professional dumbass

“I can’t even begin to express how incredibly reductive that is of Italian culture,” I said as I laughed lightly and watched the chaos unfolding at the airport. “How did we get stuck with Coach taking us on our post-graduation trip to Rome?” Next to me, one of my best friends Scott shrugged. “Beats me. I was hoping for someone chill, like Mr. Yukimura or something.”

As we stood watching our crazy chaperone bustling about, a brown-haired boy ran through the airport doors up to us, lugging a massive suitcase and duffel bag with his pillow tucked under his arm.

“Woah, Stilinski. You know we’re only going for two weeks, right?” I asked my other best friend, Stiles.

Out of breath, he laughed humorlessly. “Haha, very funny. Sue me for wanting to be prepared for all possible circumstances.”

I rolled my eyes. “It’s Rome, not the middle of nowhere. I’m sure you can find anything you need there if you forget something.”

It was Stiles’ turn to roll his eyes. “Well, y/n–”

“Can we just check in?” Scott asked, tired of our meaningless bickering already. “I wouldn’t put it past Coach to leave people behind.”

Stiles and I nodded before following our friend to the check-in kiosks.

Luckily, Coach did not leave us behind. In fact, his bickering with Greenberg gave everyone plenty of time to check in, go through security, and board the plane. I found myself sitting next to Stiles after Scott begged him to switch assigned seats so that he could sit next to his crush, Allison.

At the start of the flight, Stiles and I chatted and hung out like we normally did. But a few hours (and Star Wars movies) into the nearly 13.5 hour flight, I started to doze off.

I don’t know how it happened, but when I woke up a few hours later, my head was on Stiles’ shoulder, and his head was resting against the top of mine. My movement must have woken him up, so he lifted his head too.

“Sorry,” I mumbled as we smiled sheepishly at each other.

“It’s fine,” he said, scratching the back of his head slightly with his hand. “Actually, your head was a really nice pillow.”

“Didn’t you bring your own pillow?” I asked, eyeing the pillow in his lap.

“Well, yeah, but your hair is soft,” he admitted. “And it smells good.”

I chuckled, ignoring the weird feeling in my chest at his statement. “Ok, creep.” My eyes drifted over to the seats in the row ahead of us and across the aisle. Scott and Allison were sleeping in the same position that Stiles and I had just been in. I nudged Stiles with my elbow, pointing at the two.

“I bet they get together by the end of the trip.”

I shook my head slightly. “I bet they get together by the end of the first week.”

He looked over at me and stuck his hand out. “Oh, you’re on.” We shook on it, and then he let out a big yawn. “Now, I could use some more sleep. Can I have my pillow back?”

I rolled my eyes, but placed my head back on Stiles’ shoulder. I could feel him sigh as he placed his head on top of mine once more, and within moments we were both asleep again.

A few more hours later, we were sitting on a bus, driving through Rome at night. The ancient streets were lit up, and I caught glimpses of the historical monuments we were planning to see in the next couple weeks.

The bright lights were welcoming, as if the city were saying, Ciao, y/n. Benvenuto a Roma.

--

When we finally arrived at the hotel, Coach assembled us in the lobby to assign our rooms.

“Stilinski, you’re with Lahey,” Coach said, throwing the key at the brown-haired boy.

Stiles’ eyes, which had been roaming the room, snapped to look at Coach as he fumbled for the key. “W-what? Coach, can’t I just room with Scott or something?” I could hear the desperation in his voice, and it made me smirk.

“Stilinski, this isn’t a democracy. You’re rooming with Lahey, so deal. With. It.”

Without another word, Stiles nodded slowly, beginning to fiddle with the keys in his hands.

“Now, where was I? Hm...y/l/n, you’re with Martin.”

My jaw dropped. Oh you’ve got to be kidding me. “But Coach–”

“Didn’t you hear anything I just told Stilinski?” He said with an exasperated tone, bordering on angry.

Walking up to take the key from him, I nodded slowly just like Stiles had done. “Sorry.”

As soon as we got into the room, I could tell that rooming with Lydia Martin would be a nightmare.

“I’m taking the bed by the window. You don’t mind, do you?” She asked as she placed her bags on top of the bed.

Resisting the urge to roll my eyes, I shrugged. “No, go ahead.”

As I was contemplating my sheer bad luck by being placed with the school’s resident mean girl, a knock on our door brought me out of my thoughts. “Hey, y/n? Can I show you something?” Seeing that Stiles had poked his head into our room, a grin spread across my face.

I took his outstretched hand and he quickly pulled me out of the room, leading me up a hidden staircase. When he opened the door at the top of the stairs, I was blown away by the beautiful landscape we could see from the roof.

“Woah...Stiles, how did you find this?”

I could see the mischievous glint in his eyes when he looked at me. “I’ll never reveal my secrets.”

We smiled at one another before turning to look out at the view. The glittering lights were sprawled out ahead of us, showing the endless possibilities awaiting us in the Eternal City.

“You know what, Stiles? I’m not going to let Lydia Martin get to me. Promise me something.” “Anything,” he said, turning to face me.

“Promise me that when we’re here, we’ll find adventures. Alright? This is our chance to start over – I mean, do anything that we want to do.”

A soft smile formed on his face. “Yeah, you’re right. You and me – adventures. Deal.”

--

The first thing on our itinerary was to visit the Trevi Fountain. As we stood admiring the architectural wonder, Coach stood behind us trying to read us information from a guidebook.

“Is this even English?”

“No, Coach. Some of the words are probably in Italian. Because, you know, we’re in Italy,” Stiles sarcastically responded, making me clap my hand to my mouth to stop the laughter from interrupting Coach’s attempt at pronouncing Italian names.

“Oh, right,” Coach said as he closed the book quickly. “Well, what I do know is that people come here to make wishes. I say that those people are suckers. But whatever, just throw your damn coins in and we can go and get gelato.”

I turned to look at my best friend. “Forget what he says. Make a wish!” I tried to hand Stiles a coin, but he pushed it back to me. “I’m in Rome with my best friend. I’m good. You make one.”

Smiling softly at the boy in front of me, I closed my eyes briefly to think about my wish. What did I really want? I want to find love. I took a deep breath and tossed the coin into the fountain.

When I opened my eyes, they briefly connected with the pair of whiskey brown ones of Stiles. There was something in them that I couldn’t really decipher, but before I could question it, he spoke up for me.

“So, should we catch up to Coach so we can get some of that gelato he’s been going on about?”

I nodded, and we slowly made our way to the nearest gelato shop, catching up with Scott and the rest of the group.

As I was about to enter the shop, I bumped into something hard and stumbled.

“Scusi,” I heard as I looked up and made eye contact with the most gorgeous Italian boy I’d ever seen. He was tall and fit, silky light brown curls sitting on top of his head. His blue eyes sparkled with interest. “Stai bene?”

I breathed out a quiet laugh. “Um, yeah, I’m okay.”

“Oh, you’re American?” I nodded. “What’s your name?”

“y/n.”

“y/n...bellissima. I’m Lorenzo.” He stuck his hand out to shake, and I gingerly took it.

“Nice to meet you.” I felt a slight nudge at my outstretched elbow, and I looked over to see Stiles gesturing me into the gelato shop. “Oh, sorry. I have to go,” I pulled my hand away and turned to follow Stiles, but Lorenzo stopped me once again.

