Gradually, when constant fear became a usual thing, a thought dripped through her. Shouldn't she be relaxed? And then Lizabel felt stupid. The Cullens aggressively inspired anything but fear. The things she hid from no longer existed. She led a peaceful life (Edward Cullen's acidic expression crossed her mind).
Still, she didn't move out from under her bed. The knowledge that the only area of attack was to the right of her was reassuring. For a small part in her teen years, the years before she met Renée, Lizabel had lived in a settlement that had small bedrooms without windows. Locks were on the inside, which meant nothing could get in. It also meant it would always be an effort when someone died in their sleep. (However a rare occurrence it was.)
This was… troublesome. Lizabel had never had a nightmare like that before, had never needed to be reminded of her time when survival had to be grabbed onto. She blamed the Cullens, obviously. Most of the resentment lay on Edward. Some of it on herself, who had been naive.
Why wouldn't she encounter zombies in this reality when she had so much job experience already? Maybe that was why she had been reborn in the first place- to stop the pandemic of them multiplying.
Lizabel didn't want to deal with it. She didn't come close to fixing the walking dead problem in her previous life, not when there was so much effort in not being dead herself. Childishness creeped up within her. In the end, she just didn't want to work. Life with Renée hadn't been the standard lap of wealth, but it was miles better from what Lizabel knew was possible. Food on the table everyday, heating in the winter, nothing coming for her neck. Now one of those luxuries was going to be removed. Had been removed.
Coming to Forks was a mistake.
"Are you okay, Isbell?" Charlie asked when she scraped eggs off the frying pan and into his plate.
"Naturally," she replied with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. There was no follow up question of 'why do you ask'. Lizabel knew the reason and didn't want to acknowledge it.
Charlie went on unprompted. "It's just that you look a bit harried."
She made a sound like she sympathized, like the concern hadn't been aimed towards her. "Nothing a little coffee can't fix."
"Because-" then he hesitated, which meant something touching on emotional vulnerability was going to be next. "There was… some crying during the night."
Turning towards the coffee maker and filling her cup gave some time to think. Lizabel counted the seconds it took for Charlie to muster the courage to press.
"Isabella?"
Fifteen seconds. She would have thought twenty. Had hoped for thirty.
The excuse was ready and came with all the lightness of talking about the weather in a grocery store. She turned around with an easy expression. "Homesickness. Renée-sickness," she added, since this house and Charlie were also supposed to be her home. Although 'Renée-sickness' sounded like a disease. Lizabel suppose she contracted it when she was five miles into running away from home but decided to go back.
"Aw, I'm sorry, Isbell," said Charlie, looking so helpless and sad he wasn't even touching his eggs. "Would it help if you called her?"
"I'll do it after school." She sipped her coffee and turned her head to look out the window.
Finally, the concern was dropped, or at least smothered with the pillow of clearly not wanting to talk about it. Lizabel was going to call Renée afterschool after all. To talk about moving back to Arizona.
A cowardly decision. One that would give everyone trouble, Charlie most of all. Hurt Charlie most of all. She didn't introduce the idea of leaving yet, hoping some part of her reason and practicality would win out over her fear. Possibly, what happened last night was just a one time warning. Lizabel was going to believe that.
The slight concern to her day was playing 'life or death' with Edward Cullen in biology. If she died, she died. Seventeen years of peace was much more than many others have gotten. Obviously, Lizabel would have liked to extend that time as much as she could. If she walked into class to see a glaring, dark eyed boy about to bite her head off, all there was to do would be: walk out, drive to Charlie's place, phone Renée about moving back.
Charlie left first after having eaten. Lizabel sipped her lukewarm coffee for a while longer and then prepared for school.
She wasn't late for English and even managed to pay attention. Wuthering Heights wasn't her favorite gothic literature, but manageable since she remembered most of the essays she did previously on it. Eric Yorkie, tall and the nice kind of geeky, asked if Lizabel was feeling okay. Naturally, she was. He insisted on coming to him if she had any troubles or simply wanted someone to talk to. Naturally, she wouldn't.
