"A Little Bit of Blood Never Hurt Me"
Annabelle stood in the deserted locker room, slipping her grumpy bear t-shirt on and throwing her purple-striped, black soccer uniform into her duffel bag, followed by her cleats and black knee socks. Click, click, click, click. She turned the wheel on her white iPod (the original one- not one of those little ones that break in half like a twig) turning up the volume as she started to hum along to "Everything" by Michael Bublé. The thirteen year old walked over to a mirror, a new pair of knee socks in hand. She slipped them on and made sure the magenta, blue, and grey horizontal stripes lined up. I guess you could call her a little O.C.D. She went and grabbed her black combat boots. At least that's what other people called them. She just called them boots, because she wasn't a cowboy, therefore she didn't bother with cowboy boots. If they were boots, she called them boots. She zipped them up and walked back to the mirror, tugging at her shirt and pulling it down to cover more of her skirt. The shirt hugged her curves and the short sleeves came a short ways down her upper arms. The skirt was Annabelle's favorite, with layers of pink silk overlaid by their own layers of black fringe. It was a little shorter than fingertip length.
Edward pushed against the metal doors of the locker room. Lecture time… yet again, he thought, stopping in mid step as he heard a loud voice.
"And through this crazy life, and through these crazy times, it's you, it's you," sung the voice.
"Wow," he muttered. He thought it was amazing, but wouldn't say it out loud. He swallowed the words and continued to walk.
"You're every line. You're every word. Your everything."
He turned in between two sets of purple lockers to see Annabelle jumping in the air and spinning, just to land, and spin some more. "You can really dance, you know," he said, loud enough for her to hear over the music.
Annabelle turned quickly to face Edward, who was leaning against the lockers with an amused look on his face. She straightened up like she hadn't been dancing or singing, but just standing there, inhumanly still. She yanked the headphones out of her ears and put them behind her back, blushing.
Edward sat down and patted the bench beside him. Annabelle took a hesitant step forward and Edward nodded, motioning for her to sit down.
"Now, Annabelle,"
Great. What did I do this time? She thought, nervously picking at her black nail polish, chipping away little specks of it as she sat down a good distance from Edward on the bench that ran in between the rows of lockers.
"The goalies are all scared of you, and I don't blame them. You kick pretty hard, and sometimes, it seems you aim for their heads," Edward said. Annabelle turned her head and suppressed a laugh. She faced forward with a hint of a smile on her face. "Annabelle," he said.
"Edward," she replied, mocking his warning tone. He sighed and gently took Annabelle's chin in one hand and turned her to face him. He looked into Annabelle's crystal blue eyes, trying to read her thoughts, even though he knew by now that he couldn't.
"This seriously isn't funny. Not in the least bit. And it's coach to you," he said as she turned forward, glaring at the lockers, her eyes narrowed. He withdrew his hand and she stood up and walked back over to the mirror, dropping her iPod on top of the duffel bag as she walked by it. She put her hair up in a pony tail and then up in a clip, ignoring Edward's voice telling her to come back and sit because he was her coach and "You're supposed to respect your elders."
She gave a little snort and pulled at her shirt again. Edward watched in frustration, noticing something he hadn't before. She was beautiful. She had light brown, shiny, lustrous hair. She was tall, but not gangly. She had gorgeous legs and perfect lips. Edward mentally slapped himself.
You are at least a hundred years older than her, Edward. Stop looking her, he repeated in his head, but he couldn't stop. Bella had died about ten years prior, and Alice was rushing him to find a suitable spouse, so he moved to Virginia to avoid her demands. This isn't working out so well, he thought. She's too young, anyhow.
"You're staring," Annabelle said, crossing her arms and facing her coach. "It's kinda creepy and mildly disturbing."
"I was thinking, not staring at you," Edward lied, looking away to hide his embarrassment.
"I didn't say you were staring at me, but jeez, I'm flattered," Annabelle replied sarcastically. She took her iPod off the top of her bag and put it inside, zipping the bag as she threw it over her shoulder. Without another word, she walked past Edward and turned right, and then left and through the metal doors to the sunset outside.
"Wait! Annabelle," he called, chasing after her. He stopped, his hand out reached in her direction. He slowly lowered his hand and stared as she ran out of sight in seconds. He remembered the days when he shone in the sun, but thanks to Carlisle, who found a sort of cure for that, he didn't have to look like a walking diamond. He turned and walked to his car, a silver Volvo. "She should be in track, too," he muttered. He opened the door and pulled the key out of his pocket. He put it in the ignition and climbed into the car, turning and closing the door afterward. He turned the key, and the engine turned over, but wouldn't start. Clunk…clunk…clunk…clunkcklunkclunk. Edward gave up and leaned against the chair, sighing.
Yes, he could have fixed the car, probably even blind folded, but he didn't feel like moving. He felt almost exhausted, like if he tried to lift an arm, it would feel like it were a pillar of stone, and not a stub of flesh and bone. He managed to lock the doors and roll the front windows down part way, but he soon fell into a sort of sleepy trance.