Tuesday dawned with a mist so thick the forest seemed to have crept several yards closer to the house overnight. Bella insisted on driving the Chevy; she was determined to tame the "metal beast," even if the engine roared with a fury that made her cower behind the wheel.
When we parked at the school, the atmosphere felt different. The "novelty effect" of the Swan twins had faded a bit for the rest of the humans, but for me, the air remained charged with that peculiar static emanating from the corner where the silver Volvo sat like a predator at rest.
"Survive," I told Bella as we got out. She was clutching her backpack like a shield. "And please, watch where you step. The asphalt has a toxic romance with your feet, and I'd rather not have to scrape you off the ground before first period."
"I'll do my best, Mael," she muttered, casting a nervous glance toward the entrance of the science building, likely searching for—or avoiding—Edward.
We split up. She headed into her labyrinth of hallways, and I headed into mine.
Unlike Bella, who walked as if crossing an emotional minefield, I focused on my own itinerary. Tuesday was, for me, an exercise in refinement.
In my classes, I dedicated myself to being a data processor. History, Trigonometry, Literature... everything passed through my filter of indifference. I took mechanical notes while my mind continued working on the composition of shadows from my drawings the night before. My "Disinterest" was at its peak; people passed by me, avoiding me out of pure instinct, and I relished the anonymity that allowed me to study the environment without interruption.
At lunch, I returned to my routine. Tray, simple food, strategic corner. Bella was again with Mike's group, but I stayed on the periphery of their conversation, using the background noise as a soundtrack for my notebook.
The Cullens had become my aesthetic obsession. Not because I liked or disliked them (I didn't even know them), but because they were the most fascinating models I had ever had.
I pulled out my notebook and, while pretending to eat, began to detail the sketch of Alice. Today I drew her in the margin of my Literature book, but this time with more technical detail: the way her neck joined her shoulders with a gravity-defying elegance. She still looked like a pixie, but a pixie hiding a core of steel behind her glass-like appearance.
Then, my eyes traveled to Rosalie. She sat as if the rest of the cafeteria were a cheap movie projection and she were the only real spectator. I added more frost to her mental portrait. She was the personification of absolute zero: beautiful, but thermally impossible.
What struck me most was that, although the copper-haired boy (Edward) was not in the cafeteria today, the rest of the siblings seemed more alert. Jasper still wore that expression of a veteran of a thousand wars, but every time I passed near or looked at him, his jaw tightened a little more.
"They are like a living still life," I thought as I shaded Jasper's cheekbones. "Perfect, static, and dangerously silent."
I felt good. While Bella worried about Edward's hateful glares or Mike's invitations, I felt strangely light. I had accepted that this town was a gray canvas and the Cullens were the only interesting splashes of color on it.
When classes ended, I headed to the parking lot. Bella was already there, waiting for me by the Chevy. She looked less relieved than yesterday; she had that look of someone who had spent the day searching for something they didn't want to find.
"Everything okay?" I asked, opening the passenger door.
"Edward didn't come to class," she said, with a mixture of relief and disappointment. "His seat was empty."
"Better for you," I replied simply, climbing into the truck. "Less drama, more room to breathe. Besides, that gives me more time to finish his portrait without him noticing I'm dissecting him."
I started the engine, and the metallic roar enveloped us once more. As we pulled out of the parking lot, I couldn't help but take one last look at where they usually stood. Even with one missing, the presence of the others remained, marking a territory that, in some strange way, I was beginning to feel tempted to explore... through my drawings, of course.
The rest of the week passed like a fever dream of gray and graphite. By Wednesday, I was already moving through the halls of Forks High School like a ghost refusing to acknowledge he was dead. My indifference had become high-caliber armor. While Bella suffered through Edward's absence or the relentless rain, I dedicated myself to collecting textures: the emerald moss devouring the stone walls, the mist tangled in the fir trees like dirty cotton, and the faces of my classmates.
Because I didn't just draw the Cullens. The high school was a fascinating zoo if you knew how to look.
I drew Mike Newton as a golden retriever in a football uniform, always panting and looking for an invisible ball. I drew the teachers as tired gargoyles holding up the building's roof with their hunched shoulders. However, my status as the "mysterious new kid" began to take its toll. We had both become famous: Bella for being the object of desire for half the boys on the basketball team, and I for being the "tortured artist" who spoke to no one.
I fell victim to the relentless harassment of Jessica Stanley. She wasn't looking for a connection; she was looking to decode me so she could talk about it later. She appeared in my field of vision constantly, tossing questions like darts: "What are you drawing?", "Why are you so quiet?", "Is it true that in Phoenix artists live in communes?". I responded with monosyllables, keeping my eyes on the paper until she became white noise—static interference that my brain simply filtered out.
On Friday, Art class was the last of the day. The classroom was permeated with that heavenly scent of oil paint, turpentine, and clay dust. I settled into my corner, that small fiefdom of shadows where the world left me in peace. I had my notebook open to a double page, working on what I considered my "Great Work" of the week: The Cafeteria of the Immortals.
It was a detailed drawing of the Cullens' table, but through my distorted, artistic lens. I had used colored pencils to highlight certain details against the graphite background:
Alice was in the center right, her pixie wings almost transparent, painted with a soft electric blue that seemed to vibrate.
Emmett had honey-colored hues in his bear-like fur.
Rosalie is in the center left, shone with a titanium white so pure it felt cold to the touch.
Jasper was wrapped in tatters of blood-red bleeding from his armor, representing the pain he absorbed.
And in the center of alice and rosalie, Edward, the aristocrat of the void, with eyes of a burnt gold—the only thing that stood out on his pale face.
