After attending the Winter formal, Bree Simmons knew something wasn't right. Things have changed, and she isn't sure if they're for better, or worse. As a rising photographer, all of her attention is on the mysterious happenings in Beacon Hills. Whe...
اوووه! هذه الصورة لا تتبع إرشادات المحتوى الخاصة بنا. لمتابعة النشر، يرجى إزالتها أو تحميل صورة أخرى.
Bree slipped on her grey and blue Adidas, casually flipping her ponytail over her shoulder before she checked her phone, a text message from the Stilinski boy appearing. Smiling, she grasped her backpack and sprinted out of her room, stuffing her phone in the pocket of her blue leather jacket. Her feet shuffled down the stairs, eager to leave her abandoned house, headed for the front door, and opened it wide to find Roscoe parked in her driveway, Scott and Stiles smiling and waving.
Scott exited the passenger side of the car, allowing Bree to climb into the back of the blue jeep. Stiles sent her a usual goofy grin before backing out of the driveway, heading in the direction of the high school. The boys filled Bree in on what had happened the night before where Scott tried to enter the rave warehouse to stop Jackson, but wasn't allowed since the tickets cost about $75 each, and Stiles and the Sheriff discovered how the victims were in the same class at BHH.
The car finally came to a stop, Stiles parking in the front of the school. Turning his jeep off, the boys exited, making room for Bree to get out as well before Stiles locked it up.
"There's gotta be some other way to get tickets, right?" Scott questioned.
"It's a secret show," Stiles informed, him and Bree joining the werewolf on the sidewalk, "There's only one way, and it's a secret."
Matt Daehler strode up to the trio, greeting, "Hey. Do you guys know why no one's getting suspended after what happened the other day at school?"
"Just forget about it. Nobody got hurt," Stiles quipped.
Matt stammered, "I-I had a concussion."
Stiles leaned forward slightly, seemingly frustrated with the photographer, "Well, nobody got seriously hurt."
"I was in the E.R. for six hours," Matt complained, shaking his head a bit.
"Hey, do you want to know the truth, Matt? Your little bump on the head is about this high," he lowered himself to the ground, his hand a few inches from the ground to dramatize his point, "on our list of problems right now."
"Stiles," Bree scolded quietly, holding his arm as he stood up fully, looking at her, "Be kind."
He simply rolled his eyes, and huffed, turning back to Scott, who inquired, "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine now. So you didn't get any tickets last night either."
Scott shook his head, "Are they still selling?"
"Uh, no," Matt admitted, "but I managed to find two online. You should keep trying. Sounds like everyone's gonna be there."
"I don't like him," Stiles confessed, watching as Matt walked off.
Bree shrugged, telling him, "You could still be kind and courteous."
"Something about him bugs me though," he sighed before turning to Scott, "Anyway, are you sure about this?"
