Dad asks where I'm going.
"To the school track. I need to run."
Mom points out I don't like running. I shrug.
"Make sure your umbrella is in your truck. It's going to rain later."
My dad. The police chief slash weather man of Forks.
I don't know what I'm doing when I climb into my truck. My obsession has been invisible and hidden. Appearing when he wants me to pulls it from my tender wounds, gives him permission to pick whenever he likes. I debate on turning around... several times within five minutes. I don't. Cars litter the parking lot outside the field as dew litters the grass in the afternoon gray.
I see him across the universe. White t-shirt, black running pants and sneakers. Sunglasses on his nose, though there is no sun. I trod the fence to him, clinging to the metal which separates us at the dugout, non-dug out.
"You came." He smiles.
Yes. I did. Several times while walking over, in fact. The shadow on his face is more pronounced. He picks around the wounds languidly.
"Yeah." I say.
"Good. Come on in." His arm slits the gate for me. I enter the forbidden field. The animal is inside. Wanting. Thirsty and dangerous. He blows the whistle delicate and firm. "Guys! Come on in!"
They obey.
"Most of you know Bella Swan. She's one of the top students of your senior class, and she's going to be your manager the remainder of the year. Give her your utmost respect."
What?
The team welcomes then resumes. I resist responsibility and assumption. "I don't know what a manager does, Mr. Cullen."
"It's easy. You're in charge of the equipment, water, first aid."
"Why are you asking me to do this?"
"Because I know it won't affect your grades, and I trust you."
He rips the wounds apart.