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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　　People didn't

　　look at me quite as much as they had yesterday. I sat with a big group at

　　lunch that included Mike, Eric, Jessica, and several other people whose

　　names and faces I now remembered. I began to feel like I was treading

　　water, instead of drowning in it.

　　It was worse because I was tired; I still couldn't sleep with the wind

　　echoing around the house. It was worse because Mr. Varner called on me in

　　Trig when my hand wasn't raised and I had the wrong answer. It was

　　miserable because I had to play volleyball, and the one time I didn't

　　cringe out of the way of the ball, I hit my teammate in the head with it.

　　And it was worse because Edward Cullen wasn't in school at all.

　　All morning I was dreading lunch, fearing his bizarre glares. Part of me

　　wanted to confront him and demand to know what his problem was. While I

　　was lying sleepless in my bed, I even imagined what I would say. But I

　　knew myself too well to think I would really have the guts to do it. I

　　made the Cowardly Lion look like the terminator.

　　But when I walked into the cafeteria with Jessica — trying to keep my

　　eyes from sweeping the place for him, and failing entirely — I saw that

　　his four siblings of sorts were sitting together at the same table, and

　　he was not with them.

　　Mike intercepted us and steered us to his table. Jessica seemed elated by

　　the attention, and her friends quickly joined us. But as I tried to

　　listen to their easy chatter, I was terribly uncomfortable, waiting

　　nervously for the moment he would arrive. I hoped that he would simply

　　ignore me when he came, and prove my suspicions false.

　　He didn't come, and as time passed I grew more and more tense.

　　I walked to Biology with more confidence when, by the end of lunch, he

　　still hadn't showed. Mike, who was taking on the qualities of a golden

　　retriever, walked faithfully by my side to class. I held my breath at the

　　door, but Edward Cullen wasn't there, either. I exhaled and went to my

　　seat. Mike followed, talking about an upcoming trip to the beach. He

　　lingered by my desk till the bell rang. Then he smiled at me wistfully

　　and went to sit by a girl with braces and a bad perm. It looked like I

　　was going to have to do something about Mike, and it wouldn't be easy. In

　　a town like this, where everyone lived on top of everyone else, diplomacy

　　was essential. I had never been enormously tactful; I had no practice

　　dealing with overly friendly boys.

　　I was relieved that I had the desk to myself, that Edward was absent. I

　　told myself that repeatedly. But I couldn't get rid of the nagging

　　suspicion that I was the reason he wasn't there. It was ridiculous, and

　　egotistical, to think that I could affect anyone that strongly. It was

　　impossible. And yet I couldn't stop worrying that it was true.

　　When the school day was finally done, and the blush was fading out of my

　　cheeks from the volleyball incident, I changed quickly back into my jeans

　　and navy blue sweater. I hurried from the girls' locker room, pleased to

　　find that I had successfully evaded my retriever friend for the moment. I

　　walked swiftly out to the parking lot. It was crowded now with fleeing

　　students. I got in my truck and dug through my bag to make sure I had

　　what I needed.

　　Last night I'd discovered that Charlie couldn't cook much besides fried

　　eggs and bacon. So I requested that I be assigned kitchen detail for the

　　duration of my stay. He was willing enough to hand over the keys to the

　　banquet hall. I also found out that he had no food in the house. So I had

　　my shopping list and the cash from the jar in the cupboard labeled FOOD

　　

　　MONEY, and I was on my way to the Thriftway.

　　I gunned my deafening engine to life, ignoring the heads that turned in

　　my direction, and backed carefully into a place in the line of cars that

　　were waiting to exit the parking lot. As I waited, trying to pretend that

　　the earsplitting rumble was coming from someone else's car, I saw the two

　　Cullens and the Hale twins getting into their car. It was the shiny new

　　Volvo. Of course. I hadn't noticed their clothes before — I'd been too

　　mesmerized by their faces. Now that I looked, it was obvious that they

　　were all dressed exceptionally well; simply, but in clothes that subtly

　　hinted at designer origins. With their remarkable good looks, the style

　　with which they carried themselves, they could have worn dishrags and

　　pulled it off. It seemed excessive for them to have both looks and money.

　　But as far as I could tell, life worked that way most of the time. It

　　didn't look as if it bought them any acceptance here.

　　No, I didn't fully believe that. The isolation must be their desire; I

　　couldn't imagine any door that wouldn't be opened by that degree of

　　beauty.

　　They looked at my noisy truck as I passed them, just like everyone else.

