Chapter 9: Damage

TW: accidental injury; possible disassociation caused by shock

"Y'know, this could've been avoided if you weren't such a cheat."

"No, no…you said the goal post…was between those two trees. You didn't say…there was… a height requirement."

"Kicking the ball into the branches does not count as a goal! How am I supposed to defend a play I can't even reach?"

"I dunno… learn to fly?"

Seth and I stand in his backyard, breaths leaving his mouth in an exhausted pant and my eye twitching in irritation, staring up at my stranded soccer ball stuck high up in a cottonwood tree. If not for our thorough examination, it would be nearly lost amongst the leaves, far out of sight - the black and white patchwork remains only slightly visible to our eyes on the ground. At a loss for any ideas, Seth places both of his hands on the crown of his disheveled, long hair and stares straight up at the canopy of trees above us.

Damn it.

It wasn't exactly my idea to hang out at the Clearwater residence on a Thursday afternoon, but I'd slowly resigned myself to Seth's plight after a few text exchanges in which he just 'happened to forget' that his mom had taken on a shift at the hospital, and his dad had a council meeting in the evening that would prohibit him from picking Seth up. Leah has apparently refused to let her brother anywhere near her car since the soccer-game-fiasco, and though I didn't ask, I still secretly wonder if he'd even bothered to ask her after all that unspoken tension at Sully's.

I know I didn't ask my own dad, with him being so busy at the station after the last couple of animal attack cases. It left us with one unfortunate option, and it wasn't one I was particularly enthusiastic about.

Hours later, I can still feel myself cringing at the sound of that stupid old Chevy truck chugging as slowly as possible in the fifteen minute ride from Forks to La Push, and the corner of my sister's mouth refusing to stop a fervent twitch for all ten miles of it.

'Stop looking at me like that.'

'Like what? I'm not looking at you like anything.'

'Yeah you are. You have that…you're doing that thing with your face…'

'I have no idea what you're talking about, Sophie.'

'Just… let's play the quiet game. Can we just turn the radio on, or something? Jeez.'

As we stare up at the forest right behind the Clearwater's home for a seventy-five-dollar soccer ball I surely won't be getting back, I feel further vindicated in my belief that coming here wasn't a great plan, to begin with.

"…Are you mad? You're mad, right?" Seth asks me hesitantly, his eyes blinking owlishly. "Because I mean, yeah, I guess it is kinda my fault. But I didn't do it on purpose!"

"You guess?"

"So that's a yes, then. Got it."

I let out a long breath from my nose, shaking my head dismally as I turn back towards him and away from the tree. "No, I'm not mad at you," I tell him honestly. "It's just a ball, and it's not like I don't have another dozen at home. But we're still 3-2, you don't deserve a single point for that."

Seth's puppy-dog face smooths into something pleased, almost gleeful. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you just don't wanna be tied," he says, sounding far too proud of his own observation.

"Not with a cheater, no."

"For the billionth time, I didn't 'cheat' – I was thinking outside the box."

"Yeah, Seth, that's literally my point! You kicked the ball outside the perimeters. You're gonna have to accept the fact that you lost to me. Again."

His nose wrinkles at my insistence, but he doesn't look bothered by my objection in the slightest. Large, dark-brown eyes glance between my own blue ones and the lost soccer ball, and he props his hands on his waist as he scans the tree.

"How about this," he proposes thoughtfully. "If I can get the ball down, can I get a point?"

I scoff, and tiredly, I nod my head and wave a hand at him. If he wants to spend the rest of the afternoon trying to accomplish an impossible task, who am I to argue? "Yeah, sure. Good luck with that."

His eyes widen in surprise.

"Wait. Really?"

"Yeah, why not? It'll be a waste of time, but Bella's not coming to pick me up for another hour and a half. I don't mind watching you struggle until she gets here."

Seth mutters a dry 'hardy-har-har' at my lack of belief, but he walks around the tree appraisingly anyway. As he busies himself with whatever plans he's trying to think up, I walk over to the side of his house and grab my backpack. Quickly unzipping its contents, I grab my copy of Little Women and settle down in the grass.

My English assignment has long since been completed – after much deliberation, I decided Jo was the March sister I felt most like, after all. Maybe Bella's boyfriend was onto something when he offered his guidance a few weeks ago – I even got a B plus on it, though I have yet to see Edward for a moment long enough to convey my gratitude.

I've been reading it for a second time, telling myself that I didn't get to appreciate the plot as much under the time crunch I was under, and to some extent that's true. I didn't realize how many details I'd missed - Bella is totally Meg, Amy kind of reminds me of Jake, and Beth's unfortunate passing hits harder a second time than it did the first.

But somewhere deep down, I think it's just as likely that perhaps, I find myself enjoying Marmee's character more than any of the sisters. It's her kindness, I think; her gentle nature, the way she so easily sacrifices her own comfort for the good of other people. For her children.

My fingers easily find the folded, dogeared page I marked off last.

