𝙷𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚢 𝚆𝚑𝚒𝚜𝚔𝚎𝚢 𝙴𝚢𝚎𝚜 - 𝚂𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚜 𝚂𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚔𝚒 𝚇 𝙾𝙲

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝙾𝚗𝚎

"Why did you have to go blonde? I liked you better as a brunette," Stiles questioned, a hint of disappointment in his voice, as I hastily packed my new school books into my locker. This had become a recurring topic between us ever since I changed my hair color three weeks ago. Stiles just couldn't seem to let it go.

"Stiles, I've told you before. I wanted a change," I replied, my frustration evident. "We've been through so much in high school, and I just want a normal senior year." Slamming my locker shut, I glanced over at the adorable guy with honey-whiskey eyes leaning against the locker next to mine.

Stiles nervously fidgeted with his backpack strap, causing his brown plaid shirt, unbuttoned over his usual basic baseball tee, to crease. He paused for a moment, sensing the annoyance on my face, and murmured, "But blonde is so....." His eyes widened slightly, realizing that pushing further might not end well for him. "Pretty.." he finished warily. 

"That's what I thought. Now, let's go. We have lacrosse practice," I grumbled, making my way towards the locker rooms. Stiles let out a sigh and reluctantly followed. "Fine, but can you at least explain why you chose to go blonde? You could have experimented with makeup or tried different clothing styles. Why dye your hair, Steph!?" He seemed genuinely puzzled by my decision. "Stiles!" I snapped, growing weary of his constant complaints. "There's nothing wrong with my hair, and you're being ridiculously annoying about it."

"I'm just saying!"

"Well stop saying."

"But-"

"No!" I cut him off, feeling my irritation grow. Without further ado, I huffed and walked straight into the girl's locker room, leaving Stiles standing outside with the door shutting in his face. In a rush, I quickly changed into a sports bra and threw on my lacrosse gear, swapping my Converse for cleats. Grabbing my stick, I swiftly pulled my hair up into a messy ponytail and headed towards the field.

"McCall!" Coach Finstock called out to Scott, who was engaged in a conversation with Stiles near the bench. Despite finding Stiles cute, I couldn't deny how utterly frustrating he could be. "There you are! The coach was about to blow a fuse if you didn't show up," Stiles remarked, casually draping an arm around my shoulder, oblivious to my continued annoyance.

Today seemed to be the day he was determined to push me to the brink, blissfully unaware of it. He had been complaining all morning—about my hair change, about his stale breakfast bread, and even about Lydia's lack of attention towards him. "Morgan! Finally. Show these pussies how it's done!" Coach exclaimed as Stiles and I made our way onto the field, ready to take our positions in the center.

Nodding, I quickly donned my helmet and hurried over to join the lineup. The sharp sound of the coach's whistle signaled the start of practice, and I wasted no time. Swiftly snatching up the rubber ball, I passed it to Liam Dunbar, who in turn passed it to Stiles.

Oh, boy.

A wince escaped me as Stiles was immediately tackled, unable to evade the opposing players. I approached him, extending my hand and raising an eyebrow. "Really, Stiles?" I said in a simple yet reproachful tone, as he groaned and grasped my hand. "Shut up," he grumbled under his breath, and we reset for another attempt. It was a classic scenario—despite being charming in many ways, Stiles was dead awful at lacrosse.

This time, Scott took control of the ball, charging down the field. "McCall! Over here!" I called out, trying to catch his attention. He swiftly passed the ball to me, and I sprinted with all my might, launching the ball directly into the net. "Now THAT is what I'm talking about!" I exclaimed triumphantly, ripping off my helmet in exhilaration.