking lot Monday morning. I didn't know all their names,
but I waved back and smiled at everyone. It was colder this morning, but happily not

raining. In English, Mike took his accustomed seat by my side. We had a pop quiz on

Wuthering Heights. It was straightforward, very easy.
All in all, I was feeling a lot more comfortable than I had thought I would feel by this
point. More comfortable than I had ever expected to feel here.
When we walked out of class, the air was full of swirling bits of white. I could hear
people shouting excitedly to each other. The wind bit at my cheeks, my nose.
"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.
He looked surprised. "Don't you like snow?"
"No. That means it's too cold for rain." Obviously. "Besides, I thought it was supposed
to come down in flakes -- you know, each one unique and all that. These just look like
the ends of Q-tips."
"Haven't you ever seen snow fall before?" he asked incredulously.
"Sure I have." I paused." On TV."
Mike laughed. And then a big, squishy ball of dripping snow

smacked into the back of
his head. We both turned to see where it came from. I had my suspicions about Eric, who
was walking away, his back toward us -- in the wrong direction for his next class. Mike
appatently had the same notion. He bent over and began scraping together a pile of the
white mush.
"I'll see you at lunch, okay?" I kept walking as I spoke. "Once people start throwing wet
stuff, I go inside."
He just nodded, his eyes on Eric's retreating figure.
Throughout the morning, everyone chattered excitedly about the snow; apparently it
was the first snowfall of the new year. I kept my mouth shut. Sure, it was drier than rain
-- until it melted in your socks.
I walked alertly to the cafeteria with Jessica after Spanish. Mush balls were flying
everywhere. I kept a binder in my hands, ready to use it as a shield if necessary. Jessica
thought I was hilarious, but something in my expression kept her from lobbing a

snowball at me herself.
Mike caught up to us as we walked in the doors, laughing, with ice melting the spikes
in his hair. He and Jessica were talking animatedly about the snow fight as we got in line
to buy food. I glanced toward that table in the corner out of habit. And then I froze where
I stood. There were five people at the table.
Jessica pulled on my arm.
"Hello? Bella? What do you want?"
I looked down; my ears were hot. I had no reason to feel self-conscious, I reminded
myself. I hadn't done anything wrong.
"What's with Bella?" Mike asked Jessica.
"Nothing," I answered. "I'll just get a soda today." I caught up to the end of the line.
"Aren't you hungry?" Jessica asked.
"Actually, I feel a little sick," I said, my eyes still on the floor.
I waited for them to get their food, and then followed them to a table, my eyes on my
feet.
I sipped my soda slowly, my stomach churning. Twice Mike asked,

with unnecessary

concern, how I was feeling.
I told him it was nothing, but I was wondering if I should play it up and escape to the
nurse's office for the next hour.
Ridiculous. I shouldn't have to run away.
I decided to permit myself one glance at the Cullen family's table. If he was glaring at
me, I would skip Biology, like the coward I was.
I kept my head down and glanced up under my lashes. None of them were looking this
way. I lifted my head a little.
They were laughing. Edward, Jasper, and Emmett all had their hair entirely saturated
with melting snow. Alice and Rosalie were leaning away as Emmett shook his dripping
hair toward them. They were enjoying the snowy day, just like everyone else -- only they
looked more like a scene from a movie than the rest of us.
But, aside from the laughter and playfulness, there was something different, and I
couldn't quite pinpoint what that difference was. I examined Edward the most carefully.

His skin was less pale, I decided -- flushed from the snow fight maybe -- the circles
under his eyes much less noticeable. But there was something more. I pondered, staring,
trying to isolate the change.
"Bella, what are you staring at?" Jessica intruded, her eyes following my stare.
At that precise moment, his eyes flashed over to meet mine.
I dropped my head, letting my hair fall to conceal my face. I was sure, though, in the
instant our eyes met, that he didn't look harsh or unfriendly as he had the last time I'd
seen him. He looked merely curious again, unsatisfied in some way.
"Edward Cullen is staring at you," Jessica giggled in my ear.
"He doesn't look angry, does he?" I couldn't help asking.
"No," she said, sounding confused by my question. "Should he be?"
"I don't think he likes me," I confided. I still felt queasy. I put my head down on my
arm.
"The Cullens don't like anybody...well, they don't notice anybody enough to like them.

