初中英语听力：《暮光之城》系列有声读物在线听，附听力内容：

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　　It was hard to decide

　　who was the most beautiful — maybe the perfect blond girl, or the

　　bronze-haired boy.

　　They were all looking away — away from each other, away from the other

　　

　　students, away from anything in particular as far as I could tell. As I

　　watched, the small girl rose with her tray — unopened soda, unbitten

　　apple — and walked away with a quick, graceful lope that belonged on a

　　runway. I watched, amazed at her lithe dancer's step, till she dumped her

　　tray and glided through the back door, faster than I would have thought

　　possible. My eyes darted back to the others, who sat unchanging.

　　"Who are they?" I asked the girl from my Spanish class, whose name I'd

　　forgotten.

　　As she looked up to see who I meant — though already knowing, probably,

　　from my tone — suddenly he looked at her, the thinner one, the boyish

　　one, the youngest, perhaps. He looked at my neighbor for just a fraction

　　of a second, and then his dark eyes flickered to mine.

　　He looked away quickly, more quickly than I could, though in a flush of

　　embarrassment I dropped my eyes at once. In that brief flash of a glance,

　　his face held nothing of interest — it was as if she had called his name,

　　and he'd looked up in involuntary response, already having decided not to

　　answer.

　　My neighbor giggled in embarrassment, looking at the table like I did.

　　"That's Edward and Emmett Cullen, and Rosalie and Jasper Hale. The one

　　who left was Alice Cullen; they all live together with Dr. Cullen and his

　　wife." She said this under her breath.

　　I glanced sideways at the beautiful boy, who was looking at his tray now,

　　picking a bagel to pieces with long, pale fingers. His mouth was moving

　　very quickly, his perfect lips barely opening. The other three still

　　looked away, and yet I felt he was speaking quietly to them.

　　Strange, unpopular names, I thought. The kinds of names grandparents had.

　　But maybe that was in vogue here — small town names? I finally remembered

　　that my neighbor was called Jessica, a perfectly common name. There were

　　two girls named Jessica in my History class back home.

　　"They are… very nice-looking." I struggled with the conspicuous

　　understatement.

　　"Yes!" Jessica agreed with another giggle. "They're all together though —

　　Emmett and Rosalie, and Jasper and Alice, I mean. And they live

　　together." Her voice held all the shock and condemnation of the small

　　town, I thought critically. But, if I was being honest, I had to admit

　　that even in Phoenix, it would cause gossip.

　　"Which ones are the Cullens?" I asked. "They don't look related…"

　　"Oh, they're not. Dr. Cullen is really young, in his twenties or early

　　thirties. They're all adopted. The Hales are brother and sister, twins —

　　the blondes — and they're foster children."

　　"They look a little old for foster children."

　　"They are now, Jasper and Rosalie are both eighteen, but they've been

　　with Mrs. Cullen since they were eight. She's their aunt or something

　　like that."

　　"That's really kind of nice — for them to take care of all those kids

　　like that, when they're so young and everything."

　　"I guess so," Jessica admitted reluctantly, and I got the impression that

　　she didn't like the doctor and his wife for some reason. With the glances

　　she was throwing at their adopted children, I would presume the reason

　　was jealousy. "I think that Mrs. Cullen can't have any kids, though," she

　　added, as if that lessened their kindness.

　　Throughout all this conversation, my eyes flickered again and again to

　　the table where the strange family sat. They continued to look at the

　　walls and not eat.

　　"Have they always lived in Forks?" I asked. Surely I would have noticed

　　

　　them on one of my summers here.

　　"No," she said in a voice that implied it should be obvious, even to a

　　new arrival like me. "They just moved down two years ago from somewhere

　　in Alaska."

　　I felt a surge of pity, and relief. Pity because, as beautiful as they

　　were, they were outsiders, clearly not accepted. Relief that I wasn't the

　　only newcomer here, and certainly not the most interesting by any

　　standard.

　　As I examined them, the youngest, one of the Cullens, looked up and met

　　my gaze, this time with evident curiosity in his expression. As I looked

　　swiftly away, it seemed to me that his glance held some kind of unmet

　　expectation.

　　"Which one is the boy with the reddish brown hair?" I asked. I peeked at

　　him from the corner of my eye, and he was still staring at me, but not

　　gawking like the other students had today — he had a slightly frustrated

　　expression. I looked down again.

