Chapter Text
First day of school? More like first day of trauma.
I stare down at my beat-up sneakers, twitching against the gas pedal, like maybe I can just floor it and escape this place. Haven’t had the money to replace my shoes. Haven’t had the courage to wear anything else. They’re sort of my security blanket—and this car is my security station.
You have to get out of the car, Y/N. Mom’s voice is as clear as day. You have to face the world at some point.
Taking a deep breath, I step out onto the asphalt and walk into Beacon Hills High School.
*
“Everyone, welcome Y/N Y/L/N to Beacon Hills,” my new history teacher—Mr. Barnes?—introduces me to the class. This is the worst part, I remind myself as a sea of faces blur before me. After these few, blaring seconds, you can go back to being invisible. “Would you like to say a few things about yourself, Ms. Y/L/N?”
Swallowing hard, finger tapping against my books, I nod at the room of classmates. “Hi, um… I’m Y/N. I just moved here from Washington with my dad.”
Silence. Awkward, itching, ringing silence. Run away, run away, run away.
Mr. Barnes clears his throat. “And uh, what are some things you like to do, Y/N? Any favorite subjects or extracurricular activities?”
Well, now my limbs are going numb. What do I like? “Oh uh… yeah, um, history’s pretty interesting.” I motion around the room, a dry chuckle escaping my throat. More silence. “Yeah, I read a lot. Play guitar.” All my hobbies are things you can do alone, I want to shout at him. They’re not things I share with people. They’re just for me.
Mr. Barnes nods supportively. “I’m sure we’ve got a few bandmates and book lovers here. Why don’t you take a seat, Ms. Y/L/N?”
Nearly crumbling with relief, I race away, my eyes zeroing in on the one empty desk. My foot catches on one of its legs and I tumble right into the seat. A few people snicker. My face flames.
Someone taps me on the shoulder. Trying to quell the frantic, fluttering panic in my stomach, I turn around. A girl with shoulder-length brown hair extends her hand to me. “You dropped this.”
It’s my journal, small enough to fit into any pocket, brown and beat up. Hands trembling, I snatch it from her. “Thanks.”
*
“Hey—wait.”
I try to flee the second the bell rings, but the brown-haired girl stops me, grabbing me by the arm and hauling me back with surprising strength.
“What’s your name?” she asks, staring at me with zero emotion as she awaits my answer.
“Y-Y/N,” I mumble back.
“I’m Malia.” Her voice is as emotionless as her face. “You good at writing?”
I frown at her, confused. She motions to the notebooks clutched in my hand. “That journal was filled with scribbles.”
“Oh, uh, I don’t know if I’m good at it. It’s just kind of something I do. Sort of unclutters my head.”
“Oh. Well, I need help writing an essay for English. Thought you could help.”
It’s not a big deal, but for some reason my brain's screaming danger, danger, danger. “Oh.”
“Well? Can you or can’t you help me?”
“I, uh…” Gosh, this girl is straightforward. “I don’t think I can.”
She lets out an annoyed sigh. “Fine.” She walks away, leaving me alone in the classroom with Mr. Barnes.
*
Lunchtime. Horror story.
I white-knuckle my lunch bag, staring at the ocean of classmates before me. I could escape to my car, I think. Security station, after all. Nothing bad can happen there.
Nothing good either. That’s Mom’s voice.
Sighing, I start walking. I won’t go to my car, but no way in hell am I voluntarily sitting with anyone either. Baby steps.
Except, a hand grips my arm. Twice in one day is a new record.
“Hey,” it’s Malia, crisp voice and constantly furrowed brows. “Wanna sit with us?”
Cringing, I turn toward her and the nearest table. Holy shit. There are a lot of people sitting at it.
“I uh…”
Malia takes my hesitation as a yes.
“Cool.” She tugs me down next to her. “That’s Scott and Kira, that’s Lydia, Theo and Liam, Mason, Corey, and let’s not forget,” she motions to the brown-eyed boy sitting directly across from me. “Stiles.”
No way on planet earth am I going to remember all the names she just threw at me. But I’ll remember his.
“This is Y/N,” she does the introduction for me. I can’t say I’m not grateful. “She’s new.”
“Welcome to Beacon Hills,” Stiles extends a hand. “It’s so awesome it’s practically supernatural.” He winks, an impish grin spreading across his face. Everyone at the table shifts awkwardly at the joke. A couple of people snicker.
“Uh, thanks,” I mumble back, slightly weirded out. Sure, it was a pretty unfunny joke, but that reaction still seemed a little exaggerated. When a stranger makes a bad joke, you cough into your hand. When your friend does it, you laugh because it’s so unfunny that it is.
“So Y/N,” Scott starts, squeezing the hand of his very obvious girlfriend. She preens under the touch, a giddy smile lighting up her face. “What brings you to Beacon Hills?”
“We came for my dad’s work.”
“Oh, that’s cool.” Yeah, if you consider upending your life cool.
“Mhm.”
“What do you like to do?” Scott’s girlfriend asks me, peppy smile still plastered to her face.
“She likes books,” Malia mutters for me around a mouthful of mac-and-cheese. I wince.
“Reading, she means.” My fingers tighten around the edges of my lunch bag. Stop looking at me. Stop asking me questions. Let me disappear.
As if noticing my discomfort, Stiles starts a new conversation. “We were just talking about a few people who have gone missing in Beacon Hills recently—my dad’s the sheriff,” he clarifies at my look of disbelief.
“Does that happen a lot?” I ask nervously. “This is a small town; I thought the crime here would amount to vandalism and gas station robberies.”
A chuckle travels over the table. Like what I said was funny.
“Yeah, I think you’ll find things here are a bit crazier than you signed up for.” One of the boys (can’t remember his name) says with a smirk, wrapping his arm around a shorter boy with piercing blue eyes.
“Don’t let Theo scare you,” Scott assures me with a warm smile. I get the feeling that he’s the leader in this friend group. “We’re all pretty nice—most of the time.”
“Yeah, just don’t catch me on a full moon,” the blue-eyed boy says sheepishly. Everyone laughs like that’s the funniest joke they’ve ever heard.
“I was going to have a girls’ night at my house tonight,” the red-haired girl—did Malia say her name was Lydia? I think so—says as she reapplies her lip gloss.
“Hey, not fair!” Stiles whines. Lydia sighs dramatically, rolling her eyes.
“If I have all of you over, it’ll be a party, and at that point I have to invite the entire school, and my mom is home right now. So yeah, just girls.”
“Oh, it’ll be so much fun!” Scott’s girlfriend croons, beaming at me. “It’ll be so nice to have another girl around—we’re overrun with testosterone.”
“Yeah,” Stiles smirks. “Us boys are all claws and fangs.”
Looking at him, I somehow don’t believe that.
*
Blood moon. Silver canines, dripping. Three heads. A trinity of wrongness and reincarnation. Oh, wolf pup, what have you done?