But he's still staring at you."
"Stop looking at him," I hissed.
She snickered, but she looked away. I raised my head enough to make sure that she did,
contemplating violence if she resisted.
Mike interrupted us then -- he was planning an epic battle of the blizzard in the
parking lot after school and wanted us to join. Jessica agreed enthusiastically. The way
she looked at Mike left little doubt that she would be up for anything he suggested. I kept
silent. I would have to hide in the gym until the parking lot cleared.
For the rest of the lunch hour I very carefully kept my eyes at my own table. I decided
to honor the bargain I'd made with myself. Since he didn't look angry, I would go to
Biology. My stomach did frightened little flips at the thought of sitting next to him again.
I didn't really want to walk to class with Mike as usual -- he seemed to be a popular
target for the snowball snipers -- but when we went to the door, everyone besides me

groaned in unison. It was raining, washing all traces of the snow away in clear, icy
ribbons down the side of the walkway. I pulled my hood up, secretly pleased. I would be
free to go straight home after Gym.
Mike kept up a string of complaints on the way to building four.
Once inside the classroom, I saw with relief that my table was still empty. Mr. Banner

was walking around the room, distributing one microscope and 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 on the cover of my notebook.
I heard very clearly when the chair next to me moved, but my eyes stayed carefully
focused on the pattern I was drawing.
"Hello," said a quiet, musical voice.
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 so, he 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. But his eyes
were careful.
"My name is Edward Cullen," he continued. "I didn't have a chance to introduce myself
last week. You must be Bella Swan."
My mind was spinning with confusion. Had I made up the whole thing? He was
perfectly polite now. I had to speak; he was waiting. But I couldn't think of anything
conventional to say.
"H-how do you know my name?" I stammered.
He laughed a soft, enchanting laugh.
"Oh, I think everyone knows your name. The whole town's been waiting for you to
arrive."
I grimaced. I knew it was something like that.
"No," I persisted stupidly. "I meant, why did you call me Bella?"
He seemed confused. "Do you prefer Isabella?"
"No, I like Bella," I said. "But I think Charlie -- I mean my

dad -- must call me
Isabella behind my back -- that's what everyone here seems to know me as," I tried to
explain, feeling like an utter moron.
"Oh." He let it drop. I looked away awkwardly.
Thankfully, Mr. Banner started class at that moment. I tried to concentrate as he
explained the lab we would be doing today. The slides in the box were out of order.
Working as lab partners, we had to separate the slides of onion root tip cells into the
phases of mitosis they represented and label them accordingly. We weren't supposed to
use our books. In twenty minutes, he would be coming around to see who had it right.
"Get started," he commanded.
"Ladies first, partner?" Edward asked. I looked up to see him smiling a crooked smile
so beautiful that I could only stare at him like an idiot.
"Or I could start, if you wish." The smile faded; he was obviously wondering if I was
mentally competent.
"No," I said, flushing. "I'll go ahead."

I was showing off, just a little. I'd already done this lab, and I knew what I was looking
for. It should be easy. I snapped the first slide into place under the microscope and
adjusted it quickly to the 40X objective. I studied the slide briefly.
My assessment was confident." Prophase."
"Do you mind if I look?" he asked as I began to remove the slide. His hand caught
mine, to stop me, as he asked. His fingers were ice-cold, like he'd been holding them in a
snowdrift before class. But that wasn't why I jerked my hand away so quickly. When he
touched me, it stung my hand as if an electric current had passed through us.
"I'm sorry," he muttered, pulling his hand back immediately. However, he continued to
reach for the microscope. I watched him, still staggered, as he examined the slide for an
even shorter time than I had.
"Prophase," he agreed, writing it neatly in the first space on our worksheet. He swiftly
switched out the first slide for the second, and then glanced at

it cursorily.
"Anaphase," he murmured, writing it down as he spoke.
I kept my voice indifferent. "May I?"
He smirked and pushed the microscope to me.
I looked through the eyepiece eagerly, only to be disappointed. Dang it, he was right.
"Slide three?" I held out my hand without looking at him.
He handed it to me; it seemed like he was being careful not to touch my skin again.
I took the most fleeting look I could manage.
"Interphase." I passed him the microscope before he could ask for it. He took a swift
peek, and then wrote it down. I would have written it while he looked, but his clear,
elegant script intimidated me. I didn't want to spoil the page with my clumsy scrawl.
We were finished before anyone else was close. I could see Mike and his partner
comparing two slides again and again, and another group had their book open under the
table.
Which left me with nothing to do but try to not look at him... unsuccessfully.

