Chapter 8: Focus

TW: Grooming of a minor by an adult; nonconsensual touching of a minor by an adult (not explicit); disordered eating

From: Unknown Number

My office before homeroom. Don't be late.

I read over the text for the hundredth time on the ride to school, my leg bouncing up and down against the floor of the truck. My heart feels like it's plummeted right to the bottom of my stomach and as we inch closer and closer to Forks High. Despite the unfamiliar number, I know without a shred of doubt this text is from Coach Warren.

The high spirits I'd been in since Saturday night seem to wither away into nothing. I should've known better.

There's no way this text is unrelated to my post-game bail. Did I really think there wouldn't be any repercussions, especially when I've been trying so hard to prove to Coach that I deserve to be on this team? Especially when we'd just won a Regionals qualifier, and our next round of games will be more important than ever?

The words, stupid, stupid, stupid, circle in a loop in my mind. I could've just asked Seth to wait.

I should've said no. Could've, should've, didn't.

I've never been in trouble, I've never been asked to show up on time because I always do. Am I going to be benched? Or even worse, will I be kicked off the team, relegated to Junior Varsity if at all? I mentally pray that Coach understands we're too close to competition to make any sudden changes to the roster, and that my improved skills make up for my obvious lack of concentration. I've worked so hard. I'm working so hard, even now.

Skipping breakfast has never been something I've been more thankful for until this moment. I think I'm going to be sick.

Bella slowly swings the truck into the parking lot- she's barely going fifteen miles an hour, but the jerking, up and down movement as we move over the curb spurs my own shaken nerves. I immediately pull a hand to my mouth, the knuckle of my index finger forced between my teeth as I force myself to focus on groups of students huddled outside. The trinkets dangling from my charm bracelet clink together noisily as I nervously turn my wrist.

If he benches me, am I going to have to tell my dad? Will Coach talk to my dad himself?

"Sophie," she says to me, eyebrow raised.

"Huh?"

"We're parked."

I blink, and I realize it's true. "Oh," I say dumbly, pulling my hand away from my mouth to fumble with my seatbelt. As it comes unfastened, I don't make any move to leave. Distantly, I feel Bella slowly hoisting my bag from the middle of the bench seat into my lap, and my bouncing knee comes to a still.

"We're still a little early, if you want to sit for a minute."

"I can't," I say to her. "Soccer stuff."

"Okay."

Neither of us moves, Bella twiddling with the zipper of her backpack as I try to find even the slightest bit of courage to climb out. You need to calm down, I think to myself frustratedly. You're gonna be late, and that's going to make everything worse than it has to be in the first place.

I can feel Bella shooting me glances between the side of my face and the little silver zipper in between her fingers, and I realize the silence sitting between us has probably gone on for a moment too long while I've been lost in my own head. She probably knows something isn't quite right with me this morning, just like she did that morning I practically interrogated her about Edward.

"So I was thinking. Y'know, about this upcoming weekend, what you said after the game," I pipe up, forcing myself to shift gears in an attempt to dissuade her worry. "We can do whatever you want. Or we don't have to do anything, I mean, we can just stay home and watch movies or something. It's up to you."

I can tell that the swift change of mood catches my sister off-guard, but I feel relieved that even if temporarily, it distracts her from whatever unsaid questions she has yet to ask me. If her blinking to awareness serves as any indication, I'm pretty sure she's forgotten about our conversation from Saturday. "Oh, uh, sure. I don't mind staying home, watching movies sounds good to me."

"Okay! We could watch The Notebook, have you seen it?"

She shakes her head.

"Dad got the DVD for me this Christmas, you'll like it," I tell her confidently. "Super romantic. Love at first sight, forbidden romance, 'he's my soulmate' kinda stuff. And there's a scene of Ryan Gosling wearing a wet, see-through shirt, and even though you have a totally gorgeous model boyfriend and everything, I'm sure you can still appreciate the view."

Bella's contemplative expression from seconds before gives way to something amused, and despite the way my stomach is still turning inside out, my lips curl into a genuine smile.

"I'll be sure to let Edward know you think so highly of him," she says, much to my embarassment.

"Ew, Bella, no, he's gonna think I'm weird! You should definitely not do that, especially when I was just making a respectful observation."

