Chapter 11: Outré
TW: Grooming behavior; non-sexual touching of a minor
On a particularly overcast Monday afternoon, I switch my study hall and lunch period around yet again. Only this time, it's not really a decision of my own volition – Taylor caught me in the hallway on my way to class and 'strongly encouraged' me to join the team out by the picnic tables.
In retrospect, I should've realized that this strange change in my usual schedule would make for an odd rest of the day.
When I'd confided to Bella on her first day here in Forks that I wasn't as popular as she probably thought, it was a slightly understated truth – I wasn't exactly lying, because in concurrence with her assumption, I've never been particularly well-received by my peers - it just so happened that I neglected to fully explain the reason why. Honestly, even if I'd offered a more thorough answer at the time, I'm not sure my non-sports-playing, anti-team-activity sister would've really understood it anyhow.
Certain things don't upset me as much as they used to- the missing invitations to weekend sleepovers, the fact that I don't get pizza with the girls after practice, the way in which I will probably not be in attendance on trips to Port Angeles to shop for prom dresses. It's not like I haven't I caught wind of the dirty looks and whispers from my teammates last year; it'd be a lie to say I was unbothered by the interrogative probing by newly JV-turned-Varsity girls I would've played alongside had I not gotten pushed ahead. It's all kind of funny to me, now, that despite the highly regimented order of my sport- the never-ending series of rules and controls that divides eleven moving parts to create one, cohesive machine- there's a messier, contradictory system that lies right alongside it. Unfortunately, my fourteen-year-old, starting backline, self didn't realize just how significant a disruption I would be to a team solely composed of juniors and seniors, but I guess I can somewhat understand why I wasn't really 'welcomed with open arms'.
That's the part about loving something so much; there's a certain amount of coping you do when you love soccer as much as I always will. The pain, the hurt, the loneliness of it all - they leave all sorts of impressions that don't go away; they come in the form of back aches and rolled ankles and ice baths and birthday parties in which only three people are in attendance for.
But love…love… it's a balm that temporarily soothes the aches. Love makes it so that these things can so easily be overlooked when you tell yourself this is what it takes to be better; this is what it takes to be the best.
It's helpful to think of those who's footsteps I so desperately want to follow, to think of the girls who play on the U.S. Olympic team and live their lives making a career out of something I still only dream of. I can't imagine Abby Wambach or Heather O'Reilly prioritizing trips to the mall over extra practices, choosing to dedicate their efforts to their girlfriends instead of winning FIFA Women's World Player of the Year award. It's almost inspiring, how much even a little bit of dedication can help soften the nonstop blows.
Now that we've won qualifiers, my patience with the dramatics has worn thin - I've never felt such a longing to just play the damn game without it turning into some strange, intersocial dilemma. I don't want to hang out with the team at Junior Lunch any more than they want me there, and yet, Taylor still waves me over as I frantically look around the busy school grounds.
The expression I'm used to seeing on my team captain's face – one of stoic concentration and determination – is peeled back into something more amiable. It almost looks bored, but upon closer examination, I think it's an attempt at something that's almost friendly. It's hard to tell, especially when she practically shoves Amanda Howell into Kelley Fletcher to make room for me on the picnic bench.
"Hey, Swan," she says, the usual flat tone of her voice peaked with the slightest bit of interest. She raises her hand and curls her fingers towards her palm – I do the same, exchanging in our team handshake, and I barely fumble with it despite how infrequently I've exchanged this pleasantry. "How's your day goin'?"
My brain scrambles and it takes me longer than it should to reply, but I glance around quickly to gauge the atmosphere. To my relief, I realize everyone else at our table is lost among their own conversations - it's like I'm not even here, a non-presence, and a breath I didn't realize I was holding escapes me. "I'm…I'm good, yeah," I answer as casually as I can manage. "How are you? You, uh…excited for this weekend?"
Taylor shrugs and makes a so-so motion with her hand. "Eh, not getting my hopes up. Starting to wonder if it's senioritis." In a quieter voice, she leans closer to me. "Could also be that I'm getting pretty close to retirement."
My eyebrows shoot up, both at the news and her casual tone. Retirement usually only means one thing when you're an eighteen-year-old athlete, and of all people, Taylor Sims is the last person I expected to turn in her cleats so soon. "Oh," I blurt out, caught off guard by this information. "Did you…so, no D-1, then?"
She offers me a quick, wry grin before it disappears. "Nah. Passed up a scholarship with the Huskies… my ACL's acting up again. Honestly, you tear it once, and everything after that seems like a lifetime of knee pain with nothing to show for it," she says casually. "No one gives a shit about women's soccer, anyway."
It reminds me far too suddenly of a similar, repeated conversation about college discussion I've had with Jake, but I still feel struck by the callousness of the latter part of her statement. The shock I'm trying to swallow must show on my face, because she quickly waves a dismissive hand. "Not trying to kill your dreams or anything, Swan. You're basically a baby-Christie Rampone. It'd be hard not to give a shit when you're on the pitch."
"I mean, you say that like you're not the best player on the entire team," I blurt out passionately. "When I watch you on the team footage. It's…I don't, it's…wow."
Taylor turns to me, face contemplative. "Team footage…the hell are you talking about?"
"Yeah," I say obviously. "Y'know, the videos Coach films for us, so we can see where we screw up."