"I want my daughters to be beautiful, accomplished, and good. To be admired, loved, and respected. To have a happy youth, to be well and wisely married, and to lead useful, pleasant lives, with as little care and sorrow to try them as God sees fit to send. To be loved and chosen by a good man is the best and sweetest thing which can happen to a woman, and I sincerely hope my girls may know this beautiful experience."

I can't help but ask myself if my own mother ever wished so much for me and Bella. If she ever wished that for me. If she wished anything at all for the daughter she seems to have forgotten all about; if I even care if she has.

"Whatcha readin'?" Seth sing-songs, eyes narrowing in the distance to try and make out the title on the front cover. I look up from behind the pages and give him a single, raised brow – I notice he has a single sneaker on, and glancing towards the tree, I realize his shoelaces are tangled on a branch far below the ball.

"Seth, you've lost a ball and a shoe. Maybe it's time to accept defeat."

"In your dreams," he states confidently before looking at my book again. "I didn't know you liked to read."

Sometimes, I think inwardly. "Do you?"

"Heck yes! Gosh, you should see my room, it's like a Barnes & Noble exploded in there. You ever read The Princess Bride? It's my favorite book of all time." I shake my head, and Seth's wide grin turns a little sheepish, like he's just realized his enthusiasm may have come across as too overzealous. "That wasn't me trying to…It's just…yeah, i-it's really good. So, uh, what're you reading?"

I hold up the cover closer to his eyes. His eyes widen just a fraction in appreciation, and he nods. "We read that last year, at my school. I liked it."

"Yeah?"

"Mhmm."

"Is that because you relate so much to being a young woman in the middle of the 1800s, or…?"

"Ha-ha, hilarious. You're in a very jokey-mood today," he mocks before his expression softens into something even more bashful, and he kicks aimlessly at a rock with his singular shoe-clad foot. "I kind of thought Laurie was a pretty cool dude, I dunno."

I grin playfully. "So your favorite character is the only guy in a book about women. I'm shocked."

"Hey, I never said he…and he's not the… whatever. Anyway, Jo was my other favorite character, if that matters. Total bad-ass, except for the way the younger sister totally snags the guy out from under her, and everything."

For some inexplicable reason this catches my attention, and I lower the book down away from my face. Huh.

I don't say anything, but Seth continues on. "…And there was the whole 'I'm-gonna-make-my-way-in-this-world-and-live-my-dream,' thing she has going on, even though she winds up with that old asshat Professor guy."

"You were rooting for Laurie, I'm guessing."

"I just relate to him a little, is all. And I see a lot of Jo in you, for sure."

My eyes widen, and his do, too. He immediately backtracks, shaking his head and laughing nervously. "Wow, I definitely wasn't, y'know, implying-"

"-No, obviously, that was…uh-"

"-Because that would be…so crazy, and-"

"Yeah. No, I hear you."

"Cool."

"Yup."

"Awesome. Yeah, okay."

Seth stands in front of me, his face aflame and mine surely just as red in color. He rubs the back of his neck anxiously, and he points back up at the tree. "I'll just…"

"You…do that!"

I look back down at my book, trying my best to cover my flushed cheeks with my copy of Little Women and away from his line of sight. 'I just relate to him, is all,' repeats in a curious loop inside my brain. 'I see a lot of Jo in you, for sure.'

What's that supposed to mean? I think to myself. Not that I think it HAS to mean anything, or that it does, or that I want it to. He was probably just being nice- he did say Jo was a badass, which isn't very 'me'. Considering I get a little weepy watching the lobsters in the tank at the seafood section of the grocery store, that's not exactly a word I'd use to describe myself.

We barely know each other. Childhood hair-pulling enemies aside, or whatever the hell Dad told me.

It was just a random conversation. That's it.

I do my best to shove all of my probing inquiries to the back of my head, trying to focus on the words printed on the page in front of me. I don't want to have any opinions on Seth's observations, and I certainly don't feel any disappointment at the prospect that maybe, my own dismissiveness is the correct response to have.

As my eyes scan over the text, not absorbing any of the information I'm reading but hopefully looking convincing enough, I hear a loud rustle of leaves. My eyebrows furrow at the sound, and I put my book down for the second time.

A combination of disbelief and horror swells inside me as my eyes slowly trail upwards. "Seth!" I yell, scrambling to my feet as my jaw slackens.

In a mere fifteen-minute window, I'd failed to notice that Seth has taken advantage of my refusal to meet his eyes to climb about ten feet up the cottonwood tree, one-shoed and all. His head is craned up at the soccer ball, expression one full of optimistic determination, and he plants one sock-clad foot onto a branch.

"Seth, this isn't funny! You need to get down from there, like, right now!"

He doesn't so much as look down at me, and I can barely stand to look at how high up he is from where I wait down below. What if he falls? What if he gets hurt? What do I do then?

My hands clasp in front of my chest instinctively as if in prayer, the too-quick beat of my heart thrumming from my chest all the way into my fingertips. "Are you seriously going to do all this for a stupid ball?!" I blurt out in a panic.

