Chapter 5: Games

From: Seth Clearwater

*blurry picture of notebook paper; poorly drawn tic-tac-toe board. Two X's mark off of the first row, two O's are scribbled diagonally*

From: Varsity Ass-Kicker

*picture of yellow Post-It with a matching tic-tac-toe board. A third O fills in the last empty slot of the first row, and a line is drawn across all three*

I smirk proudly to myself as I curl up against the wall next to my bed, the glow from my television casting a dim light over my bedroom. From the corner of my eye, I can see myself running around the soccer pitch on the screen, but I barely pay any attention as I stare steadfastly at my phone.

Every part of me knows it's dumb. It's silly even, to wait so impatiently next to my Samsung from a boy I met a week before and only once. But here I am, knowingly doing something dumb and silly and not feeling all too bad about it.

It started with the wallet text. I have no idea how the conversation devolved to…this.

In the span of seven days, our back-and-forth has unfolded into a series of stupid little games, mere tastes of something competitive that pale in comparison to the soccer match on the beach, but somehow seem just as fun: hangman, riddles, The Last Letter game, Lightning Fast.

I don't win every game, but I do win more than Seth by a few. It's just enough of a toss-up to keep things interesting, and I can tell by the trajectory of our texts that he's not putting up a front to let me take the lead- even via text message, I can tell there's enough of an effort on his part that I don't question my own successes.

From: Seth Clearwater

*blurry picture of identical tic-tac-toe board, and a third X scrawled across the winning O. A horizontal line is scribbled across all three*

From: Varsity Ass-Kicker

I already won, that's cheating

From: Seth Clearwater

Says who?

From: Varsity Ass-Kicker

Says me, cheater

From: Seth Clearwater

What r u gonna do? Call the cops?

From: Varsity Ass-Kicker

I happen to know the Chief very well

From: Seth Clearwater

Speaking of cops

Ma just told me about the security guard in Mason? Animal attack

Crazy, right?

My eyebrows furrow at the interruption- Dad has been working awfully late, lately, but I certainly hadn't heard any news. I take a look at the alarm clock in the corner: 10:33 PM.

Bella's in Port Angeles with her friends, looking for prom dresses. A flare of worry surges in my chest. Shouldn't she be home by now? I think to myself, my fingers wavering over my phone's keyboard.

I back out of my text chat with Seth to my last few unread messages to my sister I've sent her over the course of the evening, and I feel even more worried about the lack of response. How many do I send before it becomes too much? I certainly don't want to come across like I'm hovering, even though I most definitely am.

My phone buzzes again, and to both my dismay and the uptick of my heart, it's not Bella, but Seth again.

From: Seth Clearwater

Sorry :/

Didn't mean to kill the convo

Yikes. Definitely did not mean to make a joke about killing

I roll my eyes, and punch a message into the screen.

From: Varsity Ass-Kicker

Haven't heard anything about it, might ask Dad l8r

Bad time to tell u the only thing getting killed is ur chance of winning next 1v1?

From: Seth Clearwater

Ur the one who keeps putting it off in the 1st place

Doesn't sound like winner's confidence to me

It's true, and the reminder makes me feel a little bad. I've been constantly redirecting the conversation the last few times Seth has asked about it meeting up for another match because the truth is I'm fairly confident I'd lose, if this last week is anything to go by. My legs are more sore than they've ever been from running home every day, soccer practice, and Coach practice as a necessary addition to my jampacked schedule – every time I go to bed and wake up the next day, my body just seems to beg me for more rest.

Maybe I do want to hang out with Seth again, but the idea of doing a 1v1 seems exhausting. I'm not sure how to break it to him, so I bite the tip of my tongue as I search my head for another idea. My eyes glance up at the TV screen, and for a moment, I entertain one possibility.

I'm not exactly sure how I feel about it, and I feel even less confident about it as I type out the words. Before I overthink the prospect, my fingers are already flying across the keyboard and pressing 'Send'.