"A totally gorgeous model observation, you mean."

"I'm sure I'm not saying anything you haven't thought." I roll my eyes and look back down at my phone, my stomach twisting uncomfortably again. I've been stalling for too long, and the impending doom of whatever conversations Coach wants to have with me leaves me feeling nothing but dread.

"I should…I should probably go," I tell her regretfully, my eyes fervently avoiding hers. I can't tell if I'm being particularly perceptive or if it's my own paranoia, but the mood in the truck dampens perceptibly as I stay seated, unmoving.

I give her one last weak smile and tug at the door handle, a cold breeze slapping me right in the face as I lower myself out of the passenger side. I don't turn to look back at her, my concentration solely on putting one foot in front of the other as I walk my way to the front doors.

Referring to the converted equipment closet in the back of the school gym as an "office" is rather generous, I think, and not for the first time. It's uncomfortably warm in the small room, almost humid from the lack of ventilation. I feel my palms moisten as I sit in total silence.

I wipe them on the sides of my jeans, curling my fingers into the denim as I wait patiently for Coach to say something. His eyes are glued to the old computer on his desk, his hand clicking the mouse every so often as he looks at something on the screen out of my line of sight.

It's been ten minutes, and he hasn't said a word. To be fair, I haven't, either - but only because I have no idea what to say. The only exchange thus far has been a single look when I knocked on the door, his finger pointing to the seat in front of him, and one word. "Door."

As I wait, I'm distinctly aware of how late I'm going to be for homeroom.

I distract myself by glancing around the office, trying to keep my mind from overwhelming itself as I sit with my own thoughts. It's very neatly organized – deflated soccer balls rest in a bin on the left side of the wall, air pumps on the other; a large, orange sports cooler in between.

For the first time, I notice the bookcase behind his head. Only two shelves are occupied- dark green binders are placed back to back, most likely filled with gameplays, scoresheets, injury reports and rosters. They're stacked chronologically, the years scrawled onto white tape with sloppy black sharpie labeled on the side- years starting with 1992 and accounting for every year since then. As my eyes trail over each one, my eye catches a single white binder laying all by itself on the bottom shelf. Personal-DNT.

"Have a nice weekend?" Coach asks me, the question so unexpected that I jolt up in the chair. He doesn't look up from his computer, and I bite the inside of my cheek as I try to read the nature of his tone.

"Yessir. Did…did you?"

After a lapse in our discussion that seems to go on for what feels like forever, he glances up and gives me a confused smile. "Did you just call me 'sir?'"

Shit.

"Oh…I'm sorry, I just-"

"You don't need to apologize," he says smoothly, cutting me off with a chuckle. "Just makes me feel old, is all. And trust me, I don't need any reminders. When you get to my age, you'll understand."

"You're not that old," I state bluntly, only realizing the weight of my words after they've been said. My brain screams at me for my frankness, and I open my mouth to apologize before he interrupts again.

"Are you trying to flatter me, Swan?" he asks, his smile growing a little sharp. "If you think that's gonna get you out of our little chat, you're more naïve than I thought."

"I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking."

"Like I said before, no need to apologize. I'm not a fan of 'I'm sorry's.' You know what I prefer, instead?"

"…No, Coach."

He finally turns away from his computer, his hands folding out in front of him on the desk as he stares at me. My neck prickles at the steady, unwavering gaze, and I do my best not to return it.

"I prefer changed behavior. Improved behavior, Swan," he explains. "I set very high expectations, and I expect all my girls to meet them. But I know you're all kids. It can be hard to focus on what really matters, which means that I understand that sometimes…some of you fall short."

My throat tightens. The smile on his face has diminished into something faint, almost pitying, but it doesn't give me any reassurance. "Still, it disappoints me when some of you girls don't reach your full potential. How could it not? This team hasn't made it past Regionals since before you were born, and I'd like to think I work very, very hard to shape every one of you into winners. Because I think all of you can be…some more than others."

He leans forward over his desk, eyes assessing. "When I told you I think you can bring us to States, I wasn't messing around. And I told you about how I pushed you all the way through to Varsity, didn't I? Because of what I saw in you that no other girl on this team has?"

I nod my head obediently, recalling our first meeting. From the minute I saw you, I knew you needed to be on this team.