　　I kept my eyes straight forward and was relieved when I finally was free

　　of the school grounds.

　　The Thriftway was not far from the school, just a few streets south, off

　　the highway. It was nice to be inside the supermarket; it felt normal. I

　　did the shopping at home, and I fell into the pattern of the familiar

　　task gladly. The store was big enough inside that I couldn't hear the

　　tapping of the rain on the roof to remind me where I was.

　　When I got home, I unloaded all the groceries, stuffing them in wherever

　　I could find an open space. I hoped Charlie wouldn't mind. I wrapped

　　potatoes in foil and stuck them in the oven to bake, covered a steak in

　　marinade and balanced it on top of a carton of eggs in the fridge.

　　When I was finished with that, I took my book bag upstairs. Before

　　starting my homework, I changed into a pair of dry sweats, pulled my damp

　　hair up into a pony-tail, and checked my e-mail for the first time. I had

　　three messages.

　　"Bella," my mom wrote…

　　Write me as soon as you get in. Tell me how your flight was. Is it

　　raining? I miss you already. I'm almost finished packing for Florida, but

　　I can't find my pink blouse. Do you know where I put it? Phil says hi.

　　Mom.

　　I sighed and went to the next. It was sent eight hours after the first.

　　"Bella," she wrote…

　　Why haven't you e-mailed me yet? What are you waiting for? Mom.

　　The last was from this morning.

　　Isabella,

　　If I haven't heard from you by 5:30 p.m. today I'm calling Charlie.

　　I checked the clock. I still had an hour, but my mom was well known for

　　

　　jumping the gun.

　　Mom,

　　Calm down. I'm writing right now. Don't do anything rash.

　　Bella.

　　I sent that, and began again.

　　Mom,

　　Everything is great. Of course it's raining. I was waiting for something

　　to write about. School isn't bad, just a little repetitive. I met some

　　nice kids who sit by me at lunch.

　　Your blouse is at the dry cleaners - you were supposed to pick it up

　　Friday.

　　Charlie bought me a truck, can you believe it? I love it. It's old, but

　　really sturdy, which is good, you know, for me.

　　I miss you, too. I'll write again soon, but I'm not going to check my

　　e-mail every five minutes. Relax, breathe. I love you.

　　Bella.

　　I had decided to read Wuthering Heights — the novel we were currently

　　studying in English — yet again for the fun of it, and that's what I was

　　doing when Charlie came home. I'd lost track of the time, and I hurried

　　downstairs to take the potatoes out and put the steak in to broil.

　　"Bella?" my father called out when he heard me on the stairs.

　　Who else? I thought to myself.

　　"Hey, Dad, welcome home."

　　"Thanks." He hung up his gun belt and stepped out of his boots as I

　　bustled about the kitchen. As far as I was aware, he'd never shot the gun

　　on the job. But he kept it ready. When I came here as a child, he would

　　always remove the bullets as soon as he walked in the door. I guess he

　　considered me old enough now not to shoot myself by accident, and not

　　depressed enough to shoot myself on purpose.

　　"What's for dinner?" he asked warily. My mother was an imaginative cook,

　　and her experiments weren't always edible. I was surprised, and sad, that

　　he seemed to remember that far back.

　　"Steak and potatoes," I answered, and he looked relieved.

　　He seemed to feel awkward standing in the kitchen doing nothing; he

　　lumbered into the living room to watch TV while I worked. We were both

　　more comfortable that way. I made a salad while the steaks cooked, and

　　set the table.

　　I called him in when dinner was ready, and he sniffed appreciatively as

　　he walked into the room.

　　"Smells good, Bell."

　　"Thanks."

　　We ate in silence for a few minutes. It wasn't uncomfortable. Neither of

　　

　　us was bothered by the quiet. In some ways, we were well suited for

　　living together.

　　"So, how did you like school? Have you made any friends?" he asked as he

　　was taking seconds.

　　"Well, I have a few classes with a girl named Jessica. I sit with her

　　friends at lunch. And there's this boy, Mike, who's very friendly.

　　Everybody seems pretty nice." With one outstanding exception.

　　"That must be Mike Newton. Nice kid — nice family. His dad owns the

　　sporting goods store just outside of town. He makes a good living off all

　　the backpackers who come through here."

　　"Do you know the Cullen family?" I asked hesitantly.

　　"Dr. Cullen's family? Sure. Dr. Cullen's a great man."

　　"They… the kids… are a little different. They don't seem to fit in very

　　well at school."