From: Varsity Ass-Kicker

Well

I do have a game next Sat at FH

If u wanna help me prep this wknd, maybe

I immediately wince at my own suggestion, burying my head into my pillow. Was that too forward an ask, too quick? Should I have tried to make it a group-thing instead? God, that was a terrible idea. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Just as I steel myself to send a follow-up to disregard the offer, Seth's name glows across my screen.

From: Seth

Hell ya!

FH soccer field? Send me details?

Relief immediately overwhelms my senses, and I forward him the information about Saturday's game. Okay, I allow myself to think as I try to dull my newfound anxiety. This could be cool. It'll be fine.

"…Is this a bad time?"

The voice startles me from my thoughts and I flinch in my bed, looking over at the doorway. Bella stands there awkwardly, her face a little paler than normal as she leans against the sill. "God," I say breathlessly, pushing myself up into a folded pretzel. "Bella, I texted you a billion times."

She closes her eyes for a moment in regret, and she purses her lips. "Yeah, I uh…sorry. Got caught up."

I look at her hands, and I notice she isn't holding a prom dress.

"Did you buy anything? Find anything pretty?"

"I'm actually…I'm actually not really sure I'm going," Bella shuffles uncomfortably. "But, uh, no. I didn't get a dress."

My face falls. Not going to prom? I think incredulously. "Why not?"

"I just…it's not really my thing."

"Bella, it's prom. You can't just…"

My sentence trails off as I take in the strange expression on her face, and I motion for her to come inside and sit down next to me. "You good?" I ask worriedly. It looks like she's just seen a ghost, and my hands flurry at her sides as she takes a seat. "Bella, what's wrong? Is it the weird…is it, uh, Edward?"

"Yes…I mean, no. He...we actually got dinner, tonight. In Port Angeles."

My eyes widen dramatically, and I pull on her arm to urge her for more. "Wait, was the whole Port Angeles-dress-shopping thing a ruse?" I pester. "Bella, if you wanted me to fib for you, I totally would've-"

"No, no. I…I mean we, Angela and Jessica and me…we did go dress shopping. I just…Edward and I ran into each other. So… he took me to dinner."

Okay, I think, not sure how to feel. I can't even tell how Bella feels; her expression is too difficult for me to read. "Was it…I mean, did you have a good time?"

She nods hurriedly like it's a nonsequiter to the story. "Yeah, no, it was…it was great. He was great."

"So…not weird."

"I-It was…" she trails off. "It was more than I thought it'd be. Edward, he…he came right in time. Like always."

My sister's selective word choice has my mind running a mile a minute, and I have no idea what to do with the sparse pieces of information I'm being given. 'More than I thought it'd be… He came right in time, like always.' What the hell does any of that mean?

Searching for the right thing to say but drawing blank, I reach a hand over and put it over Bella's colder one, squeezing it reassuringly. "Guess I'm glad he wasn't a total weirdo, then," I try.

She looks down at our hands, and though she doesn't squeeze back, she moves her fingers until they're entangled with mine. "I have something to tell you," she says quietly. "On our way back from Port Angeles…I saw Dad's car. And Edward saw his dad's, too."

My eyebrows furrow. I had a feeling he'd be working late tonight again, but yet again, I can't tell where this conversation is leading. "Like, you saw him at the station?"

Bella nods. "There was another animal attack. Waylon Forge…the guy from the diner, he was…he was killed."

Cold shock washes over me, and in disbelief, I slap my open hand over my mouth. My whole body feels like a bucket of ice water has been poured over my head. at the back of my head. "What?" I stammer. "No."

She nods again. My eyes water, even though I'm not sure why- it's not as if my dad and I were particularly close to Waylon. In fact, I can recall several accounts of his obnoxious, inebriated behavior hearing his name alone.

But still. Waylon…Jesus. What the hell is going on?

I haphazardly wipe at my face, and I shake my head. "Sorry, I didn't mean to get all upset. I just… this is insane," I blurt out, more to myself than to her. "Does Dad…do they know what kind of animal would do this? Like, a bear or something?"