"Oh…huh."
I can't decipher the tone of our back-and-forth, but then again, I don't really know Taylor very well. She's given me what I think is a genuine compliment, and I don't hear any condescension. But more importantly, I'm not sure what to do with the information I've just received about her hanging up her cleats- do I offer a congratulations? Condolences?
"Well…you should know, the entire Pac-12 is gonna hold a nightly vigil just for you until you change your mind," I smile, half-joking but half-serious. "Crowds of recruiters crying while the radio plays that one walkup song you like on repeat, hoping you'll commit."
"If they do, maybe I'll make a guest appearance at my soccer-funeral. I'll listen to anything if it's not that Black Eyed Peas bullshit Brianna loves so much."
"That's a pretty low bar."
"…What, you saying you don't like 'Drop It Like It's Hot'?"
Taylor's expression is suddenly grievous, and my eyes flicker over hers for a few seconds to see if she's humoring me. I didn't mean to offend her- I wouldn't tempt that sort of fate with the captain of our team, especially not when she'd been courteous enough to invite me over here. Me and my big, dumb mouth.
Before I can backpedal, her expression smooths out with a crooked grin, and she gives me a hard shove to the shoulder. "Just kidding, Swan."
"Right," I choke out a laugh, rubbing my sore arm. "Obviously."
She shakes her head at her own well-played joke before she turns to talk to Danielle Hogan, and in absence of anyone else to talk to, my eyes lazily scan over groups of juniors and seniors. Distantly, I wonder if Bella's somewhere around here- she'd probably wonder why I was here at her lunch in the first place, but I'm sure I'd find some way to steer her away from telling Dad. As if on cue, Amanda lightly taps me on the shoulder. I look over at her in surprise- yet again, another unexpected interaction.
"So," she says conspiratorially, eyes narrowed in a playful way. "Everyone's talking about your sister and the Cullen's."
"Huh?"
"Your sister, Bella? She's literally the only girl Edward Cullen has ever paid any attention to."
The conversation catches Kelley's attention, too, and she turns around to include herself. "And she just moved here, right?" she continues, placing two frustrated fingers on either side of her temples. "So confusing…because, I mean, you've been in Forks for forever."
"She moved," I answer simply, not sure what's so baffling about the situation. Is Bella moving to Forks really that big a mystery, or is it the fact that she's dating Egg-ward? Can't we just talk about Saturday's game, or something? I think with a groan.
Amanda pushes a lock of light brown hair over her shoulder and rolls her eyes as if the actual question at hand should be obvious to me. "Yeah, but why?"
"I guess she just wanted to live with my dad and me. Change of scenery," I lie, uncomfortable at the prospect of explaining my parents' custody issues to someone I barely know. Maybe I'm still in the adjustment-phase of the whole sisterhood thing, but I get the feeling Bella really wouldn't want me participating in the new-student gossip she hates so much.
"So…your sister lived with your mom? And you lived here."
"Yup."
"…Why?"
"Why, what?"
Her mouth twists with annoyance before it falls back into her small, curious smile. "Why do you live here with your dad, when she lived with your mom?"
Kelley claps her hands together excitedly, eyes wide as she leans over to me. "Oh my God, have you ever seen 'The Parent Trap'? Is it kinda like that?"
An uncomfortable chuckle slips through my lips, and I hope my lack of answer will be interpreted as the gentle nudge of dismissal it's intended to be. Neither of my teammates seem to take the hint, and I desperately wish Bella would just show up out of the blue and whisk me away from here so I could talk to someone familiar. Familiar people don't usually ask these kinds of questions.
Why are you here, and why was she there?
Somewhere, hidden behind the veiled excuse of Bella's privacy, I realize I don't want to answer the question because I don't really have an answer to give. I dunno, Amanda, I want to say. You're asking me about a situation I don't understand, either.
I suppose my embarrassment is obvious, because like a knight in shining armor – or rather, a knight in corkscrew pigtail puffs- Taylor comes to my rescue. She jerks her chin at both of our teammates, her top lip curled in irritation. "Jesus, you people are so damn nosy. Don't even bother, Swan," she scolds, shoving me again to get my attention. "The only question you should be asking her is how to do a proper rainbow, Amanda, since it's been four years and I have yet to see you do it without losing the ball."
Kelley winces behind her as Amanda bites at the inside of her cheek. "You'd know a lot more about 'rainbows' than anyone else here, anyway," she mutters, fiddling with her hair.
My eyes flicker between them, and I do my best to sink into the bench underneath me as Taylor's expression grows murderous. At this point, I have no idea what's going on or what they're talking about, and my brain flounders for a way to escape from whatever I'm resigned to being physically stuck in the middle of.
"Keep talking, 'Manda. I'll make sure you keep those benches extra warm for us during Regionals."
"Like you have the authority to bench me. You're captain, not the fucking coach."
"You sound awfully confident for a girl who only got on the roster because Mommy made a phone call."
Palms damp with stress, my gaze wanders beyond the table out at the throngs of upperclassmen again. This time, I find slight consolation at the sight of Edward and a couple of his siblings sitting at a picnic table on the other side of the lawn - Bella's nowhere in their midst, but maybe they'll know where she is. At the very least, I can pay the thank-you I owe my sister's boyfriend for his helpful suggestion on my Little Women assignment.
