"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.