Chapter 002
I didn't sleep well.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Edward Cullen's face—that expression of barely controlled revulsion, the white-knuckled grip on the lab table, the way he'd looked at me in the parking lot like I was simultaneously fascinating and horrifying.
By morning, I'd convinced myself I was overreacting. So what if some guy I'd never met had been rude? It wasn't personal. It couldn't be personal. He didn't know me.
"You're quiet this morning," Dad observed over breakfast, his coffee mug leaving rings on the morning paper.
"Just tired. Still adjusting." I pushed scrambled eggs around my plate. "How's your physical therapy going?"
He let me change the subject, and we fell into easy conversation about his exercises and the book he was reading. Normal things. Safe things.
Things that had nothing to do with golden eyes and impossible tension.
The truck's heater barely worked, and I arrived at school with numb fingers and determination. Today would be different. I'd focus on classes, make friends, ignore the Cullens entirely. Easy.
That plan lasted until second period.
I was heading to Government when I spotted them in the hallway—all five Cullens moving through the crowd like a choreographed dance. Students parted around them instinctively, creating a buffer zone that no one seemed to consciously acknowledge. They moved in perfect synchronization, never bumping into anyone, never having to adjust their path.
Edward walked slightly behind the others, his messenger bag slung over one shoulder. He looked... different. Less tense. His jaw wasn't clenched, and his posture seemed almost relaxed.
Then our eyes met.
He froze mid-step. Just for a second—maybe less—but I saw it. That flash of tension, the way his shoulders went rigid. But this time, something else flickered across his face. Confusion, maybe. Or concern?
Alice touched his arm, whispered something, and they kept walking. But Edward's head turned, tracking me even as he moved away.
I ducked into Government, my heart pounding for no reason I could name.
By lunch, I'd noticed three impossible things.
One: None of the Cullens ever ate. They sat at their usual table with trays of food, but I watched carefully. They pushed things around, occasionally lifted forks to their mouths, but I never actually saw any of them swallow. The food on their trays looked untouched when they left.
Two: They never seemed to blink. Or at least, not as often as normal people. I counted once, timing Edward while pretending to listen to Jessica's story about some drama I didn't care about. Thirty seconds. He didn't blink once.
Three: They were all inhumanly beautiful, but it wasn't just symmetry. Their skin had a quality I couldn't quite name—too smooth, too perfect, almost luminous even in the gray cafeteria lighting.
"You're staring again," Angela said quietly, a smile in her voice.
I jerked my attention back to the table, heat flooding my cheeks. "Sorry. I just—they're hard not to notice."
"Tell me about it." Jessica leaned forward, clearly delighted to have an audience. "Last year, Edward was in my Spanish class. He never took notes, never studied, and he aced every test. It's like they're all naturally perfect at everything."
"Do they ever miss school?" I asked, trying to sound casual.
"Sometimes," Mike offered. "Usually when the weather's nice. Dr. Cullen takes them hiking or camping or something. They're really into the outdoors."
Angela gave me a thoughtful look. "Why the sudden interest in the Cullens?"
"No reason. Just curious."
But I couldn't stop watching them. The way Jasper's hand rested protectively on Alice's back. How Emmett threw his head back when he laughed, the gesture too big, too animated, like he was performing laughter rather than genuinely experiencing it. The way Rosalie held herself apart from the others, beautiful and cold as a statue.
And Edward, sitting at the edge of the group, his eyes downcast, that bronze hair falling across his forehead. He looked... sad. Lonely, despite being surrounded by family.
As if sensing my attention, his head lifted. His eyes found mine across the cafeteria with unnerving precision.
I looked away first.
Biology was a minefield of tension.
I'd arrived early, determined to be settled before Edward showed up. Maybe if I was already focused on my notes, already engaged with the material, his presence wouldn't affect me as much.
He walked in thirty seconds before the bell rang.
He moved to our table with that same fluid grace I'd noticed in the hallway, but this time he didn't look like he wanted to bolt. He sat carefully, maintaining a precise distance between us—not close enough to seem friendly, but not so far as to be obvious.
"Hi," I said, because apparently I couldn't help myself.
He looked at me for a long moment. "Hello."
His voice was... not what I expected. Smooth, cultured, with a slight formality that seemed out of place in a high school. And his expression—it wasn't hostile anymore. Just carefully neutral, like he was concentrating very hard on appearing normal.