　　"That's Edward. He's gorgeous, of course, but don't waste your time. He

　　doesn't date. Apparently none of the girls here are good-looking enough

　　for him." She sniffed, a clear case of sour grapes. I wondered when he'd

　　turned her down.

　　I bit my lip to hide my smile. Then I glanced at him again. His face was

　　turned away, but I thought his cheek appeared lifted, as if he were

　　smiling, too.

　　After a few more minutes, the four of them left the table together. They

　　all were noticeably graceful — even the big, brawny one. It was

　　unsettling to watch. The one named Edward didn't look at me again.

　　I sat at the table with Jessica and her friends longer than I would have

　　if I'd been sitting alone. I was anxious not to be late for class on my

　　first day. One of my new acquaintances, who considerately reminded me

　　that her name was Angela, had Biology II with me the next hour. We walked

　　to class together in silence. She was shy, too.

　　When we entered the classroom, Angela went to sit at a black-topped lab

　　table exactly like the ones I was used to. She already had a neighbor. In

　　fact, all the tables were filled but one. Next to the center aisle, I

　　recognized Edward Cullen by his unusual hair, sitting next to that single

　　open seat.

　　As I walked down the aisle to introduce myself to the teacher and get my

　　slip signed, I was watching him surreptitiously. Just as I passed, he

　　suddenly went rigid in his seat. He stared at me again, meeting my eyes

　　with the strangest expression on his face — it was hostile, furious. I

　　looked away quickly, shocked, going red again. I stumbled over a book in

　　the walkway and had to catch myself on the edge of a table. The girl

　　sitting there giggled.

　　I'd noticed that his eyes were black — coal black.

　　Mr. Banner signed my slip and handed me a book with no nonsense about

　　introductions. I could tell we were going to get along. Of course, he had

　　no choice but to send me to the one open seat in the middle of the room.

　　I kept my eyes down as I went to sit by him, bewildered by the

　　antagonistic stare he'd given me.

　　I didn't look up as I set my book on the table and took my seat, but I

　　saw his posture change from the corner of my eye. He was leaning away

　　from me, sitting on the extreme edge of his chair and averting his face

　　like he smelled something bad. Inconspicuously, I sniffed my hair. It

　　smelled like strawberries, the scent of my favorite shampoo. It seemed an

　　innocent enough odor. I let my hair fall over my right shoulder, making a

　　dark curtain between us, and tried to pay attention to the teacher.

　　Unfortunately the lecture was on cellular anatomy, something I'd already

　　studied. I took notes carefully anyway, always looking down.

　　

　　I couldn't stop myself from peeking occasionally through the screen of my

　　hair at the strange boy next to me. During the whole class, he never

　　relaxed his stiff position on the edge of his chair, sitting as far from

　　me as possible. I could see his hand on his left leg was clenched into a

　　fist, tendons standing out under his pale skin. This, too, he never

　　relaxed. He had the long sleeves of his white shirt pushed up to his

　　elbows, and his forearm was surprisingly hard and muscular beneath his

　　light skin. He wasn't nearly as slight as he'd looked next to his burly

　　brother.

　　The class seemed to drag on longer than the others. Was it because the

　　day was finally coming to a close, or because I was waiting for his tight

　　fist to loosen? It never did; he continued to sit so still it looked like

　　he wasn't breathing. What was wrong with him? Was this his normal

　　behavior? I questioned my judgment on Jessica's bitterness at lunch

　　today. Maybe she was not as resentful as I'd thought.

　　It couldn't have anything to do with me. He didn't know me from Eve.

　　I peeked up at him one more time, and regretted it. He was glaring down

　　at me again, his black eyes full of revulsion. As I flinched away from

　　him, shrinking against my chair, the phrase if looks could kill suddenly

　　ran through my mind.

　　At that moment, the bell rang loudly, making me jump, and Edward Cullen

　　was out of his seat. Fluidly he rose — he was much taller than I'd

　　thought — his back to me, and he was out the door before anyone else was

　　out of their seat.

　　I sat frozen in my seat, staring blankly after him. He was so mean. It

　　wasn't fair. I began gathering up my things slowly, trying to block the

　　anger that filled me, for fear my eyes would tear up. For some reason, my

　　temper was hardwired to my tear ducts. I usually cried when I was angry,

　　a humiliating tendency.

　　"Aren't you Isabella Swan?" a male voice asked.

