If I Could Turn Back Time

Surface Pressure

Later on, in Scott’s Algebra class, he and Lydia were standing in front of the class writing an equation on the board. And while Scott was content to stay quiet and try to figure out the answer to the math problem in front of him (as well as his wolf problems), Lydia had other plans. “Why is there a rumor going around that you and Stiles aren’t playing tomorrow?” she asked. 

“Because we’re sort of not,” Scott answered somberly. 

“I think you sort of are,” Lydia corrected briskly, as she wrote purposefully on the chalkboard. “Especially when you brutally injured my boyfriend by ramming into him.”

Scott paused and glared at the redhead strawberry-blonde. “He brutally injured himself by ramming into me,” he retorted. 

“Jackson’s gonna play tomorrow,” Lydia announced. “But he's not gonna be at his peak, and I prefer my boyfriend at peak performance.”

“Okay?” Scott shrugged, barely noticing that Lydia was almost halfway done solving her math equation. “I date the captain of the winning lacrosse team, and if they start off the season losing, then I date the captain of the losing lacrosse team,” Lydia emphasized. “I don't date losers!” 

“Losing one game isn't gonna kill anyone,” Scott gritted out. “In fact, it might even save someone.”

“Fine! Don't play,” Lydia huffed. “We'll probably win anyway. Then we’ll go out afterward like we were planning… and I'll introduce Allison to all the hot players on the team. And Scott McCall can stay home, surfing the net for porn.” Then she dragged the chalk across the board one last time before slamming it down on the chalk stand, wiping her hands off, and strutting back to her seat leaving Scott to stew over his unsolved dilemmas. 

Just then, the teacher walked back up to the board and sighed in disappointment at the secret teenage werewolf. “Mr. McCall, you're not even close to solving your problem.”

“Tell me about it,” Scott grumbled.

*                             *                             *

After class, Scott was closing up his locker when he was suddenly dragged away by his collar. “Hey, come here,” Stiles urged, as he pulled him close to the stairwell where the Sheriff and a couple of his officers were talking with the principal. “What, Stiles?” Scott asked. “You need to hear what they’re saying,” Stiles replied. Scott and Stiles leaned in to listen. “—I want everyone under the age of 18 indoors by 9:30 p.m., understand? We would like to implement the curfew effective immediately,” Sheriff Stilinski said lowly across the hall. Both Scott and Stiles shared a grave look as they backed away from the stairs. 

“I can't believe this is happening. A curfew! Seriously?” Scott groaned. 

“This is insane! My dad’s out there looking for a rabid animal, while the jerk-off who actually murdered her is prancing around OUR SCHOOL, hanging out and just doing whatever he wants,” Stiles complained. “Well, it's not exactly like we can just tell your dad the truth about Derek,” Scott responded. 

“Yeah, well, I can do something,” Stiles countered. 

“Oh, yeah, like what?” Scott questioned.

“Find the other half of the body,” Stiles said as though it were obvious. Then he left without giving Scott the chance to respond. “Wait, Stiles,” Scott protested.