A complicated twist falls over Bella's features until it smooths out again. "No…they don't. It's just, yeah. I-It's crazy."

"Gosh, I should tell Seth. We were just talking about this," I say randomly, letting go of her hand so I can grab over my bedspread for my phone.

"Who?"

Who is Seth?

The truth is, I don't even really know, either. Beyond text-games, our shared younger siblinghood, and a close match of 1v1, I don't have much of an answer to give her.

"He's…" I flounder uselessly. "Someone. I'll tell you about him some other time."

I run drills with Coach after school on Friday, because of course I do.

But it's not without a few new feelings of irritation, on my part. It's the same call I get every time we have one of our impromptu one-on-one trainings- Coach has the front office make an announcement to whichever classroom I'm in, telling me to report to his office immediately after school, and it's mortifying.

I assume the front office doesn't realize I'm not being punished, butthey must think I am, because it sounds as damning every time the speaker crackles in the corner of my class.

*Sophie Swan, please report to Coach Warren's office after school immediately.*

It's ominous, but not ominous enough- every time my name rings out from the loudspeaker, my classmates snicker under their breaths and whisper ghoulish "ooooh's," at the demand being made overhead. It's all I can do not to duck my head in embarrassment, wanting desperately to tell them, 'it's not what any of you think. Actually, if you all knew the situation, you'd realize I'm pretty lucky-Coach clearly thinks I'm good enough to get my very own practice sessions.

I never say this, but as I run a few basic cone drills outside on the pitch later that evening, I glance warily over at Coach in an attempt to gear myself up to ask a specific request of my own. I tell myself I'll only ask if he decides I did well enough in my training, and only if I do. I put in even more effort than usual to make sure my footwork is perfect and my speed is up to par- it feels like the question on the tip of my tongue is a big one to ask, especially from someone who's already going out of there way for me.

"Did good today, Swan," he tells me as we wrap up two hours later, chewing lazily on the whistle in between his lips. "Those passes were beautiful. Keep that up, and Regionals are gonna be a breeze next month."

Relief and assurance swells in my chest at the praise as I help Coach pick up the cones, feeling my knees wobble dangerously underneath me as I bend down, stand up, and bend down again. Just do it, I think inwardly. There's no harm in asking.

"Um, Coach?" I say unsurely, keeping my eyes averted as I pick up another orange cone. "Can I…Would it be okay if I ask you for something?"

Coach stops chewing on the whistle between his lips, and he raises a single brow. "Depends what we're talking about here, kiddo."

I wipe my sweaty palms on my shorts, and I glance up. My eye squints as a stream of sweat pools right above my brow, and I quickly dab it away. "I was just… so, when you make those calls over the loudspeaker…"

"Mhmm."

"…A lot of other kids think I'm getting in trouble, or something. Dumb, right?" I ask weakly, adding in a light laugh. Coach doesn't say anything, but his brow lifts further onto his forehead. "Is there…like, maybe, could you…not do that anymore?"

The man tilts his head to the side curiously, and he folds his arms across his chest. He looks annoyed. Shit.

"I didn't realize you cared so much about what other people think, Swan," he tells me, his voice dripping in condescension. I swallow harshly, regretting my words as soon as I hear his rebuttal, and reluctantly nod my head.

"Sorry. It was stupid. Sorry."

"No, no, continue," he says, waving a hand at me. "I mean, I'm taking time out of my busy day to make sure you look like an Olympian out there on the pitch, but I didn't realize it was such a nuisance for you."

I shake my head vehemently, not sure of how my words could've possibly gotten so mixed up in their delivery. "No, I'd never…it's definitely not a nuisance, Coach Warren. I just mean-"

"You just mean you don't want a bunch of idiots thinking you're up to no good. I get it, Swan. Geez, I was joking with you, kiddo."

His mouth lifts in a slight smile, and I let out a huffed laugh in response. Good grief, this is so much harder than I thought it'd be. I guess I don't have much of a sense of humor, after all.