I was so absorbed, applying a layer of deep violet to accentuate the shadows under Edward's eyes, that my "void radar" failed. My social battery was at zero; my concentration was at a hundred percent. I didn't hear the light footstep, nor did I feel the shift in the air.
"It's... a fascinating interpretation."
The voice was like the chiming of crystal bells. Soft, musical, and dangerously close.
I froze. I didn't close the notebook out of pure pride, but my hand stopped with the pencil suspended in mid-air. I turned my head slowly. Alice Cullen was standing right behind my shoulder, so close I could see the inhuman perfection of her skin, even more detailed than in my drawings. Her golden eyes were fixed on the page, jumping from her own portrait to those of her siblings with bright curiosity.
"You've drawn me with wings," she remarked, tilting her head with that bird-like movement I already recognized. "And Emmett..." she let out a silvery giggle, a sound that cut through the silence of the classroom like a diamond, "...he's going to love the bear thing. He always says he's hungry for something sweet."
I recovered from the shock and closed the notebook with deliberate slowness, though it was already too late. The secret was out.
"It's just a way of organizing the visual chaos," I replied, maintaining my bored tone, even though my heart was beating a bit faster than usual. "You don't fit into this town's color palette. My brain needs to give you a shape that makes sense."
Alice didn't move away. On the contrary, she leaned in closer, her large eyes fixed on mine. There was no malice in her, just a kind of recognition, as if she were seeing someone who spoke her own language, albeit in a different dialect.
"You've captured us better than any photograph, Mael Swan," she said, and it was the first time someone in that school had pronounced my name and made me feel like they were actually calling me, and not the shadow I projected. "Jasper says being near you is like walking into a soundproof room. He likes it. I do too."
She straightened up, regaining that graceful pixie posture, and before I could process what she had just said about Jasper and the "sound," she gave me a smile that would have made any other boy in the school faint.
"Keep drawing," she added as she moved toward her own seat. "But be careful with Edward. He doesn't like having his soul read before he can read yours."
She left, leaving me there with the notebook in my hands and a strange sensation in my chest. For the first time in my life, someone had crossed the line of my anonymity and I hadn't felt invaded. I felt... seen.
I looked at my drawing again. The ice queen, the warrior, the bear, the pixie, and the aristocrat. Forks was no longer a gray canvas. It was a gallery, and I had just received a visit from one of the artworks.
The final bell on Friday wasn't just the announcement of the weekend; for me, it was the signal that I could return to my bubble of absolute silence. I left the Art building with my notebook tucked safely in my backpack, still feeling the echo of Alice's voice in my ears.
The Forks sky, true to form, had turned a leaden gray, almost black. The parking lot was submerged in that dying light of four in the afternoon. I walked with my usual rhythm—that swimmer's lightness that seems not to touch the ground—crossing the wet asphalt without looking at anyone.
In the distance, I spotted the red Chevy. Bella was leaning against the passenger door, hugging herself to ward off the cold. She looked small and a bit lost under the fine rain, but as soon as she saw me, her shoulders visibly relaxed.
However, to get to her, I had to pass through the area where the Cullens usually parked.
I felt their gazes before I saw them. They were like invisible spotlights turning on at the same time. As I drew closer, I saw them: they were leaning against their expensive cars, forming a line of geometric perfection. Rosalie, Emmett, Jasper, and Alice. Edward was still absent, leaving a gap in the composition that bothered me from an artistic standpoint.
Emmett was looking at me with a curious smile, probably wondering if the bear drawing was as big as Alice had told him. Jasper was rigid, but his expression was no longer one of agony, but of a strange fascination, as if he were enjoying the "silence" my presence gifted him. Rosalie kept her ice mask on, but her eyes followed me as I walked.
And Alice... Alice gave me a small wave, an almost imperceptible movement that only someone watching closely would notice.
Any other student would have gotten nervous, walked faster, or ducked their head under the scrutiny of the school's "gods."
I did the opposite.
As I passed in front of them, I turned my head just a few degrees. I didn't stop, I didn't smile, I didn't even change the rhythm of my steps. I simply raised two fingers in a dry, apathetic, and indifferent salute. It was an acknowledgment of their existence, nothing more. An artist greeting his models before closing the studio for the weekend.
I felt Emmett let out a stifled laugh behind me, but I didn't turn to check.
I reached the truck and took the keys from Bella in one fluid motion.
"What was that?" she whispered, quickly getting into the cab to escape the cold.
"What was what?" I asked, starting the engine. The Chevy's roar filled the space, breaking the tension in the air.
"You greeted them, Mael. The Cullens! And they... they just stood there staring at you like you were an alien or something."
"Just professional courtesy, Bells," I replied, shifting into reverse. "Alice stopped by my art class. Apparently, anonymity has an expiration date in this town."
Bella stared at me, trying to process that her brother—the antisocial who hated drawing attention—had just exchanged greetings with the most intimidating group in Washington State without his pulse so much as fluttering.
"What did she say to you?" she insisted as we pulled out of the parking lot.
"That she liked my drawings. And that Jasper appreciates the silence."
I didn't tell her about Edward. I didn't tell her that Alice had warned me about him "reading souls." Bella already had enough of her own paranoia without adding my metaphysical theories to it.
"They're weird, Mael," she sighed, resting her head on the seatback. "Really weird."
"Everything beautiful is weird, Bella. Normal things are usually quite boring to draw."
We drove home through the rain, leaving the school and the Cullens behind. For a moment, as the heater began to kick in, I felt at peace. Monday would bring new challenges—likely an Edward Cullen back in his seat and more teenage drama—but for now, I just wanted to get to my room, open my notebook, and add a little more color to Alice's pixie wings.