A laugh erupts from his mouth several feet above me, and it sounds more like an adrenaline-filled pant than a real chuckle. "And a shoe! Don't forget the shoe."

"How are you laughing about- Seth, I swear to God, if you don't come down in the next ten seconds, I'm…I'm getting your dad!"

"My dad?!"

"Yes, you…you…you idiot! You're gonna wind up killing yourself!"

He balances precariously on a tree limb a few inches above his last position, arms glistening from the strain as he hoists himself up. With a groan of exertion, he holds onto the branch above him and stares down at me from a distance, his smile practically manic as he takes a quick look at his surroundings and then back at me.

"I'll come down…if we can we make it 3-3."

My face does something complicated, then. His request spurs something completely dumbstruck within me- it takes a lot of gall to attempt a negotiation from twelve feet in the air with someone you've only recently started getting to know, and it pisses me off just enough to temporarily dissuade my climbing nerves.

"Are you KIDDING ME?!"

"C'mon! Let me have one point, Sophie! My life hangs in the balance!"

You melodramatic little…, I think furiously, half-tempted to take my copy of Little Women and fling it right at his head with the way he's causing the temperature under my skin to rise. That stupid grin on his face has never looked quite as slappable, and for a moment, I'm glad he's out of my reach. "Jesus Christ, are you deranged?! Are you psychotic?! What is…what is the matter with you?!"

"That doesn't sound like a 'yes, Seth Clearwater, we tied fair and square'!"

An interesting way to redirect my questions regarding his sanity, I think, but I notice that the tree branch he's standing on doesn't exactly look the strongest. He's a long, long way down to the ground, the kind of 'long way down' that immediately contrives an image of a broken arm, or worse, a broken neck, to my mind.

I suck in a breath through my teeth, my hands flailing aimlessly as I try to tamper down my stubbornness. "Fine. FINE!"

The gleam in Seth's eye is distinctly twinkling at my submission.

"Fine, what?"

"FINE, YOU WIN THE WHOLE DAMN GAME, FOR ALL I CARE! GET OUT OF THE FU- GET DOWN FROM THERE, RIGHT NOW!"

My lungs feel on fire from the way I'm screaming up at him, like I've been possessed by some sort of crazy person in the last few seconds as the consequences of Seth's ambition-driven idiocy force my heart to thud a mile a minute. He rocks back and forth on the branch casually, like he does this all the time, and tilts his head to the side. Finally, he offers a pleased nod. "Woohoo!"

He lowers himself down until he's in a squat- he's still half-shoeless, but still fully insane- and starts to grab at the bark as he makes his descent back down to the ground. "See, that wasn't so hard, right? Ties are great!" he exclaims, voice overjoyed.

"Seth-"

"Because if you think about it, a tie is sorta like a win for everybody-"

"Seth, stop talking and concentrate!"

"Ma'am, yes, ma'am!"

For the love of God, shut up! I want to scream at him, my anxiety refusing to quell as he moves further and further to the ground. I can't even find it in myself to feel impressed at the way he seems to so easily maneuver himself, like some strange amalgam of boy and chimpanzee grabbing at branches with ease that must come from experience. Long, lean muscles in his arms and calves are pulled tighter than chords from his efforts, though the expression on his face is totally serene.

Watching every single movement he makes, I clench my hands into fists as he shimmies down to another branch. He's only about four feet off the ground, now, but I don't think I'll be able to let go of the breath I'm holding until he's firmly planted in the grass.

And it's only because I'm watching so carefully that I notice the quick bend in the wood where the limb meets the trunk.

"Seth," I warn, the blood draining from my face as his hands loosely hold on above him. "Seth, don't-"

His ankle turns just slightly, and there's a crack.

My entire body runs cold. In seconds, Seth comes crashing to the earth- it happens both too quickly for me to process and in slow-motion. In one moment, he's swinging from each tree limb like an off-brand Tarzan- wannabe, and in the next, he's lying flat on his back and gasping for air.

"Oh my God!" I bellow in terror, a hand slamming right over my mouth.

I sprint over to him as fast as my legs allow. The panic within me is so completely overwhelming that I can hardly believe there's room for it all, and perhaps it's that exact thought that forces it to all come spilling out. My brain refuses to cooperate, refuses to catch up to what just happened so I can actually do something. My mouth sputters as my eyes rake over him.

With each second that passes, I fear that Seth won't be the only one laying sprawled out on the forest floor.

"Oh my God. Oh my God, Seth?! Oh my God!"

Seth's eyes are wide and unseeing, his chest spasming as he tries to inhale. He doesn't look nearly as terrified as he should be, nearly as terrified as I am- he merely confused, like he's unaware of how he went from several feet above the ground to the grass below. There's a trail of dark, crimson liquid slipping down the side of his neck, staining navy blue cotton bloody from an injury I can't see, and his face is a mess of scrapes from leaves and twigs he undoubtedly hit on the way down.

