Bear Hugs ➵ Teen Wolf

8 ➵ Pragmatic

She kicked at the table legs, pushing her chair out farther. "For starters, everyone in Beacon Hills is way behind. I was average at my old school and now I'm two years ahead. I used to be in classes with kids my own age." She glared at Stiles. "Now, I'm stuck in classes with juniors, who, ahem, consider it below them to fraternize with fifteen-year-olds."

"We're friends with Liam!" Stiles protested.

"Because he's a star lacrosse player or something. He didn't seem like it when he choked on the field the other day."

"Hey!" Stiles held up a hand, formed it into a fist, stuck out his pointer finger, and pointed at Sherry. "We're talking about you."

"What if I don't want to be talked about? What if I want to get this lab done?"

"Then too bad for you," Stiles decided. "Don't you have English with freshmen?"

"Sure. Sometimes I can get them to say hi to me when I don't act too much like a know-it-all in class."

"Have you talked to Liam?" Stiles asked, as if that were the most brilliant idea the world had ever seen. "Liam is nice. Occasionally explosive, but nice."

She rolled her eyes. "Liam always ditches Mason and me when I'm around. He's learning from Scott and your pack. Once I started asking questions, it was time to ignore me."

"But Liam's nice," Stiles repeated blankly.

"You know, you're talking, but all I hear is 'I'm gonna freeload off of Sherry's lab grade.' "

"There are a lot of nice people out there," he said again. "Have you tried talking to them?"

One of the first lessons in the D.A.R.E. to Say No to Drugs program was to act like a broken record, repeating "no" over and over again like an alarm. That class, Sherry figured, must have been the only one in which Stiles paid a shred of attention. "You're misunderstanding me," she deliberated. "Do you think I just sit around, waiting for some stranger to make the first move? Everyone I speak to thinks I'm annoying or arrogant or rude. You're only talking to me because you got stuck with me for chem. You push me away any other time. Even my uncle has been acting distant lately, refusing to answer my questions and lying to me."

"That's not true," Stiles negated, but his voice had gotten significantly softer. "I love talking to you."

"Uh-huh," she stated blankly. "That's why you're always skipping out on me and acting skittish after I ask a few questions." Stiles just stared at her. "Right."

Stiles pushed himself off his chair, the wooden legs groaning and squealing against the tiled floor. "Hey," he invited, nodding his head in the direction of the stairs. "Let me show you something."

"I've already seen your mystery board," she complained. "I told you that."

He didn't reply. Glancing at him with a heavy sigh, she followed cautiously. He led her up the stairs, into his room, and pushed open the sliding window. He climbed out onto the roof and pulled himself over the next edge, his legs disappearing up and out of sight.

Appraising the situation doubtfully, Sherry clambered out onto the dirty roof shingles. The last time she was in this position, she'd jumped to save her life. Now, turning around carefully on the dusty shingles, she made a face. "This is so gross. Is this even safe?" Gingerly, she let her fingers touch the ledge on the roof and hoisted herself up.

Stiles was farther up, sitting near the apex of the roof. "It's fine. I do this all the time."

Sherry tottered up the gradient, placing each step deliberately. When she reached Stiles, she sat down hastily, bringing her knees to her chest and staring down the slant, where the nearest ground she could see was the cold, hard sidewalk. "Do you bring everyone you deem emotionally unstable up here?"

"Actually, I lied. I've only been up here once."

"Let me guess: when your mom died, right?"

"No," he chuckled. "When my dad unplugged my video game right before I almost completed it."

"You haven't brought your girlfriend?" She wasn't sure if he had one.

"Malia?" So he did. "She's not exactly the sentimental type."

"Neither am I."

Stiles studied her with that same overwhelming intensity as before, so unnerving that she bristled and sat up straighter. "No, you just pretend you're not."

"Really?" she retorted.

"Yeah!" he continued, as if it were obvious. "I'm a good detective." He lifted up his hand and ticked off each finger as he went. "You refuse to talk about your parents. Just now, you got butthurt about people ignoring you."

"I did not!"

"You keep attending school events, like lacrosse games and the bonfire, even though you apparently don't have any friends. This moment, right now? You're clearly enjoying it."

"Am I?"

"And, my buddy Scott is pretty skilled at determining people's emotional states and he told me so."

"So four out of those five points were guesses and you're basing your entire assumption off of what Scott told you."

"Pretty much," he admitted, sliding to rest on his back. "Was I right?"

She stared out at the horizon, a never-ending pattern of trees and rooftops. "Spot on."

He pumped his fist in the air. "Yes! One point for Stiles!"

"Are you going to spin a story about how this is your special place or something?"

"Well, it isn't. My special place is this campsite in the woods where I can park my car and get drunk and nobody will have to know."

"Wow, so heartwarming," she laughed. Oddly enough, she felt a grin getting etched onto her lips. The feeling that accompanied it was warm and free, like a marshmallow or a butterfly in summer. For the moment, the lab report due the next day completely slipped her mind.

She gazed up at the dusk sky, the California sunset illuminating the clouds like a celestial tie-die project. No stars were visible from amid Beacon Hills' light pollution, but miniscule lights blinked high up above their heads. Sherry leaned back against the roof shingles, tucking her hands behind her head like a pillow. The planes inched complacently across the sky, winking red and green. A waxing moon loomed imperiously in front of her eyes.

"When's the next full moon?" Sherry murmured, unable to tear her eyes away from the gentle shadows and bumps on the moon's faraway surface.

"Tomorrow or so." His hand twitched, and Sherry could feel his pinky unintentionally nudge the side of her foot. Her instinct screamed at her to scoot away, even though it was just an accidental brush. Without thinking, Sherry folded her right leg over to the other side of her left, away from Stiles' chance touch.

➵➵➵

Stiles was excited. Sherry could tell, from the pace of his walk to the zealous way he rubbed his hands together and his amber eyes lit up. "I want you to meet someone," he said, hardly masking the ecstatic electricity in his voice.

She tagged along behind him, thoroughly frustrated with his constant prevarications. "Who?"

"I'm getting to that." He rounded a corner, entering an almost empty corridor. Ostentatiously, like one of those prize-presenting girls on a game show, Stiles flung out his hands in the direction of the sole inhabitant of the hallway. "Meet Liam Dunbar! Freshman, not exactly smart, prone to explosive episodes, but good thing he's buff and strong and a pro at lacrosse, that asshole." Stiles retracted his arms and tugged on his backpack straps, bouncing up and down on his toes expectantly. Liam turned around from his locker. "What do you think?"

"Is this your idea of an intervention?" Sherry demanded. " 'You don't have any friends your age, so I found one for you?' "

"No," Stiles enunciated, "This is my idea of matchmaking." He beamed. "Have fun!" Before Sherry could even think of jumping him and tearing his throat out, he spun around and fled.

After a moment of tense hesitation, Sherry turned back to look at Liam. With a smile that was intended to be polite, but appeared like a frightened grimace when executed, Liam raised a hand awkwardly and waved.