“Wait! Can I see you again?” I was baffled. What were the odds that after making a wish that I would find someone who was interested in me?

“Oh, I’m on a school trip. I really don’t think I can–”

“Stilinski! y/l/n! Get inside. I’m doing a headcount. 16, 17,” Coach’s eyes found Lorenzo, and he narrowed them slightly. “And put your money in your front pockets,” he said before heading back inside.

I shrugged at Lorenzo in apology, but he just smiled. “Well, if you change your mind, meet me at the Trevi Fountain tomorrow at 9 am. I hope to see you there.”

--

The day went by in a blur of monuments and artifacts. That night, I was in Stiles’ room talking about the day’s events.

“So, are you going to see him tomorrow? Lorenzo?” Stiles asked, a slight edge in his voice.

I groaned and flopped back onto his bed. “I don’t know. I mean, I want to, but how would I even pull it off? Plus, we’re supposed to be going on adventures together!”

“There’s still time for us to have adventures. I want you to do what will make you happy.”

I looked over at him and smiled. “You know you’re the best, right?”

“Oh, I know,” he smirked as he leaned back on his elbows. “And you’re lucky that I come up with the best plans.”

--

“It’s definitely a fever,” the doctor leaning over me in bed said. “38.9 degrees.”

“38?” Coach asked. “That’s not possible.”

“It’s in Celsius, Coach,” I told him weakly.

He nodded slowly. “So, what does that mean for y/l/n?”

The doctor slowly began to pack up his bag. “Lots of rest. I would advise against sightseeing until the fever goes down.” He turned to me as he finished packing. “I’m sorry, signorina y/l/n.”

“Sorry, kiddo,” Coach added. “It looks like you’re staying here today. Call the front desk if you need anything, okay?”

I coughed as I nodded. “Thanks, Coach.”

With an apologetic smile, he left my room to hop on the bus and head with the group to the next location on the itinerary.

I waited 20 minutes just to be safe before slipping out of my room and sneaking past the front desk to start my risky expedition.

The Trevi Fountain was crowded as it normally was. I weaved through the sea of people, searching for a familiar face.

“y/n!” I heard from somewhere to my right. I turned, meeting the piercing eyes of the Italian boy I was here for. “I wasn’t sure you were going to come.”

“I just had to figure out how to sneak out, but my friend Stiles helped me come up with a plan,” I told him. “Speaking of plans, what’s the plan for today?”

He smiled. “I thought you’d never ask. Follow me.” I took his hand when he offered it to me, and he brought me to a side street where a baby blue Vespa was parked. “I thought I’d show you the city the way that we Italians travel.”

I couldn’t help but think of how the Vespa looked like the color of Stiles’ beloved Jeep. I had to shake my head slightly to clear my thoughts of Roscoe and my best friend.

“Sounds great!” I replied as Lorenzo handed me a helmet.

When we both had our helmets on and were perched on the Vespa, we were zipping through the streets of Rome.

I was holding on tight to him, and he’d point out cool spots and hidden gems around the city as we passed them. It was more than sightseeing – it was getting a local perspective on the ancient city.

Soon, we found ourselves walking through a farmers’ market and sitting down at a nearby café.

We learned more about each other over espresso. The conversation flowed naturally, and I loved getting to know him. I was in the middle of telling the story of when I met Stiles and Scott in the sandbox when we were four when a weird expression settled on Lorenzo’s face.

“What?” I asked.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” he assured me. “But that friend of yours, Stiles...is there something going on between the two of you?”

I was caught off guard by his question. “W-what? No, what makes you think that?”

He shrugged. “The way you talk about him...it’s clear that you love him.”

“Of course I love him. We’ve known each other our whole lives, and he’s my best friend. But I love him as a friend, and nothing more.”

Lorenzo nodded, turning my words over in his mind. “I see we’re both done with our espressos. Shall we?”

--

I spent the next day with Lorenzo too, faking sick once again to get past Coach. We took his Vespa, visiting the Spanish Steps–where we were almost caught because I forgot that it was on that day’s itinerary–, the Pantheon, and the Colosseum.

It was on the third day that Lydia knew something was up.

“I know you’re faking,” she said as she got ready in the morning. My jaw dropped at how casually she said it while applying a fresh coat of gloss to her lips.

“What? No, I’m not–”

“Oh, save it. You seem perfectly fine and only act sick when Coach comes to check on you. Plus, I heard Scott and Stiles talking about you yesterday.”

“Idiots,” I mumbled to myself. “Please don’t tell Coach.”

“Honey, why would I do that? I would never want to get in the way of you and this hot Italian boy Stiles mentioned.”

“Stiles mentioned him?”

She nodded. “He didn’t seem too happy though, and I think Scott was giving him advice about something but I couldn’t really tell what it was.”

Odd. Lydia glanced at her phone. “You should heat your head up soon. Coach should be coming in to check on you any minute now.”

“Thanks,” I said, still baffled by the fact that Lydia was helping me.

She gave me a quick wink as she opened the door to head down to the lobby. “Have fun today!”

Like clockwork, Lorenzo was waiting for me as soon as my school group left on the bus.

“Where are we going today?” I asked Lorenzo as I hopped on his Vespa the fourth day of my trip.

“The Tivoli Gardens,” he responded as we sped away from my hotel.

I was blown away by the beauty of the gardens. The lush greenery was accompanied by fancy water fountains, making me feel like I had been transported to another world.

On the surface, the day seemed perfect. But I couldn’t help but feel like something was missing – a spark, some banter, or maybe the presence of a certain brown-haired boy.

I tried to shake the thoughts from my head and focused all my energy on enjoying the fireworks that Lorenzo had brought me to see.

I should be experiencing this with Stiles.

--

“I had such an incredible day, Lydia,” I told the strawberry blonde as soon as I opened the door to our shared room, but when I looked at her, she had a nervous look on her face. “Wait, what’s wrong?”

“Something happened today.”

I took a seat on my bed, facing her. “Okay? What happened?” “Before we left, Coach was going to come back up to give you something but Stiles must have known that you’d already left. He covered for you, but...Coach is sending him home for breaking the rules.”

“What?” I jumped up from my seat. “This is a big mistake. Stiles can’t go home. I have to–” I ran out of the room, quickly making my way to Coach’s room even though I could hear Lydia calling for me.

A surprised-looking Coach opened the door after I pounded on it. “y/l/n! You’re up! Are you feeling better?”

“Please don’t send Stiles home. It’s my fault – he was covering for me,” I pleaded.

“Covering for you?”

I nodded. “I haven’t been sick. I’ve been faking it. I should be the one going home, not him.”

For once, Coach was speechless. He rubbed a hand over his face. “Do you realize what you’re admitting to, y/n?”

I nodded again. “I accept full responsibility for my actions.”

Coach was quiet again, obviously thinking about my punishment. I looked down at my feet as I waited for his judgement.

“You’re lucky I like you, y/n.”

My head snapped up to look at him. “What?”

“You’re also lucky that I’m not being paid enough to deal with this, and that you kids already graduated.”

“So…”

He sighed. “I’m not sending you or Stilinski home.”

Before I could stop myself, I rushed forward and gave him a hug. “Thank you, Coach!”