"Oh…okay, yeah. Good, I'd…I'd never want to offend you like that, Coach."

"So, what do you propose, then?" he asks. "Since you seem to have thought this out."

I wipe my hands down my shorts again, and I clear my throat. "Well, I was thinking…maybe, if we, like, draw up an official schedule-"

"-Not gonna work. As special as you are, Swan, I've still got a million other things I gotta do for this team. I can't make any real guarantees on when I can offer these extra practice sessions you want."

My words die in my mouth, and my tongue feels a little thick as I mull over what he's said. That I want? I think. Did I…Weren't you the one who wanted me to do extra practices?

The questions circling my brain die off as I think about something else he's said. Special.

"O-Okay…so maybe, you can let me know at the beginning of the day? In homeroom?"

Coach pulls his cellphone out of his front jacket pocket, and he begins typing away on the keyboard. He lets out a tisk, and he shakes his head. "Not gonna work, either. I have morning meetings."

I wrack my brain for another idea, and I start to feel a little defeated at my lack of creativity. What else can we do so he can reach me? My eyes glance over at his phone, and my eyes widen. "I-I could give you my number!" I exclaim, relieved at my sudden genius. "That'd work, right?"

Coach pauses for a moment, and with a completely blank expression, he looks down at me. "Students and faculty are not allowed to have interpersonal communication, Swan. Come on, you should know better than that."

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. I definitely should've.

I've completely run out of ideas, and Coach puts a hand on my sinking shoulders. He teeters his head from side to side in contemplation, and he lets out a sigh. "Tell you what, kiddo. Now, we have to keep this just between you and I, right? Don't want anyone getting you in trouble, and I definitely don't need the rest of the team getting jealous."

I nod my head eagerly, and he offers his phone to me. "Put your number in there, and I'll text you when I can squeeze you in for a session," he instructs me. "I'm only doing this because you asked, Sophie. Don't give me a reason to regret it."

"I won't," I promise, punching in my number as quickly as my sweaty hands will allow. I'm almost afraid if I'm not quick enough, he'll pull the phone right out of my hands and this will have all been for nothing. "Top secret, got it."

I hand it back to him, smiling from ear to ear at resolution to my problem, and he puts his hand back on my shoulder. Like the last time, he brushes over my bicep, giving it a light squeeze.

"Thank you so much, Coach Warren. I really appreciate it."

"What can I say? Special people call for special circumstances," he grins back.

It's Saturday.

If this were a normal weekend off, I would normally dread the idea of making my way to the pitch. But today, my heart beats rampantly in my chest as I make my way over to an already-occupied goalpost. Seth is sprawled out in the grass, tying the laces of a pair of beaten-up sneakers. He looks up at me, and the smile I'd seen a week prior is right back on his face.

I don't know why, but I suddenly feel a little shy. Clad in my practice uniform, I feel a little…overdressed for a casual 1v1. I hadn't put much thought into it this morning when I was getting ready for the day, but it's a stark contrast, me and Seth- soccer shorts versus jean cutoffs, knee high socks versus bare, toned legs; loose, dark waves versus a ponytail so tight I couldn't fit a bobby pin under the hairband if I tried.

He waves.

I wave back.

"Seth Clearwater," I announce uselessly with a sharp inhale, approaching him slowly as I toss the soccer ball to-and-fro between my hands. He grins with all his teeth and gives me a nod.

"Varsity Ass-Kicker."

"Did you warm up?"

"Sure did. What's on the agenda?"

"Well…" I trail off. I drop the ball onto the grass and lift it up with my toe of my shoe, volleying it back and forth between my feet. "I have a game next weekend."

"Uh-huh. I remember."

"I'm thinking maybe we should start off with a few passes. Get the blood flowing, a little."

Seth looks at me dubiously, his eyebrow raised as though he's not impressed by the suggestion. "Sure, okay," he drawls out as I kick the ball over to him. "Hope you're not shaking in your boots after the close call during our last 1v1 at the beach, or anything."

"Shaking in my boots? Hardly, I still won."

