Mr. Banner looked at me now; his expression was skeptical.

"Have you done this lab before?" he asked.

I smiled sheepishly. "Not with onion root."

"Whitefish blastula?"

"Yeah."

Mr. Banner nodded. "Were you in an advanced placement program in Phoenix?"

"Yes."

"Well," he said after a moment, "I guess it's good you two are lab
partners." He mumbled something else as he walked away. After he left, I
began doodling on my notebook again.

"It's too bad about the snow, isn't it?" Edward asked. I had the feeling
that he was forcing himself to make small talk with me. Paranoia swept
over me again. It was like he had heard my conversation with Jessica at
lunch and was trying to prove me wrong.

"Not really," I answered honestly, instead of pretending to be normal
like everyone else. I was still trying to dislodge the stupid feeling of
suspicion, and I couldn't concentrate.

"You don't like the cold." It wasn't a question.

"Or the wet."

"Forks must be a difficult place for you to live," he mused.

"You have no idea," I muttered darkly.

He looked fascinated by what I said, for some reason I couldn't imagine.
His face was such a distraction that I tried not to look at it any more
than courtesy absolutely demanded.

"Why did you come here, then?"

No one had asked me that — not straight out like he did, demanding.

"It's… complicated."

"I think I can keep up," he pressed.

I paused for a long moment, and then made the mistake of meeting his
gaze. His dark gold eyes confused me, and I answered without thinking.

"My mother got remarried," I said.

"That doesn't sound so complex," he disagreed, but he was suddenly
sympathetic. "When did that happen?"

"Last September." My voice sounded sad, even to me.

"And you don't like him," Edward surmised, his tone still kind.

"No, Phil is fine. Too young, maybe, but nice enough."

"Why didn't you stay with them?"

I couldn't fathom his interest, but he continued to stare at me with
penetrating eyes, as if my dull life's story was somehow vitally
important.

"Phil travels a lot. He plays ball for a living." I half-smiled.

"Have I heard of him?" he asked, smiling in response.

     "Probably not. He doesn't play well. Strictly minor league. He moves
around a lot."

打开的书（11）

    班纳这时把目光投向了我，一脸怀疑的表情。

    "你以前做过这个试验？"他问。

    我不好意思地笑了："不是用的洋葱。"

    "是白鱼囊胚？"

    "是呀。"

    班纳先生点了点头："你在凤凰城学过大学先修课程？"

    "对。"

    "哦，"过了一会儿，他说，"我想你们俩做实验搭档挺好。"他走开的时候嘴里还含糊不清地说了点儿别的什么。他走开以后，我又开始在笔记本上乱涂起来。

    "下雪不是太糟吧？"爱德华问。我有一种感觉，觉得他是在强迫自己跟我聊这些家长里短的话题。我又开始犯多疑症了。好像他听到了我跟杰西卡午饭时的谈话并试图证明我错了似的。

    "不会吧，"我老老实实地回答，而不是像所有其他人那样假装正常。我还在试图把那愚蠢的疑神疑鬼的感觉撵走，所以集中不了注意力。

    "你不喜欢冷。"这不是在问我。

    "或者说湿。"

    "福克斯这个地方，你肯定很难袋下去，"他若有所思地说道。

    "你根本不了解情况，"我不高兴地喃喃自语道。

    他好像让我的话给迷住了，我想象不出是什么原因。他的脸色是那样地神不守舍，弄得要不是出于必须的礼仪，我都不敢看了。

    "那么，你干吗要来这里呢？"

    没有一个人问过我这个问题——像他那么直截了当，完全是在盘问嘛。

    "原……原因很复杂。"

    "我想我能听下去，"他催促道。

    我顿了好一会儿，然后犯了个错误，跟他凝视的目光碰到了一起。他那双深色的金眼睛让我犯晕了，我想都没想，就回答了。

    "我母亲又嫁人了，"我说。

    "这听上去不是很复杂嘛，"他表示了异议，但他突然很同情地问了一句，"什么时候的事儿？"

    "去年9月份。"我的声音听上去很伤心，就连我自己听了都这么觉得。

    "你不喜欢他？"爱德华猜测道，他的语气依然很友好。

    "不，菲尔很不错。或许，太年轻了一点，但真的够好了。"

    "你干吗不跟他们在一起呢？"

    我琢磨不透他的兴趣所在，但他依旧用那双具有洞察力的眼睛在目不转睛地盯着我，好像我单调乏味的生活经历极其重要似的。

    "菲尔老东奔西跑。他以打球为生。"我似笑非笑地说道。

    "我听说过他吗？"他问，回了我一个微笑。

    "很可能没有。他的球打得不好。严格说来还在小联盟混。他老是在东奔西跑的。