“But, when we get back to Beacon Hills, you’re going to have to help with summer lacrosse practice as punishment.”

I nodded furiously. “Absolutely. I’ll do anything.”

Coach patted my shoulder. “Good deal. Now go tell Stilinski to stop packing,” he said, waving me off.

“I will. Thanks again, Coach.”

Sighing in relief, I made my way over to Stiles’ room. I knocked rapidly, eager to tell Stiles the good news.

The door opened, and I found myself face-to-face with Isaac Lahey.

“Oh, hey, Isaac. Is Stiles here? Can I talk to him?”

He looked over his shoulder into the part of the room the door was blocking before turning back to me. “No, sorry.”

I narrowed my eyes. “No, he’s not here or no, I can’t talk to him?”

Isaac looked over his shoulder again. “I think it’s no, you can’t talk to him. He’s not too happy with you at the moment.”

“That’s totally understandable,” I nodded slowly. “Can you just tell him that he can stop packing? I told Coach the truth, so he’s not sending Stiles home.”

“Yeah, I’ll tell him,” Isaac said.

“Oh, and tell him I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get him in trouble.”

“Sure thing, y/n,” he said before closing the door, leaving me standing in the hall with a heavy heart.

--

The next day was absolute hell. I’d accepted that Stiles was mad at me, but I wasn’t prepared for the silent treatment from him.

We were visiting the Vatican, but all I could watch was the way Stiles admired the art and architecture. His eyes lit up when he viewed the ancient art, and he hung onto every word our tour guide said with interest.

Is this what I missed by spending all my time with Lorenzo?

“He’ll come around, you know,” Scott said as he walked next to me in the Sistine Chapel. “He just needs some time and space.”

“I just feel so bad, Scott. Why would he take the fall for me?”

Scott laughed. “He’d do anything for you, even if it’s at the cost of his own happiness.”

I tilted my head to the side. “What do you mean?”

A small smile was on his face. “You’ll figure it out soon enough.” Without another word, he spotted Allison and left to catch up with her.

When we got back to the hotel after the long day of sightseeing, I was surprised to see Lorenzo leaning against his Vespa in front of the hotel. Stiles passed him before I did, but he just ignored him and made no indication that he’d seen him.

“What are you doing here?” I asked as I approached him. From over his shoulder I saw Lydia shoot me a wink and thumbs up, but I simply rolled my eyes.

“I was worried when you didn’t show up this morning. I thought we had plans to see the Piazza Navona?”

I groaned. “I’m sorry. I forgot to cancel. I got in trouble with my chaperone, so I had to stay with the group.”

“I understand,” he said, taking my hands in his. “What about tomorrow? I’d love to–”

Before he could finish his sentence, I cut him off. “Lorenzo, I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can do this anymore. I’ve really enjoyed our time together, but…”

He was quiet for a moment, but then he sighed. “I’m not the one for you, am I?”

I considered his words for a minute. “No, you’re not. I’m sorry.”

Lorenzo nodded slowly before letting go of my hands. “Stiles is a very lucky man.”

I couldn’t even argue with him because in that moment, I knew he was right – Stiles was who I wanted to be with. “He’s not even talking to me right now.”

“He will,” he assured me. “He’d be crazy not to. And I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

My heart warmed at his statement. “Thank you, Lorenzo. I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “È la vita. Ciao, y/n.”

“Bye, Lorenzo,” I said as he sped away on his Vespa.

--

I gave Stiles some time to cool off, but after a few days of radio silence, I was determined to talk to him.

“Isaac, do you know where Stiles is?” I asked when he opened the door, revealing a Stiles-less room.

He shrugged. “He left like half an hour ago and hasn’t been back since.”

I thanked him, but stood in the hallway alone for a bit trying to figure out where he could be. There was only one place that I thought he would be in this hotel if not in his room. I climbed the stairs to the roof and was relieved to find a familiar head of brown hair looking out at the Roman skyline.

“You won the bet,” he said without turning to look at me.

“What bet?” I asked as I gently approached the space next to him.

“Scott and Allison. He told me they kissed today.”

I nodded slowly. “Oh, good for them.”

“Yeah, good for them.” I could hear the bitterness in his voice.

“Stiles, I don’t care about the stupid bet. I care about you. About us. I’m sorry you took the fall for me, but please talk to me. Let me make it up to you.”

After a moment of silence, he asked, “How?”

“What?”

“How would you make it up to me?”

I didn’t even have to think about it. “By spending the rest of this trip with you. By going on adventures with you.”

He shook his head slightly. “What would Lorenzo think about that?”

“It doesn’t matter. I ended it with him. We’re done.”

Stiles hadn’t looked at me the whole time we’d been talking, but it was at this statement that he finally looked at me with his warm brown eyes. “What? Why? Did he do something because I swear to God if he hurt you–”

I laughed at his overprotectiveness. “No, Stiles. God no, he didn’t hurt me. I just realized that he wasn’t the one for me. I couldn’t enjoy my time with him without thinking about how much I’d rather be with you.”

He let out a breath of relief, but I could hear it get caught in his throat. “Me? Why me?”

I sighed. No going back now. “Because I love you, dumbass.”

Stiles’ jaw dropped. He didn’t say anything for a minute, and in the silence, I started to regret my decision to tell him about my feelings. Did I misread his feelings for me? Maybe he just sees me as a friend–

I was jerked out of my thoughts by Stiles smashing his lips onto mine in a passionate kiss.

My head was cradled in his hands, and soon my hands found his body, pulling him closer to me. The moment our lips touched, it felt right. I knew I had found the love that I asked the fountain for–I just didn’t realize that it was right in front of me all along.

It’s no secret that our town is unusual, but when odd things seemed to happen, people would just turn a blind eye and go about their business.

I, on the other hand, couldn’t let it go. I was inquisitive by nature, and my mom never knew how to answer my questions.

Why do we have so many animal attacks?

What happened to the people that disappeared in the Preserve?

Why did his eyes glow like that?

That last question almost caused my mom to get me a therapist – which probably would’ve helped me regardless – but she just continued to answer with her usual responses.

They just feel threatened by us, dear.

They’re in a better place now.

I’m sure it was nothing – you probably just saw some reflection in his eyes.

But no matter what she told me, I wasn’t satisfied. I knew there was something bigger going on, something my mom couldn’t explain, but I wasn’t sure what. As I got older, however, I realized that if I kept voicing my concerns, I’d be seen as the local crazy person – which, at the time, was the title reserved for my neighbor, Donna Romano, who always went to Town Hall meetings to complain about how some supernatural creatures were traumatizing her dogs every time she took them out at night to urinate.

Out of fear of sounding like Donna, I kept my suspicions to myself. I observed the strange actions of those around me and kept note of the bizarre events that happened in town. I found that it was something I was good at – observing. Always watching, but never voicing my opinions. Eventually, it got the best of me because I grew really quiet at school. But I didn’t mind. I liked being a wallflower.

One day in the fifth grade I saw my mom reading the Beacon Chronicle and I had an epiphany – journalists investigate weird, inexplicable events, so I should be a journalist. Reading the news became my favorite pastime, and by sixth grade I decided I would join the high school newspaper, The Daily Beacon, when I became a freshman. I figured maybe it would give me an outlet to investigate the odd occurrences in the town without looking like a lunatic.

