But of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil,

thou shalt not eat of it:

for in the day that thou eatest thereof

thou shalt surely die.

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.

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