Somehow, I'm moving even though my mind has completely shut down. I'm kneeling next to him, my eyes flickering in every direction and hands hovering as I try to figure out what to do- he doesn't seem to have broken any bones from what I can tell, but how would I know for sure? He's bleeding and he can barely breathe, I have no idea how bad this is, and I'm so scared I think I might vomit.

I'm scared. I'm so, so scared- I want to call my dad, I want to call his dad, and I feel the overwhelming urge to start crying.

I make a spur-of-the-moment decision, and I shove one of my arms under his shoulders and use the other to yank him upwards by the collar of his shirt. The only thing I can think to do is what we're told how to deal with the wind getting knocked out of you on the soccer pitch – I don't know if moving him is a good idea, I don't know if I'm hurting or helping, but I pull him into an upright, sitting position, anyway.

Are you supposed to move people with injuries? Is there something I'm supposed to be checking for?

"Seth. Seth!" I snap worriedly, trying to look him in his dazed eyes. "Listen to me, you're fine. Everything's fine! But you need to breathe slowly through your mouth- suck your stomach in and breathe, and then push it back out."

"I…it-"

"Don't try and talk, just…super slow, in and out. You're okay, everything's going to be completely okay."

It's a lie, and a big, fat one, too- I don't know if he's been seriously hurt, but if the size of his pupils are any indication, he could be. Nothing feels okay. I don't know if I lie because I'm trying to convince him, or myself.

With one hand, I reach out and push his knee towards his chest until his head is tucked into his chest, and his legs are bent on either side of him. "Just breathe," I direct seriously, rubbing his back as I try to take my own advice.

It takes a few minutes until the rasps escaping his mouth quiet to a lull. His chest is still spasming- a fall from four feet in the air flat on his back definitely sent his diaphragm into a state of alarm, but his lips don't look as pale as they did moments ago. "B-Birth," he sputters out between greedy inhales.

"What?"

"I…I look…" he trails off between inhales. To my complete shock, he starts to laugh- it's not his normal laughter, not the goofy, boyish chuckling I've become used to in our last few hangouts, but something breathless and choked. My eyebrows shoot up high on my head- does he have a concussion? Is this a sign?

"What?"

"I…look…like I'm…giving birth," he croaks out, his mouth still gaping though his eyes are tickled with delight.

Seriously?

With that, I pull my hand away from his shoulder. My stomach clenches at the sight of blood on my hand from wherever it's seeping from, and I push him back into a hunch again as I scan his head. I can't tell with the bird's nest of hair sitting on his head, but I think he might've busted his head open.

He's still laughing in that strange, off-kilter way, and I don't think I've ever been in the presence of a true lunatic before. I feel my temper rise again at the cheerful uptick to the corners of his mouth, because I realize Seth is one. No person who's just fallen out of a tree should look so happy about it. I should've gotten a clue when Dad told me about the hair-pulling that somewhere, buried underneath a surface of too-big smiles and dimpled cheeks, Seth Clearwater was a total nutjob.

"You…You're…" Bleeding. Probably concussed. Absolutely delusional. Utterly certifiable. I look down at his position and even though his observation may be correct- he looks and sounds like he's in labor, I guess- the anger I felt before comes rushing back. I can't believe he's making a joke at a time like this, somehow finding the nerve to try and laugh in a crisis while I struggle to blink back tears. Despite my better judgment, I slap him harshly on the shoulder.

"….Injured…Sophie, ow…"

"You idiot," I seethe. "That was- that was so incredibly dumb and immature, do you realize that?! Do you realize that you're hurt, right now?! Are you, like, brain-damaged or something?! Well, you probably are now, you…you asshole!"

Seth blinks at me, his face a little surprised at my expletive. "You scared the crap out of me! I thought you were gonna…that you…why would you do that?!" I hiss.

Without looking away, he shrugs innocently. It makes me even angrier.

"You're insane," I say a little hysterically, though I don't find anything humorous about the situation. I rake my bloody hand through my hair without realizing, and I shake my head. I should get his dad, I think. We should call 911, we should get him to a hospital as soon as possible. "A tree-climbing, talent-wasting, cheating, game-hustling, hair-pulling, insane person."

His expression does something I don't completely understand, but he's dazedly grinning at me like I've just said something funny. I stand up from my knees, brushing off my pants with shaky hands, and glance at the backdoor to his house. "Stay here. Do not move," I command. "I'm gonna go get you help. If you move a muscle, I swear to God, Seth, I'm never talking to you ever again."

"You…remember…the hair thing? From when we were kids? You remember?" he asks me, sounding awed and staring at me strangely.

Yeah. He has a concussion, for sure.

"Please shut the hell up, Seth! DO NOT MOVE!"

Seth doesn't wind up going to the hospital. Apparently, having a mom who works in the medical field is good for all sorts of things, including but not limited to concussion checks and at-home stitches.

