The bell rang and class began. The first class of the first year of four more wonderful years of high school! But this time in Montana!

Alice adjusted her pencils in front of her and beamed at the girl next to her, who looked unnerved. Alice beamed at the rain pouring down outside. She beamed at the boy behind her. She beamed at the colorful, friendly list of rules, the math diagram and the kitten poster on the wall, which were delightfully just like every other list of rules, math diagram and kitten poster she'd seen.

It was shaping up to be a perfect classroom experience. Everybody else had begged off this time around. Bella and Edward wanted to spend some time reading up on "The Common Sense Book of Baby and Mutant Care," and Emmett and Rosalie were starting up a small business. Even Jasper said he needed a break from all the hormonal teenaged emotions.

The teacher, a short, fat, balding man, began checking off names. He already looked bored. Soon somebody would probably get their phone confiscated. Alice snuggled happily into her desk to wait.

"Cullen, Alice," the teacher said.

Her hand shot up. "Here!"

But he had stopped and was gazing at the roster in his hand like he'd just seen a ghost.

"There was a girl in my high school with that name," he said, almost dazed. Then he looked at Alice and blinked.

"Maybe she was a distant aunt," Alice said brightly.

"Maybe. The resemblance is uncanny." He shook his head. "Where was I? Delacrue, Stephen . . ." Then he stared at Alice again. "You look a lot like her. Do you have family in New York?"

"No . . . o . . . o?" said Alice.

"Hey, you look like someone I remember, too," said a girl near the back of class. She snapped her fingers. "Alice Carlisle? She was a senior at my school in South Dakota, before I moved."

"I'm sure she didn't look that much like me," Alice said. "The human brain is notoriously unreliable."

"Let me get out my yearbook," said the girl, and lifted a massive tome out of her backpack.

"Why do you have a yearbook in your backpack?" said Alice. She looked at the boy behind her. "Why does she have a yearbook in her backpack?"

The girl flipped it open. "Here she is."

The people around her leaned in to look at it. "Wow, she really does look like her!"

"Alice Cullen," said the teacher a little dreamily. "She would never have looked at me twice, but oh, how I dreamed of getting her attention. I shot spitballs at her from the back of the room—"

"That was YOU?!" said Alice. "YOU—"

"She totally looks like a girl from my sister's yearbook, too," said a boy. "Alice Brandy or Brandon or something like that."

"My aunt knew an Alice Cullen in school."

"Here's my grandma's senior class photo," said another boy, holding up his phone. The teacher was too distracted to even confiscate it. "Alice, are you related to this cheerleader?"

"What was her name?" Alice said in a sulky tone.

He looked at his phone. "Peridontia Snailhooker."

"No."

"Alice, I wanna see if you have the same fingerprints as the Alice Cullen in my cousin's art project from college."

"Ooh, look," cried another girl, "I found an old instructional video that was filmed on location at a high school in 1953! There she is pretending to eat food with four other oddly pale teenagers."

"No phones in the classroom!" Alice cried, in an appeal to the rules sign next to her.

"Alice, is this you burning your undergarments at a women's rights protest in the 1960s?"

The rules sign mocked her with its cheerful colored letters.

"For her, I crafted the most elaborate promposal yet known to man," said the teacher. "If only I had had the courage to carry it out. Also the money. But her large brother, who bench-pressed trucks, threatened me with a stick."

"Hey, Alice Carlisle had a truck-bench-pressing brother, too!" cried the yearbook girl, paging quickly through. "Look, here he is. Emmett Notacullen."

"Aaagh," said Alice.