After the first shock of recognition, I couldn't help but feel bad for Jacob. He was
clearly uncomfortable -- excruciatingly so. His face was apologetic as his eyes met mine.
Edward snarled very quietly.
"Behave!" I hissed.
Edward's voice was scathing. "He wants to chat with you."
Jacob reached us then, the embarrassment and apology even more evident on his face.
"Hey, Bella, I was hoping you would be here." Jacob sounded like he'd been hoping the
exact opposite. But his smile was just as warm as ever.
"Hi, Jacob." I smiled back. "What's up?"
"Can I cut in?" he asked tentatively, glancing at Edward for the first time. I was
shocked to notice that Jacob didn't have to look up. He must have grown half a foot since
the first time I'd seen him.
Edward's face was composed, his expression blank. His only answer was to set me
carefully on my feet, and take a step back.
"Thanks," Jacob said amiably.

Edward just nodded, looking at me intently before he turned to walk away.
Jacob put his hands on my waist, and I reached up to put my hands on his shoulders.
"Wow, Jake, how tall are you now?"
He was smug. "Six-two."
We weren't really dancing -- my leg made that impossible. Instead we swayed
awkwardly from side to side without moving our feet. It was just as well; the recent
growth spurt had left him looking gangly and uncoordinated, he was probably no better a
dancer than I was.
"So, how did you end up here tonight?" I asked without true curiosity. Considering
Edward's reaction, I could guess.
"Can you believe my dad paid me twenty bucks to come to your prom?" he admitted,
slightly ashamed.
"Yes, I can," I muttered. "Well, I hope you're enjoying yourself, at least. Seen anything
you like?" I teased, nodding toward a group of girls lined up against the wall like pastel

confections.
"Yeah," he sighed. "But she's taken."
He glanced down to meet my curious gaze for just a second -- then we both looked
away, embarrassed.
"You look really pretty, by the way," he added shyly.
"Um, thanks. So why did Billy pay you to come here?" I asked quickly, though I knew
the answer.
Jacob didn't seem grateful for the subject change; he looked away, uncomfortable again.
"He said it was a 'safe' place to talk to you. I swear the old man is losing his mind."
I joined in his laughter weakly.
"Anyway, he said that if I told you something, he would get me that master cylinder I
need," he confessed with a sheepish grin.
"Tell me, then. I want you to get your car finished." I grinned back. At least Jacob didn't
believe any of this. It made the situation a bit easier. Against the wall, Edward was
watching my face, his own face expressionless. I saw a sophomore in a pink dress eyeing

him with timid speculation, but he didn't seem to be aware of her.
Jacob looked away again, ashamed. "Don't get mad, okay?"
"There's no way I'll be mad at you, Jacob," I assured him. "I won't even be mad at Billy.
Just say what you have to."
"Well -- this is so stupid, I'm sorry, Bella -- he wants you to break up with your
boyfriend. He asked me to tell you 'please.'" He shook his head in disgust.
"He's still superstitious, eh?"
"Yeah. He was... kind of over the top when you got hurt down in Phoenix. He didn't
believe..."Jacob trailed off self-consciously.
My eyes narrowed. "I fell."
"I know that," Jacob said quickly.
"He thinks Edward had something to do with me getting hurt." It wasn't a question, and
despite my promise, I was angry.
Jacob wouldn't meet my eyes. We weren't even bothering to sway to the music, though
his hands were still on my waist, and mine around his neck.
"Look, Jacob, I know Billy probably won't believe this, but

just so you know" -- he
looked at me now, responding to the new earnestness in my voice -- "Edward really did
save my life. If it weren't for Edward and his father, I'd be dead."
"I know," he claimed, but he sounded like my sincere words had affected him some.
Maybe he'd be able to convince Billy of this much, at least.
"Hey, I'm sorry you had to come do this, Jacob," I apologized. "At any rate, you get
your parts, right?"
"Yeah," he muttered. He was still looking awkward... upset.
"There's more?" I asked in disbelief.
"Forget it," he mumbled, "I'll get a job and save the money myself."
I glared at him until he met my gaze. "Just spit it out, Jacob."
"It's so bad."
"I don't care. Tell me," I insisted.
"Okay... but, geez, this sounds bad." He shook his head. "He said to tell you, no, to
warn you, that -- and this is his plural, not mine" -- he lifted one hand from my waist

and made little quotations marks in the air -- '"We'll be watching.'" He watched warily
for my reaction.
It sounded like something from a mafia movie. I laughed out loud.
"Sorry you had to do this, Jake," I snickered.
"I don't mind that much." He grinned in relief. His eyes were appraising as they raked
quickly over my dress. "So, should I tell him you said to butt the hell out?" he asked
hopefully.
"No," I sighed. "Tell him I said thanks. I know he means well."
The song ended, and I dropped my arms.
His hands hesitated at my waist, and he glanced at my bum leg. "Do you want to dance
again? Or can I help you get somewhere?"
Edward answered for me. "That's all right, Jacob. I'll take it from here."
Jacob flinched, and stared wide-eyed at Edward, who stood just beside us.
"Hey, I didn't see you there," he mumbled. "I guess I'll see you around, Bella." He
stepped back, waving halfheartedly.

