Evermore (The Immortals) by Alyson Noel

What's on the back of the book:
Sometimes love is eternal.
For good . . . for evil . . .
Forever

Sixteen-year-old Ever Bloom is the sole survivor of a car accident that killed her family. Exiled to sunny California, Ever is haunted by her little sister and by the ability to see people's auras, hear their thoughts and know their entire life story by touching them. She wants to hide from the world, but when a stunningly handsome new guy arrives at school, she can't seem to keep away. Falling in love with Damen is dangerous - he's not what he seems.
But if Damen is her destiny, how can Ever walk away?

A piece from the book:
Seconds before Mr. Robins walks in, I lower my hood, click off my iPod, and pretend I'm reading my book, not bothering to look up when he says, "Class, this is Damen Auguste. He just moved here from New Mexico. Okay Damen, you can take that empty seat in the back, right next to Ever. You'll have to share her book until you get your own copy."
Damen is gorgeous. I know this without once looking up. I just focus on my book as he makes his way toward me since I know way too much about my classmates already. So as far as I'm concerned, an extra moment of ignorance really is bliss.
But according to the innermost thoughts of Stacia Miller sitting just two rows before me - Damen Auguste is totally smoking hot.
Her best friend, Honor, completely agrees.
So does Honor's boyfriend, Craig, but that's a whole other story.
"Hey." Damen slides onto the seat next to mine, my backpack making a muffled thud as he drops it to the floor.
I nod, refusing to look any further than his sleek, black, motorcycle boots. The kind that are more GQ than Hells Angels. The kind that looks very out of place among the rows of multicolored flip-flops currently gracing the green-carpeted floor.
Mr. Robins asks us all to turn our books to page 133, prompting Damen to lean in and say, "Mind if I share?"
I hesitate, dreading the proximity, but slide my book all the way over until it's teetering off the edge of my desk. And when he moves his chair closer, bridging the small gap between us, I scoot to the farthest part of my seat and hide beneath my hood.
He laughs under his breath, but since I've yet to look at him, I have no idea what it means. All I know is that it sounded light and amused, but like it held something more.
I sink even lower, cheek on palm, eyes on the clock. Determined to ignore all the withering glances and critical comments directed my way. Stuff like: Poor hot, sexy, gorgeous new guy, having to sit next to that freak! That emanates from Stacia, Honor, Craig, and just about everyone else in the room.
Well, all except for Mr. Robins, who wants class to end almost as much as me.