　　Charlie surprised me by looking angry.

　　"People in this town," he muttered. "Dr. Cullen is a brilliant surgeon

　　who could probably work in any hospital in the world, make ten times the

　　salary he gets here," he continued, getting louder. "We're lucky to have

　　him — lucky that his wife wanted to live in a small town. He's an asset

　　to the community, and all of those kids are well behaved and polite. I

　　had my doubts, when they first moved in, with all those adopted

　　teenagers. I thought we might have some problems with them. But they're

　　all very mature — I haven't had one speck of trouble from any of them.

　　That's more than I can say for the children of some folks who have lived

　　in this town for generations. And they stick together the way a family

　　should — camping trips every other weekend… Just because they're

　　newcomers, people have to talk."

　　It was the longest speech I'd ever heard Charlie make. He must feel

　　strongly about whatever people were saying.

　　I backpedaled. "They seemed nice enough to me. I just noticed they kept

　　to themselves. They're all very attractive," I added, trying to be more

　　complimentary.

　　"You should see the doctor," Charlie said, laughing. "It's a good thing

　　he's happily married. A lot of the nurses at the hospital have a hard

　　time concentrating on their work with him around."

　　We lapsed back into silence as we finished eating. He cleared the table

　　while I started on the dishes. He went back to the TV, and after I

　　finished washing the dishes by hand — no dishwasher — I went upstairs

　　unwillingly to work on my math homework. I could feel a tradition in the

　　making.

　　That night it was finally quiet. I fell asleep quickly, exhausted.

　　The rest of the week was uneventful. I got used to the routine of my

　　classes. By Friday I was able to recognize, if not name, almost all the

　　students at school. In Gym, the kids on my team learned not to pass me

　　the ball and to step quickly in front of me if the other team tried to

　　take advantage of my weakness. I happily stayed out of their way.

　　Edward Cullen didn't come back to school.

　　Every day, I watched anxiously until the rest of the Cullens entered the

　　cafeteria without him. Then I could relax and join in the lunchtime

　　conversation. Mostly it centered around a trip to the La Push Ocean Park

　　in two weeks that Mike was putting together. I was invited, and I had

　　agreed to go, more out of politeness than desire. Beaches should be hot

　　and dry.

　　By Friday I was perfectly comfortable entering my Biology class, no

　　longer worried that Edward would be there. For all I knew, he had dropped

　　

　　out of school. I tried not to think about him, but I couldn't totally

　　suppress the worry that I was responsible for his continued absence,

　　ridiculous as it seemed.

　　My first weekend in Forks passed without incident. Charlie, unused to

　　spending time in the usually empty house, worked most of the weekend. I

　　cleaned the house, got ahead on my homework, and wrote my mom more

　　bogusly cheerful e-mail. I did drive to the library Saturday, but it was

　　so poorly stocked that I didn't bother to get a card; I would have to

　　make a date to visit Olympia or Seattle soon and find a good bookstore. I

　　wondered idly what kind of gas mileage the truck got… and shuddered at

　　the thought.

　　The rain stayed soft over the weekend, quiet, so I was able to sleep well.

　　People greeted me in the parking lot Monday morning. I didn't know all

　　their names, but I waved back and smiled at everyone. It was colder this

　　morning, but happily not raining. In English, Mike took his accustomed

　　seat by my side. We had a pop quiz on Wuthering Heights. It was

　　straightforward, very easy.

　　All in all, I was feeling a lot more comfortable than I had thought I

　　would feel by this point. More comfortable than I had ever expected to

　　feel here.

　　When we walked out of class, the air was full of swirling bits of white.

　　I could hear people shouting excitedly to each other. The wind bit at my

　　cheeks, my nose.

　　"Wow," Mike said. "It's snowing."

　　I looked at the little cotton fluffs that were building up along the

　　sidewalk and swirling erratically past my face.

　　"Ew." Snow. There went my good day.

　　He looked surprised. "Don't you like snow?"

　　"No. That means it's too cold for rain." Obviously. "Besides, I thought

　　it was supposed to come down in flakes — you know, each one unique and

　　all that. These just look like the ends of Q-tips."

　　"Haven't you ever seen snow fall before?" he asked incredulously.

　　"Sure I have." I paused. "On TV."

　　Mike laughed. And then a big, squishy ball of dripping snow smacked into

　　the back of his head. We both turned to see where it came from. I had my

　　suspicions about Eric, who was walking away, his back toward us — in the

　　wrong direction for his next class. Mike appatently had the same notion.