I made sure to keep my eyes on the ceiling as he sucked air through his teeth at her careful touches, and I definitely ignored the watery look in his eyes as his mother placed rubbing alcohol on his wounds.

As he rests in his bedroom (despite his insistence that I keep him company, which I firmly rejected), I sit in the small, cozy living room of the Clearwater home opposite his parents, drumming a nervous pattern against his lap as I keep my eyes on the clock above their television. Sue and Harry sit quietly, all of us waiting for my sister to show up from wherever she is that's taking her so long.

Is it cold in here? Warm? I can't tell, but my hands are shaking. An empty glass sits on the coffee table in front of me- I've poured what feels like half a liter of water down my throat since Harry helped Seth to his room.

In addition to rejecting Seth's pleas, I also decline a ride home from Mr. and Mrs. Clearwater. I feel bad enough that Mrs. Clearwater had to come home from a long day at the hospital only to tend to another patient, and Mr. Clearwater didn't seem too happy at the prospect of missing his tribal council meeting tonight. It doesn't help that I'm not very familiar with either of them, that I've only ever seen Harry in the context of football reruns at my house and I've seen Sue even less.

So I sit, I wait, and I stare around at the walls to distract myself. Family photos filled with the four of them- Seth, his parents, Leah- fill every square inch of the wood paneling along with a few paintings, and there's a large, Quileute symbol woven into thick fabric hanging above the mantel.

Hanging next to the window is a colorful, wooden figure I assume must be a mask or a headdress. I can't make out what it's supposed to be - a creature of sorts, sharp teeth painted in red and a nose carved into a snout. It catches my curious, nosy eye as my gaze trails along black and yellow swirls, stopping at the sight of the wooden feathers descending from the head. I stare at it for a little longer than I think I do, because Harry clears his throat.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" he asks me, his smile warm as his own gaze flickers towards it and back to me. I nod my head hurriedly, though I don't really know if 'beautiful' was the word that came to my mind. Scary, I think more accurately. It looks like one of the wild things from that book Dad used to read to me.

"It was my great-grandfather's. Do you know much about our people?"

"The…Quileute people?"

He nods, and I feel stupid for having asked. I shake my head embarrassedly- I've lived in Forks my entire life, and the only things I know about the local tribes in my area are snippits of conversations I've picked up from Jake. "Um…my dad loves your fish-fry? He…H-He told me the last time he had it that he thought he had a clogged artery," I blurt out lamely.

My eyes widen at my lack of sophistication, and my face flames. What the hell was that, Sophie? You just insulted Seth's parents, Dad's friends, in their own home!

To my surprise, Harry lets out a booming laugh, one that reminds me a lot his son's. He slaps a hand over his stomach and Sue looks at him, thoroughly amused by my spewed word-vomit. "I've never seen a man drool so much over a crispy piece of Chinook the way your dad does," he says joyfully. "Your father was Quileute in another lifetime, I think."

"Oh…I'm pretty sure we've always just been boring, old, white people. I-In every lifetime."

I'm mortified yet again. Sophie. Keep your mouth shut, if you're gonna keep saying stupid stuff! My brain shrieks at me through all my shaken nerves. But again, Harry laughs so loudly I practically feel the room shake, and this time, Sue joins in. She stands up from her seat on the sofa as her husband wipes a tear from the corner of his eye, and he gives me a fond look. "Billy and my boy were right. You are funny."

I blush under the praise, ignoring the pointed way he refers to Seth, and I settle in a little more comfortably. "Thank you. M-my dad mostly just tells me I need to watch my mouth, but I'm glad I haven't, uh, y'know, offended you or anything."

"Life's too short to waste a good sense of humor, I always say."

I nod, and I look up when I feel a tap on my shoulder. Sue looks down at me with a sweet expression, her hand extended out to me with a glass full of orange juice. "Drink this, honey. You'll feel better in a few minutes."

My eyebrows furrow in confusion- I feel completely fine, other than the way my stomach feels distended from all the water I drank, but her tone leaves little room for argument. Maternal, like Marmee, I remind myself. With trembling fingers, I drain the glass in seconds.

We sit silently again, and a few minutes later, I realize Sue was right. I do feel a little better.

"Thank you, Mrs. Clearwat-"

"Oh, please. Call me Sue, I've known you since you were in diapers."

Oh. Right. "Thank you, Sue," I say meekly, her name said slowly like my tongue isn't sure how to pronounce the single-syllable.

"Feel better?"

"Mhmm. Loads."

She nods, like she's confirming something she already knows. "Sugar can do the body a world of good," she tells me, her voice nurse-soft and equally as authoritative. "Seeing a person fall out of a tree must've been very upsetting. Are you hungry? Do you want more juice? Water?"

My brow furrows again. I don't feel very upset, I don't think – or at least, I didn't cry like I thought I was going to. I just want to lie down. "No thank you. I'm just glad he's okay. He…he was still joking about it when I came to get you guys, I didn't know if that was better or worse."

"Well, it's good to know that even if he's lost a few brain cells today, he's still very much Seth."

