Forks High School was a low, sprawling building of dark brick and wide windows, huddled beneath a canopy of dripping firs. The air smelled of wet earth and pine, a far cry from the dry, baked heat of Phoenix.

A few students milled about the entrance, hunched under umbrellas or hoods, their voices muffled by the rain. None of them looked your way.

The front doors groaned open, and the sudden warmth of the hallway hit like a wall. Linoleum floors gleamed under fluorescent lights. A faint chatter of voices and the click of locker doors echoed down the corridor.