Chapter Text
It was the beginning of September.
A fresh new school year.
Stiles Stilinski was about to start high school at Beacon Hills High School, and for once, she was actually excited.
That alone felt weird.
For most of her life, Stiles had been the outside girl—the one who never really fit anywhere. She’d only had one friend her entire life and had never been the first choice for anything social.
Parties, group hangouts… those were for other people.
But that was over.
High school was different.
At least, it had to be.
Stiles had made a decision sometime over the summer, usually around two in the morning while lying awake and replaying every embarrassing moment of her life: this year, she would stop being invisible.
She would stop being nerd Stiles.
She would finally say hello to something better.
Hot Stiles.
She had grown a little taller over the summer, her limbs finally catching up to her body. She’d learned—after several failed attempts and one minor panic attack—how to tame her wild, curly black hair instead of surrendering to it.
And puberty had arrived with absolutely no warning, gifting her curves she still wasn’t quite sure what to do with..
She didn’t feel different on the inside—still awkward, still nervous, still overthinking everything—but maybe that was okay. Maybe high school wasn’t about becoming a completely new person.
Maybe it was just about trying.
And for the first time, Stiles felt like she might actually have a chance.
STILES’S ROOM—DAY
She stood in front of her bedroom mirror, turning slightly from side to side, still not entirely convinced the girl staring back was actually her. Her slightly messy dark curls framed her face in soft layers, the rest falling past her shoulders but stopping short of mid-back, giving her that effortlessly chaotic look she secretly loved.
Today, she’d gone with a white, fitted tube top that left her shoulders and midriff exposed, layered under an oversized dark-gray button-down shirt that hung loosely off her shoulders.
Her pants were light blue cargo jeans, baggy and full of pockets and straps—practical, but still somehow stylish. A small plush accessory was clipped near her waist, adding a touch of playful charm.
On her feet, casual sneakers completed the look.
It couldn’t be denied: she looked hot.
Or at least… she hoped she did.
Truthfully, she didn’t care what anyone else thought. All that mattered was one person.
Lydia Martin.
Her forever crush.
With a flustered grin and a miserably over-the-top flirty pose, she practiced the smile she planned to flash at Lydia in the mirror.
Satisfied—or at least close enough—she tossed her crossbody bag over her shoulder, the strap resting against her side, and took a deep breath.
Time to go to school.
BEACON HILLS HIGH SCHOOL
Stiles drove her blue Jeep through the slowly filling school parking lot. Cars of every shape and size were creeping in, taking up the prime spots near the entrance. She spotted an empty space and headed straight for it—no hesitation, no second-guessing.
But before she could pull in properly, a sharp beep made her jerk her head.
A pink Porsche had pulled up beside her, honking insistently, clearly telling her to move.
Stiles squinted at the car, incredulous. Really? She’d been here first. This spot was hers. End of story. But, of course, this argument might work with anyone else—but not with the person in that ridiculously expensive, painfully pink Porsche.
Stiles groaned, rolling her eyes, and reluctantly steered her Jeep aside.
The Porsche slid gracefully into what now looked like the last empty spot in the entire lot.
“Ugh. Of course,” Stiles muttered under her breath, slamming the gearshift. “It’s always that bitch…”
Before driving off to find another spot for her perfectly good blue Jeep, Stiles shot a secret glare at the girl in the Porsche—obviously not bold enough to do it openly.
The girl in question was, of course, exactly who Stiles had expected: Jackie Whittemore. Queen Bee of Beacon Hills High, and also Jackson Whittemore’s twin sister.
Jackie stepped out of the car, glowing with confidence, just like one of those impossibly hot girls in movies.
Stiles’ jaw nearly hit the ground. Her outfit… was something else entirely. Was it even allowed at school? Technically, the rules said “wear whatever you want,” but Stiles was pretty sure there had to be some limit to that “whatever.”
Jackie wore a very short dress with a plunging V-neckline. The top looked like a crisp white blouse, complete with voluminous sleeves and subtle ruffles at the cuffs. The bottom was a simple dark piece that hugged her waist. To finish the look, a thin chain necklace rested just above her collarbone.
Stiles couldn’t deny Jackie’s beauty, even if she tried. She had smooth skin and soft, delicate features. Her long, wavy hair tumbled past her shoulders in a mix of warm blonde and light honey tones, with loose strands stylishly framing her face.
Puberty might have been kind to Stiles, but she was still galaxies away from the curves Jackie seemed to carry effortlessly.
The bottom may have hugged her waist, but it was ridiculously short, leaving almost nothing to the imagination—especially if the breeze shifted.