History placed her in a group project with Beth Daws and June Richardson. Neither of them slackers and neither of them cared to comment about her 'harried' appearance. Jessica wasn't nearly so kind.
Scooting her desk over and leaning over, she asked, "Are you okay? You look like you haven't slept at all."
"People keep asking me that for some reason," Lizabel said, careful to keep irritation from raising her voice over the sound of Mr. Varner's lecture. "But I can't really fix my face."
"Of course you can." Jessica rolled her eyes. "I'll lend you my concealer."
They had the same complexion in summer. In winter, it was a bit of a struggle, but Lizabel ended up no worse than when they started applying it in the girls' restroom. Over the sound of flushing and washing hands from other girls making the use of passing period, Jessica explained not only the basics of applying concealer, but foundation, eyeliner, and blush as well. She spoke excitedly, like one act of borrowing L'Oréal opened up a whole world of makeup exploration for her to guide Lizabel into.
Lizabel didn't think she wasn't feminine. While her clothing tended towards the woodland utilitarian side, the colors still matched. There was a young, modern flair to her that just so happened to not need eyeshadow. When she told that to Jessica, there was a drawn out sigh.
"Whatever. But you have to let me help you with your hair," she said, tugging on Lizabel's ponytail.
Spanish sucked, her next worst subject after Gym, and then she was in line for lunch and that was when it hit her. Lizabel was going to die. The realization sent spasms through her muscles, jarring her heart so much she heard it like cymbals in the climax of a concert.
"What's wrong with you, Lizzy?" Lauren asked, attentive as always in the worst kind of way.
Lauren Mallory was looking at her. Tyler was looking at her. Jessica previously got her food and was already at the table, but it wasn't like they were friends anyway. Not really. She was alone and the Cullens were there. The idea of their presence, because Jessica said they always went to lunch despite never eating, pressed up against her brain like a blade.
She opened her mouth to say something, to brush it off. All that came out was a shuddering type of breath and then continuous gasping. Terrible. Embarrassing. Pathetic. Lizabel walked from the lunchline, out of the cafeteria, without another attempt for words.
The nearest classrooms were empty but locked. Lizabel needed to run- run away from them and hide in the underground. Ironically, her mind clung onto the idea of a coffin as the place for her. Dark, small, no one to hear her cry. With the way her heart was beating, a last burst of energy before shutting down, she was going to end up in one soon enough. A custodian's closet to the left was the next best option for her. The mop and bucket keeping it open was shoved out of the way before Lizabel slipped through the entrance.
There was a click at the shut of the door. She kept her hands on the handle, ready for the inevitable when something would try to open it. A high-pitched, airy sound was coming out of her mouth and she had to decide between blocking the noise or keeping the door firmly shut. It didn't matter; they were going to come for her anyway.
They were going to find her. She knew that fact more than she knew her name. The knowledge drummed through her in eternal buildup.
A wave of calm crashed over Lizabel, toppling the fear she clinged to like it was a skiff. Her limbs still shook, but she managed to remove the certainty that she was in her death throes. Within a minute, Lizabel's mind switched from these are the last thoughts I'll have before I'll die to I'm alright, I'm fine, I'm safe. Her face was wet with tears, body empty from a sort of exhaustion she never experienced even after hours of running, and she was fine.
Clarity now had the freedom to allow logic to enter once again. A Cullen was nearby; she couldn't entertain the delusion it was by accident. Likely not Edward, unless her wild panic had excited his already bloodthirsty instincts towards her. Then again, Lizabel never had direct contact with any of the other Cullens. However, this calm wasn't the physical, instinctual relaxation she knew from before. It was an outside feeling invading her own senses. The foreign sensation should have alarmed her. Needless to say, it calmed her.
Once Lizabel's body managed to slow down to match her mood, she placed her hand once again on the handle and pressed down. The door didn't budge. Again, she attempted to open the door and received the same result. That… was probably why a bucket was holding it open in the first place.
