Thanks to my team, and all of you, for everything. :) Let's meet Connellward!
Disclaimer: I really really really don't own Twilight or Normal People. I just close my eyes and indulge myself sometimes.
"Cullen." A voice behind me states with a knowing tone. "Knew you'd be the first one here."
I turn at the sound, the basketball in my hand coming to a stop mid-dribble, when I see Coach Dwyer make his way towards the bench. He's got his clipboard in his hand and his whistle around his neck, ready to begin our usual Saturday morning practice.
And, also, as usual, I've managed to get here before him.
It says more about me than it does about him, honestly.
"Mornin', Coach."
I drop the basketball from my hands again, the sound of the ball against the waxed floors of the Forks High School gym second nature to my ears. It's a sound that's lived in my head ever since I was a kid and learned what a basketball was. My love of the game, combined with a court located only a handful of yards behind my apartment, contributes greatly to why I'm always the first to arrive.
"Been here long?"
Swish.
"Not really."
I run forward towards the basket, rebounding my own shot as I pass the time before my teammates arrive. Knowing most of them since we were kids, I know they're all either still in bed or dragging themselves and their hangovers here for practice.
It's been like this for the last four years, so all of them are aware of just how gruesome these Saturday morning practices can be. Why they all decide to get shit-faced the night before is beyond me, though it's always funny to see them all suffer before, during, and after practice each Saturday.
At that thought, the door to the gym flies open, slamming loudly into the wall as several of the guys moan and groan their way into the gym. I laugh and shake my head at them all, turning and landing a jump shot as they turn just as green as the painted floors beneath our feet.
Better them than me.
"Where were you last night, Cullen?" Eric Yorkie, my friend and teammate since elementary school, says once he's found the energy to find me on the foul line. "Didn't see you at Rose's."
"Had some work to do," I shrug, not bothering to share that I'd chosen to finish a paper for English class instead of heading to our typical place to party on Friday nights. Good friends or not, most of them don't view schoolwork the same way I do. "Did I miss anything good?"
"Just everyone getting hammered," Eric laughs, his hands stretched outwards to catch the bounce pass I toss his way. He catches the ball easily, running to the basket for a simple lay-up.
"So nothing new then." I laugh, catching the rebound and bringing it back to the top of the key.
"Guess not," he shrugs, his body already showing signs of exertion from the hell he must have put himself through last night. "Rose was looking for you, though. Looked pissed when you didn't show."
I stop mid-shot at his words, unsure why she was so bothered. "I didn't tell her I was definitely going."
"Since when does Rose need a reason to be pissed off?"
He's right, and if I didn't know Rosalie Hale from when we were kids, I'd be concerned. But I do as I always do and ignore it, unbothered by Rose and whatever she's pissed off about this time.
Some people find fault in things that aren't even there, and Rosalie Hale is one of them.
Coach Dwyer blows the whistle, and for the next two hours, Eric and I are too focused on surviving practice than dealing with the intricacies of high school.
"First up: Suicides." Coach Dwyer says amidst rounds of protest. My lungs and calves ache in advance, but I crouch into position beneath the basket, determined to get the hardest part of practice over with. "Baseline. Foul line. Half-court. Foul line. Baseline. Go!"
We all storm to the foul line at the sound of the whistle, our hands tapping down onto the floor as we reach our first line before heading back to the baseline where we started. We tap again, the gym getting an earful of squeaks from our sneakers and various slaps of the gym floor as we run and tap the different marked spots on the court.
Lungs burning, sweat coursing down my face and sticking to my back, I tap each line and, unlike Mike Newton, manage to keep my breakfast in my stomach.
"When will you learn, Newton!" Coach Dwyer calls as we laugh and watch Mike try to make it to the locker room before he vomits all over the gym.
"Fuck you all," he groans before he disappears behind the swinging door.
I laugh with them all, though I shake my head and give Coach Dwyer's words some thought as I take a slug of water and try to regulate my breathing.
When will they learn?
—u—
"Mike threw up again?" My mother, Esme Cullen, laughs as we sit at the table in our kitchen for lunch. "Does this happen every Saturday?"
"If he goes out the night before, then yes." I chuckle, reaching for my drink and swallowing it down in almost one gulp. I'm always starving and dying of thirst whenever I get home from practice, and Mom is always prepared for me and my stomach every Saturday afternoon before she heads in for her shift at the diner in town.
"Kids," she laughs around a spoonful of soup. She always enjoys hearing stories of the latest shit my friends get themselves into, so I indulge her whenever I get the chance. "How'd you make out?"
I shrug as I blow on the hot soup on my spoon. "Fine," I reply. "I didn't go out last night like they did."
"Smart boy," Mom replies. "Did you work on your college applications?"
Mom works most nights, and even though her schedule would be a dream for most eighteen-year-old boys, the freedom I prefer is usually more subdued than those of my friends.
