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           Ibegangatheringupmythingsslowly,tryingtoblocktheangerthatfilledme,forfearmyeyeswouldtearup.Forsomereason,mytemperwashardwiredtomytearducts.IusuallycriedwhenIwasangry,ahumiliatingtendency.

           "Aren’tyouIsabellaSwan?"amalevoiceasked.

           Ilookeduptoseeacute,baby-facedboy,hispaleblondhaircarefullygelledintoorderlyspikes,smilingatmeinafriendlyway.Heobviouslydidn’tthinkIsmelledbad.

           "Bella,"Icorrectedhim,withasmile.

           "I’mMike."

           "Hi,Mike."

           "Doyouneedanyhelpfindingyournextclass?"

           "I’mheadedtothegym,actually.IthinkIcanfindit."

           "That’smynextclass,too."Heseemedthrilled,thoughitwasn’tthatbigofacoincidenceinaschoolthissmall.

           Wewalkedtoclasstogether;hewasachatterer-hesuppliedmostoftheconversation,whichmadeiteasyforme.He’dlivedinCaliforniatillhewasten,soheknewhowIfeltaboutthesun.ItturnedouthewasinmyEnglishclassalso.HewasthenicestpersonI’dmettoday.

           Butaswewereenteringthegym,heasked,"So,didyoustabEdwardCullenwithapencilorwhat?I’veneverseenhimactlikethat."

           Icringed.SoIwasn’ttheonlyonewhohadnoticed.And,apparently,thatwasn’tEdwardCullen’susualbehavior.Idecidedtoplaydumb.

           "WasthattheboyIsatnexttoinBiology?"Iaskedartlessly.

           "Yes,"hesaid."Helookedlikehewasinpainorsomething."

           "Idon’tknow,"Iresponded."Ineverspoketohim."

           "He’saweirdguy."Mikelingeredbymeinsteadofheadingtothedressingroom.