"I'm Edward," he added, as if I didn't already know.
"Maya."
"I know."
Of course he did. Small town. Everyone knew everyone's business.
Mr. Banner started the lecture, and I tried to focus on cellular respiration. But I was intensely aware of Edward beside me—the way he sat perfectly still, the slight frown of concentration on his face, how he took notes with old-fashioned penmanship that looked like calligraphy.
Twenty minutes into class, I shifted in my seat, and my elbow accidentally brushed his arm.
He flinched back like I'd burned him.
"Sorry," I muttered, pulling my arm close to my body.
"It's fine." But his voice was tight, strained, and that tension was back in his shoulders.
I wanted to scream. Or cry. Or maybe both.
Instead, I focused on my notes and tried to ignore the fact that this beautiful, strange boy seemed to find my very existence painful.
When class ended, Edward stood quickly—but not as quickly as yesterday. He paused, looked at me like he wanted to say something, then seemed to think better of it. He walked away without another word.
Progress, I supposed. At least he'd acknowledged I existed.
The parking lot was chaos after school. Someone's car wouldn't start, and a small crowd had gathered around the vehicle, offering advice and speculation. I was halfway to my truck when I heard it—the high-pitched whine of tires losing traction on wet pavement.
I turned.
A van was sliding across the icy parking lot, its driver's panicked face visible through the windshield. It was moving fast, out of control, heading directly toward—
I didn't have time to move. Didn't have time to scream. The van was going to hit me. I was going to die in a high school parking lot on my second day in Forks.
Something slammed into me from the side.
Not something. Someone.
The world tilted as arms wrapped around me, pulling me down and away. I hit the ground hard, the breath knocked from my lungs. A body covered mine, solid and protective. Metal screamed. Glass shattered. The van's bumper stopped inches from my head, so close I could see the rust on the chrome.
Everything went quiet.
"Are you alright?" The voice was right next to my ear, urgent and strained.
I turned my head and found myself staring into Edward Cullen's golden eyes.
He was lying on top of me, one arm behind my head to cushion it from the pavement, the other pressed against the van's bumper. His hand had left a dent in the metal. A significant dent. Like he'd hit it with a sledgehammer.
"I—yes. I think so." My voice came out shaky.
His eyes searched my face with an intensity that made it hard to breathe for entirely different reasons. "You're certain? You're not hurt?"
"I'm fine. How did you—" I looked around, trying to orient myself. "You were over by your car. I saw you."
Something flashed in his eyes. Fear, maybe. Or regret.
"I was closer than you thought," he said quickly. Too quickly. "Come on. Let's get you up."
He moved with impossible grace, pulling me to my feet before I could fully process what had happened. His hand on my arm was cold—not cool, but genuinely cold, like he'd been standing outside without a jacket for hours.
Students were rushing over, shouting questions. The van driver was crying, apologizing profusely. Angela appeared at my side, her face pale with shock.
"Maya! Are you okay? That van—"
"I'm fine. Edward got me out of the way." I looked at him, but he was already backing away, his expression carefully blank.
"I should go," he said. "Make sure she sees the nurse."
"Wait—" I started, but he was gone, moving through the crowd with that same fluid grace I'd noticed before.
I stood there, shaking with adrenaline, my mind racing. The van driver hadn't been anywhere near me. I'd seen him by his car, at least twenty feet away. There was no way he could have reached me that fast. No human could move that fast.
And that dent in the van's bumper—I'd felt him stop the van's momentum with one hand like it weighed nothing.
"You're lucky Edward has such good reflexes," Mike said, appearing with several other students. "That could have been really bad."
"Yeah," I said faintly. "Lucky."
But luck had nothing to do with it. Edward Cullen had done something impossible. Something that defied physics and logic and every rational explanation my brain could construct.
I looked toward the Cullens' Mercedes. Edward stood beside it, talking urgently with Alice. Even from this distance, I could see the tension in his posture, the way he kept glancing back at me. Alice touched his arm, shaking her head at something he said.
Our eyes met across the parking lot for the second time that day.
This time, there was no confusion in his expression. Only resignation.
He knew that I knew. Something was wrong. Something was different.
And there was no explaining this away.
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