"So I was pretty surprised on Saturday when you didn't turn up for our team talk. I was looking around everywhere for you, and you just vanished into thin air," he says, his voice colder with every word. "I couldn't believe it when the entire field cleared out and you were nowhere to be found. All I could think was, not Sophie Swan, the Sophie I know would never just abandon all her responsibilities and head off somewhere. Not after a Regionals qualifier."

Coach's tone is thoroughly saturated with dismay, his head shaking in chagrin and his tongue clicking with regret. To my utter horror, I feel pinpricks forming behind my eyes – I quickly glance up at the fluorescent lights, trying to blink away that threaten to fall. "I am… I am so sorry, Coach Warren," I choke out, my words garbled from my efforts. "I can't tell you how I terrible I feel, knowing I disappointed you. Especially when… when you've been so helpful, and you've been giving me all these opportunities to make me better than how I've been."

He hums at my apology like he doesn't really believe me, but all I can think is how grateful I am to have been able to get through what I had to say without beginning to cry. He lifts a finger to his mouth, clearly thinking about something I'm unable to discern, and narrows his eyes. "And you know something else? That wasn't the only thing I noticed about Saturday. I mean, abandoning your teammates when we've won such an important game was a pretty bad move, but there was something else that just didn't sit right with me. Do you know what I'm getting at, here?"

Oh god, what else did I do? I think to myself, my mind replaying as many moments as I can remember from that day. I come up blank, and the fact that I can't recall anything else I might've done wrong sends me into an internal panic. "No, Coach."

He reclines in his chair, and he waves a hand at me. "Why don't you come over here and I'll show you?"

"Um…where do you want me to go?"

"Just squeeze in behind the desk, right beside me. I think there's something you should see."

It takes me a moment longer than it should to stand up from my seat, my knees wobbling as I slowly my way over next to him. Coach pushes his chair back from the desk and reaches an arm over my shoulder, pulling me down so I'm looking straight at his computer screen.

On the video player, footage of the team from Saturday's game has been brought to a pause. With a hand, he clicks his mouse and the video resumes. I can tell from the camera's off-field perspective that we're somewhere around the fifty-minute mark, and he points to the only brunette wearing the number five on the pitch. Me.

I try my hardest to pay attention, but my whole body feels stiff with something strangely like alarm at the weight of Coach's arm hanging over my shoulder. It's only furthered when he pushes my ponytail over my shoulder, and I flinch noticeably enough for him to chuckle. I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding, letting out a nervous laugh of my own.

"Watch really closely. When you see it, let me know."

I stare at myself jumping from foot to foot, the ball all the way on the other side of the field being kicked between our forwards. Nothing seems out of the ordinary, the action is far from my position as I linger right in the middle of the backline, when I see it.

Or rather, when I see me.

I watch my head swiveling up to the stands, my eyes completely off the game and focusing on something else entirely. I glance back down at the pitch only a few seconds later, but then I watch myself look back yet again.

Jesus, I think irritably, how many times did I do that?

"If you watch the whole video, you'll notice that you do this about a dozen times, or so," Coach answers the unsaid question. I think back to Taylor's warning, and wish nothing more than for a way to go back in time and shake my own shoulders, yell to pull my head out from my ass. Focus.

"Now, it's one thing to be distracted. It's another thing to be completely unfocused. Who was out there, huh? Someone special?"

"No," I reply, though it sounds untrue even to my own ears. "I -I think I must've been looking at my dad."

Why am I lying? What's the point, when I should just be honest?

Coach lets out a long sigh, and he gives me a rough squeeze in the spot where my shoulder meets my neck. My eyes widen at the touch, but before I can move away, he waves a hand dismissively at the unoccupied chair across from him.

My legs feel like lead as I walk over, and I see him pause the video. He turns to me once I collapse back in my seat, his expression contorted into one of deep thought. "I'm gonna be honest, you were making such good progress until now. You've gotten a little faster…not exactly where I want you to be, of course, but you've just set yourself even further back by about ten steps. Are you sure you're serious about this team?" he presses, voice uncharacteristically soft. "There's thirty other girls who'd kill to be in your shoes, Sophie. They're hardly as talented as you are, but I'm going to have to start looking at other options if you can't prove how much this all means to you."

No. No, no, no.