In the midst of Taylor and Amanda's bickering, I slowly extract myself from the table and point a thumb as a signal of my departure. Taylor just nods at me in the middle of another cutting insult, and Amanda doesn't spare me a second glance. Thank God.
I move at what can only be described as an expeditious speed as I head over to the Cullen's table – in my experience, a quick escape is the best way to avoid confrontation, even if said-confrontation doesn't involve me in the slightest. My focus is homed in on Edward and the two people sitting across from him – I realize belatedly that they're the same siblings that drove me to the hospital. Okay, good. Now, I can give a double-thank you, which means I have an even better excuse to run away from this conversation, I think. Maybe Coach was right about all that 'jealousy-among-teammates' stuff.
As I approach closer to their table, it occurs to me that I probably should've thought this plan through a little more practically- I'm little more than a stranger to these people, and for all I know, I could be interrupting a family meeting or something. Maybe I'm being terribly rude; maybe I should just side-step and keep walking, say a polite 'hello,' and find somewhere else to hole up until the next class period starts.
Edward isn't the first one to see my quick strides – it's the blonde boy, the one who'd been in the driver's seat that day. His head whips towards me, almost too quickly to be natural, and the other two follow suit. An eager smile spreads across my face as I wave, and I inwardly pray they won't send me away.
"Sophie!"
The girl from the hospital ride pipes up loudly enough for me to hear, and she crooks a finger at me. The blonde boy is sitting ramrod straight on her left, eyes wide as she beckons for me to take a seat - guiltily, I try to wrack my brain for either of their names, since they aren't coming to my mind as easily as my own name came to hers.
Edward, strangely, doesn't look entirely enthused to see me. He shoots a grim look at his sister as I wander to their table, and somewhere in the back of my mind I wonder if I'd been right about my reservations.
"Hi, Bella's boyfriend," I plop down, politely nodding at the other two. "Hi… um, Bella's boyfriend's family."
Edward's sister makes a flurried movement with her hand, insisting I get comfortable. "Take a load off, silly. We don't bite," the girl assures with a brilliant smile, the words said with an ease that contradicts her intense gaze. Like I'm on autopilot, I follow her instructions without thought and clumsily collide with poor Edward as I set my bag down next to me.
"That's good. I, uh, thought I was gonna get eaten alive, over there," I laugh carefully as I spare a subtle glance back at my previous table. Now that I've left, Taylor and Amanda are currently standing out of their seats in a heated stare down, and I feel strangely pleased that their dispute has proved enough of a distraction for me to leave unnoticed.
The blonde boy across from me smiles a little oddly at my joke, but I pay it no mind as I give a warm, grateful pat on Edward's shoulder and turn to my bag. "Do you know where Bells is, Eddie? I'm actually kinda glad I caught you… I wanted to show you something," I ask over my shoulder as I rummage for the evidence of my good news.
Finally, my fingers find my English paper and I proudly slap it on the wooden surface in front of me. "Ah-ha," I sing-song proudly. "My Little Women paper…I'm not even sure if you remember us talking about it, but I took your advice for my prompt. I got a B+! Total miracle."
The frosty twist to Edward's features softens as he scans over my assignment, forehead furrowed while he reads. Instantly, a smile rises to his face once he reaches the end of the page. "So, you did choose that strong, 'male' lead we spoke about," he jokes, flipping the paper around to read the back. "I'm glad I could be of help."
I blush at the recollection of my blundering from our last conversation – unfortunately, that's what he remembers- and shrug my shoulders. "In my defense, I admitted I was running a little behind…but I just wanted to thank you. You really are a lucky guesser- I probably wouldn't have gotten the job done if you hadn't assumed I'd like the book."
"I just made a minor suggestion. It was you who did the work."
"I guess… but you still get two little-sister points. Bella hasn't given me any lectures about procrastination, which, y'know…thank you for keeping your end of the deal."
His face perks up at my sister's name, and he curiously tilts his head to the side. "Bella seems to do that quite often. Lecturing when she's upset?"
He phrases it more like a statement than a question, and truthfully, I'm not sure what Bella would've said or done if Edward had told her - I'm just glad the entire scenario had been avoided.
"Yeah. I don't think she would've ratted me out to Dad, but Bella's pretty serious about school…she probably would've given me the whole, 'I-can-help-you-but-you-need-to-ask' speech, for the zillionth time," I answer, mocking her with a low, sulky voice.
Edward grins wolfishly at my imitation, and his brow furrows again in further intrigue. "Then this is a pattern, after all."
I smile a little bittersweetly, feeling nostalgic at the memories of our younger selves bickering about my self-admitted screw-ups. I think I like how fascinated Edward is with my sister's behavior, even the smallest nuances of it - it doesn't hurt that a discussion about Bella is a discussion in which he and I can talk about the only thing we might actually have in common with each other – a desire to talk about a person both of us are still getting to know.
"She's a Meg March, for sure," I whisper loudly behind my hand like I'm divulging some big secret. It's only a jolt from under the table that has me sending a quick, unsure glance at the other two near-strangers in our company. Edward inhales sharply as he looks away from me, glaring specifically at his sister.
