Mr. Banner came to our table then, to see why we weren't working. He looked over our shoulders to glance at the completed lab,and then stared more intently to check the answers.

　　"So, Edward, didn't you think Isabella should get a chance with the microscope?" Mr. Banner asked.

　　"Bella," Edward corrected automatically. "Actually, she identified three of the five."

　　Mr. Banner looked at me now; his expression was skeptical.

　　"Have you done this lab before?" he asked.

　　I smiled sheepishly. "Not with onion root."

　　"Whitefish blastula?"

　　"Yeah."

　　Mr. Banner nodded. "Were you in an advanced placement program in Phoenix?"

　　"Yes."

　　"Well," he said after a moment, "I guess it's good you two are lab partners." He mumbled something else as he walked away. After he left, I began doodling on my notebook again.

　　"It's too bad about the snow, isn't it?" Edward asked. I had the feeling that he was forcing himself to make small talk with me. Paranoia swept over me again. It was like he had heard my conversation with Jessica at lunch and was trying to prove me wrong.

　　"Not really," I answered honestly, instead of pretending to be normal like everyone else. I was still trying to dislodge the stupid feeling of suspicion, and I couldn't concentrate.

　　"You don't like the cold." It wasn't a question.

　　"Or the wet."

　　"Forks must be a difficult place for you to live," he mused.

　　"You have no idea," I muttered darkly.

　　He looked fascinated by what I said, for some reason I couldn't imagine. His face was such a distraction that I tried not to look at it any more than courtesy absolutely demanded.

　　"Why did you come here, then?"

　　No one had asked me that — not straight out like he did, demanding.

　　"It's… complicated."

　　"I think I can keep up," he pressed.

　　I paused for a long moment, and then made the mistake of meeting his gaze. His dark gold eyes confused me, and I answered without thinking.

　　"My mother got remarried," I said.

　　"That doesn't sound so complex," he disagreed, but he was suddenly sympathetic. "When did that happen?"

　　"Last September." My voice sounded sad, even to me.

　　"And you don't like him," Edward surmised, his tone still kind.

　　"No, Phil is fine. Too young, maybe, but nice enough."

　　"Why didn't you stay with them?"

　　I couldn't fathom his interest, but he continued to stare at me with penetrating eyes, as if my dull life's story was somehow vitally important.