"I dunno. I guess I just assumed you were gonna dive right into a challenge, like last week. But if you're afraid to put in the work…."

I can hear that it's a playful taunt, but my brain goes on the defense regardless. "I always work hard," I say in a near-manic tone, kicking the ball over to him. "This is the perfect way to do that."

A glimpse of confusion passes over his face before he's smiling again, and he holds up both his hands submissively. "Alright, all-star," he laughs, not unkindly in the slightest. "You're the boss here, I'll gladly follow your lead."

Jeez. Relax, Sophie, I command mentally. This is for fun. This is supposed to be fun.

I roll my shoulders back and try to loosen up- it's what Jake would quip at me to do if he were here., and he could see me now. Seth kicks the ball back to me, and I plant it firmly under my boot as I look back at him. He shrugs, something I imagine is a silent way of telling me, 'it's your call, Sophie.'

I toy with it a little, faking a pass a couple of times just to see Seth move on his feet. He does, and his eyes are narrowed in concentration as I decided what to do.

Without a second thought, I pass it behind me to no one at all. I turn on my heel and sprint towards it, running it over to the other side of the pitch.

"Where're you going?!" he calls out after me. I don't stop running until I reach the midfield, and I let out an exaggerated sigh as I see him trying to figure out my next move.

"You said you assumed I was up for a challenge?" I yell back. "Let's see if you can catch up, first!"

"You're…like, actually good at this. You know that, right?" I admit a little begrudgingly. I have to give credit where credit is due, I guess, although to whom and how this credit is attributed, I don't have a clue. "That's crazy to me."

And it is. Seth and I sit down in the middle of the empty soccer field after two hours of non-stop running and kicking, and my brain is baffled by our second time playing against one another. Seth grabs at a plastic bottle of water he brought along, and after a long sip, he wags his damp head like a dog. Sweaty strands of hair fly out on either side of his head and nearly whip me in the face, but he doesn't seem to notice.

Seth beams at the compliment, and I look away as my own cheeks redden. "I don't know if that's good news for me, or bad news for you. 'Cause that means either you've been playing with a lot of people who don't know what they're doing, or I'm some sort of soccer genius."

"I'm leaning towards soccer genius," I explain truthfully. "I mean, Jake's pretty okay at soccer for someone who just plays with his friends. But you actually have skill. That's the sort of thing you just… you have to learn, and it doesn't come from fooling around with a group of guys."

"Wow. if I knew getting my ass kicked was gonna lead to all these compliments, I would've taken the loss in the first round."

He laughs at the thought of it, and I clear my throat and adjust in my position in the grass. "I mean, you've never played on a real team?"

"Nope."

"No…summer camps, or…?"

"Nuh-uh."

"God," I bemoan. "And you're good enough to play on one, for sure. You're good. If…if money's the problem… there's, like, a ton of programs-"

"Sophie."

"Because you should play. Like, officially, on an official team, for real."

"Sophie-"

"You could probably get onto a college team, if you started now. And make half a dozen front pages all across Washington newspapers, too. 'Kid With Absolutely Zero Soccer Experience Makes D-1 Team.' "

"Sophie," Seth interrupts again, his voice warm. This time, his interjection is successful, and the rest of my rambling dies off mid-air. "It's just something I do for fun. I don't think of it like you do."

That makes no sense. No sense at all, I think. "But you're good!" I blurt out, waving my hand around at the empty pitch. "It's just… it seems like such a waste, to not be a part of something that would make you even better."

Seth looks at me good naturedly, nodding his head along although I can tell nothing I'm saying is really registering to him. "Uh-huh," he says, eyes teasing. I don't say anything else, and he motions for me to keep going. "That's…that's all I wanted to say," I finish weakly.

"Okay, my turn?" he asks. I nod. "Maybe I actually really suck. Which means that maybe… you're just not that good."

Strangely, Seth's words make me feel like a balloon that's just been popped.