"My apologies, Sophie, it appears that I'm being quite rude. This is my brother, Jasper, and this is my sister, Alice. I believe you've already met, but I realize I haven't made any…formal introductions."
Alice and Jasper, I repeat over and over in my head, committing it to memory. It's the least I can do, after all, since they were kind enough to bring me, someone they didn't even know, to the emergency room after the accident. I smile at them, a little weakly since I'm sure Edward is wrong- I'm confident that the only one who's been rude so far is me.
Alice brushes a finger across Jasper's knee, and in a movement so quick I'm left blinking at the abruptness, his hand outreaches towards me. I'm not sure what he's trying to do, so I pull my hand into a mitt and give a cold, flat palm an unreciprocated fist bump. My cheeks flare with embarrassment.
"Sorry… you were going for a handshake, I thought…anyway, it's nice to meet you. Both of you," I stumble, wishing I could stop being an idiot for even one moment so I'd understand even the most basic of social cues. "I-I didn't get a chance to thank you for the ride to the hospital… I was, like, totally out of my mind when you told me Bella was in an accident. Totally crazy day, y'know? So…thank you for…that."
Jesus, come on, Sophie, get it together.
No one says anything for just a second too long, so I let out a low whistle and tug at a thread on my jeans.
"I assure you, the pleasure's all mine," Jasper drawls softly, his shoulders loosening slightly. "Your sister sure has made quite the impression. We can hardly go a day without talking about her."
"Yeah, I'd say 'same here'… but getting any answers about Edward from Bella is harder than pulling teeth with a pair of pliers." I wince at the crudity of my words, and attempt a recovery. "Still, uh, rooting for you guys, though! As long as she's happy, right?"
Alice giggles, a tinkling, bell-like sound that sounds more like a breeze brushing against windchimes than a laugh. "Oh, I'm sure Bella has her reasons. She's quite the private person, she and Edward have that in common, I think."
"Well, she did have this Lisa Frank diary she had when we were little. I'm sure if she still had it, she'd spill all the juicy details I wanna know. It'd probably be even better than Little Women."
"Ah, yes- young love at its finest. Would you look at that, Edward? Who knew the Swan girls were such romantics?"
Just as I'm about to disagree, her delighted expression falls – out of nowhere, her eyes suddenly unfocus, and her smile flattens into a thin line. The look on her face almost reminds me of Seth when he'd fallen out of the tree, his vision dazed and his gaze million miles away from La Push as his brain scrambled to gather his bearings.
I'm not sure what's happening, but the cheery mood over the table disappears as quickly as it arrived – was it something I said? Is she ill? I glance at Edward and his brother, but neither one looks particularly fearful or upset- maybe this is something she does often?
"Has anyone ever told you that you have a very unique eye color?" Edward interjects smoothly, turning to look at me and effectively sidetracking me from my thoughts as his sister continues to stare vacantly at nothing. "Around eight percent of the population has blue eyes, but I do wonder how many within that range share your specific shade…a 1b on the Martin-Schultz Scale, I believe. Bella's and the Chief's are brown- can I assume yours are the result of a recessive gene?"
I blink, unsure of how we've deviated to this random topic, and even less clear on this Martin-thing he mentioned. I've always been of the opinion that especially on overcast days like today, my eyes look little more unique than the color of wet pavement. "Oh. Her- I mean, our mom, she has blue eyes. Mine don't look anything like hers, but that's my best guess," I tell him.
Edward nods thoughtfully, looking far too interested in my mundane explanation. "Strange things, genes. Especially the recessive ones," he says ominously. "It's assumed that all people with blue eyes have one single, common ancestor, who must've developed a genetic mutation of sorts. It's fascinating. Despite sharing such similar DNA, despite having the same ancestor with the same mutation, there's no guarantees that two people will be exactly alike."
This is probably the most I've ever heard Edward speak, and he places an elbow on the table to lean against it- ultimately, a fraction of a shift in his movement. Unfortunately, spending years as a defender analyzing these kinds of tactics on the pitch gives a person pretty good eyesight– it's obvious he's attempting to shield me from whatever's occurring with his sister, because my line of vision from Alice's blank expression is completely cut off.
Oh well. Who the hell am I to make a big deal about it?
"Yeah… genes sure are crazy, especially between me and Bells," I quip knowingly, staring at him with feigned ignorance. "Maybe Bella didn't inherit the gene that allows her to stand upright for more than a few minutes without tripping and falling, like I did. Total scientific mystery."
Edward lets out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head as he glances down at the table. "Bella Swan: scientific mystery," he says lowly. "I'm willing to bet that you're correct about that."
It's nearly seven PM, my hair is still dripping from my shower in the locker room after practice. To my dismay, Coach's office is no less humid than it was the last time I was here, and like the last time, I'm sitting in the chair across from desk with my hands clenched into my soccer shorts.
"…A head cold, huh?"
My jaw is set tightly as I wait for him to continue, but I nod my head – I'm sure it's more of a quick jerk than a real sign of agreement, but my nerves are too frayed for me to care.
"Yes, Coach."
"How're you feeling, now? Any better?"
"Mhmm. Tons better, Coach. I was still planning on coming to the meeting you texted me about, but my dad already called me out of school."
He laughs, stretching his arms over his head. "You don't sound too happy about that."