Was Stiles imagining things, or had Jackie Whittemore just shot her a nasty look as she walked away? That bitch…!
No, Stiles needed to hold it together. Making the queen of the school your enemy probably wasn’t the best first step in her master plan to become one of the popular kids.
The school bell rang outside the brick building, echoing over the swarm of students pouring in from the parking lot. While most people headed for the entrance, Scott stopped, tugged off his backpack, and lifted his shirt a few inches to show Stiles the bandage taped across his lower back.
“It was too dark to see much,” he said quietly, “but I’m pretty sure it was a wolf.”
Stiles had already survived a rough morning — the parking lot drama, Jackie Whittemore’s attitude, all of it — but she’d refused to let any of that ruin her day. It was still early. Beautiful things could still happen.
And yet here she was, dealing with her best friend claiming he’d been bitten by a wolf.
A Damn f**cking wolf!
Stiles stared at him, looking absolutely done.
“A wolf bit you? Okay…” She sighed hard. “No. Not a chance.”
Scott let his shirt fall back into place, slung his backpack over one shoulder again, and started toward the double doors with Stiles beside him.
“I heard a wolf howling,” he insisted.
“No, you didn’t,” Stiles shot back.
“What do you mean, ‘No, I didn’t’? How do you know what I heard?”
Stiles was this close to slapping her best friend.
“Because California doesn’t have wolves!” she snapped, trying and failing to calm herself. The annoyance inside her practically screamed. “Not for the last sixty years.”
“Really?” Scott asked.
“Yes! Really,” Stiles snapped. “There are no wolves in California.”
“Well,” Scott said, frowning, “if you don’t believe me about the wolf, then you’re definitely not going to believe me when I tell you I saw the body.”
Stiles froze, her eyes going wide. “You what?! Are you kidding me?!”
“I wish,” Scott muttered. “Unfortunately, I’m not going to be able to forget about it for at least a whole month.”
“That’s… freaking awesome!” Stiles said. “Seriously, this is the best thing that’s happened to this town since—…” She trailed off, looking past Scott.
“…since the birth of Lydia Martin!”
And there he was, walking toward them.
A drop-dead gorgeous junior named Lydia Martin strolled down the walkway like it was a runway in Milan.
He had short strawberry-blonde hair, with soft bangs falling across his face. A simple black earring caught the light, though Stiles knew it was expensive—after all, Lydia wasn’t just a pretty boy but also the Prince of fashion.
He was a perfect mix of handsome and stunning, all in one. Gentle, like a glass of water first thing in the morning… but hot, like a strong afternoon coffee.
Popular, untouchable, and, of course, Stiles’ forever crush.
“Hey, Lydia, how are you? You look—” Stiles started, but Lydia just walked right past without so much as a glance. “…like you’re going to ignore me,” Stiles finished under her breath.
Scott giggled.
“You’re the cause of this, you know,” Stiles muttered, nudging him. “Dragging me down into your nerd depths. I’m a nerd by association. I’ve been Scarlet-nerded by you.”
Shoving the awkwardness aside, they blended into the crowd and headed into their first-period English class.
Stiles slid into the desk next to Scott as the teacher, Mr. Curtis, strode in. “As you all know,” Mr. Curtis began, “there was indeed a body found in the woods last night.”
A hush fell over the classroom. “I’m sure your eager little minds are already coming up with various macabre scenarios as to how it happened,” he continued, “but I’ve been told the police have a suspect in custody.”
Scott glanced at Stiles, eyes wide. She only shrugged; this was news to her too.
Mr. Curtis continued, his tone all business. “Which means your undivided attention can now be given to the syllabus outlining the semester. It’s on your desks. Read it. And by read, I don’t mean skim.”
The students obediently flipped open their books.
Stiles focused so hard that she barely noticed the door opening partway through the reading.
The rest of the class looked up, curious, whispering and shifting in their seats. At the door stood the principal—but he wasn’t alone.
“Class,” the principal announced. “this is our new student, Allison Argent. Please do your best to make her feel welcome.”
Stiles stole a glance at the new girl.
Allison stepped into the classroom, radiating a kind of innocent beauty that made some boys whisper and smirk, already imagining getting into her pants.
Seriously… disgusting. That’s how Stiles was supposed to think.
But honestly, ugh, how she wished it was about her. She too wanted someone to get into her pants! okay that sounded a bit bad. But the point was!... She wanted the attention too. And if she could choose from who—well… that would be very—very nice.
Her eyes drifted to Lydia, who sat just a couple of desks away from her.
His short, strawberry-blonde hair caught the light, looking shinier than usual. She couldn’t see his bangs from where she sat, but she could imagine running her fingers through them.
