After two classes, I started to recognize several of the faces in each class. There was always someone braver than the others who would introduce themselves and ask me questions about how I was liking Forks. I tried to be diplomatic, so mostly I just lied a lot to appear to be skilled at dealing with people. At least I never needed the map. One girl sat next to me in both Trig and Spanish, and she walked with me to the cafeteria for lunch. She was tiny, several inches shorter than my five feet four inches, but her wildly curly dark hair made up a lot of the difference between our heights. I couldn't remember her name, so I smiled and nodded as she gossiped about teachers and classes. I didn't try to keep up. We sat at the end of a full table with several of her friends, who she introduced to me. I forgot all their names as soon as she spoke them. They seemed impressed by her bravery in speaking to me. The boy from English, Eric, waved at me from across the room. It was there, sitting in the lunchroom, trying to make conversation with seven curious strangers, that I first saw them. They were sitting in the corner of the cafeteria, as far away from where I sat as possible in the long room. There were five of them. They weren't talking, and they weren't eating, though they each had a tray of untouched food in front of them. They weren't staring at me, unlike most of the other students, so it was safe to stare at them without fear of meeting an over interested pair of eyes. But it was none of these things that caught and held my attention. I stared because their faces, so different, so similar, were all extremely, inhumanly beautiful. They were faces you never expected to see except perhaps on the airbrushed pages of a fashion magazine, or painted by an old master as the face of an angel. It was hard to decide who was the most beautiful -- maybe the perfect blond girl, or the bronze-haired boy. 小题1:What does the underlined word “diplomatic” mean?
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