But in sixth grade, I noticed that some of the odd things had stopped happening. There were less animal attacks and disappearances from the Preserve. Some people had even left town, including the last of the Hales, whose house had burned down that same year.

I didn’t give up hope though. I kept my head down and waited for things to get weird again. In the meantime, I wrote for enjoyment. In eighth grade I started shadowing a girl named Anna that was a part of the Daily Beacon, and I started writing articles – album reviews, movie reviews, school news.

Everything was going smoothly until my sophomore year of high school. Suddenly the weird things were happening, and I was sure that there was one person that was at the epicenter of it all – Scott McCall.

--

“...Angela, you’re covering the new faculty; Thomas, you’ve got the new Vegan Support Group club some juniors just created; and y/n, you’re covering lacrosse try-outs,” said Andrew, the editor-in-chief of the Daily Beacon.

I groaned slightly. “Andrew, couldn’t I write something a little bit more...my style? Like what about the one freshman class that boycotted their summer reading and is facing suspension?”

He gave me a slight look. “y/n, you know how important this lacrosse piece is. You know what that sport means to the school. You should be glad I’m giving you this opportunity,” he scolded. “Besides, Marlene is covering that class and is already interviewing their teacher.”

I nodded slowly and tried to refrain from rolling my eyes. I knew that Andrew meant well – he had been like an older brother to me ever since my freshman year – and he was right about the importance of lacrosse. I stayed quiet until he dismissed us, then mentally prepared myself to spend my afternoon watching some jocks exude machismo on a field.

When my last class was over, I walked over to the lacrosse field and found myself a spot on the top of the bleachers. It gave me an excellent vantage point – until a couple girls sat down right in front of me. The redhead I recognized to be Lydia Martin, the school’s resident popular girl. We’d been in class together all our lives, but I couldn’t remember a time she ever talked to me. I’m sure she didn’t even know I existed, just like the majority of the other people in our grade. The other girl, however, I didn’t recognize. I found out her name was Allison by overhearing their conversation. She was new and must have just moved to Beacon Hills.

The shrill sound of Coach’s whistle knocked me out of my thoughts. Tryouts started, and I watched as Scott McCall, a boy from my grade, was nearly knocked out by a lacrosse ball to the face. I winced but wrote down the event in the notebook I had out for documentation.

The next ball that went Scott’s way didn’t hit his face though. He managed to catch it in his goalie net. I couldn’t help but be a bit surprised – like Lydia, I’d known of Scott my whole life though he probably didn’t know me at all. But that meant I knew he was an asthmatic that wasn’t particularly skilled at sports.

“He’s actually pretty good,” I mumbled to myself as Scott continued to catch every ball that came his way.

I didn’t realize how loud I must’ve said it though because at my remark Allison turned around. “I was just thinking the same thing,” she said, obviously surprised. “Do you know him?”

I shook my head and quickly turned my attention to my notebook to write down the surprising turn of events. “Are you writing about this for the school newspaper?” I looked back up at Allison’s question. She was paying attention to me?

“Um, yeah, I am. I’d rather not write about sports, but here I am,” I joked lightly.

She let out a beautiful laugh at my statement. “Well, I’m glad you’re here. I’m Allison, and you are…?”

“y/n,” I answered. “Nice to meet you, Allison.” Suddenly the crowd roared, and I remembered why I was there. Allison, too, smiled and turned her attention back to the game. Lydia hadn’t said a word, but she was focused on watching Scott absolutely demolish Jackson Highmore, who, in my opinion, needed to be knocked down a few pegs anyway.

The more I watched Scott though, I got this weird feeling. He was good – too good. I tried to ignore my feelings and just focus on writing notes for the ridiculous lacrosse piece, which would include the headline: “Sophomore Scott McCall shines at lacrosse tryouts and becomes team co-captain.” But deep down I knew there was something up with him.

A few days later, I was sitting behind Stiles Stilinski, Scott’s best friend, in English class. Even though I’d had nearly all of my classes with him, we never talked. It originally was because I had a minor crush on him and was afraid I’d pass out if I spoke to him, but eventually it just morphed into me not speaking to many people and being convinced he didn’t know of my existence anyway.

But this one day, I was committed to speaking with him. I had to know what was going on, and if there was one person that knew anything about Scott’s new-found lacrosse talent, it was Stiles.

“Hey, Stiles,” I spoke up from behind him.

The brunette turned around, slightly confused but with that soft smile on his face. “Oh, hey, y/n. What’s up?”

I swear my heart stopped beating for a second. He knew my name? He knew who I was? I shook myself out of my thoughts before I went down the rabbit hole of the implications of him knowing me.

“Oh, nothing much. I’m just writing a piece about lacrosse tryouts for the school newspaper and I was just wondering if you had anything to say about it,” I explained.

He tilted his head slightly and shifted in his seat to more fully face me. “Um, yeah sure. I think it’s going to be a great season, especially since we’ve gotten some new leadership. My boy Scott’s co-captain now, so those Devenford Prep guys won’t know what hit them!”

“Speaking of Scott, when did he get so good at lacrosse? Would you say it’s natural talent?” I pressed a bit, hoping he’d say something that would give me a hint as to what was going on.

Stiles’ eyes squinted a little, and his head tilted slightly again. He seemed to be at a loss for words, which was unusual for the fast-talking, sarcastic boy, but he quickly recovered. “It’s definitely...natural...talent. He’s been working extra hard recently to hone his talent and skills so he could bring his A-game to this year’s tryouts.” When he finished speaking, he looked pleased with himself, and I could tell he had let out a small sigh of relief.

What are you hiding?

Though I didn’t know it yet, at that moment my rivalry with Stiles Stilinski began. He and Scott were hiding something, and I was going to find out what it was.

--

“You’re telling me that a girl is in a coma after the school winter formal and you don’t want me to write a story about it?”

Andrew leaned against the desk and crossed his arms. “It’s not that I don’t want you to write it. I just think it’s a tense time right now. The administration is receiving a lot of flack right now because of the winter formal fiasco, and Ms. Blanchard told me that we may want to avoid stirring the pot right now,” he explained. “That is not to say that we abandon our journalistic integrity and commitment to informing the student body, but we just may want to be sensitive to our environment right now.”

I trusted Ms. Blanchard, the faculty sponsor of the Daily Beacon, but not reporting on Lydia’s comatose state felt wrong. She was well-known at school, and students deserved to know the facts of her situation and how it had happened.Well, maybe I was lying to myself by saying that the real reason I wanted to pursue the story wasn’t the fact that something inexplicable had happened at the dance and I had to figure out what it was.

Andrew could sense my disappointment. “Look, maybe for now you can start collecting information and sources, and I’ll talk to Ms. Blanchard. Maybe she can advise us on how best to proceed.”

I threw my arms around Andrew in a quick hug. “Yes, thank you! I promise I’ll be sensitive when asking sources. I know how difficult this must be for the people close to her.”

“I know you will,” he said, chuckling lightly.

With a smile plastered on my face – perhaps a little inappropriately considering the topic I was excited to cover – I left the small newspaper office in search of my first source: Stiles Stilinski. He had been Lydia’s date to the dance, so surely he must know what happened to her, right? “No, I don’t know what happened,” Stiles angrily responded when I cornered him at his locker. “We were separated for a bit because she went looking for someone. When I went looking for her I–” he stopped suddenly, as if choosing his words carefully. He wouldn’t meet my eyes as he spoke.