And those lips… soft, tempting, so—hmm. Stiles bit her own lips, oblivious, and her mind wandered, slipping into one of her countless many fantasies about the boy with a warning of 18+.
Time seemed to pass too fast when you were enjoying yourself, didn’t it? Stiles had clearly been enjoying her fantasies a little too much, because suddenly the bell rang and class was over.
She realized she hadn’t just missed half of the lesson—she had completely missed the point where her best friend had been struck by… Allison Argent.
His eyes hadn’t left the new girl for a second.
“Hello? Earth to Scott McCall?” Stiles waved her hands in front of him, but he didn’t even notice.
They were now standing in the school corridor, juggling old books in their lockers while grabbing the new ones for the next class.
At least she was doing that.
Scott, however, was just staring at Allison like a predator sizing up its lunch.
Not that it was remotely sexy—he just looked... stupid.
Stiles glanced with mild disinterest at Allison, standing a few lockers down, fiddling with her books.
But then Lydia Martin swooped in front of Allison, and Stiles’ eyes practically lit up. Loversick didn’t even begin to cover it.
And then Jackie appeared, right by Lydia’s side.
Disappointment hit Stiles like a wave, knocking all the hope out of her chest. Then came the annoyance, full force, as Jackie casually draped her arm over Lydia’s shoulders, looking all pleasant and perfect.
Lydia didn’t waste a second—his arm went right around his girlfriend.
Yes. Girlfriend... so the only thing Stiles could do was swallow her jealousy quietly.
“That jacket is absolutely killer. Where did you get it?” Jackie asked, her eyes bright with interest.
“My Mom was a buyer for a boutique back in San Francisco,” Allison replied softly, a hint of shyness in her voice.
For some reason, Allison’s answer seemed to make a very good impression on Jackie.
The girl's expression softened into a smirk, playful and a little calculating. “Hmm… you’re my new best friend.” she pointed at her and said.
Allison barely had time to blink before Jackie grabbed her by the arm, shrugging off Lydia’s arm around her as if he didn’t exist, and continued chatting with Allison down the hall.
Like a loyal puppy, Lydia silently followed them.
Stiles couldn’t hear what they were talking about, but honestly, it didn’t matter. Jackie was a total bitch, and Lydia deserved better.
Someone better.
Someone like… well, Stiles considered herself a pretty good candidate.
“A party?” Allison asked.
Jackie was still holding her arm as they walked down the hall. Allison hadn’t even tried to make new friends yet, but here she was, swept along.
“Friday night,” Jackie said. “You should come.”
“I can’t,” Allison replied. “It’s Family Night this Friday. But thanks for asking.”
“You sure?” Jackie pressed. “Everyone’s going after the scrimmage.”
“You mean, like, football?” Allison asked.
“Football is a joke at Beacon,” came a voice from behind. Jackson Whittemore, Jackie’s twin brother, had suddenly appeared.
“Hey, man,” Lydia said, and the two exchanged a quick, bro-style handshake. “The sport here is lacrosse,” Lydia said, finally joining the conversation.
“We won the state championship the last three years—” Jackson started, walking alongside Lydia.
“Because of a certain team captain,” Jackie cut in proudly. She had no doubt—her twin had been the best in middle school, and high school wouldn’t be any different.
Jackson gave her a small, approving smile and nod, then turned his attention to Allison. “Every season starts with a scrimmage to decide the new first line. You ever watch lacrosse?”
“I’m actually not sure how it’s played,” Allison admitted, “other than… well, violently.”
Lydia raised an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Violently is… a generous way to put it,” he said, half-amused, half-mocking. “I mean, sure, it’s exciting if you like smacking a ball around with a stick and running in circles.”
“Right, I almost forgot—you’d rather spend your time combing your hair and taking selfies in front of a mirror, like a princess,” Jackson shot back, smirking.
It was kind of an inside joke. Lydia was considered pretty by almost everyone, and at some point, girls had started calling him a prince. Just like that, the whole school had decided Lydia was basically royalty.
Jackson, as his best friend, enjoyed making fun of him about it.
Lydia also had a face so gentle that if he let his hair grow out more, people could mistake him for a girl. It was another thing Jackson liked to joke about, going so far as to call him a princess here and there. Just like now.
Lydia gave him a quick kick in the leg. Jackson yelped, then laughed. “Okay, okay, I get it!”
Everyone had their own interests, and Lydia Martin preferred to watch someone pick out the perfect outfit than chase a ball across a field.
“Maybe you should just come see for yourself,” Jackson said, grinning. “We have practice in a few minutes. You don’t have to be anywhere, do you?”