My face slackens at the brazen insult, and I feel myself stiffen at his words. What? I can't help but feel offended, but more than anything, I'm a little shocked that he'd express such a rude sentiment right to my face. Wow. What an asshole.

I brush the dirt off my knees, wondering if it'd be better if I just leave now or tell him to screw off, but he reaches a hand out and places it on my forearm to stop me. "Jeez Louise, I was kidding," he says genuinely, the mirthful expression on his face a mismatch for the curious look in his eyes. "Did you really believe me? C'mon, Jake said it best- you are a beast. I was sure you already knew that, already. How could you not?"

A strange laugh bubbles from my lips, half-relieved and half-incredulous. Duh, I think. C'mon, Sophie. Get it together. "Obviously, I knew you were joking," I tell him. "Obviously."

"Obviously. And just so you know, I'm not just saying it to say it," he says. "Talent speaks for itself, right? I mean, Jake said you made Varsity as a freshman. That doesn't just happen to anyone, that's pro-sorta stuff. Like… Mia Hamm, or something."

I feel half tempted to ask how he even knows about Mia Hamm, since I've always been under the impression that women's professional soccer flew under the radar for most people, especially with boys. I don't mention it, but I do allow myself to feel slightly impressed by the reference.

"But for me, it's just for fun," he admits, his cheeks ruddy. "Soccer every single day, working all the time... that'd tire me right out. I could never do what you do."

You could, my brain quickly supplies, but I wave off the thought. My silence must be enough of an answer, because he smiles goofily at me like he knows what I want to say. "The truth is, I could be the best soccer player on the planet, but nothing would ever compare to how you just showed me up."

"That's a loaded statement."

"And I mean it. I could do all the right stuff…but I'd never be passionate about it, I'm not even passionate about it now. But you really are, and that's way crazier than the fact that I don't play on a team," he explains. "And I don't mean crazy in a bad way, I only say that because I-I think it's like…really, really cool. To care so much about something that the whole world revolves around it."

My whole body feels flushed, but I raise a dubious eyebrow. "I think my dad thinks it's kind of annoying," I confess.

"Well, maybe it is to him. But I don't think so, if that counts for anything."

I don't know why, but strangely, it does. I think about what he's said for a moment, because for the first time I think that maybe that's what passion is- a neverending, ever swallowing thing that consumes your whole life to the point that everything else seems unimportant. Maybe it's knowing there's a million other paths one can take, a million different twists and turns, a never-ending game of soccer- maneouvering and blocking and sprinting, only to run towards the same goal, every single time.

No matter how annoying it seems, no matter how much people don't seem to understand.

Unable to avert my eyes any longer, I look at Seth and scan his face for any sign of a lie, any sign that he might be joking with me again. I'm met with nothing but a small, earnest smile. "I don't know if I've found any one thing I'm really passionate about. Or at least… I haven't found it yet," he says.

"Does that bother you? Not having something like that?" I ask him, knowing how much it would bother me.

Seth shakes his head. "There's this old proverb my dad always says to Leah and I. "The universe gives you everything you need, but you only find what you need when you're not looking,'" he explains. "I'm pretty optimistic, so I'm sure when I least expect it… I'll find whatever it is the universe decides for me, and I think I'll know for sure it's something I'm meant to have. Just gotta wait it out until it shows up."

He looks to me with bronzed, flushed cheeks that look a lot darker than what exercise-induced exertion should allow. "It sounds a lot dumber when I say that out loud," he chuckles.

It's not, I think. "Not dumb," I say honestly. "I think…I think that sounds like a really magical way of looking at things. Without looking."

"Exactly," Seth says cheerfully, picking up his half-empty water bottle. He holds it up to the sky like he's saluting to the clouds. "So, cheers. To waiting on the universe."

I hold up my own, and we both take a swig.

"Cheers."

To waiting.

A/N: Hello everyone! I hope you enjoyed this chapter- what are our thoughts? Thank you to my first batch of reviewers, it means so much to me that you'd let me know your thoughts and feelings! Absolutely love seeing what y'all have to say. xoxo