I smiled. "Yeah, I'll see you later."
"Sorry," he said again before he turned for the door.
Edward's arms wound around me as the next song started. It was a little up-tempo for
slow dancing, but that didn't seem to concern him. I leaned my head against his chest,
content.
"Feeling better?" I teased.
"Not really," he said tersely.
"Don't be mad at Billy," I sighed. "He just worries about me for Charlie's sake. It's
nothing personal."
"I'm not mad at Billy," he corrected in a clipped voice. "But his son is irritating me."
I pulled back to look at him. His face was very serious.
"Why?"
"First of all, he made me break my promise."
I stared at him in confusion.
He half-smiled. "I promised I wouldn't let go of you tonight," he explained.
"Oh. Well, I forgive you."
"Thanks. But there's something else." Edward frowned.
I waited patiently.

"He called you pretty," he finally continued, his frown deepening. "That's practically an
insult, the way you look right now. You're much more than beautiful."
I laughed. "You might be a little biased."
"I don't think that's it. Besides, I have excellent eyesight."
We were twirling again, my feet on his as he held me close.
"So are you going to explain the reason for all of this?" I wondered.
He looked down at me, confused, and I glared meaningfully at the crepe paper.
He considered for a moment, and then changed direction, spinning me through the

crowd to the back door of the gym. I caught a glimpse of Jessica and Mike dancing,
staring at me curiously. Jessica waved, and I smiled back quickly. Angela was there, too,
looking blissfully happy in the arms of little Ben Cheney; she didn't look up from his
eyes, a head lower than hers. Lee and Samantha, Lauren, glaring toward us, with Conner;
I could name every face that spiraled past me. And then we were outdoors, in the cool,

dim light of a fading sunset.
As soon as we were alone, he swung me up into his arms, and carried me across the
dark grounds till he reached the bench beneath the shadow of the madrone trees. He sat
there, keeping me cradled against his chest. The moon was already up, visible through the
gauzy clouds, and his face glowed pale in the white light. His mouth was hard, his eyes
troubled.
"The point?" I prompted softly.
He ignored me, staring up at the moon.
"Twilight, again," he murmured. "Another ending. No matter how perfect the day is, it
always has to end."
"Some things don't have to end," I muttered through my teeth, instantly tense.
He sighed.
"I brought you to the prom," he said slowly, finally answering my question, "because I
don't want you to miss anything. I don't want my presence to take anything away from
you, if I can help it. I want you to be human. I want your life

to continue as it would have
if I'd died in nineteen-eighteen like I should have."
I shuddered at his words, and then shook my head angrily. "In what strange parallel
dimension would I ever have gone to prom of my own free will? If you weren't a
thousand times stronger than me, I would never have let you get away with this."
He smiled briefly, but it didn't touch his eyes. "It wasn't so bad, you said so yourself."
"That's because I was with you."
We were quiet for a minute; he stared at the moon and I stared at him. I wished there
was some way to explain how very uninterested I was in a normal human life.
"Will you tell me something?" he asked, glancing down at me with a slight smile.
"Don't I always?"
"Just promise you'll tell me," he insisted, grinning.
I knew I was going to regret this almost instantly. "Fine."
"You seemed honestly surprised when you figured out that I was taking you here," he
began.

"I was," I interjected.
"Exactly," he agreed. "But you must have had some other theory... I'm curious -- what
did you think I was dressing you up for?"
Yes, instant regret. I pursed my lips, hesitating. "I don't want to tell you."
"You promised," he objected.
"I know."
"What's the problem?"
I knew he thought it was mere embarrassment holding me back. "I think it will make
you mad -- or sad."
His brows pulled together over his eyes as he thought that through. "I still want to
know. Please?"
I sighed. He waited.
"Well... I assumed it was some kind of... occasion. But I didn't think it would be some
trite human thing... prom!" I scoffed.
"Human?" he asked flatly. He'd picked up on the key word.
I looked down at my dress, fidgeting with a stray piece of chiffon. He waited in silence.
"Okay," I confessed in a rush. "So I was hoping that you might