Jackie’s eyes lit up at the idea—and then, even better, she had a plan.
.“All right, perfect,” she cut in before Allison could answer. “You’re coming. And more than that—you should totally join the cheerleading!~” She practically squealed, bouncing on her heels with genuine excitement.
Allison blinked, stunned, as if she’d just been hit in the back of the head. “C-Cheerleading? L-Like… the kind you see in movies?”
"Some people say it’s old-fashioned; I say it’s eternal and iconic." she said with a smirk.
Allison froze, caught completely off guard. Compared to dodging the party invitation, lying her way out of this seemed impossible.
"I-I...uhhm.."She started stuttering, scratching at her forehead like it would magically produce the perfect excuse.
“You must!” Jackie insisted. “I’m the team captain.”
Oh no. Allison was definitely screwed.
A whistle blew, sharp and shrill, cutting through the crisp afternoon air. The lacrosse team’s assistant coach called the players together on the field, while Stiles and Scott lagged behind.
“But if you play, I’ll have no one to talk to on the bench,” Stiles complained as they walked toward the field. “You really gonna do that to your best friend?”
It wasn’t exactly unusual to see a girl on the lacrosse team.
At least here, at Beacon Hills High School.
Stiles Stilinski might not have had a reputation as school royalty, but she definitely had a reputation—one that, unfortunately, belonged to the girl who begged her way onto the lacrosse team.
In short, after failing miserably—multiple times—to get onto the cheerleading squad and being called “a cookie too big to fit in the cookie jar” by the bitch captain, Jackie, Stiles’ options were running out.
For the record, she was a very thin, petite girl—so small that her dad practically nudged her to eat at every opportunity.
So, with cheerleading off the table, Stiles had no choice. As a girl with a dream of becoming popular, her only path forward was to get onto the lacrosse team.
Of course, she had been rejected at first—multiple times. But unlike with cheerleading, she actually had a solid arguments to fight it.
After sending the principal a letter of more than 2,800 words(9–11 pages)—threatening to expose the school’s sexism and the way it crushed women’s ambitions—Stiles finally got the principal to change his mind.
Unfortunately, the coach wasn’t so easy to convince. Even when he had no choice but to let her join, thanks to the principal’s pressure, he left Stiles—and her big mouth—on the bench.
And it didn’t seem like that was going to change anytime soon.
This first day of high school was definitely not how Stiles had imagined it. She’d pictured a hundred different scenarios, but none of them were even close to reality.
In her head, she somehow managed to snag a spot at the cool kids’ table—pathetic, sure, but a girl could dream.
Falling short wasn’t what upset her. It wasn’t the first time she’d dealt with failure; unfortunately, she had a long and complicated history with that word.
What really stung was watching someone else get exactly what she’d been chasing for the past ten years—and with zero effort. Allison’s butt hadn’t even warmed the seat before she was already best friends with Lydia.
Stiles wasn’t the jealous type. Really. She believed in girl power, in solidarity, in supporting other girls in a world dominated by men.
But Allison Argent?
Yeah… she was a rival now.
This was war.
Stiles would’ve really appreciated it if her stupid childhood friend understood the gravity of the situation. But no. The idiot not only ignored her because he was too busy daydreaming about Allison—he also couldn’t keep his mouth shut about Allison.
Oh she’s really cute, no?
Oh she has such beautiful hair.
Oh—
Stiles was this close to strangling him.
Scott was very annoying today. And bizarre. Well—more weird than usual. Like right now. One moment he was on the field getting a ball slammed into his face while the entire team laughed at him, and the next moment he was suddenly acting like a pro. Like he’d been secretly training for years instead of tripping over his own shoelaces this morning.
Supporting your friends was another thing Stiles believed in, but come on—there was noooo universe, alternate timeline, or magical dimension where her idiot best friend randomly became good at lacrosse.
There was only one explanation.
…Oh shit.
Was Scott doing drugs??
STILES’S ROOM—NIGHT
Hearing out your friends was another thing Stiles believed in. Well… tried to. Like, when Scott told her there might be something seriously wrong with him, of course she ended up responding with something like, “I know! You’re a werewolf!”
And honestly? It was hilarious.
…Until she overheard her dad on the phone.
So apparently, it wasn’t a drug problem. It was something much worse. Yeah, crazy, right? Like, what could possibly be worse than being addicted to drugs?
Maybe… turning into a wolf and ripping everything in your path to shreds.
“I’ve been reading. Websites, books, all this information,” Stiles started, looking up as Scott entered her room. It was already night, and her room was a mess—not the usual teenager kind where clothes just lie on the floor, but the kind that screamed daughter of the sheriff investigating something serious.
