There are, on the third Monday of January, 2005, two main sources of drama in the Forks High School cafeteria.
The first is that there's a new girl in attendance.
The second is more concentrated: known to fewer people but of hightened importance. (Not that the competition is substantial.) Superficially it's less so: merely a postcard. But one with the potential to lead to danger, and the certainty of leading to discussions of how to avoid it.
A third item of interest is surprising in that it is not the subject of drama, when really it ought to be. Normally someone playing music during lunch would be stopped quite swiftly by a teacher, especially if it were as loud as this. And if for some reason permission had been given, surely the other students would be grumbling, at least internally, at the antiquated style. It's pretty, and not something Eugene's heard before, which is surprising, too, given his extensive interest. Flittering instrumentals fill the room -
. . . or - hm. Do they.
The thoughts of Eugene's family members (or the closest five, physically) are on a variety of subjects. Dread in remembering a twin, less mature in both years and ideals; worry, bifolded for loves romantic and personal; annoyance at the thought of moving, of inconvenience, masking a hint of fear; trust, security, a confidence (perhaps undersubstantiated, but not truly unwarranted) that however this turns out all of them will make it through all right.
And not a hint of curiosity, not about the music which rolls and flows and occasionally pauses the way a drop of water accumulates force against its surface tension before swelling enough to drip off whatever overhang supports it. It's enchanting, unpredictable. And apparently: nonexistent.
Maybe his mind has finally snapped, but there is one potential explanation somewhat closer to hand . . .