have changed your
mind... that you were going to change me, after all."
A dozen emotions played across his face. Some I recognized: anger... pain... and then
he seemed to collect himself and his expression became amused.
"You thought that would be a black tie occasion, did you?" he teased, touching the lapel
of his tuxedo jacket.
I scowled to hide my embarrassment. "I don't know how these things work. To me, at
least, it seems more rational than prom does." He was still grinning. "It's not funny," I
said.
"No, you're right, it's not," he agreed, his smile fading. "I'd rather treat it like a joke,
though, than believe you're serious."
"But I am serious."
He sighed deeply. "I know. And you're really that willing?"
The pain was back in his eyes. I bit my lip and nodded.
"So ready for this to be the end," he murmured, almost to himself, "for this to be the
twilight of your life, though your life has barely started. You're ready to give up

everything."
"It's not the end, it's the beginning," I disagreed under my breath.
"I'm not worth it," he said sadly.
"Do you remember when you told me that I didn't see myself very clearly?" I asked,
raising my eyebrows. "You obviously have the same blindness."
"I know what I am."
I sighed.
But his mercurial mood shifted on me. He pursed his lips, and his eyes were probing.
He examined my face for a long moment.
"You're ready now, then?" he asked.
"Um." I gulped. "Yes?"
He smiled, and inclined his head slowly until his cold lips brushed against the skin just
under the corner of my jaw.
"Right now?" he whispered, his breath blowing cool on my neck. I shivered
involuntarily.
"Yes," I whispered, so my voice wouldn't have a chance to break. If he thought I was
bluffing, he was going to be disappointed. I'd already made this

decision, and I was sure.
It didn't matter that my body was rigid as a plank, my hands balled into fists, my
breathing erratic...
He chuckled darkly, and leaned away. His face did look disappointed.
"You can't really believe that I would give in so easily," he said with a sour edge to his
mocking tone.
"A girl can dream."
His eyebrows rose. "Is that what you dream about? Being a monster?"
"Not exactly," I said, frowning at his word choice. Monster, indeed. "Mostly I dream
about being with you forever."
His expression changed, softened and saddened by the subtle ache in my voice.
"Bella." His fingers lightly traced the shape of my lips. "I will stay with you -- isn't that
enough?"
I smiled under his fingertips. "Enough for now."
He frowned at my tenacity. No one was going to surrender tonight. He exhaled, and the

decision, and I was sure.
It didn't matter that my body was rigid as a plank, my hands balled into fists, my
breathing erratic...
He chuckled darkly, and leaned away. His face did look disappointed.
"You can't really believe that I would give in so easily," he said with a sour edge to his
mocking tone.
"A girl can dream."
His eyebrows rose. "Is that what you dream about? Being a monster?"
"Not exactly," I said, frowning at his word choice. Monster, indeed. "Mostly I dream
about being with you forever."
His expression changed, softened and saddened by the subtle ache in my voice.
"Bella." His fingers lightly traced the shape of my lips. "I will stay with you -- isn't that
enough?"
I smiled under his fingertips. "Enough for now."
He frowned at my tenacity. No one was going to surrender tonight. He exhaled, and the

sound was practically a growl.
I touched his face. "Look," I said. "I love you more than everything else in the world
combined. Isn't that enough?"
"Yes, it is enough," he answered, smiling. "Enough for forever."
And he leaned down to press his cold lips once more to my throat.

5. NGATINI

"Lord of Scoundrels," by Loretta Chase

The Chick: Jessica Trent. While she's managed to maintain a nice income for herself through the acquisition and sale of antiques, her so-stupid-he-rides-the-short-bus brother is beggaring the rest of the family funds by hanging out with the disreputable Marquess of Dain. Jessica figures it's up to her to fish her brother out.
The Rub: Every voice in her head tells her that the Marquess of Dain is a nasty, nasty boy - but the voice coming from elsewhere on her person thinks he's nasty in all the right ways.
Dream Casting: Morena Baccarin.

The Dude: Sebastian Leslie Guy de Ath Ballister, Marquess of Dain. Big, dark, and mean, he's made a name for himself by being the Biggest, Darkest, Meanest person around. While he's attracted to Jessica Trent, he has no idea why - she's too smart, sharp, and domineering for his tastes, which tend towards the voluptuous, vapid, and paid for. Plus, she's a lady, and that means she must be working some kind of angle - those sneaky, wiley womens always are.
The Rub: He has serious mommy issues which lead him to distrust all women - especially ones who seem to be attracted to him, because that's just impossible - he's a Big Dark Mean Machine! With a beaky nose! How is that possible?
Dream Casting: Richard Armitage.