“The next thing I know, she was at the hospital in a coma. They told me Jackson had found her out on the field when I went to check on her at the hospital,” he explained.

Something wasn’t adding up. “Ok, but where were you the rest of that time? You didn’t go looking for her when you didn’t see her for a while? What about when she had already been checked into the hospital?”

“What is this – an investigation?” Stiles shouted as he slammed his locker shut. I took a step back, eyes wide at the sudden display of aggression. Maybe I pushed too hard, I thought. Stiles rubbed a hand over his face and took a deep breath. “Sorry, I….I didn’t mean it like that. There’s just a lot going on, and my dad has been up my ass about those details too. To be honest, I can’t tell you where I was. The time just flew by and all of a sudden I’d realized I hadn’t seen Lydia for a couple hours. I wish I had been there for her, but there’s nothing I can do for her now other than check up on her.”

Running a hand over his buzzed head, he shot me a forced smile and said “good luck with your article” before walking away.

I was at a loss for words, trying to put the pieces together in my head. Surely he couldn’t have had a part in Lydia’s injury? There’s no way. But his defensiveness was off-putting–

“Hey, y/n!” I was snapped out of my thoughts by Allison approaching me from behind. “What were you talking to Stiles about?”

“Huh? Oh, um, I was just asking him about…” I remembered that the funeral for Allison’s aunt was happening and didn’t want to mention the additional stress of her best friend being comatose, so I opted for a white lie. “Biology homework. I wasn’t really paying attention in class today.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize you two were friends,” she said as she leant against the lockers.

I shook my head violently. “We’re not.” I’d grown too close to Allison for her to not pick up on my feelings though.

“You say that now, but–”

“I have to get to class. See you at lunch, Ally!”

--

Other things that year were weird, but none warranted any further investigation via newspaper article. Sure, I was wondering about Erica Reyes’ sudden transformation into the ultimate baddie, the mysterious deaths of a mechanic and Isaac Lahey’s dad, numerous paralyzations at the Jungle, and a death of someone at a secret rave, but Andrew thought it would be best for the Chronicle and Ledger to cover those bigger events. In fact, the only other unnatural event that happened that I had to cover for the newspaper was Stiles’ unbelievable winning streak at the lacrosse championship. I would have quoted him after the game, but I really didn’t want to speak to him and anyway, he had disappeared for a bit right after the team won.

I could tell that things were happening, but it was all hidden from public view. I even noticed Allison’s behavior fluctuating. The arrival of her grandfather shook things up, and while he gave me a bad feeling, I couldn’t exactly figure out why. Lydia was more troubled than usual after coming back from the hospital even though she tried to act normally. Jackson was going through something and was more angry and aggressive than usual, but I wasn’t close enough to him to ask him if he was okay.

Over the summer, I spent a surprising amount of time with Lydia. Allison spent her summer in France, but she asked me to keep an eye on Lydia to make sure she was okay, especially since Jackson had moved to London during the summer break. I was surprised how much I enjoyed spending time with the redhead, and we hung out when I wasn’t working at my internship at The Beacon Chronicle, which my mom had convinced me to apply for after she noticed how irritated I was that I couldn’t pursue some of the stories I wanted.

By the time Allison came back before the start of school, it felt like Lydia and I had been best friends for the longest time.

“So, Allison, have you talked to Scott at all this summer?” I asked when I was sitting in the backseat of Lydia’s car, Allison in the passenger seat.

She shook her head. “No, I think I still need some time. He...hides things from me and I don’t know if I can trust him.”

I nodded my head, understanding the feeling. I still couldn’t place my finger on what had happened between them or what Scott was involved in. Though I comforted her when I found out they broke up, I didn’t really know why they’d done it.

“What about you, y/n? Have you talked to Stiles at all?” Allison asked, looking back at me in the backseat.

“Why the hell would I talk to Stiles?” I questioned, confused.

She and Lydia shared a small look that I couldn’t decipher before she shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know, but you guys are more similar than you may think. I don’t know why you guys act like you don’t like each other though.”

The car rolled to a stop at the stop light, and all of a sudden I noticed a familiar baby blue jeep approach next to us. “Speak of the devil,” I mumbled. Lydia and Allison didn’t notice Stiles staring and waving at first, but when they did the car was filled with awkward tension.

The next events were a blur: Lydia running the red light, both cars stopping in the middle of the road, and a deer running straight towards us, nearing killing me in the gap between the front seats. We were shaken, and the boys ran towards us when they saw what happened.

“Are you okay?” Stiles asked Lydia, but he kept looking at me. I nodded slightly and he turned his full attention back to Lydia.

“What was wrong with it?” Allison asked as Scott got closer to the deer.

“It was scared,” he explained. “No, terrified.”

Things got progressively weirder after that. On the first day of school, I interviewed our new English teacher, Ms. Blake. She was nice enough, but it was unfortunate that her class was the one that a whole flock of birds decided to burst through the classroom windows. By the time the police arrived, I was already drafting up a story in my brain: Why are the animals acting weird in Beacon Hills?

I had overheard Stiles talking to Scott about the deer’s weird behavior and the number of deer-related incidents in California, so I swallowed my pride so that I could talk to him and maybe get some stats and information on the whole situation.

I walked up to him when he was sitting alone, texting on his phone. “Hey, Stiles.” “y/n? What’s wrong?” He had genuine concern written on his face.

“I overheard you and Scott talking about deer-related incidents earlier,” I noticed how he tensed up at my statement, “and I was wondering if you could help me with a piece I’m writing? It seems like you know all the stats, so maybe...you could write it with me?” It pained me to finish that sentence, but I figured it might be easier to figure out what was going on if he was helping – especially if he already had inside information.

I think for the first time in his life, the talkative boy was speechless. “I understand if you don’t want to or you’re busy–” I said quickly, trying to give him a way out.

“Yeah, sure.”

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t caught off guard by his response. “W-what?”

He smirked slightly. “Yeah, sure. I’ll help you out with your article, y/n. Collaborate with you, if you will. We can work on it at my house tomorrow afternoon if you want.”

Nodding and agreeing with the plan, I left the chaotic English classroom.

The next afternoon, I felt like I was walking into the lion’s den. Going to Stiles’ house felt foreign, but what was even stranger was seeing him in casual clothes in a comfortable environment.

He answered the door wearing some sweats and a t-shirt, looking more comfortable and confident than I’d ever seen him. “Hey, y/n. Come on in,” he greeted.

I thanked him awkwardly, and we walked to his dining room table to get set up. “Sorry, I need to go grab my notes from my room. Be back in a sec,” Stiles said before leaving me alone in his dining room.

After a moment of silence, Sheriff Stilinski walked in wearing his uniform. “Oh, y/n! What are you doing here?” He had seen me a couple weeks ago in the police station when I was requesting documents for a story for the Chronicle. Though journalists and cops don’t often have a jovial relationship, he said that he liked me because of my commitment to the truth and respectful nature.

“Hey, Sheriff. I’m writing a piece about the animals acting weird, you know, with the deer accident and bird incident, and Stiles said he’d help me since he has a bunch of statistics on deer related car accidents.”