"Please don't…please don't give up on me. I know I can do this. I know it," I rasp out, tears finally falling down my face. Feeling mortified, I swipe a hand over my cheeks and greedily inhale a breath of air. Please don't do this. Please, don't take this from me, not when I've been doing everything I can to show you how much I need to be here.

"So...if I say I'll give you another chance, that means no more fooling around. And that means you're gonna do everything I say, no questions asked, no arguments. The whole team would be livid at how many shots I'm giving you, you know. I need you to tell me that you're willing to commit."

Despite how shaken I feel, despite how muddled and overwhelmed my thoughts are, there's no doubt in my mind that I am.

"Whatever it takes."

"Okay, so if the root of three is AB over 50, how am I supposed to get the length of AB?"

From: Seth

U just drew a blob that's not fair

How was I supposed 2 know that was a dog?

From: Varsity Ass-Kicker

There are ears and a tail

From: Seth

Those are just circles and a line!

From: Varsity Ass-Kicker

Idk what u want me to say

It looks like a dog to me

I never said I was an artist!

From: Seth

I guess if I hold the paper sideways….

From: Varsity Ass-Kicker

Rude

"Earth to Sophie!"

A hand waves in front of my face and I flinch back from my phone, blinking over to see Jacob's sulking face. "I've been repeating your name for three whole minutes. What are you staring at?"

"Sorry," I mutter shyly, putting my phone face down on the kitchen table. I don't think I really want to tell Jake about who I'm texting, knowing he'll tease me about it until the day I die since "What were you saying? You want help?"

"This stupid tangent, hypotenuse, whatever-the-heck…never mind. This is hopeless." He sighs loudly and places his hands over his face, dropping his pencil down on his homework. I glance over at the sheet of paper in front of him, moving it closer to me with my hand as I look at a half-completed trigonometry problem. "I should just drop out now. It's not like I'm going to really need a diploma, anyways."

I shoot him a serious look, my head dropping down until I can look into his eyes. "Jake, even if you become a mechanic, you need to graduate."

"Why? Give me one good reason, and don't say-"

"-College."

"Ugh, c'mon. You know how much I hate the c-word."

"Because you've already told yourself that it's not for you. I know I've already said this, like, a bajillion times, but-"

"-Yeah, yeah, I know. You think I should 'explore my options,' and all that baloney."

It's a conversation Jake and I have revisited since last year, when his teachers started to recommend repeating his Sophomore year, and his interests began to seriously divert from formal education more so than in all these years I've known him. Owning his own auto repair shop has been Jake's dream for as long as we've been friends – from fixing the gears on our bicycles in middle school to building Bella's truck, it's obvious that his passions lie outside academia. It's not really his fault- he's always been better with his hands, intrigued by the way things can be taken apart and put back together again.

In my own way, I envy Jake's talents. His don't have an expiration date pasted on his abilities like mine do, he can't regress in his skills the way Coach says I have. He can only become better in what he does, while I'm frequently reminded of all my imperfections every time I find myself on the pitch.

'Sometimes…some of you fall short.'

'Improved behavior, Swan.'

"You're really smart, Jake, and you're not a quitter," I say softly, glancing back down to his math homework and back at him.

He shifts uncomfortably. "Not school-smart, and since that's apparently all that matters, what's the point of pretending I am?"

I slide the paper closer to me, and I see how close he is to solving the problem. He's done everything right so far, the equation "root three equals AB divided by fifty" scribbled hastily underneath the math prompt. Taking his pencil into my own hand, I draw two arrows two effectively switch the place of the variables and the fifty, and I draw an asterisk above the division line.

"You were a step away from getting the right answer. You just have to flip these around and multiply these two together, then find the root," I explain, pointing to my notes. "What was that you were saying, about not being 'school-smart'? You really want me to believe that the guy who fixed a fifty-year-old, broken down Chevy can't finish some sophomore-level classes?"

Jake's defeated frown quirks up at the corners, and he rolls his eyes as he shoves my shoulder. He pries the pencil out of my hand, looking both a little embarrassed and pleased at my compliment. "I hate when you do that, y'know. It's annoying. I almost believe you."