The Plot:
Jessica: You leave my gullible, slightly challenged brother alone, you Scoundrel! *secretly attracted*

Dain: Shut up and get back in the kitchen, woman! *secretly horny*

Dain and Jessica: *public grope* *caught!*

General Public: You've got to marry her!

Dain: Oh no I don't.

Jessica: Oh yes you do. *shoots him*

Dain's Friends: Damn, the bitch is a gangsta!

Dain and Jessica: *married*

Jessica: I love you, but you're so immature!

Dain: I love you, but you have ovaries, so naturally you must be some kind of lying, deceitful skank running a con on me!

Jessica: You know, things would go a lot easier if you just obeyed me.

Dain: Yeah, right. *adopts son* *stops being a whiner* *forgives mummy* I stand corrected!

Jessica: Hooray!

Romance Convention Checklist:
1 Case of Mommy-Issues-Inspired Misogyny
1 Shotgun (er, I mean Dueling Pistol) Wedding

1 Secret Love Child

2 Very Bad Parents

1 Not Quite So Bad But Still Fairly Negligent Parent

1 Horny Grandma

2 Sleazy Frenemies

1 Idiot Brother

Several Whores and Tarts of Varying Stages of Cleanliness

1 Falsely Crippled Limb

The Word: As I was discussing with Anonymous Commenter my review for Scandalous By Night, AC mentioned how dark, cruel, and even vengeful heroes could be enjoyed if written well (the point being that, as in SbN's case, Everod, being poorly-written, came off as an Asshole of Epic Proportions). That never became more clear to me when I finally buckled down and read Loretta Chase's Lord of Scoundrels.

This book has had the living daylights hyped out of it - it's considered by many to be Chase's masterpiece, and one of the historical romance genre's timeless gems. I enjoyed myself thoroughly while reading it - but once I was outlining what to put in my review, I thought - "Wait, doesn't this book essentially have the same plot as Celeste Bradley's The Duke Next Door, a book I despised as being contrived and cheesy?"

Here, I finally get to show a good example of how excellent writing can elevate a familiar idea into classic territory. Let's compare Scoundrels with Duke. Both books have a hero who is considered a Beast, who invokes terror in the populace, particularly with the feminine set. Both heroes mistrust women, particularly pretty women, thanks to their tarnished pasts. Both novels involve a marriage settled through unconventional means, in which husband and wife devote themselves to fighting each other for the upper hand. Both heroes even have demonically unruly children they sired upon women they hated, that they want nothing to do with, until the heroines instill in them the responsibilities of fatherhood. And yet, I loved Lord of Scoundrels! How is that possible?

Let's buckle down to Lord of Scoundrels' particulars, shall we? Jessica Trent, our heroine, arrives in Paris to dig her Ralph-Wiggum-esque brother Bertie out of the financial pit he's landed himself in by cavorting with dastardly fellows led by the Marquess of Dain. Bertie introduces Dain to Jessica in an antiques shop, and sparks fly immediately - Dain, in particular, is so inexplicably attracted to Jessica that she's able to buy a grimy portrait out from under his nose that turns out to be a pricelessly rare religious icon of the Madonna and Child.

Dain's discovery of this fact sends his Towering Male Ego into overdrive - he's outraged by the fact that a woman managed to get the better of him. Part of him wants the icon just to recover his own pride - while the other part of him wants the Madonna because it reminds him of his Unresolved Mommy Issues (although, really, his mother was no Virgin Mary and his only similarity to Jesus is that he hangs out with a bunch of whores). He demands that Jessica sell him the icon - Jessica refuses, but offers to give him the icon for free if he severs all ties with Bertie. But Dain is MAN! Big! Strong! Capable! Feared! He does not Barter with Silly Women! Dain's adult male equivalent of a temper tantrum sets in motion a heated battle of the sexes.

Dain is, on paper, an appalling example of a human being. First of all, he hates women. He really hates women. He's a guy who relies exclusively on prostitutes for female entertainment because he suspects that all women are whores and at least the harlots on his lap are upfront about it. Really, he thinks, why waste the time and effort to court some snooty rich bitch when, for a few coins, he can get exactly what he wants, when he wants, without all the fuss and emotional manipulation? They're all the same below the waist, right? His helpless attraction to Jessica frightens and angers him - he despises the idea of being weaker than, subject to, or controlled by a woman, and his increasingly ga-ga feelings for Jessica render him precisely that.