Great. Now she had to pray that the person who opened the door on the outside would be an individual much less privy to gossip. 'New Student Isabella Swan Comes out of the Closest - Literally!' In her old school, a little breakdown in an unused room was just another Tuesday.
Knowing how stupid it was, Lizabel reached up and gave a heavy, firm knock on the door.
KNOCK
KNOCK
KNOCK
Well. If she kept at it, a new ghost rumor could be started. The mystery of the haunted closet.
Her fifth knock covered up the sound of the door unlocking. The sixth knock pushed it open enough to crack open the darkness with some light. Lizabel stared, both out of surprise of her plea being answered so quickly and in order to steel herself to meet her confused saviour.
When she inched herself out of the closet, not a soul was in the nearby vicinity. The direct hallway was clear, green and blue tiles nearly shining, all lockers closed. A few meters to the right, two girls were having their own conversation, too far away to have been them even if they just passingly opened the closet without interest for the person in it.
Lizabel should have been more interested in the person (or ghost?) who saved her, but shame over her hysterics pushed her to walk quickly to the restroom. Her makeup had to be washed off, showing an absolutely wrecked appearance. Twenty minutes spent in front of the mirror did not nearly cover up as much as she liked. Going to Jessica for help was out of the question, since she would ask questions. The next ten minutes were spent psyching herself up for biology.
Messed up as it was, Lizabel was looking forward to meeting Edward (excluding the scenario with lots of blood involved). Her body freaked out at the idea of them, but not their presence. She needed a guarantee that something like last night or lunch period would never happen again.
As if just to spite her, Edward wasn't in biology. Even better in the long run. Lizabel could listen to the lecture over a topic her previous school already covered in-depth in peace. The sciences were fun, such a shame she had a shitty table partner.
The second the bell rang, Mike was on her, so close it was nearly literal.
"Why weren't you at lunch? Lauren said you just freaked and left."
"Mhmm," was her reply. A half-interested sound as if he were speaking about something that didn't involve her.
Alas, he kept talking. "Izzy, no offense, but you look absolutely terrible."
"Thanks. Saying that makes me extremely attracted to you," Lizabel said in a voice so tired that there was no energy for sarcasm in it.
Mike shut up for a precious few seconds, wheels in his mind turning to understand she actually wasn't into him. She took the moment to find Angela Weber.
"Hey, do you want to walk together?" Lizabel was already headed in the direction she started for.
Angela blinked. "Sure, but I'm headed towards the orchestra room."
"That's fine. It's near the nurse's office, right?"
"Oh, are you not feeling well?" Slowing down her long gait, Angela looked her over with gentle interest. "I know you weren't at lunch."
"Nothing really," Lizabel lightened her voice. "I'll just visit there for a moment."
They walked the rest of the way in silence. Angela lingered in the doorway until Lizabel waved her off while she spoke with the nurse.
Nurse Hammond was doubtful of the necessity of Lizabel's presence in the office. The words 'panic attack' made her feel like a little kid making whatever shit up in order to skip school. Saying that she could drive herself home instead of needing Charlie to pick her up didn't help her case. Reluctantly, Hammond did give her permission to leave early, warning that she would also be informing police chief Charlie of her decision.
That was something to be dealt with later. Lizabel drove home in the rain and immediately went to sleep when she entered her room.
The smell of food awoke her. Meat with sauce, spices, something fried. Confusing, because neither Renée nor Charlie could cook, and then concerning, because it meant Charlie spent money on food when they had perfectly good granola at home.
Door to her room already opened, Charlie stood at her bed with Chinese takeout.
"Hey, kiddo," he said. The last time he used 'kiddo' was when she was getting her arm cast put on. "I got some food, so you don't have to cook dinner."
They ate downstairs on the couch. Lizabel sat cross legged, slowly eating her rice and tofu. Charlie was halfway through the mu shu pork before he started the conversation.
"So I got a call from the school today."