"When I do what? Tell you the truth?" I drum out a quick, nonchalant rhythm against the table as I stand up, heading over to the fridge for a snack. My stomach growls fiercely, and luckily for me, Dad's finally done some grocery shopping. I pick up a container of fruit salad and, knowing Jake would balk at the idea of something healthy, I glance around the shelves for anything he'd eat. "Want anything? We have leftovers. Bella's a really good cook, believe it or not. No clue where she gets that from."

Jake looks at me dubiously, shaking his head with a sly smile creeping onto his face. "There you go again."

"Again, what?"

"Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about."

I don't, I think to myself as I close the refrigerator door, forgetting all about my appetite. I look at him questioningly, and he gives me a knowing look. "Distracting," he says matter-of-factly. "The fact that I asked you a question you didn't answer, and then you distracted me until I almost forgot I'd even asked in the first place."

My eyebrows furrow in bewilderment, and I stammer as I try to find the right words. "Jake…I-that was not what I was doing," I reply, sounding defensive even to my own ears. "Do you think me trying to help you with your homework was like some trick up my sleeve, or something?"

"Course not. A trick would probably imply that you're doing it on purpose, and I don't even think you realize it's something you do."

"But I don't."

"Sure, sure. Then answer my question."

"What question?!"

Jake throws his hands over his head, letting out a groan of aggravation. Quickly, he makes a fast dash to hold up my phone between his fingers like he's holding up a piece of evidence, and I scramble over to the table and try to grab it from his hands. He leans back in his chair and I'm left grasping at nothing as he toys with it. "I asked you what you were staring at, remember?"

"Stop being dumb, give it back," I snap as I launch for it again to no avail. He wags a single finger at me, his smile poorly suppressed behind an expression of feigned curiosity. "Thought you just said I was smart, Soph."

I punch him in the arm, and despite an "ow" slipping past his lips, he manages to keep my phone hostage in his stupid hand as I try repeatedly to pry it from his fingers. "Hmm…I wonder what could be so interesting about whatever's on your phone that you didn't listen to a word your bestest, bestest friend had to say?" he taunts. "Gee, I'm going to put those 'school-smarts' to work and take a guess…is it a boy?"

I'm practically draped across him and the table, crumpling up pieces of paper and knocking pencils to the floor as he flips open the Samsung. I mash my hand against the side of his face, my other arm stretched past his massive head to take it back. His eyes trail over the screen and light up with delight- Seth's name looks almost comically large in the text's black font, causing my cheeks to pinken in horror.

"Wow, would you look at that? I was right!"

"Fine, okay, whatever! Give it back to me!"

"He's right, Sophie, that drawing definitely doesn't look like any dog I've ever seen. God, what kind of flirting is this? Gross."

"Shut up! We are not…there's no 'flirting'. Don't project whatever you're trying to do with Bella onto me."

"Oh, you're not getting let off that easy. Trying to distract me again?"

"Wha-no! Just give me my stupid phone!"

He finally acquiesces, and I rip it from his hand and plop back down in my seat. But strangely, the quick movement sends my head swimming, and I have to blink a few times before my vision clears back to normal. Whoa, I think unsteadily, bracing my fingers against the wood. What the heck was that?

I don't know how many seconds pass because as soon as I feel fully aware again, I notice Jake is leaning really close to me and his expression holds none of the teasing playfulness it held moments before. He actually looks concerned, his brows pinched together in worry as he says a series of words that sound like they're coming from underwater.

"Sophie," I hear him say apprehensively. "Sophie, I'm not playing around. You're weirding me out."

I blink again. "Sorry. Just felt a little dizzy, for a second."

"You look pale. Well, pale-er. Are you going to hurl?"

I feel like I very well could, if I had anything in my stomach to throw up. "Can you get me a glass of water?" I ask drowsily, placing a hand on my forehead. I can't tell but I think my skin feels a little clammy, like I've randomly come down with a case of the flu in the middle of our bickering. Jake nods, and he hastily gets up to grab a cup from the cupboard to fill over by the sink. He pushes it in front of me, and with greedy, shaking hands, I drain every last drop.

I don't stand up, nor do I try to. But Jake rises from his chair, wrists wringing as he shoots glances over to where our dads are currently enjoying whatever football re-run they're watching. He looks like he's contemplating fetching Dad himself, and I shake my head in disagreement. "Homework," I tell him as a reminder.