Scott needed to sit his maybe-werewolf self down and actually listen.
“How much Adderall have you had?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
Stiles frowned. “A lot. Doesn’t matter! Just listen.”
Her laptop was open, pages full of information on silver bullets and werewolves in every form imaginable.
“Remember the joke the other day?” Stiles started, her voice tight. “Not a joke anymore. The wolf. The bite in the woods. I started doing all this reading and—do you even know why a wolf howls?”
Scott raised an eyebrow. “Should I?”
“It’s a signal,” she said, her hands gesturing at the laptop screen. “When a wolf is alone, it howls to signal its location to the rest of the pack. So if you heard it howling… that means there are others. Maybe a whole pack of them.”
Scott blinked. “A pack of wolves?”
“No,” Stiles said, deadpan. “Werewolves.”
“You’re seriously wasting my time with this?” he groaned. “You know, I’m picking Allison up in an hour.”
Was his entire vocabulary seriously reduced to just Allison? It was actually getting ridiculous. If things weren’t so urgent, Stiles would have taken a moment to kick his traitor ass.
“I saw you on the field, Scott. What you did wasn’t just amazing—it was impossible.”
“So I made a good shot,” he said, shrugging.
“No,” Stiles said, shaking her head. “You made an incredible shot. The way you moved—the speed, your reflexes—people don’t just do that overnight. And then there’s your hearing, your other senses… and don’t think I haven’t noticed you don’t need your inhaler anymore. You haven’t used it since that night.”
Scott shook his head. “I can’t think about this now. We’ll talk tomorrow, okay?”
“Tomorrow?” Stiles stared at him, practically offended by the stupidity. “Don’t you get it?? The full moon is tonight!”
Scott groaned, frustrated. “What are you trying to do? I just made first line on the team. I have a date with a girl I can’t believe actually wants to go out with me. Everything in my life is somehow perfect. Why are you trying to ruin it?”
Ruin it?
Was he serious right now?
“I’m trying to help!" Stiles snapped, sounding offended—and maybe a little hurt by how harsh he was being. “With the full moon, it’s going to be impossible to resist. And there’s no going back. And it’s not just that the moon forces the change—it’s when your bloodlust is at its peak.”
“Bloodlust?” he echoed.
“Your urge to kill,” Stiles clarified.
Scott narrowed his eyes. “I’m already starting to have an urge to kill, Stiles.”
“Very funny…” she said, rolling her eyes.
“You need to listen.” She stepped closer, voice urgent. “The change can be triggered by anger or anything that raises your pulse. And I’ve never seen anyone raise your pulse like Allison does. You have to call her and cancel the date.”
Yes, Stiles had her thoughts about Allison—none of them great—but she didn’t actually want the girl to get hurt.
Before Scott could protest, Stiles grabbed his jacket and yanked his phone out of the pocket.
“What are you doing? Give me that!” Scott barked.
“I’m just finding her number—”
“Give it to me!”
Before she could react, Scott yanked the phone from her hand and shoved her against the wall.
Stiles let out a sharp breath, pain shooting through her.
Her body started to shake slightly. She gulped, staring at Scott—the same boy she’d known her whole life, and yet someone completely unrecognizable right now.
She wanted to move, but she couldn’t. He had her cornered, his hands pressed on either side of her head against the wall.
Stiles never thought she’d be afraid of her childhood friend.
Pulling back before actually hurting her, Scott lashed out at the nearest desk chair, sending it flying across the room as if it weighed nothing.
Stiles flinched so hard that her legs gave out, and she slid down the wall to the floor.
A moment of silence stretched between them before Scott looked down at her. Stiles didn’t dare breathe.
“I… I didn’t mean to do that,” he said, his voice softer now. It looked like he was finally coming back to his senses.
He reached out, offering his hand to help her up, but Stiles didn’t want him near her right now. She pushed away and stood on her own, putting as much distance between them as she could.
Scott looked guilty.
“I’m sorry. Really, I didn’t mean—” he started again.
Stiles looked away. She didn’t really know what to say. Scott was clearly going through something serious, and she was still trying to figure it all out—for his sake, for hers, and probably for every other poor soul in Beacon Hills.
“Really. I didn’t mean it.” He looked down, sighing. “I have to go. I… I have to get ready for the party. I’m sorry.”
Grabbing his jacket, Scott hurried out, leaving.
Still shaken, Stiles stepped over to the desk chair and grabbed it with unsteady hands. She set it upright again, trying to pretend her legs weren’t still trembling.
But then she hesitated. Slowly—almost afraid to confirm whatever her gut was already screaming—she turned the chair around.
