'Nightlight,' a 'Twilight' Parody: Exclusive Excerpt

''Take a seat,'' he said.

Unfortunately, the class was too basic to hold my interest: Ulysses, Gravity's Rainbow, Oblivion, and Atlas Shrugged, supplemented with the various lenses of Derrida, Foucault, Freud, Dr. Phil, Dr. Dre, and Dr. Seuss. I groaned loudly as the teacher droned on, introducing everyone's name. I'd have to ask my mom to send me some interesting literature, like those essays I wrote last year.

When the bell rang, the boy next to me predictably turned to me and started talking.

''Excuse me,'' he said, hoping I would fall in love with him or something. ''Your bag is in my way.''

I knew it. He was totally the ''your-bag-is-in-my-way'' type.

''My name is Belle,'' I said. I wondered which was the more surprising part about me — my elbows, which are naturally pointy, or my demeanor, which is apathetic to popularity, even though I've read all the popularity handbooks so I could be popular if I tried.'' You can walk me to my next class.''

''Um, sure,'' he said, wanting me. He made small talk on the way about how he was abandoned as a child and will only rest easy once he is avenged. His name was Tom. I could tell people passing by were listening in, hoping that I would reveal the mystery of my past.

''So what's Phoenix like?'' he beseeched.

''It's hot there. And sunny all the time.''

''Really? Wow.''

''You sound surprised. You must be surprised by how fair- skinned I am, coming from such a hot climate.''

''Hmm. I suppose you are pale.''

'' Yeah — I'm half dead,'' I joked, very humorously. He didn't laugh. I should have known no one would get my sense of humor in Switchblade. It was like no one here had ever told a sarcasm before.

''Here's your class,'' he said when we reached the Trigonometry classroom. ''Good luck!''

''Thanks. Maybe we'll have another class together,'' I said, giving him something to live for.

Trigonometry was all blah-blah formulas that we'd just save on our calculators anyway and Government was all blah-blah tomorrow we're crossing the border to attack Canada. Nothing I hadn't done at my old school.

One girl walked with me to the cafeteria for lunch. She had brown bushy hair in a ponytail that was more like a squirrel tail in the context of her beady squirrel eyes. I thought I recognized her from somewhere, but I couldn't place it.

''Hi,'' she said. ''I think I'm in all your classes.'' So that's why I recognized her. She reminded me of a squirrel I hung out with in Phoenix.

''I'm Belle.''

''I know. We've introduced ourselves already. Like, four times.''

''Oh, sorry. I have a hard time remembering things that won't be useful to me later.''

She told me her name again. Lululu? Zagraziea? It was one of those forgettable names. She asked if I wanted to eat with her. I stopped in the hallway, opened up my date book, and looked at Monday, 12:00.

''Blank!'' I exclaimed. I penciled in ''Lunch with classmate'' then checked it off while we stood in line. This was the year I would become organized.

We sat at a table with Tom and some other ordinaries. They kept asking me probing questions about what my interests were. I gently explained that that was between me and my potential friends.

It was then that I saw him. He was sitting at a table all by himself, not even eating. He had an entire tray of baked potatoes in front of him and still he did not touch a single one. How could a human have his pick of baked potatoes and resist them all? Even odder, he hadn't noticed me, Belle Goose, future Academy Award winner.

A computer sat before him on the table. He stared intently at the screen, narrowing his eyes into slits and concentrating those slits on the screen as if the only thing that mattered to him was physically dominating that screen. He was muscular, like a man who could pin you up against the wall as easily as a poster, yet lean, like a man who would rather cradle you in his arms. He had reddish, blonde-brown hair that was groomed heterosexually. He looked older than the other boys in the room — maybe not as old as God or my father, but certainly a viable replacement. Imagine if you took every woman's idea of a hot guy and averaged it out into one man. This was that man.

''What is that?'' I asked, knowing that whatever it was it wasn't avian.

''That's Edwart Mullen,'' Lululu said.

Edwart. I had never met a boy named Edwart before. Actually, I had never met any human named Edwart before. It was a funny sounding name. Much funnier than Edward.

As we sat there, gazing at him for what seemed like hours but couldn't have been more than the entire lunch period, his eyes suddenly flicked towards me, slithering over my face and boring into my heart like fangs. Then in a flash they went back to glowering at that screen.

''He moved here two years ago from Alaska,'' she said.

So not only was he pale like me, but he was also an outsider from a state that begins with an ''A.'' I felt a surge of empathy. I had never felt a connection like this before.

''That boy's not worth your time,'' she said, wrongly. ''Edwart doesn't date.''

I smirked inwardly and snorted outwardly, tucking the soda-mucous that flew out into my pocket. So, I would be his first girlfriend.

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