"Really? What about?" Lizabel asked before taking a bite of her eggroll.
A sigh. "Lisbell, the panic attack? Not just at school, but at home last night too, wasn't it?"
Silence followed.
Charlie spread his hands out, looking out of his depth. "How long has this been going on? Two in one day is more than normal."
"Not long at all," came the quick reply, Lizabel trying her best to be consoling.
It had the opposite effect.
"So just when you moved here."
"Nooooo-"
"Yes," Charlie said with more force. "Only when you moved to Forks. Renée would have never allowed it if she knew you had anxiety issues."
Why, why was he making such a big deal? "It's really not your fault. You couldn't have made the transition any smoother."
"Isn't that worse though? If it's not something I did, then is there anything I can do to make it better?" The questions came out pained, Charlie with a desperate, despairing look on his face.
"Oh, Dad."
"Don't," Charlie closed his eyes. "You're the one who has the hardship. I know you don't have the answers as to how to fix it."
And wasn't that galling. It was her body, her brain, and it didn't obey her commands. Everyone knowing of her out of control behavior was just the cherry on top.
"So I think we should make an appointment."
Lizabel's eyes widened, fried rice entirely forgotten. "No. I'm not going to be that sort of person."
Waving his hands in an attempt to reassure her, Charlie continued, "It's just an evaluation. You know Dr. Cullen is a good doctor, right? It'll just be a little talk."
What did the universe want from her? Was Cullen after Cullen going to be thrown at her until she did something? Set them on fire? Form a book club with them? Befriend them?
"He's the chief of medicine; shouldn't it be a psychologist?" she asked, putting aside her plate now that her appetite was ruined.
"He has certification in addiction and adolescent psychiatry."
Lizabel held herself back from the cheap shot of accusing Charlie of thinking she was on drugs.
"I think we're going about this issue much too quickly," she said, voice low and steady.
Charlie's gaze sharpened. "And I think you're trying to minimize it in an attempt to ignore the problem, inevitably making it worse down the line." Okay, doing the 'parental voice' did not work as effectively on Charlie as it did on Renée.
"Just wait a while. I'm asking you to not jump the gun, but that doesn't mean you can't fire it off at me later."
Raising an eyebrow at her metaphor, Charlie made a noise of reluctant assent. Neither of them had the stamina for a long argument. Having been emotionally exhausted once again, Lizabel went back upstairs to sleep the rest of the day.
The next day gave Lizabel back half her normal energy. She showered, dressed in form fitting jeans, standard gray blouse, and stylish jacket, and even managed a ladder braid ponytail. Just barely did she remove herself from looking like she crawled out of a grave.
Waking up early allowed Lizabel to avoid Charlie, although she activated the coffee maker for him. When she got to school, there were only a few cars in the parking lot. She waited, looking for Jessica's vehicle just so she could leech more concealer off of her. Mike had said it was a 2004 something or other. Lizabel remembered it as one of the more expensive red ones.
More than a few minutes later and there was only a slight pickup of incoming students. Really, she should have brought along a nail file for something to do. A red convertible pulled in to her left. Lizabel rolled down her slightly dirty window to take a good look at the driver.
While also beautiful (understatement), Rosalie Hale was too tall and too blonde to be Jessica Stanley. Rosalie took off her sunglasses, despite there having been no sun in the first place. The grace with which she did it made up for any redundancies. Raising an elegant eyebrow, Rosalie stared at Lizabel as if in challenge.
"Nice car," Lizabel said, taking a pointed look at it before moving her head to the right side window.
The only reply was the opening and closing of the driver's door. A moment later, Lizabel decided to do the same. It would give her a proper view of everyone coming in.
After a while, Mike came up to her and now she really wished she knew where Jessica was.
"Hey, sorry about the other day," he said, jumping up on the hood of the truck where Lizabel sat. "I don't think you look terrible. In fact, I think you're really beautiful."
"Hmm- nope." Lizabel did not have the patience to ignore his subtle flirtations today. She got off the car. "Do not call me beautiful. Don't even think me pretty. Do not give me any compliment that you would not be comfortable giving to a guy friend."