"Yeah." Very much, so.

Sue takes the empty glass and refills it, despite my refusal. She sits down next to me, her long, dark hair draped down her back in a perfect, tight braid, and she places a warm palm on my back. She rubs it gently as I sip the cold, sweet beverage, and my eyes flutter a little tiredly.

"I'm okay," I tell her, looking at the worried glimmer in her eyes. Of all the people to be worried about right now, the only person who's entitled to it is laying upstairs. "I'll feel a lot better after a good night's sleep."

"You can take a nap here, if you'd like. We'll wake you right up when your sister gets here."

I shake my head, and though she doesn't look like she believes me, I don't have the energy to try and convince her. Quiet lulls over us, and I start to wonder where Bella is again before I'm interrupted.

"Seth was very worried about you, you know," Sue confides. Harry slowly nods his head across the room in agreement.

Worried about me? "I didn't fall from anywhere."

Nobody says anything for a moment, but both of Seth's parents look at each other with expressions I can't place. "That boy of mine's got his mother's spirit, I think. And he seems to think very highly of you," Harry adds helpfully. "Can hardly get him to shut up about you, reminds me of when you kids were little- 'Sophie Swan.' Swear he's glued to that phone, waiting-"

"Harry," Sue cuts him off with a look in her eye, before she focuses back on me.

"It's because of soccer," I answer them both, my voice sounding distracted and a little far away. "H-He's really good, too. I think he just likes learning more about it. Did…did he tell you that? He helps me practice. It's been good, I think. For me. Because of soccer."

She rubs my back again, and as I look down, I realize my glass is empty. "Sounds like he's keeping you on your toes," she says lightly. "Just like the old days, way back when. He's very good at that."

"Yeah," I agree, my face pinched worriedly. He sure is.

On Friday, I wake up after what feels like a coma-induced sleep and lazily grab for my phone on my nightstand. When I notice the time, my jaw falls open and my eyes bug out of my head – it's nearly one in the afternoon, and it's a school day.

There's a series of texts I've missed in the thirteen hours I've been dead to the world, and my stomach clenches as I read the ones closest to the top.

From: Unknown Number

Meeting before homeroom. My office.

From: Unknown Number

ETA?

From: Unknown Number

This is not a good look, Swan.

I scramble out of bed and start pulling on a random pair of jeans sitting on a pile of laundry I have yet to put away, expletives slipping through my lips as I hop around my room. "Shit," I hiss. "Shit, shit, shit."

Why didn't anyone wake me up? Where the hell is Bella?

Coach is going to be so incredibly pissed off.

I grab my backpack and trample down the stairs, my fingers fumbling as I try and send out a text – sorry, food poisoning. Be right there! I think, before deleting all of it and trying to come up with a better excuse. Preferably one that doesn't make me sound as irresponsible as I feel, in any case.

Shit.

"Hold up, hold up." My dad's gravelly voice stops me mid-sprint, and I look up at him in total befuddlement. Why is he home? Why didn't he wake me up, if he was here?

"Dad, I'm gonna be-"

"You're not going to school. I called you out, you have a head cold. Sue, uh, said she'll write a note for you, if you need it."

"I don't…I'm not even sick, Dad, I have soccer!"

"Not today you don't. You're staying right here, in this house, for the rest of the day."

My brain racks for an explanation- his tone is stern, but I can't tell if I'm in trouble for something I've done. What did I do? Was it because of Seth falling out of the tree?

Sue and Harry didn't seem angry with me, and if they were, I didn't sense any of that during our chat. But why else would I be forced to stay home from school?

If not because of yesterday, it must be because of my meeting the other day with Coach. I'd been in trouble then, hadn't I? Did he tell Dad?

Am I being grounded?

"Dad, I have to…I have to-" I exclaim, trying to dart past him. He blocks me off, arms reaching out towards to close me in on the last step of the staircase. I'm starting to get a little annoyed now, and even though I'm pretty quick on my feet, I don't think I can run out from around him without knocking him over. "I have to go to school. I have to," I say vehemently.

Dad looks at me with a stoic expression, and points back up the stairs. "Back to bed. Go rest."

"Wha- no! Dad-"

"Kiddo," he says with a silencing hand. "I'm not askin' you. I'm telling you to march right back up to your room and relax."

I never argue with my father. It's not something we do, him and I; it comes with the perks of having a police officer as my sole parent, and me being a trouble-avoidant kid in general. We don't usually have anything to argue about- the last time we even seriously bickered was when I was in middle school, when he signed up as a chaperone for my eighth grade dance and showed up in his full uniform.

And as humiliating as that was, I mostly just sulked about it all on my own.

"Did I do something wrong?" I ask him, eyes flickering between his. "Whatever it was, I'm sorry, but I need to go to school."

Dad looks at me a little strangely. He opens his mouth before closing it, and he opens it again. "I'm not punishing you, kid," he says slowly. "I want you to rest."

"Then tell me why I can't leave! You can't just...you can't just keep me here."