Claw marks. Long, deep slashes carved straight through the fabric, shredding it like paper. Stiles’s eyes widened. Her breath caught in her throat.
Fuck.
Stiles sat on the edge of her bed, feet touching the floor, her leg bouncing restlessly with nervous energy. It had already been a whole hour since Scott left. She was trying—really, honestly trying—to forget about him.
Because he’d been a jerk.
And he absolutely deserved the silent treatment.
She told herself she was determined. She told herself the only way she’d help save his sorry, now-werewolf ass would be if he showed up begging on his knees.
But Stiles also knew one brutal truth about herself.
She was incredibly easy to flip.
And curiosity was her most traitorous enemy.
So now—jamming her feet into her shoes, grabbing her phone from the nightstand, and practically sprinting out the door toward the party to find Scott—yeah. That was entirely her curiosity’s fault.
She didn’t find Scott.
But she did see something… very interesting.
Derek Hale was giving Allison a ride home.
That should have raised every red flag in her brain. Should have. But Stiles was too stressed, too desperate to find Scott to care. She shoved the thought aside and drove straight to the McCall house, all focus on one thing: finding her best friend.
So yeah… Stiles kinda screwed up.
Not that it was entirely her fault! How was she supposed to know it was all Derek from the start?
That Derek Hale was actually a werewolf, the one who had bitten her best friend, and the guy responsible for what happened to that girl in the woods. And Allison’s life—maybe, or more than maybe—was on the line, since the person who had driven her home from the party was none other than Derek Hale.
Not even a second after she told Scott that Derek was the one who had driven Allison from the party, he rushed out, leaving Stiles behind again.
It was stupid, the way Stiles felt a twinge of guilt. If anyone was to blame, it would be totally Scott—he was the one who had completely ignored her when she told him to stay behind and investigate.
But then again, Scott wasn’t the only one ignoring important things. She had done it too. Like when Allison got into Derek’s car.
Of course, it wasn’t really her business what Allison did, but she was the new girl. She obviously didn’t know that Derek Hale was the outsider of their town—a total weirdo, someone a teenager like her shouldn’t so easily get into a car with at night.
Putting her complicated feelings about her best friend aside, Stiles decided to take responsibility for her own screw-up and look out for Allison.
Naturally, the first place she thought to check was Allison’s house.
Stiles wasn’t a stalker. Really. The only reason she had a notebook with all her classmates’ addresses was because she was preparing herself to get invited to the super-cool parties.
Alright, maybe that sounded pathetic....
But honestly—who cared? She had a feeling this notebook was going to be totally important in the days to come.
ALLISON’S HOUSE – NIGHT.
Stiles’s Jeep skidded to a halt just outside Allison’s darkened house. A second later, she was on the steps, ringing the bell. She pounded on the door, not stopping until lights flicked on inside. The door clicked open, and Mrs. Argent peeked out, looking confused.
Now that Stiles was actually here, she realized—she honestly didn’t have a plan.
“H-Hi,” Stiles stammered. “I’m a friend of Allison’s, and… this is going to sound kind of crazy. Actually, really crazy. Crazy doesn’t even begin to—”
“Allison? It’s for you!” Mrs. Argent called back inside.
Stiles opened her mouth to speak again but froze as Allison appeared at the top of the stairs, coming down with a small smile.
“What’s up?” Allison asked.
A distant howl cut through the night. Stiles turned toward the sound, her chest tightening with understanding.
It wasn’t Allison Derek was after.
It was Scott.
So, good news.
Allison seemed totally fine.
But the same couldn’t be said about Scott.
Derek was after him and—even though Scott was technically a werewolf too—compared to Derek he was basically a kitten.
A baby kitten.
So, yeah, you could understand why Stiles needed to find her friend right now. And yet… here she was anyway, sitting on the edge of Allison’s bed, right beside the girl in question.
There was an awkward silence. A horrible, suffocating one.
Maybe because, when Stiles had turned to leave—after confirming Allison wasn’t eaten—the girl in question had asked if they could talk. So here they were—except the problem was, there wasn’t any talking. Or even eye contact.
Stiles couldn’t take it anymore.
She could literally choke on the awkwardness sitting between them.
Finally, she turned to the girl next to her. “Do you want me to… I don’t know, leave you alone for a few minutes?”
Allison’s eyes went wide, caught completely off guard. “W-what? Why would I want that?”
Stiles shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s just… you asked if we could talk, and we’ve been sitting here for like ten minutes, and you haven’t said anything. And I don’t want to sound rude, but I’m kinda in a hurry, so…” her voice trailed off.
“O-Oh. Sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you—” she started, looking like a guilty little puppy.