There was too much confusion in Mike's face and not enough understanding.
Lizabel went on, finally spotting Jessica's car rolling in. "I am not a romantic option for you. I will never say 'yes', so never ignore my 'no'. Cry about it to Jessica or someone else you have a chance with."
Walking over to the driver's side of the car, Lizabel bent down slightly to talk through the rolled down window. "Hi- oh hey, Lauren. Jessica, can I borrow your concealer again?"
"Ugh, fine. Get in the back seat."
Despite the inconvenience of it, Jessica also accompanied Lizabel in the back. Their legs pressed up against each other as Jessica dug through her purple purse to produce concealer and a pocket mirror.
"So, since you weren't at lunch, you totally missed what Ben Cheney did."
"Enlighten me," Lizabel said, more out of the desire to not linger on the reason why she skipped lunch.
Jessica talked long enough for Lizabel to make her face presentable. Lauren, who was turned around from the passenger's seat, occasionally making comments on Jessica's story, finally directly addressed Lizabel.
"That really isn't your color." A bit too obvious to earn points for observation. "We're going to have to take you shopping pronto."
"Me?" Lizabel raised an eyebrow and handed the items back to Jessica.
"Yeah," Lauren said flatly, long blonde hair fanning over her shoulder. "Which day on the weekend works for you?"
"Probably neither of them. I'll be visiting the tribe in La Push with my dad."
Jessica tossed her purse up in the driver's seat. "You go there? We hang out on First Beach when it's warmer. You should join us sometime."
Two social invitations in one day? So that was what small town hospitality felt like.
"So you really can't do it during the weekend?" asked Lauren.
"There's always next week." And that was the reason Lizabel never made true friends. She could have made time on Sunday instead of going hiking. There was just little incentive to choose shopping (spending money) over something she always found comfort in.
"You're right, there is," Lauren said. "It's called Monday. We're going right after school."
The look in her eyes said there was no room for debate.
They all got out of the car after that and headed to classes. Morning was a slightly frantic affair, since Lizabel hadn't done any homework last night. Math had a quiz, and Mr. Varner didn't pull his punches. She reconvened with others during lunch.
Angela held her sandwich as usual. Katie went for the salad with Lizabel, Jessica and Lauren had spaghetti.
"Is it just us girls today?" Lizabel asked.
"I wish," said Kaitie. "Mike and Tyler are in the line getting fries." The area which she pointed to looked closer to a neat crowd around one stand instead of a straight line.
"Conner is sick. Speaking of which," Jessica leaned in closer, "Edward Cullen is also gone today."
"Good for him," said Lizabel dryly.
"Nooo, do you know how weird it is for one of them to be gone, but not all of them?"
"It's her third day here, Jess," Angela pointed out. "She couldn't have known."
Jessica waved it off. "Edward wasn't here yesterday. Alice and Jasper weren't at lunch either, even though I still saw her in art and Austin Marks saw Jasper in English." She twirled pasta around with her fork. "Once a couple skips a class period or something, everyone pretty much assumes they're going at it."
"Jessica," Lizabel said, tone slightly sharp as she picked up her drink. "Isn't that a little too much? Like unfair?"
"Fine. Whatever," she sighed. "I know I should stop. Don't want to end up a mean girl like Lauren."
Lizabel choked on her water.
"Everyone needs a villain in their life to keep things interesting," Lauren said, flipping her hair.
True to word, Edward 'eat-your-heart-out (literally)' Cullen was not in biology that day. Lucky her. For Gym, Coach Clapp allowed her to run laps in lieu of volleyball watching. Luckier her. Mike didn't offer to walk her to either of those classes. Either this was buildup luck from yesterday or she was going to get hit by a bus on Friday.
Afterschool was spent catching up on homework and researching the area in Port Angeles, where Lizabel, Jessica, and Lauren were set to go shopping. Entirely by accident as she was on the computer, Lizabel rediscovered her email account. And then looked at the fifty emails sent by Renée.
