Steam fogged the bathroom mirror until my reflection dissolved into a pale blur.
When I wiped a hand across the glass, a pair of blue eyes stared back at me.
Same face, same blond hair, but something about my expression looked different lately.
Sharper somehow.
More awake.
Like my body had quietly stopped running at normal human settings while I wasn’t paying attention.
“Cool,” I muttered.
“Love that for me.” I dragged a towel through my damp hair and stepped out of the bathroom.
The restless energy from this morning’s run still lingered beneath my skin.
Not adrenaline or anxiety.
But something else.
My muscles felt too light and responsive.
Every movement carried this strange sense of effortless control, like my body already knew what I wanted before I did.
Honestly, it was starting to freak me out.
Breakfast helped a little.
Scrambled eggs.
Slightly burnt toast.
And a cup of coffee strong enough to dissolve human rights.
The house stayed quiet around me while I ate.
So quiet that every small noise sounded ten times louder.
My fork scraping the plate.
The chair creaking softly against the floor.
The distant hum of the refrigerator.
Every sound felt unusually clear.
I tried not to think about that.
Mom and Dad had already left for Newton’s Olympic Outfitters, which meant I had the place entirely to myself.
Just me and my increasingly concerning biology.
By the time I grabbed my keys and headed outside, I’d managed to shove most of the existential dread into a manageable corner of my brain.
The Mountaineer started with its usual grumble and I pulled onto the road carefully.
Very carefully.
After last night’s accidental funeral procession speed limit, I made a conscious effort to drive like a normal human being.
Not too slow, and definitely not too fast.
Just regular traffic levels.
Forks looked washed clean beneath the gray morning sky.
Rainwater clung to pine branches in silver droplets while fog drifted lazily between the trees.
The town felt so quiet it was almost like the world was holding its breath.
Forks High appeared through the mist a few minutes later, all damp brick and metal roofing surrounded by muddy parking lots and teenagers pretending they weren’t freezing to death.
Students clustered beneath umbrellas near the entrance.
The smell hit me the second I stepped out of the car.
Wet asphalt.
Rain-soaked clothes.
Cheap cafeteria grease.
And underneath all of it… Blood.
I froze.
It wasn’t too strong, at least not to the point of being overwhelming, but it was there, as if someone just cut themselves right next to me.
My stomach twisted unexpectedly.
Okay.
That was new.
I forced myself to keep walking.
You are not becoming a vampire, I told myself firmly.
Probably.
… Classes blurred together after that.
Math.
English.
History.
Normal school stuff that should’ve felt comforting but somehow didn’t anymore.
I noticed things now.
Small things.
The scratch of pencils across paper three rows away.
The rapid tapping of someone’s heartbeat when they got called on unexpectedly.
The smell of rain lingering in people’s jackets hours after they came inside.
Every sense felt turned up just slightly too high.
And through all of it, Bella Swan moved through the school like a small storm cloud everyone kept orbiting around.
Jessica Stanley had practically adopted her overnight.
Every time I saw them together, Jessica was talking animatedly while Bella nodded politely with the slightly overwhelmed expression of someone being dragged through socialization against her will.
By lunch, I was desperate for something resembling normal human interaction.
The cafeteria buzzed with noise and humidity when I walked in.
Conversations overlapped beneath fluorescent lights while trays clattered and the smell of reheated pizza fought a losing battle against industrial cleaning chemicals.
I grabbed food and headed toward our usual table by the windows.
“Yo!” Tyler called immediately.
“Look who finally learned how to drive above bicycle speed.” I pointed at him with my milk carton.
“Twenty-five miles an hour today.
I’m basically Vin Diesel now.” Eric nearly choked on a french fry laughing.
“Dude,” he wheezed, “Charlie Swan was telling my mom about you this morning.” Of course he was.
Small towns were basically social media with trees.
Ben adjusted his glasses calmly.
“I heard you caused a traffic jam.” “There were only two cars behind me,” I defended.
“That qualifies as infrastructure failure in Forks,” Tyler said solemnly.
The table burst into laughter as I slid into my seat shaking my head.
God.
This was nice.
Normal.
For a few minutes, it almost let me forget everything else.
Jessica sat across from us beside Angela and Lauren, with Bella squeezed awkwardly near the end of the table.
Jessica immediately turned toward Bella again like she physically couldn’t help herself.
“So,” she said dramatically, “survived your first official week in Forks.
Thoughts?” Bella considered it seriously.
“I think the rain is trying to kill me.” “Correct answer,” Angela said softly.
Lauren flipped her blonde hair over one shoulder.
