Chapter 2: Discretion

TW: disordered eating; grooming behavior

As it turns out, the rattling, chugging sound of the Chevy doesn't really leave much room for the inconspicuous entrance Bella had been hoping for.

I grit my teeth at every squeak of the tires against the wet pavement, wince as the truck jumps up and down as it pulls into the parking lot of Forks High, and I give Bella a shy grin as she looks at me with a pointed glance.

"Discreet, huh?"

"Can't say we didn't…try?" I offer lightly. Bella breathes out a heavy breath as she takes in the sight of a group of curious onlookers, and I realize there's a stark contrast between the truck and the other cars surrounding us. The Chevy is old, rust-covered, and noisy, but it looks ancient in comparison to the used Toyota's and Nissan's on either side of the parking space – our mere arrival is attention-grabbing enough.

"I won't be riding home with you…practice, and all. But I'll be on time for dinner," I explain as I struggle to open up the passenger door. "I'd give you a tour, but I don't really know your teachers or where your classes will be. I haven't been to the junior wing, yet. I'm sure the front office will give you a map, maybe?"

"I'll find my way around, it's okay."

Bella says it assuredly, but I can't help but think she's trying to feign confidence more for herself than for me. "We won't have lunch together, either," I say disappointedly. "But a ton of people will probably want to sit with you. New girl privileges."

As I hoist my soccer bag from the bed of the truck over my shoulder, a boy lets out a jeer. "Nice ride," he says, jerking his chin up at my sister.

"Right," she tells me, finally climbing out of the driver's seat. She turns to the nosy onlooker. "Thanks."

I practically scamper to walk alongside her, trying to fall into step with her brisk pace. "It'll die down, promise," I whisper.

Bella lets out a huffed chuckle. "Probably doesn't help that I'm your sister, I guess."

My eyebrows scrunch together confusedly, what is that supposed to mean? "Because…I just assumed, with soccer and everything, you're probably pretty popular, right?" she asks me. A laugh startles out of me before I can help it, and I shake my head fiercely. I have no idea where she could've gotten that idea, but I'm quick to disprove any of her thoughts.

"I'm a sophomore, Bella," I tell her truthfully. "Who was a freshman on Varsity. Which, in case you don't know, means I'm pretty much the opposite of whatever you're thinking."

She nods, not looking as though she fully believes me. Just as she opens her mouth to say something else, we've stopped right in front of the main office. I wave a hand over to the door as if she needs any further explanation and slap it down by my side. "Well, I guess this is where I leave you," I say. Bella looks at the desk inside and back to me, her mouth furrowed with nerves, and worry festers at the bottom of my stomach. There's not much else I know to do to help her – in fact, I'm not sure there's anything I can do, but it still makes me feel a little twisted inside at the prospect of leaving her alone on her very first day.

Racking my brain for something, anything helpful, I push my soccer bag behind my back with a grunt and move close to her, wrapping her side in an awkward, one-armed hug. "You'll be fine," I swear to her. "You just have to be patient. All the attention'll subside, Bella."

She nods her head, giving me a stiff pat on the shoulder as she relinquishes herself from my hold. "Pretty sure the roles got switched, somehow. You're supposed to be the little sister, I think. It's like you grew up overnight."

It's not really funny, not to me. But it's a joke, I think, so I laugh as if on cue. "I'd hardly say overnight," I say quietly. "Had to do something to occupy the time over the years, right?"

I can tell the minute her face twists in that guilty expression she'd worn the night before that I've said something wrong, so a smile quickly rises to my face in an effort to play it off. "I wanna hear all about your day at dinner," I carefully redirect.

Bella smiles too, albeit a relieved one. "Thanks, Sophie. I…I know-"

"Don't mention it. Sisters, remember? I don't think big sisters are supposed to thank little sisters as much as you do."

"Right. Big sister," she says, pointing to herself. "Little sister," she continues, pointing at me.

"Just be yourself, Bells. Everybody's gonna love you."

As I turn around to walk to the sophomore corridor, the smile flickers on my face as something akin to dread fills my body. I can feel a few stares from the girls from the Junior Varsity team, undoubtedly already having heard about the new girl at school, and I clutch onto my bag a little tighter. If my feet just happen to intentionally walk closer to the opposite row of lockers, I'm the only one that notices.

Everybody's gonna love you, I told Bella before I said goodbye. If a teeny-tiny ugly thought quickly followed, I'm the only one who knows about that, too.