Briefly, she wondered how much trouble she'd be in if she just sent one email, contents: yep I haven't been murdered yet lol bye, and then never turned on the computer ever again. Probably get multiple very angry phone calls. It was a wonder Renée didn't call before.
One by one, Lizabel read through the messages. The first few emails were properly long. After email five, the lengths dwindled to one or two lines, mainly variations of 'contact me back'. Email forty had an entire paragraph, multiple spelling and grammar mistakes, and even though it was electronic, clearly had the stench of alcohol attached to it. If Lizabel didn't know exactly what caused it, she would have blamed her new found anxiety on Renée.
They had gone nearly no contact before: roughly once a month every year when she visited Forks. Then again, Charlie very quickly bought a mobile phone just from Renée's pushing. Shame there was never service in the woods.
Nonetheless, Renée was being unusually excessive. Slight annoyance turned to Phil. What was he doing? Or not doing, as seemed to be the case. Constantly traveling meant no constant attention to Renée. Lizabel wondered if she had to suggest getting her a dog.
An emotional support dog who could do taxes: that was what Lizabel had been to Renée. Yikes, maybe the anxiety really didn't come from nowhere.
She sent a short email saying that she was home safe and available to be called for further details. Unless Renée was out, Lizabel knew the landline would ring in under an hour. That gave her enough time to come to a decision about Forks.
Moving would be a hassle; it would also decrease her chances of dying. Edward was out of biology, maybe dropped out, maybe locked in the Cullen basement in an attempt to control his hunger. If he were gone for good, then Lizabel's future was looking alive. Until she had a class with a Cullen in senior year. Maybe that was her life purpose: forcing five kids to drop out of school with her very presence.
The panic attacks could stop if she left Forks or they could continue once the first one had 'activated'. Charlie was going to tell Renée about the anxiety anyway. For an awful, selfish moment, she wished their divorce had been on less amicable terms. Lizabel got up and put on Vivaldi just so she could worry with a soundtrack on.
Would Renée book her therapist appointments every other day or would she forget about her daughter's issues completely? Likely both at varying times in the year. Well, Lizabel only needed to depend on the 'forget' option up until her eighteenth birthday. Arizona therapists had a lower chance of zombie evaluation, but Dr. Cullen likely wasn't bothered with murder considering he interacted with blood as a physcisian. Maybe he wasn't even a zombie.
Lizabel was on the fence, it seemed. Then, a thought came to her. She had plans on Monday, had indeterminate beach plans some weeks later. Blowing off acquaintances for decisions already made was one thing, moving when she already knew she had prior engagements was another. She wasn't too excited to reconnect with her old 'friends', who liked getting high and wrecking their parent-bought cars too much. It took an entire two years for them to invite her to the movies.
The phone rang- time was up. Lizabel decided she was going to stay in Forks.
When Charlie came home, she was still on the phone with Renée. Two hours and six innings or touchdowns or whatever later, Lizabel was finally able to end it with a love you, mom. Bye. Byeeee- click of the 'end call' button.
"Was that the first time you called her?" Charlie asked, getting up from his seat on the couch. "Seemed like a lot of pent up conversation."
"That was just her with two glasses of wine." A lot of conversing on Lizabel's end had been sounds of varying interest.
Dinner that night was tomato soup. (Not canned, she knew well enough to save those for emergencies.) Right up until Charlie put his foot spoon down.
"Isbell, a man has to eat," he said, with some sort of unwarranted finality.
Charlie was eating just a second ago. Drinking, technically. Consuming food.
"That's true," Lizabel said and, just because she knew he was already annoyed with her evasive answer, she slurped the soup long and slow with her spoon.
Charlie was unamused. "I would say this is rabbit food, but honestly I think rabbits get more calories than this."
"I'm not even a proper vegetarian," she said. He had seen her eat meat, been there most of the times she did.
Leaning back, he said, "No, you just won't eat something you haven't killed yourself or seen someone hunt."