The effect was brutal. Allison looked like the cutest little puppy Stiles had ever seen.
Damn it. It was easy to hate the girl from afar, but up close… it made Stiles feel like a horrible person for even thinking anything bad about her.
Okay. Stiles needed to get this over with before she accidentally befriended the enemy.
“N-no, it’s fine,” Stiles stammered, cutting her off before she could say anything else. “I just meant… maybe it’s better to just rip off the plaster.”
Allison nodded slowly, biting her lip. She fidgeted with her fingers in a nervous little dance, and Stiles couldn’t help but notice.
“It’s just… it’s about Scott,” Allison finally said.
Stiles held in the heavy sigh that threatened to escape in a loud, dramatic groan.
Those two… seriously. They were hopeless.
She had always thought Scott was the only one obsessed, but apparently not.
Both of them were completely wrapped up in each other, and somehow—somehow!—Stiles had been caught right in the middle.
“What about him?” Stiles forced a smile, though she felt like a vein was about to pop out of her forehead.
Allison didn’t seem to notice.
“It’s just…” Stiles licked her lips, forcing the words out. “He was acting really weird today. One moment we were dancing and enjoying the party, and the next… he just brushed me off and left.”
“Oh.” Stiles tried to look surprised.
Allison gave her an innocent look, like she was expecting more. Like an explanation...
“O-oh. Yeah,” Stiles stumbled, trying to play it off. She brushed some of her bangs back nervously. “H-he… probably was… having a… an attack!” she blurted out suddenly, way too loud.
“An attack?” Allison sounded surprised, unconvinced.
“Yes! Yes!” Stiles flared up, fully dramatic now.
Allison frowned, silently asking for more details. “What kind?” she prompted.
Stiles paused, her eyes darting around as if her brain had completely short-circuited.
“A… panic?” she finally said. But the way she said it, not even a five-year-old would have believed her.
For some reason, Allison started laughing.
Stiles hadn’t seen that coming. The only thing she could do was laugh too—though hers came out nervous, forced, and entirely fake.
“I like you, Stiles,” Allison said, smiling softly at her.
Stiles blinked, looking completely stupid. “Thank you?” A pause stretched between them. Then she added, “I—I liked you too.”
Allison chuckled softly at that, but her smile shifted, turning a little sad. “It’s nice of you to try to cover for him. But you don’t have to. I’ve already decided—it’s over. Whatever that was between us, anyway…”
Her voice trailed off, leaving Stiles staring, unsure what to say—or even what to feel.
Honestly, at that point, it might actually be true.
Stiles realized she’d been acting childish around Allison—hating her before even really knowing her. Thinking about it now, it was actually kind of embarrassing.
Allison turned out to be the kind of person it was almost ridiculous to hate.
Stiles swallowed, trying to brace herself for the future regret she might have for what she was about to say.
“Look… Allison, I’m not telling you to forgive Scott. Abandoning you like he did—that was a total jerk move. But… trust me on this—Scott likes you. And if he left you like that, he really didn’t have a choice.”
“Like—he really, really likes you,” she said, waving a hand for emphasis. “Like the kind of liking that’s dangerously close to obsession. The kind that makes me seriously consider pushing him into a mental health institution—”
As Stiles kept going, completely exposing her best friend, Allison couldn’t help the laughter that escaped her.
Eventually, Stiles shut up, suddenly looking a little sheepish—but she was glad. Glad that Allison was smiling, that she was happy.
And, unexpectedly, Stiles realized she felt good too. After such a crazy night, it was the first time she’d actually relaxed.
ROAD - DAY
The morning sun beat down on the empty, tree-shrouded road. Stiles drove her jeep, school on her schedule but finding her best friend taking priority.
After leaving Allison’s, she had already searched for Scott, but as the hours stretched and her energy waned, she had no choice but to head home.
Now, it was a new day. If she had to spend all of it hunting for Scott, so be it. There was no way she was going to file a mission report on her werewolf best friend. Some things were just too much for even Stiles to handle.
It took a while, but she finally spotted her idiot best friend. Scott was slowly wandering along the road—Stiles assumed toward home—not even seeming to notice her at first as she pulled up beside him.
“Scott? Are you okay?!” she called, leaning out of the jeep. “I’ve been driving all over looking for you.”
Exhausted, Scott finally turned to her. “You were right… about all of it.”
As much as Stiles liked seeing people admit she was right—especially her best friend—this was not the time to brag. Scott didn’t look good, and she was seriously worried.
Stiles drove with both hands on the wheel. Scott sat slumped in the passenger seat, wrapped in her jacket like it might somehow hold him together.