"I-I wasn't. I didn't want you to think I was blowing you off, or that I wasn't taking what you said seriously, because I am. One hundred percent serious."
"But not serious enough to come to school with a little cold."
It makes me feel terrible, the prospect of lying to Coach again, but that's not what ultimately makes me decide to be forthright. If anything, I'm more afraid of getting caught – afraid that if he sees right through a flubbed attempt at covering up why I really stayed home, whatever comes after will be even worse.
"I am, Coach. I swear on my life, soccer means more to me than I can…than I can even put into words. It's just…I was feeling fine, I guess, but my dad's insisting I haven't been myself. That I look sick, maybe, I dunno. He told me he thinks soccer…" I fold my arms across my chest stiffly, averting my eyes.
"…Soccer, what?"
"That maybe I'm running myself a little ragged?" I laugh in disbelief, pushing my hair away from my face. "Which is, like, not the case at all. I told him that, too."
"Hm. And what'd he say?"
"That…that maybe I need a break. I don't, Coach. He's just…"
Coach Warren leans back in his chair, bringing a hand to his chin contemplatively. "He doesn't really 'get it'," he tells me, finishing my sentence. "Right?"
I sigh with relief, and a smile rises to my face – he understands what I mean. "Exactly!"
Another lapse of silence falls between us, and he scrutinizes me for what I can only assume is a sense of honesty. I am honest, I want to say – I'm telling you the truth this time. Don't you see?
"Your dad's a busy man. Runnin' around everywhere, playing detective all day and night…probably doesn't see you a whole lot, does he?"
"H-He tries to spend as much time with me as he can."
"I'm sure…but still. So busy with that job of his, barely getting a wink of sleep… there's no way he'd understand how much time and effort you've been putting into this. And Mom's not in the picture, right?"
I nod, but deep inside, I try not to bristle at the mention of my parents: the way he discusses my dad's career so casually, like he's some sort of mall cop instead of the Chief of Police; the way he asks about my absent parent. To my deep-seated guilt, I internally admit that maybe, he has a point. I can count the times I've seen Dad for more than a few hours on a single hand since the animal attacks started – and I don't have a mom 'in the picture.'
Coach shakes his head sadly, and he blows out a low whistle. "And now I hear he's got another kid living in the Swan house, too. I gotta say, that's a hell of a lot of stress for one person."
More guilt churns in my stomach – between being overworked and having two times the responsibility he had before, Dad must be even more exhausted than I've realized.
"My sister, she just moved here…I guess maybe he's had a lot more on his plate than I thought."
"A lot for him, sure…but I was trying to say it's a lot for you, too."
"Oh." It's not. Not for me. "Maybe for some people. I can handle it."
"I believe you. I guess I'm just speaking from experience. You remind me a little bit of what I was like at your age."
"I…do?"
He nods confidently, folding his hands in a steeple and pressing them up to his mouth. "I was a kid, too, a million years ago. My dad worked out in the lumber yards, so maybe it was a little different- but I always wished there was just one person who looked out for me. Guess that's why I'm trying to look for you, I know what it's like."
My eyebrows furrow. "But my dad does look out for me," I tell him, my voice barely above a whisper. I'm so confused about what he's implying, half-offended and half-baffled – even if Dad's been a little harder on me than usual, I've never once questioned how much he cares.
"…But you just said he doesn't get it."
"He…I-I mean, he doesn't completely understand-"
"-Exactly. So how much looking out can he really do? How much support can somebody who doesn't 'get it,' give you?" he asks me sadly, eyes soft and pitying. "I'm sure he hasn't noticed how your performance on the pitch isn't where it's supposed to be, how could he? Your dad can't tell you how to improve. And the worst part is, you've got a real gift, Swan, you know I mean that. I don't think anyone's really pointed that out to you, besides me."
Just you.
I nod my head, my throat tightening. With a sorrowful smile, he raises his hands like I've just supplied a thorough answer to his question. "There you have it."
*He gets up from his chair, and my eyes widen. He leans in front of me against the desk, hands folded over his crossed legs. More staring, and even though his face is kind, I think I want to cry. I want to go home.
"Sophie…I've always been honest with you, and I'll be honest with you now. You're a diamond in the rough, and I've got what it takes to make you shine," he explains, looking down at me. "I'm willing to do it because at the end of the day, I see in you what nobody else can, and I'll tell you what nobody else is going to."
I look down at the bracelet on my wrist – the one I know Bella secretly bought for me, the one she claims Mom had gifted as a belated birthday present. My fingers play with the charms, eyes fixated on the golden cursive SOS laying against a green vein that runs straight into my fingertips – I don't know what to say, so I keep my gaze focused anywhere else.
A heavy paw rests on my shoulder, and a thumb reaches out to brush right below my collarbone. The feeling of his hand instinctively makes my eyes widen even larger; the delayed register of how much more intimate the closeness of his contact is than the arm squeezes he's given me before. It's subtle, just a repeated stroking, but my gut seems to bellow out from under me. "Don't confuse yourself, I'm not sayin' anyone wants to see you fail…. I'm just sayin'…. nobody's gonna ever really understand, are they? Not even your dad. They don't understand what it'll take for you to succeed."
An inexplicable feeling somewhere inside me urges me to start talking, to move my shoulder, to tell Coach I need to use the bathroom. Say something, it presses. Do something. Anything.