"The meat industry is very unethical." Lizabel blamed sixth grade food and nutrition class.
Charlie made a 'heavens, why me?' gesture. "That's why our time with Harry on Saturday will be spent fishing."
"Early fishing?" Didn't he know the weekend was for catching up on sleep debt?
"Not by much. Just wake up with the light of day."
Lizabel would if she still slept in her bed with the window and sheer curtains letting the light in. Sleeping in the not-so-metaphorical closet with its tight space and constant darkness made her feel too safe to give it up. If Charlie ever walked into her room at night he would probably think she snuck out to go partying.
And then bust the party, as chief of police.
Thunderclouds hovered in Thursday's sky ominously. By the afternoon, they still hadn't broken, yet the smell of incoming storms hung in the air thickly. Cool air brushed up against Lizabel's arms as she ran the track after classes. Track team was in the off season and she might not bother to try out if it promised to take up much of her time. Still, it was more prudent than ever to be in shape.
The soccer team was playing on the inner field. Rather, they were playing against someone. For a large guy of even larger muscle mass, Emmett Cullen could not only run quickly, but had the grace and flexibility to have more than fair chances against a one-on-entire-team.
Lizabel slowed down to a steady jog as she became more invested in their game. It wasn't like Emmett was single-handedly trouncing them. One player on one side meant that there was no goalie, and the opposing group of guys and girls knew to exploit that weakness. Their teamwork indicated this setup had been done before. Yet, even with her minuscule knowledge of sports, Lizabel could see that they struggled to beat Emmett.
He was always just fast enough that the person running up against him couldn't do much, dexterous in the way he handled the soccer ball so quickly, never losing track of it with his feet. The power in which he kicked the ball was the least surprising, people moved out of the way when the ball flew by his means. Poor goalie.
When she could see the game wrapping up, all the team collectively shaking Emmett's hand like it was a ceremony, Lizabel called out.
"Tyler," she yelled, easily spotting his form. "What was the score?"
Tyler, curly black hair with dark eyes, looked up and started walking towards her. He spoke loudly over the distance.
"Two to one!"
Now that he was closer, Lizabel didn't have to yell as much, voice projected out in the open air. "That guy really made you work for the win, huh?"
"What?" came a booming voice that might have rivaled the incoming thunder if there were more effort. "That guy? I'm the one who won!"
This was said with a sense of indignation but, given his reputation, not with seriousness. If anything at all came out of that Cullen table at lunch, it was either Emmett's startling laugh or Alice's excited bell-like voice. Even during the game, he was laughing and goading the other panting, worn-out players.
It could have been a one-off comment, but he was now jogging towards Lizabel and Tyler.
"A Cullen willing to play with you?" She asked Tyler, trying her best to keep her voice low but loud enough for him to hear her.
"They're not complete social outcasts," he said, not even bothering to keep up with discretion. "You just got Edward, who's the worst of them."
Yes, Jessica did tell her that Alice and Jasper helped out with the technical side of last semester's musical. Even Rosalie had sporadic attendance at the automobile club. Still strange to see it in action.
Tyler leaned back, looking at Emmett who was closer to them than Lizabel expected. "He comes in sporadically just to wreck us- like a hurricane."
"Wet and wild. bro," came the standard reply. Thunder in the distance roared to agree with him. Emmett then turned his attention towards Lizabel. "You're Charlie Swan's daughter. Isabella, right?"
She blinked at his amber, non-homicidal gaze. "That's what they say on my papers."
"Mhm, and you run? Wanna race?"
"That half-hour game didn't wear you out?" Even as an observer, Lizabel felt worn out by some of the sprints he did.
Emmett chuckled and glanced at Tyler. "This guy's gonna have to do a lot more work to tire me."
"Hmm, and it is safe?" It wouldn't be back luck if the activity triggered some hunting instinct, it would be completely her own stupid descision. Additionally, her adrenaline had already lowered when she started speaking with Tyler. Being so near Emmett, Lizabel wondered if she could force her heart rate back up.