“You know what actually worries me most?” Scott muttered.
“If you say Allison, I’m going to punch you,” Stiles replied without looking at him.
“She probably hates me now.”
Geez. Hopeless.
As much as Stiles wanted to ignore him for the sake of her own mental health, she knew if she didn’t say something, he’d never shut up.
“I doubt that,” she said. “But you might want to come up with a pretty amazing apology. Or—hear me out—you could tell her the truth and revel in the awesomeness of the fact that you’re a freaking werewolf.”
Scott went quiet.
Oh. Great. She’d made it worse. Typical Stiles.
She sighed. “Okay. Bad idea. Forget I said that.” She thought for a second, then added, softer, “We’ll get through this. If I have to, I’ll chain you up myself on full moon nights and feed you like a puppy.”
She paused. “Okay, that didn’t sound great. But you get the idea.”
For the first time since she’d found him, Scott cracked the tiniest smile.
BEACON HILLS HIGH SCHOOL
It was almost afternoon when Allison sat on a bench outside the school, clearly waiting for someone. And she was—she was waiting for Scott. She knew he had practice today, which made the timing perfect for an ambush.
After her talk with Stiles the night before, Allison had agreed to give Scott a second chance.
She was still a little mad about his behavior—okay, more than a little—but she’d come to the conclusion that he wasn’t a bad guy.
There was that saying about judging a person by their friends. And if Scott was Stiles’s best friend—if he was anything like her—then there was no way he could be truly bad.
So there she was, waiting.
Her patience paid off when she spotted him walking across the courtyard in his lacrosse gear.
The moment he saw her, a wide smile spread across his face, even though he looked surprised… and kind of nervous.
Allison stood up and met him halfway.
“What happened to you last night?” she asked. “You left me stranded at the party.”
Even if she’d decided to give him another chance, that didn’t mean she was going to let him off the hook.
He still had a lot to explain.
“I know, and I’m sorry,” Scott said quickly. “I really am. But just trust me on this… I had a really good reason—”
“Did you feel unwell?” Allison asked.
Scott hesitated. “I definitely had… an attack of something.”
It sounded exactly like what Stiles had tried to sell her the night before. Allison narrowed her eyes. Did they rehearse this? Or did they just know each other so well that they didn’t even need to talk anymore?
And for some reason, that realization made something unpleasant twist in her chest.
Jealousy.
She shoved the thought aside. “Am I going to get an explanation?” she asked, forcing her voice to stay even.
“For now,” Scott said softly, “could you just… find it in your heart to trust me?”
There was a pause.
Allison studied his face, then sighed. “Am I going to regret this?”
“Probably.” Scott took a step closer to her. Then he smiled—wide and stupid. “So… we’re agreeing on a second chance?”
Allison felt herself soften before she even thought about it. A small smile tugged at her lips. “Definitely yes,” she said.
She didn’t know why, but something about Scott made her feel so—young. Which was ironic, because she was a teenager, yet her life had somehow felt dull before she met him.
Scott was like color spilling into everything, turning gray moments into something brighter, louder, messier.
She felt like he was setting fire inside her, a blaze she was both terrified of and irresistibly drawn to.
The sensation scared her—getting close felt dangerous—but at the same time, she couldn’t stop herself.
She loved reading, devouring books and novels, and she had heard about passionate love before, but she had never imagined actually experiencing it. It had always seemed so unreal, something that existed only in stories.
But she was wrong.
It was real.
And she felt unbelievably lucky to be the one living it.
Allison felt herself drawn to the fire again—that fire was Scott McCall. She closed the small distance between them, eager to feel his lips on hers. Last night had only given her a tiny taste, and already she was obsessed.
Just as it seemed they were about to kiss, a horn blared. An SUV car pulled up to the front of the school.
Allison pouted for a second, disappointed, but quickly shook it off. “That’s my dad,” she said. “I better go.”
Scott nodded, feeling a twinge of disappointment, but Allison’s pouty look made him feel good. She wanted him too, and that alone was enough to lift his spirits.
He turned to head back, but then paused, tilting his head and taking a sharp breath. A familiar scent hit him. Glancing over his shoulder, his stomach dropped.
Allison’s father.
The face was instantly recognizable—the man with the crossbow. The leader of the hunters.
He gave Scott a friendly smile, completely unaware that the boy standing there was the same one who had narrowly escaped his aim the night before.
The full weight of the realization hit Scott like a punch to the chest.
The father of the girl he loved was also now his sworn enemy.
His face drained of color, and a sinking feeling settled in his chest—this was the beginning of something big, far bigger than he could handle.
He needed to find Stiles, fast.
X