I can't, and I don't. My mouth is dry, and my entire body seems content to stay frozen in my chair, like a deer in headlights. I can't even understand why I feel so uncomfortable all of the sudden- it's not as if Coach has done anything inappropriate, it's just…he's fond of me, despite all the ways I keep messing up on the team, the way I keep falling short. It's fondness, it's paternal, and that's it.
My lack of eye contact must be noticeable because he removes his hand from my shoulder and presses his fingers underneath my chin.
Coach Warren is a large man. Huge shoulders, a sign that he probably played football or something in high school – I think he's said something about it before, but my mind fails to work as he looks down at my face, eyes both dark and completely void of emotion. I'm forced to look up at him, like some small child in the timeout corner looking in the face of an authority figure– I want to quell the strange feeling I'm getting, but I'm dwarfed under his gaze – small, stupid, and easily-stressed about things that don't matter.
"You've got what it takes, Swan, and I know all the right people to make it happen. I can make you happen. But there's still so much I have yet to see from you," Coach says. His hold isn't tight, but his fingers are tilting my neck up too high for me to open my mouth. "I want to see more focus, and you already know that. You've got the drive, the passion… but I'm still waiting to feel that commitment."
I can feel the tendons shift in my shoulders from the uncomfortable crane of my head, but he doesn't relent from where his fingers brace under my chin. "I know," I choke out, swallowing nervously. To my horror, I feel pinpricks in the corners of my eyes.
"You know I said I'd start looking into my other options…thirty other girls, Swan. And you know how much I don't want to do that, not when none of them come close to how special you are. It's important that you have my attention, and that you don't lose it."
"I…I k-know."
Coach stares at me steadily, eyes roaming over my face. His thumb, that same thumb, inches further up my chin until it's dangerously close to the corner of my mouth.
Say something, idiot. Say something!
Instead, to my surprise, his thumb brushes at my cheek. His hand drops from my face, the padding of his finger wet with a tear I didn't even know he'd caught. I didn't even realize I was crying.
Unable to suppress my gut-instinct any longer, I flinch back and stand up from my seat, my knees wobbling as I brace my hands against the armrest to catch my balance. "I…I have to get home," I stammer. "I…My sister…I h-have to go."
His dark eyes blink at me, concern washing over his features. His hand drops to his side like I've burned him, and I nearly trip over one of the legs of the chair as I shakily make my way to the door. "T-Thank you, Coach," I say distantly, my body raging with alarm. "I'll…I'll see you at next practice."
"Wednesday."
"Mhmm. Thank you…um, thanks again."
"Shut that door on your way out, won't you?"
I nod, and I do.
I sprint all the way home.*
From: Seth Clearwater
Hey! What are the deets for ur game on Sat?
If Jake can't come I think Leah might have to drive me :/ I'm still excited ! :D
- 2 HRS AGO
From: Jake
R u passing my number around ?
Y am I finding out about ur game from Harry's kid :( did my invite get lost in the mail ?
U got a new biggest fan or something?
-NOW
Seth and Jake's texts ping on my phone, the vibration sending a buzz through the ceramic of my bathroom sink. The screen is turned to face me as I drag a cloth over my face over and over, my skin rubbed red from my aggressive scrubbing.
I don't know why I'm trying to achieve – I'd already taken a shower back at school, and I found myself taking another one after I arrived home from practice. My cheeks sting red with irritation, but I keep scrubbing neurotically like I'm trying to peel away a layer or two to search for long-lost treasure buried under a sea of freckles and alabaster.
My left hand is curled on the enamel of the sink, and I drop the cloth from my right one to reach for my phone. As tired and on-edge as I feel, I find myself letting out a single, loud laugh at the two unconnected-yet-related threads of text messages- even snickering at Jake's designation of Seth as a 'kid' yet again.
From: Varsity Ass-Kicker
Bold of u to assume ur invited :p
Port Angeles HS 10am – might be a bit of a drive, no worries if u can't make it. I'll text Jake
From: Sophie
No clue where Seth got ur number…he has a habit for sneaking away with that sorta stuff
Sorry I didn't text u about Sat…u sure u don't have spare 'part' to pick up out of town? If not, PAHS 10am. If u can come, do u think u could give Seth a ride ?
Pretty plz - request from my REAL biggest fan
My fingers fly across the keyboard of my phone, the corners of my mouth tilted in something wry as I message one of my longest, closest friends and…Seth Clearwater.
Jake's message has me wondering what Seth 'is' to me all over again, forcing me to recall Bella's questions from weeks ago. Who is Seth?
Are we friends? In such a short amount of time, I feel like we've made leaps and bounds of progress beyond presumed- enemies from our diaper-wearing days… but Seth Clearwater still seems like some complicated, foreign concept to me. In fact, the entire prospect of friendship outside of the one I have with Jake feels like I've embarked into the land of the unfamiliar, a place only occupied by my childhood best friend, a long list of acquaintances from school and teammates from soccer I can barely remember, and Dad.
Seth and I text all the time. We hang out whenever we can manage, I'd felt concerned when he'd busted his head open after his own foolish antics. I like talking to him, I like spending time with him. Despite Coach and his…worries over my distracted state, I don't think twice about allowing Seth to him come watch me at Regionals. In fact, the idea of him being unable to cheer me on in the stands makes me feel a little sad.