“Just wait until winter depression season.” “That implies we aren’t already in winter depression season,” Ben muttered.
“Fair point.” Bella smiled faintly into her drink.
She looked more relaxed today, still shy and uncertain, but not quite as uncomfortable as yesterday.
Then Jessica lowered her voice suddenly.
“Okay, but seriously,” she said.
“Did anyone notice the Cullens are gone today?” There it was.
The table’s favorite topic.
Tyler shrugged.
“Maybe Edward finally died from being too pale.” “Pretty sure sunlight would finish the job first,” I said before thinking.
Bella’s eyes flicked toward me instantly.
Jessica noticed immediately because of course she did.
“Oh my God,” she said, turning toward Bella with full predator energy.
“You do care!” Bella nearly inhaled water.
“I don’t!” Jessica grinned wickedly.
“Bella, he spent all of biology staring at you yesterday like you’d personally offended him.” Bella turned pink immediately.
“He was sick,” she said quickly.
I nodded while taking a bite of my sandwich.
“Yeah, dude looked one bad sneeze away from death.” A few people laughed.
Bella relaxed slightly.
Then Lauren deadpanned while looking at her plate: “Maybe he smelled the cafeteria food.” That got everyone.
Even Bella laughed quietly at that one.
For a moment, the tension faded again.
But while everyone kept talking, I noticed Bella glance unconsciously toward the empty Cullen table near the corner of the cafeteria.
Like she was searching for something.
Or someone.
And weirdly enough… I understood the feeling.
Something in the air still felt off.
Like the school itself knew something had changed.
I forced myself to laugh along with Tyler’s terrible jokes, but the unease never fully left my chest.
Forks High had always been predictable.
Classes.
Sports.
Gossip.
Routine.
Now it felt like standing in the woods right before a storm hit.
Still quiet.
Still calm.
But not safe anymore.
And somehow, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was part of the reason why.
… After lunch, everyone started filtering toward their next classes.
Tyler stretched his arms overhead with a groan.
“If I fail algebra, I’m blaming society.” “That’s fair,” Ben said.
Then Tyler paused mid-step.
His eyes narrowed slightly as he looked at me.
“Yo, Mike.” “Yeah?” “…Were you always this tall?” My stomach dropped, but I kept my expression neutral with some effort.
Tyler was over six feet tall.
Normally I had to look slightly upward to talk to him.
Now we were eye-level.
Maybe worse.
“I dunno.” I shrugged casually.
“Late growth spurt?” Tyler stared at me another second before he laughed.
“Dude, what are they feeding you?” “Performance-enhancing cafeteria pizza.” “Terrifying.” I grinned easily enough, but unease twisted tighter inside my chest.
Because this morning my sweatpants had stopped above my ankles.
And now this.
Too many little things were adding up.
Tyler clapped my shoulder as we headed toward the gym.
“Alright, NBA superstar.
You’re on my team today.” “Oh, absolutely not,” I said immediately.
“I enjoy winning too much.” “You talk big for somebody who drives like a retired grandpa.” “Fear keeps me humble.” … The gym smelled like polished wood, sweat, and cheap deodorant.
Sunlight broke unexpectedly through the clouds outside, spilling pale gold across the basketball court while sneakers squealed against the floorboards.
The game started normally.
At least, it did for everyone else.
But for me?
Everything felt slow.
Not to the level of Baywatch slowmotion, but close enough for it to be noticeable.
It was almost like playing in easy mode.
I could track every movement before it happened.
Every pass.
Every pivot.
Every shift in balance.
Bodies telegraphed intention before they moved.
Tyler drove left?
Obvious from his shoulders.
Ben passing?
His eyes gave it away first.
Within minutes, I was everywhere.
Stealing passes.
Intercepting shots.
And moving faster than I should’ve been able to.
The weirdest part wasn’t the speed.
It was how natural it felt.
Like my body already understood exactly what to do.
By the end of the game, Tyler bent over with his hands on his knees, breathing hard.
“What,” he panted, “the hell happened to you?” I bounced the ball once casually.
“Training arc.” “That’s not funny anymore.” I laughed, but the sound came out weaker than I intended.
Because I wasn’t even tired.
Not even slightly.
Around us, everyone started heading toward the locker rooms while conversation and laughter echoed through the gym.
I looked down at my hands and noticed that my fingers were a bit longer than yesterday.
It was subtle, but definitely different.
A cold knot settled in my stomach.
Something was happening to me.
Something impossible.
And the worst part?
A small, terrified piece of me was starting to enjoy it.