“Stiles is helping you? Well, I’ll be damned.” When he saw the confusion on my face, he rushed to explain himself. “No, not like that. It’s just, you’re all organized and focused, and Stiles is….Stiles.”

I was laughing heartily when the boy himself walked back into the room. “What’s going on, Daddy-o?”

“Nothing, son. Just catching up with y/n here. I’ve got to get to work, but you’re welcome anytime, y/n.” He said before patting Stiles on the shoulder and heading off to work.

Stiles looked over at me oddly when he placed his notes on the table and sat next to me. “Since when are you all buddy-buddy with my dad?”

Shrugging, I said, “Ever since we started grabbing beer every Thursday night while you’re at lacrosse practice.” His jaw dropped slightly, and I laughed again. “No, idiot. We’ve just interacted a lot because of my internship. Now, can we get started on the article?”

--

After the article was published, my next assignment was writing about the track meet a couple weeks later. I found out Allison and Lydia were riding together to the meet, so I tagged along.

Both girls were extremely tense the whole ride, seemingly concerned about something going on in the bus. We were only a few cars behind the bus full of track runners (and lacrosse players who were forced to attend the meet), but the stand-still traffic was a force to be reckoned with.

“Do you think we’re too close?” Allison asked.

“Honey, if you were any closer I think you’d mount the bus,” Lydia said sarcastically. She got a call from Stiles and looked over at Allison. “Hey, Stiles,” she dragged out the ‘hey,’ tension obvious in her voice.

She listened to what he was saying, something clearly wrong. “What do you mean he’s not–” she stopped when she remembered I was in the car, “healing?” She finished the question quietly, probably hoping I wouldn’t hear.

Healing? Is he injured?

“Yeah, ok, just find a way to get Coach to stop. We’ll meet you there.” She hung up and told Allison to pull off at the next stop.

When we got to the rest stop, I could see everyone hurrying to get off the bus. Allison parked the car, and we quickly went to the bathroom where I saw Scott nearly passed out on the floor. “Oh my god, is he okay?”

“Yeah, y/n. He’s fine. At least, he will be,” Stiles responded. He positioned his body in front of me a little bit as if he was trying to block my view of Scott.

I gently pushed him aside so I could see and was shocked to see black blood coming from the injured boy. “What the hell is going on? Why is his blood black?” I ran forward to get closer, kneeling next to Allison.

“It’s nothing. We just need to stitch him up and he’ll be fine.”

“Stiles, don’t fucking lie to me. I can see that he’s obviously not fine.”

“He’s right,” Allison said quietly. “We need to stitch him up. I need something to stitch him together with.” She looked around before remembering something in her bag.

I shook my head. “We need to tell Coach. Take him to a hospital or something.”

“No!” All three of them yelled at me.

It was quiet for a moment, all of us deciding where to go from here. “Just…” Stiles started, “please go and make sure the bus doesn’t leave without us. We’ll handle this.” I got up and slowly made my way to the door.

As I reached for the door, a hand grabbed my wrist. “y/n,” Stiles said, “it’ll make sense someday. Just trust us for now. Trust me,” he pleaded quietly out of earshot of the girls and Scott.

“I do,” I replied quietly, not meeting his eyes, before pulling my hand from his grasp and leaving the bathroom.

That night, we all had to stay at the Motel Glen Capri because of the postponed meet. I didn’t like its energy, and neither did Lydia. “A lot can happen in one night,” she said.

Though it was supposed to be two to a room, I convinced Coach to let me room with Allison and Lydia. Admittedly, Coach didn’t need much convincing because I was saving the school money by doing so. Once we got our room key, we went up to our room on the second floor.

“I’m going to go get a snack from the machine,” I told Lydia once Allison was in the shower.

She nodded. “Sounds good. I’m going to the lobby. There must be something we can do about these towels that reek of nicotine.”

Grabbing a couple one’s from my wallet, I made my way down the hall to the vending machine where I ran into Boyd and Stiles. As I approached, I could hear Stiles trying to talk to an unresponsive Boyd, who subsequently punched a hole through the glass of the machine, grab his snack that the machine refused to give him, and walk away.

“What the hell was that?” I asked Stiles as I walked up next to him.

He shrugged. “I don’t really know, to be honest.” He reached into the machine to grab his snack and tossed one to me as well.

When I got back to my room, a shaken Allison and Lydia were hurriedly talking about something. “Oh, y/n! You’re back. You won’t believe what just happened…” Allison started

She recounted the story of Scott’s bizarre behavior in the bathroom, and Lydia filled me in on the counter that they have at the front desk. “Can you imagine having a counter for the number of suicides that take place in your hotel? Crazy,” Lydia said. Taking her phone out, she sent a quick text to Stiles telling him that we all needed to talk.

We met him in the hallway a couple minutes later. “What was the text for?” Stiles asked when he saw our little gathering.

“There’s something going on with all the…” she looked over at me before continuing, “guys. You know, Scott, Boyd, Isaac, probably Ethan too.” I tried to connect the dots between all of them, but I didn’t really know what they all had in common. Scott and Isaac were both on the lacrosse team, but from what I could tell they didn’t have a particular fondness for each other or Ethan.

“I think someone’s going to die tonight,” Lydia said decisively.

“Why do you think that?” I asked, but it seemed like I was the only one questioning her line of reason.

She shook her head slowly. “I just...have a feeling.” After a moment of silence, she told us about hearing something from the room next to ours through the vent, so we decided to investigate it. Room 217 seemed empty and locked, but all of a sudden we heard the sound of a saw from behind the door.

Stiles busted the door open, and we opened it to find Ethan turning the saw on himself. “Ethan, stop!” I yelled as we ran into the room. Stiles started wrestling him for the saw, but luckily Lydia saw where it was plugged into the wall and unplugged it.

The next thing that happened was completely unexpected to me. Ethan grew fangs and claws, his eyes blazing red. What the fu–

Allison and Lydia rushed forward, wrestling his claws away from his torso where he had been planning on slashing himself. In the struggle he fell on the space heater, which apparently brought him out of whatever state he was in. He ran out of the room soon after. When we tried to question him about what he was doing, he couldn’t answer us. He had been out of control, and it made Allison realize we were forgetting someone.

“Where’s Scott?” She asked suddenly. When no one could answer, we all decided to split up – I’d go with Allison to look for Scott while Stiles and Lydia went to find Boyd and Isaac.

Scott wasn’t in his room. Allison and I ran all over the motel, looking in every crevice. At last, we decided to check the school bus, and that’s where we saw him. Standing drenched in gasoline, a flare lit up in his hand.

“Scott…” I approached quietly, careful to not make any sudden movements.

It was then that Stiles and Lydia joined us. I watched as Stiles walked into the gasoline, my breath catching in my throat as he nearly sacrificed himself. Scott was talking, but I didn’t really understand what it meant. He said that his life was better before the bite.

Stiles eventually talked Scott down, but the flare rolled into the gasoline. Luckily, Lydia was able to make sure we had all gotten out of the way. I’d ended up next to Stiles on the ground, and though we made eye contact, no words were spoken.

We spent the night in the bus because none of us could bear the thought of spending another second in that cursed place. Coach woke us up in the morning, definitely thinking the worst about what we may have gotten ourselves into, but whatever he was thinking wouldn’t possibly compare to reality. What was reality? I couldn’t have really told you at that point. I didn’t understand what we’d just lived through.