It jars me a little, this feeling of …. 'attachment'. I've allowed myself to experience so little that I can't help but feel confused as to when this feeling began; how Seth managed to slip through the cracks of my small circle of special people without my knowing. He has a habit for sneaking away with that sorta stuff, I read over my text a second time.
"What are you doing?"
I glance up from my phone, and Bella's standing in the doorway of my bathroom with wrists wringing by her sides. My eyebrows pinch at her obvious stress, and I hold up my Samsung in jest. "Just the usual, gossiping with the gal pals. Why, what's up?"
"I-I heard… the sink was running for a long time. I got worried," she tells me, voice shaking. My mouth quirks up in disbelief.
"Oh. Sorry," I say with a light laugh, dismissing it as one of Bella's worrywart-isms. A running sink is what has her all out of sorts? "We're not in Arizona, Bells. Washington's nowhere close to a draught, but if it makes you feel better, I'll turn it off just for you."
My hand turns the knob to the hot water until the only sound in the bathroom is the drip-drop of water from the faucet, but this does little to ease her. Bella closes her eyes and sucks in a greedy inhale, shaking her head. "No, that's… never mind. H-How was your day?"
"It was…fine. How was yours?"
"Good. It was good. Yeah."
Bella's sudden stuttering and rambling is hardly irregular, but it's hard not to notice that she's staring at me like I'm seconds away from vanishing into thin air. Her large, brown eyes are burning a hole into the side of my head as I wring out the washcloth I'd used to scrub my face, and I promptly set it on the towel rack to dry. "That's good. I saw Egg-ward today, by the way. He was with his brother and sister- Alice and Jasper?" I mention, proud that I remembered their names as I compartmentalize all of my nerves from later in the afternoon into a box in the back of my mind. "They were really nice. I got to thank them, too – for the hospital ride, and…oh man, did I tell you? I got a B+ on my paper-"
"-Sophie?"
I look up at her, questions written across my face as I stare at the strange expression on hers. "Bella?" I say back, jokingly dropping my voice into a mocking baritone. I tilt my head to urge her on, but she says nothing – she just runs a trembling hand through her hair, biting at the inside of her cheek as she looks at me with the oddest look I've ever seen thrown my way.
I keep waiting for whatever it is my sister wants to tell me, and as seconds pass, I feel my palms start to sweat. I lean against the sink and fold my arms across my chest, meeting her gaze as I bite my pink nail. "You're starting to freak me out a little, y'know. Is something wrong?" I ask, my tongue twisting behind my teeth. "Is…is Dad-?"
"Y-Yeah." My eyes widen in horror, but she quickly backpedals. "I mean, no. No, he's fine."
"Oh, phew. Jeez, Bella, way to give a girl a heart-"
Before I can finish my sentence, Bella quite literally throws herself at me- her arms wrap around my body like a squid clamoring onto a rock, her hold vice-tight as she squeezes the breath out of my lungs. My sister is hardly a touchy-feely person by nature, so I'm completely caught off-guard by this random act of affection.
"Oof!" I exclaim in a puff of air, a laugh sputtering out of me. "Is this…because I got a B+…? Because…if I knew that, I would've…Bella, can't breathe," I trail off as she quickly cuts off my oxygen supply from the crushing embrace. She adjusts her hold until one of her hands is cradling the back of my head, tucking me further into her.
I don't know what's going on, but I hug her back despite my own befuddlement. We must stand there – right in the middle of a pink-and-blue tiled bathroom- for a handful of minutes until she steps back, her hands still braced on both of my arms. When I lean away to examine her face, I realize her eyes are filled with tears and her mouth is twisted with sadness.
"…Bella?" I press quietly. "Why are you so sad, all of the sudden? What happened?"
She looks at me for a second before blinking her tears away, clumsily wiping at her eyes with the back of her wrist as she tries to compose herself. She lets out a wet laugh of her own, but I don't join her - I'm thoroughly freaked out now, unable to discern what could've brought on such an emotional display. I don't think I've seen her this upset since our Gran died, and that was six years ago.
"N-Nothing," she assures, though it's obviously a lie. "Nothing's wrong. I just… I love you so much, Sophie. I know…I know I don't say it enough, and I know that maybe, I haven't been…" She takes a moment to collect her thoughts, and lets out a slow breath. "I haven't been the best big sister to you, b-but I'm gonna change that, okay? We'll…me and you…I want to spend more time together."
What in the world? I open my mouth and close it several times as I try to figure out how to respond. My heart squeezes with warmth and fondness as I look at her, both heart warmed and uneasy as I process this strange explanation for her behavior. Of course I want to spend more time with her, though I vehemently disagree with her show of insecurity. 'I love you so much. I haven't been the best big sister to you,' – where is all of this coming from?
"Bella…Bells, it's okay-"
"-It's not. I…I…You've been so good to me, Sophie. Even though I've been…I've been awful at getting back to you when I was in Phoenix, a-and I could've always reached out more-"
"Bella-"
"-I just…I needed you to know that. I need you to know that I'd…I'd never forgive myself if something happened, and I didn't get the chance to tell you. If you were to…go somewhere, and I didn't get to see you again."