So why was I able to tolerate him? Two main reasons - the first being, Loretta Chase's superb characterization. Chase provides a backstory, as well as the running commentary in Dain's mind, that both explain the very human side to his distrust of women. His mother abandoned him when he was eight, he had a sense of his own ugliness (literally) beaten into him, and he endured several run-ins with women who did try to manipulate him to their own ends. Consequently, he instinctively distrusts women who show him kindness - in his own mind, no woman in her right mind would find him attractive, therefore, any woman who doesn't run screaming in the other direction must be lying in order to further her own agenda.

Dain is a man who thrives on controlling every aspect of his life - which is why he prefers consorting with prostitutes, who are paid to do only what he tells them to with a minimum of backtalk, to real relationships, that pose too many risks. While his life isn't exactly happy, at least it's a type of unhappiness that he's responsible for. The last time he allowed himself to be controlled by a woman, it was his mother, who ran off to the West Indies and left him alone, and in his mind, any other agony is preferable to the soul-searing pain of that experience.

However, sad backstories don't necessarily render a hero palatable (just read To Sin with a Stranger, or better yet, don't). Jessica, our heroine, is the second reason I bought Dain as a romantic hero. She. Does. Not. Take. Shit. From ANYONE. Unlike The Duke Next Door's Deirdre, who struck me as a spoiled child throwing a temper tantrum because Hubby Dearest wouldn't buy her sparklies anymore, Jessica never comes off as less than Dain's equal, in both intellect and attitude. She and Dain throw themselves into some epic battles with each other, but even though she's, like, two feet shorter and a hundred pounds lighter, she always manages to hold her own.

Part of my enjoyment of the book came from reading of the lengths to which Jessica goes to stay on top. Dain's manoeuvres are straight out of the Alpha Male handbook (#1: Give direct order. #2: Act befuddled when woman inexplicably defies direct order...), but Jessica finds some really hilarious ways of obtaining the upper hand. One of my favourite scenes with Jessica comes right after she and Dain are caught canoodling by a bunch of giggling French aristocrats. Dain immediately jumps to the conclusion that Jessica engineered her compromisation on purpose to snare him (to be fair - this had happened to him before), and promptly abandons her to re-fasten her bodice and witness the destruction of her reputation by herself.

Jessica's revenge? She hunts him down, shoots the motherfucker with a pistol at close range, and then hires a lawyer to sue his ass! Hot DAMN! But she doesn't only retaliate - a lot of the romance springs from Jessica's pitbull-like tenacity to hold on to her relationship with Dain, no matter how many times he tries to drive her away or assume the worst about her or wield his authority. And slowly, Dain cracks - he's spent his life assuming women are conniving, deceitful, and manipulative, and are only bound to use him and lose him just like his slutty ol' mom did. And here is Jessica, who defies him, nags him, seduces him, drives him absolutely crazy - but doesn't leave him. Who never leaves him or betrays him. She never pulls any eleventh-hour bullshit like hiding a secret from him or running off in a huff to give the book an extra climax. And he surrenders, slowly, so slowly, by delicious-to-read inches.

That being said, Jessica isn't perfect - there's one scene where Dain becomes upset on seeing his mother's portrait and she starts preaching that his mother was just a misunderstood, abused child, and I thought Jessica came off as really thoughtless and inappropriate. She's a confident character who, having babysat a lot of male cousins, thinks she knows all men, and there are times when she overgeneralizes Dain and has to find out the hard way that, hey, he has facets and quirks.

But that's why I loved Lord of Scoundrels. We have a hero and heroine who are both intelligent but human, whose flaws are realistically motivated. When they duke it out, they don't fight because of a hatred for or a desire to hurt the other, but more to protect the emotional territory they've won because they're both afraid of surrendering everything. Both characters begin the book as controlling, dominant characters who have everything in their lives numbered, catalogued and organized - and as they fight to keep their independence and control, they eventually reach their HEA by surrendering - both of them. Even Jessica learns that sometimes she has to go with the flow and fly under the radar to turn Dain around to her way of thinking - that not everything has to be a bare-knuckle brawl, and she can't keep Dain on a leash and train him.