"Yeah, right. I thought you were gonna puke all over the table and now you want to talk about math?"

I don't really want to talk at all.

"Just forget it…it passed, I feel better."

"What passed? Are you sick?"

My stomach growls so harshly, that I can feel pain in my sides. I don't know how to answer him so I choose not to at all, and as Jake places a caring hand on my shoulder, I fold in away from the touch almost instinctively. Guilt festers in me as his face grows even warier, his eyes doing little to hide questions I'm sure he's asking in his head. What's your problem? Since when does the same girl who hugs her loved ones like they're going to disappear, shy away from a stupid hand? What is wrong with you?

I know Jake's asking them, because I'm asking myself the same ones, too. I don't know either, Jake.

"No, no," I insist, forcing a smile. "I mean, there is a bug going around the team…?"

It's a lie, but he doesn't know that.

Jake sits back down, running his fingers through his long hair as he lets out a breath. "Well. I mean, if I knew you were feeling under the weather, I wouldn't have started jumping down your throat about this Seth kid in the first place. I'm sorry."

It's an earnest apology, and the guilt churns even more. Nothing about whatever that was had anything to do with his badgering or his dumb taunts, and it certainly didn't have to do with Seth.

"It's okay. You didn't know."

He twiddles his thumbs in his lap, looking up at the ceiling before they land back on me. "So… Seth Clearwater, huh? Hairpulling kid."

You remember, too? How does everyone know about this but somehow, I forgot all about it?

"He's just nice. That's it."

"He's practically a middle schooler."

"Jake, he's my age. And he's a year younger than you."

"…You sound very defensive about a guy you insist is 'just nice'."

I glance back at my phone, suddenly remembering Seth's unanswered texts.

From: Seth Clearwater

Sorry for insulting ur dog. He's very cute :D

Or is it a she? Does it have a name

Also… any chance ur down for a 1v1 this week?

I look down at it, my face morphing into something I hate admitting might be fondness, and I quickly type back an answer.

From: Varsity Ass-Kicker

Have a really busy schedule :/

Might be able to squeeze you in

My head lifts and I look at Jake, whose grin is far too smug for my liking. I punch him in the shoulder again. "I don't wanna hear it," I warn.

His eyes narrow with poorly-concealed glee.

"I don't think I need to say a thing."

A/N: Hello everyone! So glad to see that so many of you have been enjoying this story. Just want to shoutout Psycho-Jellybean, a guest reviewer, and hyacinthed (again :)) for leaving me with such kind thoughts and comments. I'd love to see what you all have to say. :)

Also, just as a general explanation: Seth and Sophie are 15, Jacob is 16 (aged up for the point of this fic, definitely wanted to give him and Sophie more of a big-brother/little-sister relationship), and Bella and Edward are 17.

And in case I haven't made this as clear before, I just want to reiterate for any new readers: there will be nothing sexually explicit regarding Seth and Sophie when they are UNDERAGE. Mind you, I plan on this fic being long, so eventually we WILL see development in their relationship (hence the M rating, amongst other M-related topics). I definitely don't want anyone to get the wrong impression. In that same regard, I know that sexual abuse, eating disorders, etc. are fairly popular yet controversial themes in fanfiction. I am not using sexual abuse or any other sensitive discussions as 'plot points,' character-development opportunities, or plot devices. While I won't be too specific, when I began creating this story, my intentions for Sophie were to create her into a character I know myself and many others can personally relate to. Therefore, I will be using trigger warnings as often as needed and I will also not be writing anything OVERLY explicit in relation to sexual abuse. Statistically, Sophie is being faced with issues that 1 in 10, and 1 in 4, girls deal with during their lifetime, and often in relation to each other.

Please also know that the sources of trauma Sophie will be dealing with will not be the entirety of this story. I don't believe in making female characters miserable simply because it adds to the narrative, nor do I think these sources of trauma make her immune from happiness, moments of joy, etc. This is one of the reasons I thought Seth would be the perfect person to pair her with- who better to be there for her, than the happiest wolf in the pack?

If you've read this far along, thank you so much for your patience and your understanding. No one has voiced any complaints or pressed any concerns thus far, but I just feel it's integral for my readers to understand my intentions with this story. Sending lots of love! xoxo