"Kid, careful with your tone."

Annoyance grows into full-fledged frustration - of course my voice is sharp, I'm being held hostage in my own home when I have things to do, when I have Coach to talk to. It's enough I've missed whatever meeting he wanted to have with me without so much as giving him a heads up, and now I'm not even being given the chance to fix my mistake.

Dad says I'm not being punished, but it feels like I am.

"You don't get it," I push. "I have…I have responsibilities, Dad, I can't just…"

"Your number one responsibility right now is resting. Go back to bed."

"It's Friday. I have quizzes in Geo/Trig on Fridays."

"It'll have to wait until Monday. You can make it up."

"You don't know that!"

"Tone, Sophie."

I look around him again, my eyes looking for even the narrowest of escapes. He shakes his head. "Don't even think about it," he says, reading my mind, his hands tightening on the stair bannister. "Most kids would kill for a chance for a free day, you know that?"

"Well then, I guess I'm not like them! Who cares what they'd do?! I don't need a free day, I need to leave! I'm late!"

"I'm not making a request," Dad replies curtly. "You can afford to take one day off."

"I can't."

"Which one of us is the parent here, me or you?"

"Why won't you just listen to me!" I snap, my hands braced on top of my head from the stress. Just let me go to school. I need to go to school, I need to apologize to Coach for missing our meeting, I need to-

Dad places both of his hands on my shoulders, and I freeze. "Kid. Sophie. You just slept for nearly half a day. You wanna know why?"

Because I'm lazy. Because I obviously don't care about my place on the team. Because I'm falling short of my potential, just like Coach said.

"Because you needed it. You saw your friend get pretty hurt yesterday, Sue told me you were shaken up. So you're gonna take a day to yourself, calm down, and I don't wanna hear any arguments about it."

My stomach drops.

"Sue told you," I blabber. "Is Seth okay? He didn't get…I mean, he's-"

"He's fine, Sophie, he's fine. We're talking about you."

My phone buzzes again, and the weight of it feels heavy and warm in my hand. He looks down at it questioningly, and I tuck my palm behind my back in an effort to keep it from his view.

"Have you taken a good look at yourself lately?" he asks me quietly. Admittedly, I haven't- I've had a lot on my mind, and it's not as though I spend hours staring at myself in the hour to stare at my own reflection. "You look like you're gonna keel over. You're exhausted – you're doing too much, and it's showing, especially the last couple of weeks. Jake told me the other day when you two were doing homework, he thought you were gonna gonna pass out."

"No I'm not. I'm doing just enough, and Jake was being a total dick, so you shouldn't-"

"Tone and language, Sophie Swan, last warning."

Dad adjusts his stance, placing his hands on his belt as he shifts the weight in his leg. His eyes scan my face like I'm under investigation, but the only thing I can do is continually look past him at the front door and tighten my hand's hold on my bag. "I want you to look me right in the eye and say that you're okay," he demands. "If you can do that, I'll take you to school… or wherever the hell you wanna go so badly, since I'm not really seeing why this is turning into a big deal."

I let out an impatient sigh and tap my foot against the stair underneath me. "I'm fine, Dad. I just need to go to school, that's it. Are we good? Can I leave?"

It's obvious in the way his shoulders sink into themselves, hand swiping over his mustache as he rests his index finger over his mouth, that I'm not being as convincing as I hoped I'd be. Then again, I never thought I'd have to beg my own father to let me receive my education, so perhaps I'm a little rusty with my persuasive skills.

His eyes look down at the floor, pinched with something contemplative as he thinks to himself. "No. No, kiddo. I'm sorry," he mutters under his breath, voice gruff and very matter-of-fact. It's his go-to voice when he's upset about something, and though I can tell he's speaking more to himself than to me, my spine stiffens regardless.

"I don't know what to tell you. I don't know what you want me to say!"

"I don't know that I want you to say anything, Soph, especially if you're only going to try and tell me what you think I wanna hear," he explains. "You're obviously…stressed, or something, and I don't know what it is. Is it…is it Bella? We knew it was gonna be an adjustment-"

"No," I say honestly. "I love Bella. I want her here, I'm happy she's here. She has nothing to do with it."

His eyes narrow. "But there is something."

"I didn't say- you're putting words in my mouth."

"I'm trying to understand, Sophie." He smooths over his mustache, his eyes scanning over me again – he doesn't look very happy by what he sees, and I don't know what to do to fix it. "You even look sick."

I'm fine. Everything is fine. You need to worry about the real things that matter- animal murder attacks and police business and whatever else, because I'm A-okay.

"I just have a lot on my plate. But I can handle it, Dad, I swear."

He runs a hand over his head and back over his face, breathing a long-winded breath from out of his nose. He doesn't say anything, but his eyes linger on the tied up cleats hanging off of the side of my bag. I place a hand over them protectively, and he raises an eyebrow. "I have practice."

"Doin' an awful lot of that, lately. I don't remember you having to do all of this last year."