Mom clearly knows this, as well.
"Not yet," I shake my head and place my spoon down inside of the bowl. "Finished my paper for English instead."
She nods. "Are you thinking about what Mr. Clearwater said? About the after-school program in town?"
I shrug non-committedly. "Maybe, yeah."
The truth is, I have thought about it ever since I had left his office yesterday afternoon, wondering if there was any merit to his suggestion.
"I think you'd have fun," Mom offers because, of course, she would think that. She taps my hand on the table with her pointed fingers. "And maybe it will give your application the push it needs for the people at UCLA to choose yours over some other pre-med."
"We'll see." I pacify her, even though I can tell by how hard her eyes roll into the back of her head that she hates it. "I just don't know when I'd have the time, that's all. Between school and basketball, when would I have the time to go?"
Not to mention that even though I like to relax at home, I do have a social life that will absolutely suffer if I add volunteer work into the mix.
"I'm sure they'll be flexible with whatever hours you can squeeze in. And it won't be forever. Your schedule will lighten up once the season is over." Mom takes our now empty bowls over to the sink to wash them.
"Yeah," I agree, not ready to commit to anything just yet. "You ready to go?"
She shakes her head, wiping her hands on the towel hanging on the handle of the stove. "Few minutes. I don't have to be in until two. You sure you don't mind dropping me off?"
I shake my head. "Course not. Is your shift over at midnight?"
"Yeah. I'll call you if it's any earlier."
"Okay. I'm just going to Eric's, so it's nothing."
"Okay. Meet you in the car, Edward."
I watch Mom walk down the hallway towards her room, her feet quiet on the carpeted floors of our small apartment. It's just been us since before I was born, so this space, though small, is perfect for us.
She's perfect.
While Esme Cullen didn't make the wisest decisions when she was in high school, me standing here as proof of some of those decisions, she made damn sure I wouldn't fall into those same traps. She's spent her years working nights at the diner in town, in between taking care of us and cultivating our relationship as mother and son. There's a level of trust between us that I wouldn't change for the world.
She catches my eye as I'm sitting in the driver's seat when she walks down the sidewalk when she's ready to go.
So, no, it's not a problem for me to take her to work on days where we need to share the car.
It's an honor.
—u—
"I thought you'd come over last night," Rosalie Hale says to me later that night.
We're all at Eric's for the evening, playing video games and casually drinking to erase the final tinges of their day-long hangovers. I had stepped outside for a minute for a smoke, indulging every now and then when the mood strikes, when Rose had apparently followed behind me in hopes of continuing a conversation I'm in no mood to have.
I've known Rose forever, and though almost all of us have fallen victim to her obvious good looks and allure, she and I have never been official about….anything. Maybe it is my fault for hooking up with her a few times over the years, but she, and everyone else around here, knows it won't go further than that.
I enjoy and indulge in most stereotypical teenage boy activities — but I enjoy them quietly. I watch on the outskirts as my friends wreak immature havoc everywhere they go, laughing because they're my friends but also wondering what the point is to all their antics.
"I had practice this morning. Didn't want to be hurting today like Newton," I laugh and ignore her insinuations, exhaling the smoke from the cigarette in the opposite direction from where she stands next to me on Eric's front porch.
"Yeah, he was pretty wasted. We all were," Rose replies, pushing a strand of her straight blonde hair behind her ear.
"Sorry I missed it."
"Are you, though?" Her head tilts, a small smirk pulling her lips to one side.
I look at her strangely, though I shoot her a friendly smile back. "What do you mean?"
"You're hard to read sometimes, Edward." She reaches for my cigarette, and I hand it over to her. "We're cool one minute, and the next, you don't bother showing up on Friday nights."
"It's basketball season, that's all." I shrug. "Just want to make my last season count."
It's not the only reason, but my friends wouldn't necessarily understand why I would want to finish a paper for a class at school rather than get fucked up with the rest of them. Blaming it on basketball practice is the easiest way to avoid the subject.
"I guess that makes sense." Rose contemplates, finishing my cigarette and dropping it into the empty beer bottle we've turned into an ashtray. She nudges her shoulder against mine; the familiar smile on her face I know from experience means she wants more from me than just my cigarette. "Just let me know next time if you're coming or not."
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I check to see who it is to avoid answering her.
Just got cut. Be done in an hour.
Picking up Mom from her shift has never been as enticing as it is now.
I look over at Rose one last time before heading back inside to grab my keys and tell everyone I'm leaving. "Okay."
—u—
The ride to the Forks Diner is one I can do in my sleep. For one, Mom's worked here for as long as I can remember. Two, their Apple Crumb Cake is to die for.
I try to tell myself it's the reason I leave Eric's early before Mom is off the clock, but I know I'm only kidding myself. I love my friends, always will, but occasionally, time to myself is what I need to feel…settled. Normal. They're loud when I'm quiet. They're hot when I'm cold. They're bright when I'm dim.
