Eye of the Hurricane ▸ Scott McCall (2)

xxiv. GALVANIZED

"I wonder how she's doing," Foster mused, watching as Kira bent down and gathered them all together.

Stiles glanced toward her half heartedly, mumbling, "What do you mean?"

Foster scoffed at his words. "She practically became kibble, Stiles. The girl's got to be wondering why this town is jacked up enough to have a coyote run through the halls."

"Then go ask her," Stiles stated simply, Foster's eyes widening.

"Why do I have to do it?" Foster demanded, both of the boys sharing a knowing look with one another before looking toward Foster. "What? What am I missing this time?"

"Well, it wouldn't hurt to make another friend," Stiles trailed off, Scott keeping his mouth shut and looking sheepish.

Foster's eyes widened in confusion, pointing out, "But I have you two. And Isaac."

Stiles raised a brow at her, voicing, "How about a friend who's a girl."

Foster shot him a glare, snapping, "I've been starting to talk to Allison and Lydia again."

Foster was growing annoyed now, shooting daggers in Stiles' direction.

"But don't you want someone who isn't Isaac to talk about Scott to?"

Foster scoffed. "I do not talk about Scott to Isaac!"

Both boys raised a brow at her in accusation, Foster shrugging.

"Maybe sometimes - " They raised their brows even higher. "Okay!" she snapped, holding her hands up in defense. "Fine, I'll talk to her. You two happy?"

Stiles grinned smugly, "Very."

She rolled her eyes, turning away from the two while muttering, "Bite me."

Foster never ended up having a chance to speak to Kira before class, though. Which was why in a matter of two minutes, Foster was seated in Finstock's class, Stiles and Scott both in the front grinning wildly at each other. Foster wasn't lucky enough to sit with her two friends in the front, meaning that she was in the back by herself. She was still a bit annoyed when they said she needed friends who were girls, she was just fine with Isaac.

She was lost in thought, soon ripped out of it when Finstock's voice rang throughout the room.

"Son of a bitch!"

Foster couldn't help but feel a laugh escape her lips, Stiles' fist pumping into the air, quickly yanking it back down before Finstock walked out of his office. The moment he entered the room full of laughing teenagers, Finstock chucked a pencil down at the ground.

"Mischief night!" he snapped. "Devil's night. I don't care what you call it, you little punks are evil. You think it's funny every Halloween my house gets egged? A man's house is supposed to be his castle."

In the front, Scott's face was lit up with delight. Well, it was until Finstock slammed the palms of his hands against the desk, causing Scott to jump up in fright.

He then backed away. "It's a frickin' omelette!" He then took notice of a wrapped present sitting on his desk, Finstock rolling his eyes. Grabbing it, he mutters, "Oh, this again?" Scott and Stiles shared a look of confusion, Finstock tossing it behind him. "I don't think so?" And then, he stomped on it with his foot, a shatter echoing throughout the room. His eyes widen, bending down to see a mug with his face on it reading '#1 Coach.' Reading the card, he muttered, "Happy Birthday. Love, Greenberg."

And so far, that was supposed to be the worst thing to happen to someone today. Little did anyone know just how wrong that statement was.

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