Before the other students started loading onto the bus, Stiles slid into the empty space next to me. “y/n, you know that all of this,” he made a grand gesture to Scott and the others as well as the motel, “is off the record. You can’t tell anyone about this. About what happened.” I held eye contact with him for a moment before nodding. “I wouldn’t tell anyone. To be honest, I don’t even really know what I would tell people, but I wouldn’t.” He nodded, a sad smile on his face as he looked down and fidgeted with his hands. “But Stiles,” I said as he looked back up at me. “Please help me understand it all. You can trust me, I promise, I just want to understand. I want to help.”

With a deep sigh, Stiles nodded once more. “Okay. I’ll tell you everything.”

--

When Stiles said he’d fill me in on everything, I didn’t realize he meant everything. I couldn’t believe how oblivious I had been to everything that had happened in the past year. Sure, I knew something weird was going on, but how was I supposed to know it was supernatural?

Finding out that my little corner of the world, little old Beacon Hills, California, had werewolves (and a kanima, pack of alphas, and whatever the hell a Darach was) was a lot to process. It was unbelievable, but Stiles helped me believe it.

I could tell that he didn’t fully trust me though. There was something in the way he looked at me that told me he was wondering when I would be done with my source acquisition and I’d write the next big exposé: Supernatural Beacon Hills: How Werewolves Have Been Hiding In Plain Sight. I didn’t know how to assure him that I was on their side and wouldn’t expose their secrets.

As the year progressed, things simultaneously made more sense and less sense. To defeat the Darach, we had to perform a sacrifice for the parents that had abducted, and Deaton – the veterinarian that had taken care of every family pet we’d ever had – told me I had to hold Stiles down during it. He said we had some sort of connection, but I guess that’s what mutual loathing does to people.

In the end, we won. We beat the Darach, the alpha of the alphas Deucalion left, and Scott became an alpha himself. But it was still just the beginning.

--

The sacrifice did something to Scott, Stiles, and Allison that we didn’t fully understand. Deaton said they left a door open, which only made it harder for Stiles to trust me because he could barely trust himself.

Knowing about the supernatural didn’t preclude my other responsibilities though. I still wrote for the Daily Beacon, much to Stiles’ displeasure, but I enjoyed it. So, on the first day of school I interviewed our newest faculty member – Mr. Yukimura. He and his family had just moved from New York, and his daughter Kira was in our grade. She was nice, but shy, so I invited her to have lunch with us.

Surprisingly, Kira jumped right into the conversation at lunch by mentioning bardo, the Buddhist concept of being in an in-between state.

After lunch, I caught up with Allison to walk to our next class. “Hey, Allison, could I ask you a favor?”

“Of course! What’s up?”

“Well, I don’t really know how to ask this but...I need help learning to defend myself, I guess? It’s just that I’m going to be helping you guys now, and I actually want to be helpful, so I want to protect myself so you guys don’t have to worry about me,” I admitted.

Allison smiled softly. “I’d love to help.” I returned her smile, suddenly giddy, yet nervous. “But, I think you should know that my...aim...has been off since the sacrifice.”

I could hear the disappointment in her voice. “Nonsense, I’m sure that you’re still the best shot in this school.” She shook her head. “It’s never been this bad.”

Touching her arm lightly, I gave her a reassuring smile. “We’ll figure it out together.”

A few days later, I was surprised when I was paid a visit by both Scott and Stiles while I was sitting in the library. “To what do I owe this pleasure, boys?”

“We need your help.” I perked up at Scott’s statement. “We’re trying to solve the Tate case, you know, the one where Malia Tate disappeared all those years ago after that car accident, and we could use your help tracking her down.” He looked over at Stiles and nudged him with his elbow.

“And, you can write a piece about it. Not including all the details, if what we think happened is true, but you can still write something factual,” Stiles said, still displeased that I was writing for the newspaper.

To annoy Stiles, I acted like I was really thinking about it for a minute, but then laughed lightly. “Yeah, I’ll help you guys. Where do we start?”

--

Pull yourself together, y/n. You’re a journalist. You’re supposed to report on tragedy all the time. Be objective.

I took a deep breath and wrote the first line for what would be the cover story of the next Daily Beacon issue.

Junior Allison Argent, 17, died in an unfortunate carjacking incident last fall.

Before I could write any more, I got a phone call from Stiles.

Oh, thank god. “Stiles?”

“Do you want to come with us to Mexico?” He blurted out.

I couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled from my chest. “What? Mexico? Why? When–”

“Tomorrow.”

“Stiles, are you insane? Even if I wanted to, there’s no way my parents would ever let me go.”

“We’re all telling our parents we’re going camping, if that helps at all,” he said with what seemed like a hint of disappointment in his voice.

I was quiet for a minute, but my mind was already made up. “Why? And who exactly is going?”

“Scott, Lydia, Kira, Malia, and I have to visit some hunters and see what they know about Derek being missing.”

As soon as he mentioned Malia, my mouth started curling into a frown. It’s not that I disliked the werecoyote, it’s just that she and Stiles had been pretty full on since they hooked up at Eichen and started dating. I wasn’t jealous – though I’m sure Lydia would argue otherwise since she’s convinced I like him or something – just...weirded out by their relationship.

I sighed. “I want to help, but I really can’t tomorrow. School starts back up in a couple days, and I need to finish this elegy for Allison and come up with a bunch of assignments for the staff writers…” I trailed off, thinking about all that I had to do before the coming week.

“Oh yeah, I forgot. Ms. Editor-in-chief over here has a life outside of us,” Stiles joked.

Andrew graduated at the end of last year and left his glittering empire to me, though suddenly I felt overwhelmed at the prospect of running a newspaper while being way too involved in the town’s supernatural endeavors. It didn’t bother me last semester, but after Allison…

“I’ll just see you guys when you get back, okay?” I told Stiles. He made an unintelligible noise of agreement. “And try not to let anyone get killed.” “Yes, mom,” Stiles said sarcastically. I could almost hear the smirk in his voice.

When the pack got back, I was surprised by the events that had taken place. “What do you mean it’s a young version of Derek?”

A few days later, I had to cover the spring lacrosse tryouts. Though I wanted to assign it to someone else, I had to do it myself because everyone was busy with the assignments I had given them.

To my surprise, a new freshman, Liam Dunbar, showed everyone up at tryouts – even Scott. I took note of how he seemed almost athletically superior to everyone, and I wondered if he was supernatural.

“He’s human, I’m sure of it,” Scott said as he came up next to where I was sitting on the bleachers, scaring me out of my mind in the process.

“Jeez, Scott. A little warning next time would be nice. But how do you know?”

He shrugged. “I can just tell. He’s just a really great athlete.”

“He’s going to be a great pain in my ass, I can tell,” Stiles said, sidling up next to Scott.

I took note of their reactions, writing down Scott’s comment – about being a great athlete, not human – to consider while writing my piece.

“Oh no, don’t tell me you’re writing a story about him,” Stiles groaned.

“You know I have to write one about the tryouts, and he just happens to be the star player of today,” I told him. “Sorry, Scott.”

Scott waved me off, but Stiles was still upset about the situation. “No, don’t give him the ego boost! He’s already a little shit, and an article about him would make it worse.”