Everybody's gonna love you. They obviously already do.

In Forks, it's any wonder how anybody in our tiny town finds something to look forward to each and every day. Despite the tour-guide spiel I'd given to Bella the day prior, I'm well aware of just how little there is to do here: there are trees, and more trees, a cold beach, and even more trees. I love this place with my whole heart – it's home, my home, but I'm not naïve enough to believe Forks is some sort of metropolis in the Pacific Northwest.

But I'm lucky to have found mine. The one part of my day that gives me something to anticipate every day, the scratch of relief to a persistent, claustrophobic itch. The one time in a whole twenty-four-hour period where I feel totally in control of something. It comes in the form of a black-and-white patchwork ball, too-tight cleats, and knee-high socks.

Practice goes off without a hitch, or so I think. We run all of our normal drills – dribbling, turning, tackling. My thoughts are a million miles away from my sister, from our family, from here- in these moments, my mind is completely focused on the ball in front of me and eleven other girls with matching blue-and-gold uniforms.

I head into the locker room, my temples slick with sweat and my ponytail in all sorts of disarray. "Good work out there today, Swan," Taylor, our team captain, says to me with a quick slap on my back. "You've gotten tons better at those right turns."

My eyes widen in disbelief at the rare compliment, and I barely utter a 'thank-you' as she runs out ahead of me. I don't think Taylor's even acknowledged me since last year, so the praise is just as much of a welcome surprise as it is a shock to the system.

It isn't until I see Coach Warren staring at me, his eyes firm and his mouth grim, that my short-lived feelings of happiness come crashing down. "Swan," he says, holding no room for argument. "My office."

A few of the girls make unnecessary 'ooooh''s at the chastisement, and I duck my head between my shoulders as I follow behind him. I worry my lip between my teeth, keep my eyes steadily on the floor below my feet, and drag myself into the small room.

"Door," Coach says to me without looking up from his seat behind the large, wooden desk in front of him. I close it shut, and my spine stiffens as I prepare for a verbal lashing.

His eyes maintain their gaze on the clipboard on his desk, but he points down to the open chair in front of him without a word. I promptly sit down, trying to quiet my belabored breathing from our last suicide-run.

He doesn't say anything for a few minutes, and I squirm with discomfort as he refuses to look up. Am I in trouble? I wonder in panic, trying my best to recall anything I might've done during practice that would've called for this meeting. Did I do something wrong?

"Swan…Sophie," he says, finally glancing up at me. I swallow harshly and nod my head. "Do you know why I put you on the Varsity team last year?"

I don't know if he's asking a rhetorical question, but I shrug regardless. He folds his arms behind his head and tilts back in his chair, blowing out a tired breath. "Because I know raw talent when I see it, Sophie. I know the difference between a girl who's done a few extra soccer-camp sessions, and when a girl puts in the work. From the minute I saw you, I knew you needed to be on this team."

It's certainly not the flattery I'm expecting, and perhaps that's why I don't relish in it- any moment, I can feel a 'but' coming, and I wait impatiently for its arrival. "Now, don't get me wrong. Nobody was happy about it, obviously, you were a freshman. Not your teammates, not the assistant coaches, but I pushed you through. Because I think you can bring this team to where it needs to be. I think you can bring us all the way to States."

"S-States?" I stutter out. None of the teams at Forks High have ever made it past Regionals, at least not since I've been alive. Coach nods in self-assurance.

"I said I think. And generally, I'm pretty confident with my decisions. I realized you had some growing to do, that's why I told you to watch the old footage. You've been watching, I'm assuming?"

I hurriedly nod my head.

"Good. Notice anything from those games from the last couple of years?"

My brows furrow in thought, and I look down at my lap. "My…my footwork wasn't really precise. I missed a few cues on the pitch I realize now I should've seen."

"Not just the negatives. What are some things from those games that stood out to you, good things?"

Good things? I think to myself. I didn't think I was supposed to be looking for those.

Coach taps his foot patiently, but it draws me out of my thoughts and I look blankly back at him for direction. "I'll give you a hint. I timed you today, and your mile run is at seven minutes, thirty seconds. Do you know what it was last year?"

I shake my head.

"Seven-fifteen."

My mouth nearly drops at the difference, and my eyes flicker back and forth in bewilderment as to how I could've possibly gotten slower in the last year with all the practice I've been doing. My fingers curl themselves into my shorts, and I desperately try to remember the last time I timed a run on my own. What was the number? I would've realized a fifteen-second difference, wouldn't I?

