天天读书网（www.book.d78i.com）整理　　TWILIGHT　　By:Stephenie Meyer　　==========================================================　　Contents　　PREFACE　　1. FIRST SIGHT　　2. OPEN BOOK　　3. PHENOMENON　　4. INVITATIONS　　5. BLOOD TYPE　　6. SCARY STORIES　　7. NIGHTMARE　　8. PORT ANGELES　　9. THEORY　　10. INTERROGATIONS　　11. COMPLICATIONS　　12. BALANCING　　13. CONFESSIONS　　14. MIND OVER MATTER　　15. THE CULLENS　　16. CARLISLE　　17. THE GAME　　18. THE HUNT　　19. GOODBYES　　20. IMPATIENCE　　21. PHONE CALL　　22. HIDE-AND-SEEK　　23. THE ANGEL　　24. AN IMPASSE　　EPILOGUE: AN OCCASION　　==========================================================　　Text copyright 2005 by Stephenie Meyer　　All rights reserved.　　Little, Brown and Company　　Time Warner Book Group　　1271 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020　　Visit our Web site at m　　First Edition: September 2005　　The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious.　　Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not　　intended by the author.　　Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data　　Meyer, Stephanie, 1973—　　Twilight : a novel / by Stephanie Meyer. — 1st ed.　　Summary: Grade 9 Up–Headstrong, sun-loving, 17-year-old Bella declines her mom's　　invitation to move to Florida, and instead reluctantly opts to move to her dad's cabin in　　the dreary, rainy town of Forks, WA. She becomes intrigued with Edward Cullen, a distant,　　stylish, and disarmingly handsome senior, who is also a vampire. When he reveals that his　　specific clan hunts wildlife instead of humans, Bella deduces that she is safe from his　　blood-sucking instincts and therefore free to fall hopelessly in love with him. The　　feeling is mutual, and the resulting volatile romance smolders as they attempt to hide　　Edward's identity from her family and the rest of the school. Meyer adds an eerie new　　twist to the mismatched, star-crossed lovers theme: predator falls for prey, human falls　　for vampire. This tension strips away any pretense readers may have about the everyday　　teen romance novel, and kissing, touching, and talking take on an entirely new meaning　　when one small mistake could be life-threatening. Bella and Edward's struggle to make　　their relationship work becomes a struggle for survival, especially when vampires from an　　outside clan infiltrate the Cullen territory and head straight for her. As a result, the　　novel's danger-factor skyrockets as the excitement of secret love and hushed affection　　morphs into a terrifying race to stay alive. Realistic, subtle, succinct, and easy to　　follow, Twilight will have readers dying to sink their teeth into it.　　1. Vampires — Fiction.　　2. High schools — Fiction.　　3. Schools — Fiction.　　4. Washington （State） — Fiction.　　Printed in the United States of America　　==========================================================　　For my big sister, Emily,　　without whose enthusiasm this story might still be unfinished.　　===========================================================================　　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.　　Genesis 2:17　　===========================================================================　　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.　　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 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, slung the strap over my shoulder, and　　sucked in a huge breath. I can do this, I lied to myself feebly. No one　　was going to bite me. I finally exhaled and stepped out of the truck.　　I kept my face pulled back into my hood as I walked to the sidewalk,　　crowded with teenagers. My plain black jacket didn't stand out, I noticed　　with relief.　　Once I got around the cafeteria, building three was easy to spot. A large　　black "3" was painted on a white square on the east corner. I felt my　　breathing gradually creeping toward hyperventilation as I approached the　　door. I tried holding my breath as I followed two unisex raincoats　　through the door.　　The classroom was small. The people in front of me stopped just inside　　the door to hang up their coats on a long row of hooks. I copied them.　　They were two girls, one a porcelain-colored blonde, the other also pale,　　with light brown hair. At least my skin wouldn't be a standout here.　　I took the slip up to the teacher, a tall, balding man whose desk had a　　nameplate identifying him as Mr. Mason. He gawked at me when he saw my　　name — not an encouraging response — and of course I flushed tomato red.　　But at least he sent me to an empty desk at the back without introducing　　me to the class. It was harder for my new classmates to stare at me in　　the back, but somehow, they managed. I kept my eyes down on the reading　　list the teacher had given me. It was fairly basic: Bronte, Shakespeare,　　Chaucer, Faulkner. I'd already read everything. That was comforting… and　　boring. I wondered if my mom would send me my folder of old essays, or if　　she would think that was cheating. I went through different arguments　　with her in my head while the teacher droned on.　　When the bell rang, a nasal buzzing sound, a gangly boy with skin　　problems and hair black as an oil slick leaned across the aisle to talk　　to me.　　"You're Isabella Swan, aren't you?" He looked like the overly helpful,　　chess club type.　　"Bella," I corrected. Everyone within a three-seat radius turned to look　　at me.　　"Where's your next class?" he asked.　　I had to check in my bag. "Um, Government, with Jefferson, in building　　six."　　There was nowhere to look without meeting curious eyes.　　"I'm headed toward building four, I could show you the way…" Definitely