Disclaimer: Twilight and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer.
A/N: Hey guys, sorry it's been a while since I updated. I was on vacation and I started school last week and I had to read Mockingjay by Suzanne Collins (it was absolutely amazing!) and yeah, I have plenty of excuses. So here's the fourth chapter!
Ch. 4- My Girlfriend, Alice and Magic
Bella's POV
June 5th – 7 AM
I forced myself to concentrate on my feet pounding on the ground, the early morning breeze's sweet breath of my face, my intense hunger—anything but the conversation swirling around me.
"My girl, Rochelle, is a Victoria's Secret model…"
"Liar! Why would a Victoria's Secret model date you?"
"Oh please. Who would date you?"
"My girlfriend, Cindy! Oh my God, the only thing I'm homesick for are her tits..."
"I'm sure Cindy's are nothing compared to Ashley's…"
"What kinda girl do you look for, Newton?" asked the guy with the slight Jamaican accent who I now knew of as "Crowley." (All of the guys here called each other by their last names. Except me, of course—now everyone called me "Shorty." Damn Edward Cullen.)
"Well, I always want a sexy girl who's pretty damn crazy 'bout me!" answered Mike (or Newton or whatever). "That's my girl, Jessica, right there."
A bunch of guys murmured in agreement. Newton looked smug.
"What's your girlfriend like, Shorty?" Cullen snickered. "Is she taller than you?"
I knew that if I said I didn't have a girlfriend, they would all get hysterical and make fun of me for the rest of the summer, so I did something I'd been doing a lot lately: I lied.
"My girlfriend is…" I began, trailing off.
"Whoa. You've actually got one, Shorty?" Cullen exclaimed.
"Yeah, I do," I said icily. "She's smart and headstrong and funny and loves me."
"Must be ugly," someone laughed.
"You all are so obsessed with looks! You have such a misogynistic agenda and I, for one, do not want to partake in a conversation that objectifies women like pieces of meat. It's disgusting," I said bitterly.
All the guys looked at me like I had three heads. Okay, okay, so maybe I should cool my jets on the whole feminism thing. But really, the way women are viewed in today's society! It makes me seethe...
Emmett began to clap, but quickly stopped when everyone looked at him like he was a mental patient for agreeing with me.
Great, now I'm so unpopular that even one of my best friends won't stand up for me.
"So, um, what's your girlfriend's name?" some kind soul asked, making the situation slightly less painful for everyone involved.
"Her name is, uh, Alice."
Emmett snorted.
"Something, um, got in my nose," he lied awkwardly.
Luckily, our morning run was over then and it was time for breakfast. Not wanting to be at the punch line of any jokes (though it was inevitable now), I grabbed a bagel, tore Emmett away from his chocolate chip pancakes, and headed for the row of pay phones (no cell phones allowed inside the camp).
"You almost blew my cover there, Einstein," I huffed as we walked through the maze of tables.
"God, you're being so paranoid. You and Alice? C'mon, I had to laugh." I rolled my eyes.
"Funny," he continued. "She is actually shorter than you."
I sighed. "I'm not even that short. 5'4 is pretty average."
"Yeah…for a girl," he replied, causing me to roll my eyes again.
We reached the pay phones and I checked to make sure we were alone.
"Give me a signal if someone's in hearing range, okay?" I told Emmett as I inserted my quarters.
"Yeah, okay," he said in a sad voice, obviously giving me a hard time about taking him away from his pancakes.
"I'll only be a minute, I promise," I pleaded. I felt bad for taking him away from his breakfast, but I needed someone to tell me if anyone was coming.
I checked my watch. Charlie would be at the station now; perfect for a quick conversation. I dialed the number; Charlie answered on the first ring.
"Chief Swan speaking."
"Hey, Dad," I said, speaking in my normal voice for the first time in a while.
"Bells? Hi, how are you? And your friends?"
"I'm good. Rosalie and Alice are good. We've had so much fun. But we're still learning a lot, definitely. St. Margaret's is good..."
"You mean St. Maria's, right?" Crap. Leave it to me to mess up the name.
"St. Maria's, that's what I totally meant. Sorry Dad! It's, uh, early you know, and I've been praying and learning so much…" My voice sounded completely fake, just like it always did when I lied. I prayed that Charlie wouldn't pick up on it.
"Learning about what?" he asked.
"English literature—you know, Shakespeare. We're reading Twelfth Night," I lied. Charlie hated reading, so hopefully that would stop him from commenting on that.
"Keep up your studies, Bella."
"Bella," Emmett said lowly, pointing to a few coaches walking towards us.
"Well, uh, sorry Dad I have to go," I said in my deep voice.
"Are you okay, Bells? Your voice sounds strange."
"I have a sore throat. Gottagobye!" I said the last part in one breath, hanging up the phone on a confused Charlie.
Edward's POV
That Afternoon
"My sincerest apologies again, guys, for the fact that we didn't get to start playing yesterday. Picking the team names seemed to take a lot longer than I thought…" Head Coach Joe said. "Well, regardless, we're going to start scrimmaging today, so I hope you're all ready!"
Oh, I was ready.
"Also," Head Coach Joe continued. "I will be assigning each coach a team, and that coach will decide playing time, positions, what teams you will scrimmage, etc, etc. They will also help improve the weaknesses of every member of your team. I expect that you will treat your coach with respect and appreciation, guys! Okay, so with that said, I'm going to start calling off the names of the coaches and what team they will be working with. The Wildcats' coach will be Coach Mickey…"
He droned down the list of coaches and teams, not holding my attention until he reached the Phantoms, my team.