"I'm…I'm sorry, Coach-"

He cuts me off with a single hand, and he leans forward over the desk. "Can I be straight with you, Sophie?" he asks brusquely. "I have a few ideas as to how we can get you back to where you need to be, but I don't need you crying over it, okay? You're still a kid, and kids have a habit of letting their feelings get hurt over nothing."

I nod and push my shoulders back, like I'm trying to prove I'm much more of an adult than I seem. He pushes his hands away from the desk and rises from his chair, moving over to where I'm sitting until he's reclining against the wood.

I jolt when his hand touches my side, blinking rapidly as I feel his fingers pull at my flesh. "This," he says, squeezing the skin alongside my hip. "Needs to go. Maybe lay off dessert at dinner, alright? If you wanna be the best player on this team, you need to be prepared to make sacrifices. That's just how it goes."

My heart is beating wildly in my chest when he lets go of me, my mouth completely dry as he goes back to his chair. His face is completely calm whereas I know my own must look like I've seen a ghost, but I quickly try to compose myself into something more amiable. "Like I said. I know talent when I see it, but I also know a few too many servings of cobbler. Trust me," he says with a chuckle, patting at his own stomach. "I'm in your boat now, and I'm an old man. But you're young enough to make these changes while they matter."

"R-Right," I mutter, my cheeks flooded in humiliation. "Yeah."

"I'm only looking out for you, kiddo. And I know how embarrassing this stuff can be for a girl your age, so we'll just keep it between us, got it?"

I nod, my gaze steadfast on my lap. My side feels like it's burning.

Coach claps his hands together and it scares me so much I take a sharp inhale of breath, and he jerks his head over to the door. "Locker room, Swan. And remember what I said about dessert."

I stand weakly from the chair. "T-Thanks, Coach."

I usually take a ten-minute shower tops, on days after practice. The locker rooms are pretty gross, and the strong odor of mold and mildew always leaves me with a headache if I stick around for too long.

Today, my shower's closer to a solid twenty.

"Sorry," I mumble as I squeeze my way into Dad's booth at Carver's Café, my hair still wet and sticking to the sides of my face. "What'd I miss?"

I'd opted to walk to my and Dad's favorite dinner spot instead of asking for a ride from one of the older girls, a not-so-subtle commitment to Coach's advice. I'm relieved to see that he and Bella aren't eating yet, despite the drinks on the table, so I feel somewhat assured that I'm not running that far behind our normal schedule.

"You're late," Dad says curiously, taking a sip of his Diet Coke. "Get held up at practice?"

My thoughts immediately retreat back to callused fingers pinching at my hip, but I dismiss them before my stomach turns. "Yeah. Had to talk to Coach," I say quickly, glancing up at Bella. "How was your first day?"

My sister shrugs, her mouth pursed with an expression I can't place. "Pretty much what I expected," she says.

I open my mouth to inquire further, but Cora, our usual waitress, sets down two platters in front of Bella and Dad. "I just can't get over how grown-up you are. And so gorgeous," she says sweetly, before turning to me. With a fierce finger-wag and a stern expression, she puts her hands on her hips and sighs. "And where have you been, Miss Thing? I took their orders a half-hour ago."

"Sorry, Cora. Duty calls," I reply, pinching at my jersey. She pats me fondly on the shoulder and shakes her head. "You want your regular, sweetie?"

I'm interrupted yet again, but this time by one of Dad's least favorite people in Forks. "Hey, Bella," Waylon greets with a gravelly laugh as he makes his way over to the table. "You remember me?"

Bella shrugs helplessly, looking to Dad and me for an answer. "I played Santa one year," he offers lamely.

"Yeah, Waylon, she hasn't had a Christmas here since she was four," Dad grumbles.

"I bet I made an impression though, didn't I?"

"You always do."

"Butt-crack Santa?" Bella says finally, cracking a laugh from the small crowd we've gathered.

"Hey, kids love those little bottles, though."

"Alright, let the girl eat her garden burger, Waylon," Cora dismisses, practically shoving him away from the table as she turns back towards me. "Your regular, Sophie?"

My tongue ties itself in my mouth as she looks down, the back of my neck prickling with anxiety. "Uh, you know what, Cora, we got pizza at practice today. I'm pretty stuffed."