Taking a break from my note-taking, I looked over at the brown-haired boy. “Stiles, have you even talked to him?”

He looked at a loss for words. “N-not really...but I can see his arrogance from a mile away!”

I rolled my eyes. “Well then, if you’d excuse me, I’m going to write up a fantastic story about a talented up-and-coming lacrosse player.”

The article became the next issue’s front page, but I almost wished I hadn’t given him as much attention when Scott turned him into his beta.

The rest of the year didn’t go as planned either, but isn’t junior year supposed to be everyone’s worst year?

As much as I liked helping out with the supernatural problems Scott and the rest of the pack were having, it was hard knowing about what was going on and not being able to write about it, especially when all of the mysterious killings started up. We eventually found out about the deadpool, but I could write about a kill list of Beacon Hills’ resident supernaturals, could I?

At the end of the year, I finally had to make the trip to Mexico with the rest of the pack. “Stiles, I’m going. You can’t stop me!” I attempted to open the passenger door of the jeep when he reached out and shut it from behind me.

“No, it’s going to be dangerous. We don’t even really know what we’re facing,” he tried reasoning with me. “I can protect myself,” I said, thinking of the training that Allison had given me. “Besides, I can’t just sit by and wait for you guys to come back. I need to try helping Scott.”

Realizing that I wasn’t going to back down, Stiles removed his hand from the side of the door and opened it for me. I nodded a quick thanks as I hopped into the vehicle.

I wasn’t expecting to fight Scott that day, but we all did in order to return him from his Berserker form. At the end of the fight, I had a few cuts and bruises, but nothing I couldn’t deal with.

As Derek drove away with Braedan, I could feel that things were changing. “I can’t write about any of this, can I?” I asked somewhat jokingly.

“Off the record,” Stiles replied from where he stood next to me.

--

“Stiles, what’s wrong?”

“Oh thank god, you remember me!” He said as he grabbed my hands. He’d been running down the hall frantically when I saw him.

I looked at him with concern on my face. “Yeah, of course I remember you? Why wouldn’t I–”

“y/n, it’s the Hunt. The Ghost Riders. I saw them, and now they’re coming for me.” He was breathing heavily, eyes sweeping the surroundings for signs of the Ghost Riders. His eyes locked on something to his left, but when I looked, I couldn’t see anything. “They’re here. We have to go,” he said, pulling me towards the parking lot. We got into his jeep, but he didn’t start the car. “Stiles, what are you doing?”

“It’s too late.” I could see the look of grief on his face. “No, don’t say that. It’s not–”

“It’s the truth,” he cut me off, turning to look at me. “Promise me you won’t forget.”

I shook my head. “I won’t. But Stiles, I can’t do this without you,” I could feel a tear escaping my eye and slipping down my cheek, my emotions getting the better of me.

Stiles reached forward and wiped the tear away before placing his hand on my cheek. “What do you mean? You’re one of the smartest, most inquisitive people I know. If I had to trust anyone to find a way to stop the Ghost Riders, it would be you.”

I couldn’t help but smile at his honesty. “Yeah right. Lydia will probably figure it out before me.”

He shook his head. “You can do it. I trust you.” I could tell there was more he wanted to say, but he turned to look at something through the window over his shoulder. “Can I tell you something? Off the record.”

I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped my mouth. “Yes, of course. What is it?”

He took a deep breath. “I don’t hate you. I know it may seem like I’ve never trusted you or that I don’t care about you, but it’s actually the opposite. I...really really like you,” he admitted.

I was stunned. Stiles likes me? He was searching my face for any indication of feelings as I sat there silently.

“Oh, shit,” Stiles mumbled. “Ok, forget I said that. Well, you won’t need to forget when you forget me in a minute–”

I cut off his rambling by placing my lips on his. They were warm and familiar, as if they were made for mine. “I like you too,” I mumbled when I disconnected, my eyes still closed from the interaction.

But when I opened them, I was alone in the baby blue jeep.

--

All semester, I’d felt that something was missing, but I couldn’t figure out what it was. Or who it was.

But after months of searching for it, we finally figured it out. Lydia had gone into a banshee trance to discover the word “Stiles,” and it brought back vague memories for me when I heard it. The feeling of soft flannel. A sarcastic laugh. Red string around my finger. A hefty wooden baseball bat.

The collection of memories made sense when we all finally got our memories back and remembered the person we were missing from our lives.

We traced the trail of clues to the sewers, where Scott tried to bring back Stiles because of their brotherly love for one another. I thought it would work, but the portal closed and Stiles hadn’t appeared. Come on, Stiles. Where are you?

We had to fight the Ghost Riders off, making sure they didn’t turn our beloved Beacon Hills into another ghost town. I’d run into the high school, looking for something to use as a weapon when I ran into someone in the hall. A tall, brown-haired figure wearing a flannel shirt. “Stiles?”

He turned, and smiles emerged on both of our faces. I broke into a run again, right into his arms. “I can’t believe you’re here. You’re really here.” I mumbled, the sound muffled against his shirt.

“I knew you could do it,” he said.

I pulled back slightly and looked up at his face, suddenly nervous. “That night in the jeep...did you hear what I told you before you disappeared?”

A soft smile rested on his face. “Of course I did. It was the one thing that kept me going, especially when I was stuck with Peter.”

“Peter Hale? Why the hell were you with Peter Hale?”

Stiles shook his head. “We can go over that later. For now, there’s one thing I’ve been wanting to do.” I was a little confused, but I understood once he leaned in and connected our lips.

This is what I’d been missing, and I was never going to let it go again.

--

I watched from afar as Stiles gave his trusty baseball bat to Mason, who didn’t seem to appreciate the hunk of wood.

“Have you told him yet?” Lydia asked as she appeared next to me.

I shook my head. “We haven’t really had time to talk about that stuff. I think he doesn’t really want to think about it just yet and what that might mean for us.”

She nudged me with her elbow, silently telling me to go over there and talk to him. Rolling my eyes, I walked towards the familiar blue jeep and familiar mess of brown hair.

Liam and Mason had already walked away, and Scott and Stiles were standing and talking at the jeep’s trunk. “Hey, y/n. I’m just heading out, but I’ll see you guys later,” Scott said as I came up and Stiles threw his arm around me.

We waved as Scott left, and Stiles pulled me closer. “Hey,” he said, looking down at me with an affectionate expression.

I pulled him over so we could sit in the open trunk. “We need to talk.” I could see the panic flare up in his eyes.

“Oh, um, okay? Is everything okay?”

Chuckling lightly, I nodded. “Yeah, we just haven’t talked about college at all,” I explained.

His head dropped. “Yeah, I know. I just don’t want it to ruin what we have here, and I don’t even know what life will be like outside of Beacon Hills, and I feel like we just got together and now–”

“Stiles,” I cut him off. “I’m going to GW too.”

His eyes widened at my confession. “You...you’re going to GW?”

I nodded, a small smile on my lips. “I committed a while ago. I’m going to study journalism there.”

I watched as a smile spread across his face. Then, it was replaced by a quick smirk. “Oh great, you’re following me there, huh? I just can’t seem to get rid of you.”

I shrugged. “What can I say? I’m going to need someone to give me the inside scoop on the FBI’s antics.”

He looked pensive for a moment. “I think what you’re describing is illegal.”