"The Phantoms' coach will be Coach Seth." As these words came out of Head Coach Joe's mouth, a tall, gangly man with russet brown skin in his late twenties loped across the field towards where my team was gathered.
"Hiya guys," he said to us after Head Coach Joe was finished speaking. "I'm Coach Seth Clearwater, but you guys can just call me Seth. Today's our first scrimmage, which I know is very exciting for most of you guys. It's also exciting because I' m going to evaluate each of your strengths and weaknesses and utilize the strengths and work on the weaknesses so that we can win the Cal South Cup in August!"
A few people cheered, but most of us looked impatient, causing Seth to look at his clipboard again, probably for our positions so he could decide who to start for the time being.
He began rattling off names. "Jenks. Newton. Wallace. Stoker. Lawrence. Banks. Richardson. Cullen. Jones. Harrison. And Yorkie, you're goalie."
Well, that was just great. Acne was our main defensive man. (The only player I wouldn't rather have there was Shorty). Just for the time being, I thought to myself, taking a deep breath. Just for the time being.
I jogged onto the field, savoring the view, the smells, the taste. There was a reason this was the most expensive soccer camp in the country; it was by far the most beautiful.
Time did not move at a normal pace while I was on the field; it went conspicuously faster. When I'm not feeling my cleats dig into the grass or hearing the sound of my foot striking the ball, life is a bleak, gray thing.
But when I play soccer, suddenly the world is full of bright colors and music. I know what I'm supposed to do and how I'm supposed to act. And it seems as if being the empty shell I am in regular life, just going through the motions, is all an illusion. Because how can any part of the world that includes this sport not be equally majestic?
Suddenly, the glittering black and white orb is at my foot, and I know I must deliver it to its rightful place. My heart beats frantically, begging for me to slow down, but I pay no notice to it. The journey up the field, around the defenders, feels like a wonderful dream. Even the grunt of the goaltender has he reaches as high as he can go and misses is wonderful; as is the sound of the referee's whistle, announcing "Phantoms—one. Wildcats—zero!"
This happened three more times before Seth yelled, "Cullen, out! Black, in!"
When I sat next to him on the bench, he punched me, hard.
"What the hell was that for?" I asked, wincing.
"For not being a team player, Cullen. I get that you're a superstar. Save if for the playoffs."
I rolled my eyes and started watching the game.
The Wildcats had just gotten a goal—Danny Richardson had made a terrible move on defense, completely falling for a fake—and had left Acne our only chance to keep the Wildcats from scoring. Acne was helpless, letting in a shot that was pathetically easy to defend.
Now, James Stoker had possession at midfield. That was good—he was extremely capable of maneuvering around defenders. Somehow, though, he got surrounded and was forced to pass the ball back to…Jacob Black.
Damn it. Well there went a chance for a goal.
Except, for some reason, my eyes were playing tricks on me. That wasn't Jacob Black that kept possession and was barreling inhumanly down the field. That had to be…someone else on our team. Someone who was also very short and had dark brown hair. Someone who now had just scored a picture-perfect goal.
"Holy crap, did you just see that?" Seth asked me.
"See what?"
"Jacob Black—that tiny kid!—just scored. That goalie, Laurent Rice, is one of the best defenders in the country! How in hell are we beating his team five to one? This is like…a movie or something," Seth whispered.
That seemed like a suitable conclusion when Jacob Black scored again. And again. And again. Seth had stopped being awed now and was just mad. He took Shorty out and gave him the superstar talk minus the punch.
I felt like this wasn't real. Like I was in one of those stupid sports movies where the wimpy, worst player on the team becomes amazing and is the reason his team wins the championship. Except this was our first scrimmage, so it wasn't really like that.
I felt like screaming. Shorty could play soccer. Shorty was just as good as me.
Seth's POV
I sighed and wrote on my clipboard:
Edward Cullen's weakness: does not pass/not a team player
Jacob Black's weakness: does not pass/not a team player
Other than that, they are both clearly the best players on the team. I don't think I've ever seen players that come close to their ability in all the years I have coached and played. The only problem is that they hate each other and value themselves above all of the other players on the team. Which I need to change ASAP.
Two amazing, magical, egotistical star right wings. Well, one thing's for sure: this summer would be unlike all the others.
Edward's POV
That Night
Instead of spending free time in the various game rooms and rec rooms littered through Cal South's campus, I planned to spend it alone in my dorm room, sulking about Jacob Black. Immature, I know. I can't help it. I hate losing. Saying the l-word gives me a foul taste in my mouth. Edward Cullen doesn't…well, you know.
Okay, so technically Shorty and I are on the same team and all, but I'm used to being the only best player on the team. I'm used to being the only one people are in awe of.
That's how this summer was supposed to be. And then Jacob Black has to come and ruin everything.
I know this sounds extremely childish, but I want to get him back in some way. Get revenge on him for coming here. Who did he think he was, anyway?
The more I thought about Jacob Black, the more I hated him and the more I hated him the more I wanted revenge.
And because I was Edward Cullen, I knew it would happen. And soon.
A/N: Hope you liked that chapter, and please review! And sorry in advance for any late updates I'm taking way too many AP classes for my own good and I'm just having writer's block with this story for some reason.