The older woman meets me with a searching look, and she searches my face for any sign of a lie. I try to smile as convincingly as I can, forcing an apology across my features as she clicks her tongue in dismay. "I'm good with water. Really. Need to keep hydrated, y'know?"

"Hmm…well okay, Miss Thing. But as soon as you're all done, I'll bring out your favorite. Berry Cobbler, remember, Bella? I guess I'll have to start saving enough for three, now, not just two," she explains. "Your dad and sister still have it every Thursday."

"Thank you, That'd be great," Bella replies.

"Actually, um, I'm gonna pass on the cobbler, too. I really am stuffed."

"Really? Well… if you change your mind, you know where to find me."

Cora walks back to the kitchen, and Dad starts digging into his steak as I sit in front of my empty spot at the table. "So, it was a party or something?" he asks me.

"What?"

"The pizza. Someone's birthday?"

"Oh, uh, it was just a few of the girls wanting to hang out after practice. We all got a pizza, talked and stuff."

Dad's eyebrows shoot up high onto his forehead, and he makes a sound of appeasement. "You're all gettin' along, now?"

Bella looks at me curiously, and I nod my head and try to refocus the conversation back where it started.

"So, as I was saying…I want to hear all about your day."

Lies are a lot easier to swallow, I think, when you've got nothing in your stomach.

It's dark outside when I hear her.

"Mom, where's your cell?"

On my way to the kitchen with an aching stomach, I find myself standing outside of Bella's room, my hand lifted into a fist ready to knock on the door before I realize she's on the phone. It's not until I hear who it is that my stomach turns, and my arm falls back down by its side.

There are a few more back-and-forths before the call ends, and I rap my knuckles against the doorsill as soon as it's over. "It's me," I announce uselessly.

Bella gives me a quick smile as I lean against the wall, her legs folded up on her comforter as she settles in for bed. "Sophie, hey."

"Just wanted to check in," I say, rocking on my heels. "You know, find out the four-one-one."

"On…what?"

"How your day really went, obviously. You didn't say much at dinner."

"There, uh, wasn't much to tell."

"Oh."

It's uncomfortable, the tension between us. I twiddle with my new bracelet around my wrist, and she looks down. "You like it?"

"It's beautiful," I say honestly, bringing it up to her line of vision. "Was that… on the phone, was that-?"

"Mom? Yeah."

I know this already, but my throat still feels a little tight as I utter an 'oh.' "She was on a payphone, she didn't have a lot of time to talk," Bella tells me. "Lost her phone. You know her, losing things all the time."

I really don't know, actually, I think but don't say aloud. I merely smile like I'm in on the joke, putting us both more at ease. "I was actually about to head down to the kitchen to get myself a snack, do you want anything?" I offer.

Bella looks at me a little strangely. "Guess all that pizza wore off?"

"What?"

"The pizza? From…soccer, right?"

I smack my palm into my forehead dramatically, hitting a little harder than necessary at my own failed memory. "Oh, duh. Yeah, guess I just have one of those athlete metabolisms, or whatever. So…do you want anything, or…?"

"No, I'm uh, I'm all good."

"Good! Good. Well, I'll leave you to it, then."

"Alright. Night, Soph."

"Night, Bells."

I leave her room just as quickly as I've arrived, and as soon as I'm out of sight, I press a hand against the pain in my stomach. I tiptoe down the stairs, careful not to wake Dad, and make my way over to the fridge.

Like always, it's nearly bare inside with the exception of a few household essentials, and irritation flares inside me at the lack of options. Everything I see seems to need to be cooked, and for a moment, I find myself feeling uncharacteristically annoyed that Dad hasn't stocked the kitchen this week.

My eyes catch a half-empty container of Yoohoo, and before I know it, my fingers are twisting away at the cap and I'm drinking right from the carton like a college-aged boy. I can feel tendrils of the brown liquid pooling down one side of my mouth, but I'm hungry enough that I'm able to ignore it.

I finish the entirety of our fridge's chocolate milk, and I wipe away haphazardly at the mess I've left behind. It's not dessert, I argue to myself mentally, remembering Coach's words. And besides, I can always start tomorrow.

Tomorrow, I promise myself. It'll all be better tomorrow.

A/N: Hello everyone! As promised, the first two chapters are up. I've indicated the TW prior to the rest of the chapter, but if as a reader you feel there's anything else I can do to prepare you for any potentially triggering content, please let me know! Please leave a review if you have any thoughts 3 xoxo