❝ 𝐇𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐫𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐲𝐚𝐥.❞
Grace Stilinski can hardly believe her ears when she learned that her father could no longer afford her boarding school and she had to move back with him and her older brother in Beacon Hills. L...
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• Grace Stilinski •
„I lost something, I never had. Yet it hurts, just as bad."
Grace felt that her privacy had been violated. She had actually intended to cure her heartache and her throbbing skull in solitude. In fact, now she couldn't even watch a children's movie without feeling embarrassed or crying her eyes out in the night.
The leg of the boy Melissa McCall had pushed into her room on one of the beds was plastered and hanging in an uncomfortable-looking position in a sling. Grace didn't even have to ask to know it was broken. Copper-colored hair hung tousled in his freckle-covered face. Just as the girl was about to defiantly draw her bed curtains, he addressed her, "You're Grace, aren't you? The girl who was attacked in the locker rooms."
Grace almost rolled her eyes. Thanks to the two orphans, she probably now had a reputation away. Suspiciously, she eyed the boy as she paused in her movement, thinking she had some classes with him. It would explain why he had called her by her nickname. After all, she had already made it more than clear to her teachers not to call her Grazyna under any circumstances. In response, she shrugged. "I think I liked my previous reputation as the sheriff's daughter a little better."
He laughed. "I can understand that. I'm Nolan, by the way."
Grace finally decided to keep her hands off the curtain. Instead, she nodded and forced a smile. "Nice to meet you Nolan, and what's your reputation?"
"I guess I'm the kid who managed to break his leg while practicing for lacrosse," he replied with a sigh, looking down at his bum leg. The brunette frowned, because she hadn't noticed the boy at all during the game. "You play on the team?"
"Not yet, but I'd like to," he returned, as the door suddenly opened. Stiles had returned, holding the things his sister had told him to bring her. With a smile on his face, he strolled into the room after giving a wink to the deputy at the door. The policeman, however, merely stared back, unimpressed.
In the middle of the room, the eleventh grader finally faltered, staring suspiciously at Nolan's bed as his grin faded. He frowned and nodded in his direction. "Who are you?"
"Nolan."
"What are you doing here, Nolan?" asked Stiles calmly, yet with a provocative undertone in his voice. Puzzled, the addressed boy drew his eyebrows together and pointed superfluously at his injury, which was hard to miss. "My leg is broken."
"What, were all the crutches spoken for?"
The furrows on Nolan's brow deepened, and Grace couldn't even blame him. She gave her brother a threatening look. "Stiles!"