Assessment flickered across Emmett's expression before relaxing to a sharp, teasing quirk of his lips. "What, you scared, Swan? Won't play with me?"
Lizabel narrowed her eyes. They were in public and it could be a good test to see how capable the Cullens really were. Emmett was already walking to the farthest ring of the circle.
"Here, I'll even let you have the inner track."
She lined up and got in position. "Don't underestimate me."
"Oh, I'm not planning to," he said.
Lizabel ran without counting down, slightly bad sportsmanship, but Emmett kept up. And he kept up. While better at long distance, her short-term speed wasn't something to scoff at. Yet she had no edge when it came to running against him. Lizabel should have started out at a steady pace, instead she had shot forth with a burst of energy she didn't measure out. Emmett was always a step ahead.
"That slow, huh?" he said with a powerful grin.
She could only breathe out a frustrated fuck and try to not let it get to her. It was a struggle to keep up with her own set pace, much less overtake him. And he was clearly toying with her. Lizabel had no energy in the last quarter of the track, so she ran on spite.
Five seconds before the finish line, Emmett slowed down just fractionally enough that she could get there first. Like an elder brother humoring his kid sister. Lizabel would have seethed under the condescension if her pride hadn't been gutted in the first thirty seconds.
Rain crashed down on them. By the time Lizabel slowed down, halfway through the track again, she was nearly soaked to her undergarments.
"Good game, good try," Emmett said, breathing with his full chest. He stuck out his hand.
Lizabel shook it, the contact being just as cold as the rain around them.
"Good game."
Lizabel could have ended the weekday perfectly if Jessica hadn't opened her mouth before they headed to lunch.
"Y'know, my mother also has, like, anxiety issues," said Jessica casually as she reapplied her lip gloss, leaning close to the mirror.
Lizabel stopped toweling off her hands and locked eyes with Angela, who was just about to enter. Through her panicked expression, she was able to convey that the other girl should find a different restroom. Thankfully, no one else was there.
"How do you even know about that?" Jesus, was her every move going to be broadcasted to the town?
"Oh, Nurse Hammond complains about work when she gets tipsy and I waitress at the bar on slow nights."
The bar that Jessica's parents owned. Lizabel didn't know what agreement they had made with the authorities, but no one had a vocal problem with it. Small towns definitely operated on different rules. She threw her paper towel in the trash.
"So when did half of the school find out?"
Mike had been looking at her oddly in biology yesterday.
Finishing her touch ups, Jessica put the rest of her things away. "Just me. And Michael, the barkeeper. Nurse Hammond, obviously. But rumors-wise it's just us." And technically Angela, but she was too kind to tell anyone. Jessica twisted her curly hair, moving to get closer to Lizabel. "No information gets in this school without my say-so; I'm the backbone of the grapevine. Like an official sommelier." There was pride in Jessica's tone as she said it.
Ignoring the disconnected metaphor, Lizabel said, "But why keep it to yourself? Isn't it pretty juicy gossip?"
She was aware of her standing in Jessica's eyes. It was a transactional relationship: Lizabel diverted attention onto Jessica, Jessica protected Lizabel from being alone at lunch while occasionally lending makeup. Unspoken social deals were so much more understandable than imitated 'friendships'.
"Ignoring the fact that this is high school, so everyone has their own mental issues," Jessica started, looking at Lizabel. "Do you know what popularity is? It's controlling info for some fantastic PR. Since I've decided you're popular, your image is naturally beyond reproach."
Ah, so it was a power thing. Lizabel was entirely dependent on Jessica for a presentable school reputation. The question was: why go to the effort of building her up?
"Thanks. I didn't think you liked me enough to do that."
Jessica's stare slid to the left, on her own image in the mirror and breaking her gaze with Lizabel. "Well, you shut down the guys pretty well," meaning Mike Newton, "so there really isn't competition."
Ah, fortunately Lizabel had high standards for boyfriends.