"We just won a qualifier. We just made it to Regionals, and it's soccer training. Everybody does it."

"Well, I don't care about everybody. 'Everybody' isn't my kid," he says angrily. "Maybe I need to have a talk with this Coach Warren guy. If he's working you too hard-"

"-No," I interrupt loudly, my eyes widening. "Please don't… please don't do that. I'm working just as hard as everybody else…" A lie. "And I'm just trying to make sure I'm the best I can be. I…I'm the one who asked Coach Warren for the extra practices."

Not not a lie, not the truth, but something that lies somewhere in the middle. Coach told me I'd asked for them, that I'd asked for all this extra time to work on my performance, and I really must've forgotten that I did – not that it matters, because I do need them. I should've been the one to ask, in any case.

Dad looks me right in the eyes again, his jaw clenched and set in a way that makes me nervous. "I'm afraid that if you keep this up, you're gonna run yourself right into the ground. Literally. Don't think I haven't noticed you sprinting home from school every day like you've got a fire under your ass. I thought when I talked to Harry…I don't know, I guess I just thought…"

"What?" I demand frantically. "You thought what?"

For the first time in this conversation, he looks a little uncomfortable. Like he hadn't meant to say whatever he trailed off with aloud, and now he's stuck with having to explain. "Never…never mind, that's not important. What matters here is that I think you need to really think about your priorities. At some point, we're gonna have to have a talk because something's gonna have to give."

I can't wrap my brain around what I'm hearing, because everything coming out of my Dad's mouth is the exact opposite of what I'm being told by somebody else. One person says I'm not working hard enough, the other says I'm working too much – how is it possible, that I'm doing two contradictory things at the same time?

I don't know if real athletes struggle this much. I don't know if they have to convince their parents about their diligence the way I'm trying to convince mine, I don't know if they get told as often as I do that I need all these private practices just to keep up with where I'm supposed to be.

The only thing that's evident to me from this conversation is that Dad and Coach agree on one thing. In either direction, it doesn't matter, because I'm failing. What separates the two is that one person understands what it means for me to put in the work, and the other simply can't.

"You're not making any sense," I whisper harshly. "'Something's gonna have to give.' What's that supposed to mean?"

"I'm saying that maybe a break isn't gonna kill you."

"We just made it to Regionals!" I yell. "You can't…you can't. Don't take this from me, Dad, I swear I'll do anything you want. Name it, and I'll do it."

"I want you to rest."

I can't. I can't, there's no time for that. I have to work, I have to put in the work. I begged for another chance, and I can't waste it. Not again, not when Coach is already disappointed in me.

"Why are you doing this?" I whisper, my eyes watering and my heart clenched with betrayal. "Why are you…what is this? Why are you doing this to me, right now?

Maybe if he understood even a fraction of how much I'm doing to be the best on Varsity, if he could bring himself to see how much this means to me, he wouldn't be punishing me like this. My dad - the one person who's been at every game, picked me up from every practice he could, who's taken me to sporting goods stores hours and hours away for equipment so I can be where I am today- is putting another roadblock in front of me on top of all the other ones I've already tried to jump over.

And it feels like I've been benched, like I've been double-crossed by someone I thought was supposed to be on my team all along. Rest.

What a joke.

Dad narrows his eyes at me in confusion, and maybe he finally sees something he wants to see because his face softens perceptibly. He cranes up at me and gives me a kiss on the side of my temple, jerking his chin up the stairs. "Go…go, uh, go on up," he says wearily. "I don't wanna see you down here unless you're going to the kitchen, understand? Backyard is off-limits. And if I hear any of those damn soccer videos on the TV, I'll yank it right out of the plug and move it to the basement."

"If that's what you want, I'll do it. Just please don't…don't keep me from playing," I promise, turning on my heel. "I'll go right to sleep."

"Love you, kid. I'm just looking out for you."

His words go in one ear, out of the other. I'm angry, I'm upset, and I know that if he was really looking out for me, he wouldn't even think about keeping me from the one thing I love doing more than anything.

I head into my bedroom, quietly shutting the door as I collapse into my bed and curl up in a ball. My phone seems to weigh a million pounds in the base of my palm, so I shove it under my pillow, and my eyes rest on my copy of Little Women sitting on my nightstand.

Coach doesn't like apologies, anyway.

A/N: Wow, what a whirlwind of a chapter! How do we all feel? Not going to lie, this is one of my favorite chapters so far. The drama, Seth's absolute golden retriever energy, meeting the Clearwaters, the way things are starting to turn on their head for Sophie and Charlie when it comes to soccer. I can't wait to see your thoughts! Shoutout to Loves to Read Books, Hyacinthed (hiya, again!), and a guest reviewer for all of your beautiful reviews on this latest chapter. I also want to thank you for your understanding in regards to my A/N in Chapter 8 - it was very important for me to communicate my intentions with you and establish my boundaries in the case that anyone had/has any different expectations from this fic. Sending lots of love! xoxo