<Twilight>-Stephenie Meyer-2005-Serializing(连载中) without, into, something, someone, across

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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.

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回复 22# hellow


   

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hurry to get out of the misty wet that swirled around my head and clung to my hair under
my hood.

Inside the truck, it was nice and dry. Either Billy or Charlie had obviously cleaned it up,
but the tan upholstered seats still smelled faintly of tobacco, gasoline, and peppermint.

The engine started quickly, to my relief, but loudly, roaring to life and then idling at top
volume. Well, a truck this old was bound to have a flaw. The antique radio worked, a plus
that I hadn't expected.

Finding the school wasn't difficult, though I'd never been there before. The school was,
like most other things, just off the highway. It was not obvious that it was a school; only
the sign, which declared it to be the Forks High School, made me stop. It looked like a
collection of matching houses, built with maroon-colored bricks. There were so many
trees and shrubs I couldn't see its size at first. Where was the feel of the institution? I
wondered nostalgically. Where were the chain-link fences, the metal detectors?

I parked in front of the first building, which had a small sign over the door reading front
office. No one else was parked there, so I was sure it was off limits, but I decided I would
get directions inside instead of circling around in the rain like an idiot. I stepped
unwillingly out of the toasty truck cab and walked down a little stone path lined with dark
hedges. I took a deep breath before opening the door.

Inside, it was brightly lit, and warmer than I'd hoped. The office was small; a little
waiting area with padded folding chairs, orange-flecked commercial carpet, notices and
awards cluttering the walls, a big clock ticking loudly. Plants grew everywhere in large
plastic pots, as if there wasn't enough greenery outside. The room was cut in half by a
long counter, cluttered with wire baskets full of papers and brightly colored flyers taped
to its front. There were three desks behind the counter, one of which was manned by a
large, red-haired woman wearing glasses. She was wearing a purple t-shirt, which
immediately made me feel overdressed.

The red-haired woman looked up. "Can I help you?"

"I'm Isabella Swan," I informed her, and saw the immediate awareness light her eyes. I
was expected, a topic of gossip no doubt. Daughter of the Chief's flighty ex-wife, come
home at last.

"Of course," she said. She dug through a precariously stacked pile of documents on her
desk till she found the ones she was looking for. "I have your schedule right here, and a
map of the school." She brought several sheets to the counter to show roe.

She went through my classes for me, highlighting the best route to each on the map,
and gave me a slip to have each teacher sign, which I was to bring back at the end of the
day. She smiled at me and hoped, like Charlie, that I would like it here in Forks. I smiled
back as convincingly as I could.

When I went back out to my truck, other students were starting to arrive. I drove around
the school, following the line of traffic. I was glad to see that most of the cars were older
like mine, nothing flashy. At home I'd lived in one of the few lower-income
neighborhoods that were included in the Paradise Valley District. It was a common thing
to see a new Mercedes or Porsche in the student lot. The nicest car here was a shiny
Volvo, and it stood out. Still, I cut the engine as soon as I was in a spot, so that the
thunderous volume wouldn't draw attention to me.

I looked at the map in the truck, trying to memorize it now; hopefully I wouldn't have
to walk around with it stuck in front of my nose all day. I stuffed everything in my bag,

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NOTES：

fade：When light fades, it slowly becomes less bright. When a sound fades, it slowly becomes less loud。&。When a coloured object fades or when the light fades it, it gradually becomes paler.

claustrophobia：[英] [ˌklɔ:strəˈfəʊbi:ə]：If you talk about the claustrophobia of a place or situation, you mean it makes you feel uncomfortable or unhappy because you are enclosed or restricted.

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NOTES:

humiliating:If something is humiliating, it embarrasses you and makes you feel ashamed and stupid.  

translucent: You use translucent to describe something that has a glowing appearance, as if light is passing through it.  

niche:If you carve a niche for yourself, you organize your work to create a secure position.

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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.

I didn't sleep well that night, even after I was done crying. The constant whooshing of
the rain and wind across the roof wouldn't fade into the background. I pulled the faded
old quilt over my head, and later added the pillow, too. But I couldn't fall asleep until
after midnight, when the rain finally settled into a quieter drizzle.

Thick fog was all I could see out my window in the morning, and I could feel the
claustrophobia creeping up on me. You could never see the sky here; it was like a cage.

Breakfast with Charlie was a quiet event. He wished me good luck at school. I thanked
him, knowing his hope was wasted. Good luck tended to avoid me. Charlie left first, off
to the police station that was his wife and family. After he left, I sat at the old square oak
table in one of the three unmatching chairs and examined his small kitchen, with its dark
paneled walls, bright yellow cabinets, and white linoleum floor. Nothing was changed.

My mother had painted the cabinets eighteen years ago in an attempt to bring some
sunshine into the house. Over the small fireplace in the adjoining handkerchief-sized
family room was a row of pictures. First a wedding picture of Charlie and my mom in
Las Vegas, then one of the three of us in the hospital after I was born, taken by a helpful
nurse, followed by the procession of my school pictures up to last year's. Those were
embarrassing to look at — I would have to see what I could do to get Charlie to put them
somewhere else, at least while I was living here.

It was impossible, being in this house, not to realize that Charlie had never gotten over
my mom. It made me uncomfortable.

I didn't want to be too early to school, but I couldn't stay in the house anymore. I
donned my jacket — which had the feel of a biohazard suit — and headed out into the
rain.

It was just drizzling still, not enough to soak me through immediately as I reached for
the house key that was always hidden under the eaves by the door, and locked up. The
sloshing of my new waterproof boots was unnerving. I missed the normal crunch of
gravel as I walked. I couldn't pause and admire my truck again as I wanted; I was in a

簿子酒

omen=predict

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"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

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回复 9# 簿子酒


    I'm the same.

we can find more when reading...

簿子酒

i detested Forks。。。。

簿子酒

exiledadj. 流亡的, 放逐的

簿子酒

Peninsula半岛

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my carry -on item was parka.
我随身带着我的大衣。

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My mother drove me to the airport with the windows rolled down.
我娘开车搭我去机场，期间，我把窗开着。

簿子酒

i finished the preface,it absorded me ~
that ought to count something,
when life offers you a dream so far beyond any of expectations ,it's not resonable to grieve when it comes to an end

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Note:

permeable==if a substance is permeable,something such as water or gas can pass through it or soak into it.

pooled==if a group of people or organizations pool their money,knowledge,or equipment,they share it or put it together so that it can be used for a particular purpose.

scanty==you describe something as scanty when there is less of it than you think there should be.

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    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.

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Note:

omen==you think it indicates what is likely to happen in the future and whether it will be good or bad.

verbose==if you describe a person or a piece of writing as verbose,you are critical of them because they use nore words than are necessary ,and so make you feel bored or annoyed.

awkward==is embarrassing and difficult to deal with.

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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.

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回复 3# kobe


    Bing Go