　　I looked up to see a cute, baby-faced boy, his pale blond hair carefully

　　gelled into orderly spikes, smiling at me in a friendly way. He obviously

　　didn't think I smelled bad.

　　"Bella," I corrected him, with a smile.

　　"I'm Mike."

　　"Hi, Mike."

　　"Do you need any help finding your next class?"

　　"I'm headed to the gym, actually. I think I can find it."

　　"That's my next class, too." He seemed thrilled, though it wasn't that

　　big of a coincidence in a school this small.

　　We walked to class together; he was a chatterer — he supplied most of the

　　conversation, which made it easy for me. He'd lived in California till he

　　was ten, so he knew how I felt about the sun. It turned out he was in my

　　English class also. He was the nicest person I'd met today.

　　But as we were entering the gym, he asked, "So, did you stab Edward

　　Cullen with a pencil or what? I've never seen him act like that."

　　I cringed. So I wasn't the only one who had noticed. And, apparently,

　　that wasn't Edward Cullen's usual behavior. I decided to play dumb.

　　"Was that the boy I sat next to in Biology?" I asked artlessly.

　　"Yes," he said. "He looked like he was in pain or something."

　　"I don't know," I responded. "I never spoke to him."

　　

　　"He's a weird guy." Mike lingered by me instead of heading to the

　　dressing room. "If I were lucky enough to sit by you, I would have talked

　　to you."

　　I smiled at him before walking through the girls' locker room door. He

　　was friendly and clearly admiring. But it wasn't enough to ease my

　　irritation.

　　The Gym teacher, Coach Clapp, found me a uniform but didn't make me dress

　　down for today's class. At home, only two years of RE. were required.

　　Here, P.E. was mandatory all four years. Forks was literally my personal

　　hell on Earth.

　　I watched four volleyball games running simultaneously. Remembering how

　　many injuries I had sustained — and inflicted — playing volleyball, I

　　felt faintly nauseated.

　　The final bell rang at last. I walked slowly to the office to return my

　　paperwork. The rain had drifted away, but the wind was strong, and

　　colder. I wrapped my arms around myself.

　　When I walked into the warm office, I almost turned around and walked

　　back out.

　　Edward Cullen stood at the desk in front of me. I recognized again that

　　tousled bronze hair. He didn't appear to notice the sound of my entrance.

　　I stood pressed against the back wall, waiting for the receptionist to be

　　free.

　　He was arguing with her in a low, attractive voice. I quickly picked up

　　the gist of the argument. He was trying to trade from sixth-hour Biology

　　to another time — any other time.

　　I just couldn't believe that this was about me. It had to be something

　　else, something that happened before I entered the Biology room. The look

　　on his face must have been about another aggravation entirely. It was

　　impossible that this stranger could take such a sudden, intense dislike

　　to me.

　　The door opened again, and the cold wind suddenly gusted through the

　　room, rustling the papers on the desk, swirling my hair around my face.

　　The girl who came in merely stepped to the desk, placed a note in the

　　wire basket, and walked out again. But Edward Cullen's back stiffened,

　　and he turned slowly to glare at me — his face was absurdly handsome —

　　with piercing, hate-filled eyes. For an instant, I felt a thrill of

　　genuine fear, raising the hair on my arms. The look only lasted a second,

　　but it chilled me more than the freezing wind. He turned back to the

　　receptionist.

　　"Never mind, then," he said hastily in a voice like velvet. "I can see

　　that it's impossible. Thank you so much for your help." And he turned on

　　his heel without another look at me, and disappeared out the door.

　　I went meekly to the desk, my face white for once instead of red, and

　　handed her the signed slip.

　　"How did your first day go, dear?" the receptionist asked maternally.

　　"Fine," I lied, my voice weak. She didn't look convinced.

　　When I got to the truck, it was almost the last car in the lot. It seemed

　　like a haven, already the closest thing to home I had in this damp green

　　hole. I sat inside for a while, just staring out the windshield blankly.

　　But soon I was cold enough to need the heater, so I turned the key and

　　the engine roared to life. I headed back to Charlie's house, fighting

　　tears the whole way there.

　　===========================================================================

　　2. OPEN BOOK

　　

　　The next day was better… and worse.

　　It was better because it wasn't raining yet, though the clouds were dense

　　and opaque. It was easier because I knew what to expect of my day. Mike

　　came to sit by me in English, and walked me to my next class, with Chess

　　Club Eric glaring at him all the while; that was nattering.