My eyebrows shoot up into my hairline with shock. If something 'happened?' "Okay, now I'm really freaking out," I say seriously. "What are you talking about? I'm not…Are you in trouble, or something? Am I?!"
"No. No one's in trouble, no one… no one is going anywhere, do you hear me?" Bella shakes her head, her watery eyes not leaving mine. "Sophie…I want you to promise me that you're going to... that you're going to be happy and healthy and you're going to grow old and die at ninety-nine or something. Promise that… you're going to do that, that you're going to grow up, no matter what."
My entire body feels cold with fear – something is clearly wrong though I have no idea what. I don't even know what to say to her as my brain fills itself with more questions. Is she having some kind of existential crisis? Is she in crisis?
Should I call Dad? Or better yet, Dr. Cullen?
I don't get a chance to answer her as she brings me back in for another long hug, and my lungs once again are squeezed tight enough to leave me aching for air. "Just say it, please," she mumbles into my shoulder. "Everything's fine. You're fine."
I can't even tell if she's talking to me or talking to herself anymore, when she grips me painfully. "Promise, Sophie."
"Okay, okay, I promise, yeesh! I'll, uh, stay in Forks forever and die when I'm just a big bag of wrinkles, or whatever. Are you going to tell me what this is about? Because I'm half-tempted to call…like, an actual adult, or something."
Bella wipes at her face again, and her face scrunches as she carefully tries to find the right words to explain. "It won't matter if I do. Nothing will change it, even if…it's not real. It won't happen."
"What does that mean? You're talking in circles."
"It means…it's hard to explain…" she struggles. She lets out another breath, and a forced smile pulls at her lips. "Sorry. I just…I had a bad dream. I was taking a nap before. A-And…and you were…"
Oh. Oh.
Relief.
"Dang, Bella, did you dream that I…? Aw, man." Her eyes fill with tears all over again, and she offers a quick nod- my shoulders relax, and I give her a sad smile. Whatever crazy nightmare she had has left her more shaken than I've ever seen her, and despite my instincts to call Dad, I realize all I really want to do is comfort her until she's back to her usual, lovesick self. "It was just a dream, Bells. That's all."
"A nightmare. A total, complete nightmare."
"Yeah, but you were right. It's not real," I explain softly, and point to myself. "Listen, I'm the last person you need to worry about, because I'm not going anywhere, anytime soon. I mean, somebody's gotta talk to your boyfriend about how you can barely walk in a straight line without causing a natural disaster, right? And who else is gonna cry for the lobsters in the tank at the grocery store if I'm not here?"
Bella lets out a wet giggle and rolls her eyes. "Guess someone needs to win Regionals for Forks this weekend, too."
My eyes widen, and I groan. "No! You just jinxed it. Jeez, don't you know anything about sports?"
"No."
"Well, just another thing I've gotta write on my list of things to catch you up to speed with, I guess."
I pull at her hand with mine, and I pull us both out of the bathroom, tugging her behind me. "C'mon," I say with a sigh. "I know what'll fix this."
"What?"
I practically shove Bella into my room and close the door behind me, and I point to the bed. "Don't you remember? You used to let me sleep in your bed when I had bad dreams, and now, I'm returning the favor. Get comfy. Now, do you want me to check the closet for monsters? Read a bedtime story, or-?"
"Shut up," she laughs, plopping down on my comforter. "Sophie…thanks. You don't need to do that, I can go to my own room. I was just…freaked out."
I give her an incredulous look. "Are you ever going to stop with these 'thank-you's'?"
"Not until you give me a reason to stop saying them," Bella says quietly.
My face softens perceptibly, and I throw myself down next to her. I give her a kind pat on her leg, and I bury us under the blankets on my bed and turn off the lights.
After an hour of dozing, I realize something, and I prop myself up on my elbows and turn towards Bella. She's staring up at the ceiling, wide awake with her hands folded across her stomach, but she blinks over at me in the dark.
"You know, I made a promise to you. So I think it's your turn," I whisper sleepily.
She stills for a moment, but eventually, she nods. "Okay. What do you want me to promise?"
Promise that you won't go back to Phoenix, I think warily to myself, my eyes closing. Promise that you won't leave me behind, that you won't forget about me when you decide you want to move on from here. Promise that we'll finally be real sisters and not the kind that emails each other on birthdays and on Christmas, like we were before.
"Promise me that when you marry Egg-Ward and he inevitably dies when he's, like, ninety-five, you'll move in with me. We can live by the beach…I'll use my soccer money to buy a house, since I'll be a super famous Olympian and have tons of promotions and stuff," I ramble in my half-asleep state. "You can't give me any reasons to miss you."
Bella stares up at the ceiling, unmoving as I tuck my blanket further up onto my chest. As I wait for her answer, I close my eyes.
It doesn't occur to me until much later that I must've fallen asleep, because I never do hear her reply.
A/N: Hello friends! Thank you so much for your reviews last chapter, it really motivates me to get these chapters up and going, so I'm really grateful for your time and effort! Just as an FYI, I will be using asterisks to highlight any scenes between Coach and Sophie that may be done an injustice by the TW at the top of the chapter. Mind you, I will not write anything explicit regarding their 'relationship.' Please keep liking and commenting, I can't wait to hear your thoughts! What do we think of Bella's strange behavior? xoxo