But we've been friends forever. I know them all like the back of my hand, but Mom's message came through at the perfect time.
Plus, I can never go wrong with a late-night Apple Crumb Cake.
Parking the car in the almost empty lot, I walk into the diner with my hands stuffed deep into the pockets of my jacket. November here in Forks is chilly, especially at night, and I contemplate whether or not adding in a cup of hot chocolate will pair right with my apple crumb and warm me up from the cold.
As I'm thinking, I open the door, and the smell of greasy food and continually brewed coffee assaults my senses, instantly sinking into my skin and clothes. Mom immediately comes home from work and showers after every shift so our apartment doesn't smell of fries and onion rings, and I laugh to myself when I find it to be true.
Looking around, I spy Mom finishing up with her final table, and she nods in my direction and mouths for me to sit at the counter while I wait.
It's almost empty, given the time of night, but as I make my way over to my normal spot at the counter, I see I won't be the only one sitting here tonight. A lone figure sits in the middle of the counter in silence as she finishes an ice cream sundae. Her hair falls in long, dark waves to the middle of her back, and when she turns her head to the side, I see who it is.
Almost unrecognizable out of school hours, I watch Bella Swan without a perpetual scowl on her face, and without her hair pulled back in its usual braid. She's wearing black leggings with a sweatshirt loose over one shoulder instead of the stuffy school uniform we're subjected to wear during the week.
She also wears a smile, which is the most shocking part of this whole situation in front of me.
She must have heard my footsteps because she turns when I'm a few feet away. Her eyes widen slightly, and she averts her gaze as I pull a chair out at the counter and sit a few seats down from her.
"Hey," I offer politely, having no reason to ignore her.
Similar to the rest of my classmates, Bella and I have also known each other since we were in grade school. The only difference between her and the rest of them is that she moved here when we were all six. Since most of us were in diapers together, friendships had already been established, and invisible lines drawn in the sand by the time her family moved in once their house had been built.
House is a weak term for what Charles and Renee Swan had built; mansion is more like it, and it's definitely set her apart from everyone else.
I don't think she minds it.
She's never attempted to form relationships with anyone — boys or girls. She spends her days at school alone and, I assume, her weekends as well.
Sometimes I envy that about her. The peace she must have within herself to not give a single fuck about what anybody thinks.
Maybe that's why I've always been polite to her, offering her a smile while everyone else gifts her snide laughs and curt remarks for being different from them.
"Hey." She responds, turning her attention back to her ice cream.
I clear my throat and nod over towards her bowl. "Sundae?"
"Hot fudge," she confirms with a small smile.
"You want that or your usual?" Mom interrupts from behind the counter. She nods towards Bella's sundae. The door behind us jingles with the departure of her last table, so I figure I have time to finish my dessert by the time she cleans, preps her table for closing, and cashes out her tips.
"You have a usual?" Bella shifts in her seat as I make myself comfortable.
I look at her in mock disbelief. "You don't?"
She shrugs and dips her spoon into the fudge for another bite. "Depends on my mood."
"You have more than one mood?" I joke as Mom puts a plate of apple crumb in front of me. I hope the mood she's decided to be in tonight can take a joke.
I've only seen one side of Bella Swan, and being open to jokes is not one of them.
"Shockingly," she laughs, and I find myself chuckling right along with her.
"This is what the kids in this town need to hear," Mom says, pointing a finger at the two of us. "Laughter."
"What do you mean?" Bella asks with a level of comfort I plan on asking Mom about when we're in the car. She must come to the diner often enough to have a familiar relationship with my mother, or at least it sounds that way.
"Mr. Clearwater asked Edward to volunteer at the after-school program, too." Mom offers before I can stop her. I think back to yesterday when Bella had walked into Mr. Clearwater's office, unaware I was there, as well. He must have asked her once I had gone back to class.
"He asked you, huh?" I ask, rubbing a hand nervously on the back of my neck, suddenly uncomfortable with this information. I don't talk or share anything involving school or grades with anyone.
Bella nods, sighing and sitting back in her seat. "I told him I would," she pauses, then shrugs. "Not sure why."
"I think you'll do great there," Mom smiles and takes Bella's now-empty bowl. Mom points back and forth between Bella and me. "Both of you. The two smartest kids in the whole school tutoring the younger kids? Brilliant."
–u–
I shock myself on Monday morning when I'm in Mr. Clearwater's office before the bell for first period rings.
"The program will do amazing things now that you're a part of it," Mr. Clearwater says appreciatively. He sticks his hand out for me to shake. "Welcome aboard, Edward."
I smile nervously, hoping I'm doing the right thing.
Because it sure as fuck doesn't feel like it.
See you lovelies next week!