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Even as a scrawny, pimply freshman, the first day of school had never felt so stressful. The hours following fourth period pass at once too slowly and too swiftly, leaving Stiles by turns bored beyond measure and frenetic and entangled in the most minute of details. Several times throughout sixth period Communications, Scott asked Stiles if he was feeling alright.
Stiles and Scott had agreed to suffer through Communications together as juniors after the school counselor reminded both of them that they had skipped getting that particular graduation requirement out of the way in their freshman year. Scott decided to be a sports trainer their first year of high school, which was one of the reasons he managed to land a job at the local vet’s office the following summer. Stiles had wanted to continue taking chorus, because his middle school director had written him a glowing letter of recommendation so that he could skip taking freshman chorus with the rest of incoming boys and go straight into the varsity choir. He also tried out and made the jazz choir, much to the chagrin of the upperclassmen. Joining the lacrosse team in sophomore year had been a desperate act of self-preservation after all of the times he’d had his butt kicked the year before, because the jocks may be bundles of testosterone wearing pads and wielding long sticks, but at least they defended their own instead of eating them. The other boys in chorus mostly left him alone after that, and this year, Stiles is one of the upperclassmen, so life in choir is looking pretty good these days.
There’s something to be said for having a little seniority.
It would be even better if that seniority resulted in Stiles knowing instantly how to handle the situation with Derek. Unfortunately, he feels every bit as clueless about this as he would have two years ago.
Then again, thinking about some of the stupid things he had done in his freshman year, that’s probably more than a little melodramatic. He hopes he has grown and matured at least a little bit since then. With that in mind, he muddles through Pre-AP Physics, barely registering anything about the latest in a long day of introductory speeches and Q&As regarding one syllabus or another. He has just enough presence of mind to wonder why his most difficult classes are at the start and the end of his school day. As fascinating as science can be, Stiles will still take language and literature over it any day of the week.
Finally, the bell to dismiss students for the day sounds, and Stiles erupts out of his desk. Instead of heading straight towards the AP US History classroom, he goes to the boys’ locker room. The place is deserted, just like he knew it would be, and Stiles leans against the locker he used the year before, unspeakably relieved. He closes his eyes and takes a moment to just breathe, enjoying the calm and quiet. Although he thrives on social interaction, on the sharing of stories and ideas and experiences, there are times when even he needs a break. After the anxiety of today, the silence and space go a long way to soothing his ragged nerves.
Eventually, he straightens and goes over to one of the sinks. Looking himself over critically, he takes in the dark circles under his eyes, which still stand out against his pale skin. Staring into the eyes he shares with his mother, he remembers wondering this morning in the parking lot what he looks like to other people now, and he searches for some hint of wisdom or new knowledge that might dwell there. This morning, he had spent a few too many minutes hitting the snooze button on his cell phone’s alarm, and he had not been able to really study his appearance beyond what was necessary to hide the hickeys Derek had so helpfully left at the base of his neck.
He does not think all that much has changed in the last twenty-four hours. Not anything easily perceived, at least. His insides feel as though they have been permanently rearranged, but other than his obvious exhaustion and the bruises, which will both fade with time, he looks very much the same as he did yesterday. The true changes took place over the course of the summer. Going for runs in the morning and spending long afternoons practicing lacrosse with Scott allowed him to say goodbye to the last lingering traces of his baby fat, leaving him lean and lightly muscular. Although he is still paler than most, his skin actually managed to darken a few shades - his just reward after a few too many sunburns for his comfort - and he has a smattering of freckles to go along with his ever-present moles.
He still feels a little insecure about the fact that he let his hair grow out over the summer but when his dad had asked him to stop buzzing it, to stop dwelling on his grief, he hadn’t really been able to say no. It makes him look even more like his mom, who used to keep her hair in a pixie cut, and he thinks that maybe his dad had not counted on that when he proposed that Stiles start wearing his hair a little longer, and that he would finally stop wearing his wedding ring.
What would his mom think of him now, he wonders? Would she approve of his choices? He thinks that ultimately, she would like Derek, but she might not care much for the fact that Stiles slept with the man before reaching his majority.
The thing is, it happened, and if he has his way, it will continue to happen. “So, what are you still doing in here, idiot?” he asks his reflection. Unable to think of a suitable response, he turns away from the mirror and leaves.
He has an appointment to keep.