Even with this positive review, my first grade for the book was going to be a B+. Why only that? Well, when you read romance, sometimes you have an emotional grade and a practical grade. Practically, this book was an A because it was well-written and realistically motivated and had great characters and was well-paced. But emotionally, it didn't give me as much of the Warm Fuzzies as other A grade books have. But, well, reading this review and going over some of the scenes reminded me of some of the Warm Fuzzy moments I must have missed. Most of these involve Dain - he's such a rock-hard, take-no-prisoners character that his rare moments when he's complete emotional jello in Jessica's hand are that muc

6. WAHYU SURYANTI

Author                        : Dee (Dewi Lestari)
Publisher                    : Landscape Library / Truedee
First of issue               : 2010
Number of Pages       : 444

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Paper Boats novel begins with the story of a young boy named Keenan. He is a teenager who has just completed his high school in the Netherlands, specifically in Amsterdam. Keenan settled in the country for almost 6 years, with his grandmother. Keenan was born with the dream of being a painter. However, he was forced to return to Indonesia by his father. His family does not support Keenan became a painter. He eventually begin classes at one university in Bandung. He relented and decided to study at the Faculty of Economics.

Another central figure is a tiny woman named Kugy. He portrayed the carefree and cheerful personality. In contrast to Keenan who tend to be cold and stiff. Kugy also an eccentric figure who was eccentric. He would be very easy to recognize if there are in the crowd. Kugy fond of fairy tales and classic stories. His childhood dreams of becoming a fairy tale writer. He has a collection of fairy tale books, a designer wants penjadi dongen no storyteller. But amid the raging of his dreams, forcing him aware of the fact that the author is not a profession that many dongen generating material. Kugy forced to keep her dream was for the sake of a rationality realism. However, this figure does not Kugy broke. She loves the world of writing. This makes he continued his education at the Faculty of Letters at one university in Bandung. Place same course with other figures, Keenan.

The meeting between the two figures can not be separated from the other figures that Noni and Eko. Noni supporting character stories Kugy a close friend. Meanwhile, Eko is a cousin Keenan. The first meeting Kugy and Keenan are moments where Eko and Noni pick Keenan newly arrived in Indonesia.

Over time, even Kugy Keenan friendship with Eko and Noni. Secretly, they admired each other. Kugy were happy telling pass fairytale feel amazed met with Keenan, a person who is able to tell through pictures. They secretly in love in silence. However, the condition requires them to keep silent and guessing. "Silence" was them against each other's feelings increasingly become due Kugy has had a girlfriend named Ojos or Joshua. Meanwhile, Keenan who do not have a partner, going to an arranged marriage with a character named Wanda. Wanda was himself a curator. This makes Eko Noni also excited Keenan candidate held it with paint.

Friendship Kugy, Keenan, Eko and Noni flow. But gradually they drifted apart. Kugy busy with his school in an emergency. He became one of the volunteer teachers. He teaches by way of storytelling. Children who originally nosy at Kugy, turning like a fairy tale adventure thanks entitled "General Pilik and Alit Forces". Kugy tale written in a book. In the future, the fairy tale book he gave to Keenan.

Another with Keenan, he is also busy with his life, including its proximity to Wanda. At first, their relationship is fine. However, some time the relationship becomes complicated and stomping Keenan. He realized that what he was trying to get up, was destroyed in a matter of time overnight. He was sad, crushed and disappointed. Keenan decided to leave the City of London to the city of Bali. In the island, Keenan stayed with Mr. Wayan. Her best friend.

Before leaving, Kugy gave Keenan dongen book "General Pilik and Alit Forces". Keenan took him to Bali. In place of Mr. Wayan, Keenan slowly build his dream alive and back. He lived with a lot of artists and make instincts honed his art in painting. In Bali, Keenan Luhde admire Lakshmi, nephew of Mr. Wayan. In the end, after some time, one of Keenan became a painter whose work is hunted. He created a series of paintings which favored collectors. The story is a fairy tale before Kugy provide.

Meanwhile, after the lecture Kugy back to Jakarta and become a Copywriter. He was then in a relationship with his boss who is also a dear brother. He and Remi relationship secretly Kugy although still often recalled Keenan. Until such time, Kugy again met with Keenan who was forced to leave Bali because his father suffered a stroke. Keenan must continue his father's company. Kugy meetings and Keenan in different conditions makes them no longer able to hold each other's feelings. Conflict begins from here.

In general, this love story Dee packed with simple but full of meaning. This story about the quest of love that is allowed to flow to kebali comes down like a paper boat. Through Kugy and Keenan, Dee presents the usual love story but in. The selection of words and tactical flow makes the story in the novel Paper Boats is interesting to read. Although the theme is very light, but the signature is the same pain dee in luring with a heavy-themed books belonging to other dee.

Extensive Reading for English Education Study Program

Thursday, July 3, 2014

ROMANTIC NOVEL BY C.4.1

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