Three weeks into Beacon Hills High School, and I found that Allison was right—I was making friends. Scott was someone I could trust. Not that I couldn't trust the others, but there was something about Scott that made me feel like he was a brother to me. Maybe it was the way Allison used to talk about him when they were dating, and those feelings lingered even though they were no longer together.
Now, Stiles, on the other hand... Let's just say that our personalities clashed. We were both stubborn and sarcastic, which made it difficult for us to work well together. There was no denying that he could be annoying, but deep down, I knew we were more alike than I wanted to admit.
A loud noise snapped me out of my thoughts, reminding me that I was in Coach Finstock's class. I shifted my gaze from the window to Coach, who was in the middle of his lecture.
"The stock market is based on two principles. What are they?" Coach asked the class.
I looked around, noticing that no one seemed to know the answer. However, Scott raised his hand confidently.
"Yes, McCall, you can go to the bathroom," Coach responded dismissively.
"Uh, no, Coach, I know the answer," Scott replied with a half-smile.
Coach burst into laughter before turning his attention back to Scott, realizing that he was serious. "Oh, you're serious."
"Yes. Risk and reward," Scott answered, lowering his hand.
Coach's eyes widened in surprise. "Wow! Who are you? And what have you done to McCall? Don't answer that. I like you better. I like you better. Does anybody have a quarter? A quarter."
I glanced to my right and saw Stiles rummaging through his pocket, eventually retrieving a quarter. But in the process, he accidentally dropped something—an unexpected item that caught everyone's attention—a condom. Laughter and snickering filled the classroom, and I couldn't help but smile. I turned to Scott, who was trying his best to hold back a chuckle, sharing a knowing glance with him.
Stiles remained silent for a while, seemingly embarrassed by the condom mishap. Coach, in a surprising move, bent down and picked it up, handing the XXL wrapper back to Stiles with a mix of amusement and congratulations.
"Stilinski, I think you, uh... You dropped this. And congratulations," Coach said before returning to teaching. "Risk and reward. Put the quarter in the mug, win the reward. Okay, watch Coach." He confidently shot the quarter into the mug. "That's how you do it. Okay, Danny. Risk, reward."
I turned around to face Danny, wearing the biggest grin on my face. Danny and I had actually become really good friends. When we first met, he walked up to me and introduced himself by saying, "Hi, I'm Danny, and I'm gay." Our friendship started in a wonderfully unexpected way.
"What's the reward?" Danny asked Coach, clearly intrigued.
"You don't have to take the pop quiz tomorrow," Coach urged him to make a choice.
"Coach, it's not a pop quiz if you tell us about it," Danny responded with a smirk.
"Danny, you know, I really expect more from you at this point. Really," Coach retorted, causing Danny's smirk to falter slightly.
"McCall, risk, reward," Coach continued, turning his attention to Scott. "The risk: If you don't put that quarter in the mug, you have to take the pop... the... the quiz. And... and you have to write an essay. Risk, more work. Reward... No work at all. Or choose not to play."
"But isn't this just chance?" Scott questioned.
"No. You know your abilities, your coordination, your focus, past experience... all factors affecting the outcome. So, what's it gonna be, McCall? More work, no work, or choose not to play?"
"No play," Scott answered simply.
"Okay. Who's next? Who wants the quarter?" Coach asked, scanning the room for the next participant.
I hesitated for a moment, contemplating my decision. But then, I said to myself, "Fuck it," and confidently raised my hand.
"There ya go! There's a gamblin' girl! Come on! Step up, step up. All right, Argent," Coach cheered as I stood up from my seat. Just as I was about to make my way to the front, Sheriff Stilinski entered the room and asked for Stiles, who promptly left with his father.
I confidently approached the front, quarter in hand, and aimed for the mug. With a flick of my wrist, I successfully landed the quarter in the mug, eliciting applause from Coach.
"That's my girl!" Coach exclaimed, clapping his hands in approval. I took my seat, feeling a surge of satisfaction.
As the class continued, some kid in the back raised his hand, seemingly eager to try his luck next.
"Who's next? Not you, Greenberg. Put your hand down. You have no chance," Coach snapped dismissively at the hopeful student.
I couldn't help but add my own comment, seizing the opportunity for a lighthearted remark. "Ha. Greenberg, that's a funny last name," I said nonchalantly.
Coach slowly turned around, a slight grin forming on his face. "I like you, Argent," he remarked.
I smiled in response, pleased with the unexpected compliment.
Later, I found myself in the library, accompanied by Allison and Lydia. To be honest, I wasn't entirely sure why we were there, but boredom had driven us to seek refuge within the books.
"I want one," Lydia declared, breaking the silence.
I looked up from my phone, curious about what she was referring to. That's when I noticed the hot twins across the room. I grinned and nodded in agreement with Lydia's sentiment.
"All right, which one?" Allison asked, joining in on the conversation.
Lydia chuckled softly. "The straight one, of course."
I turned my gaze back to the twins, observing them as one of them engaged in what appeared to be playful banter with Danny. It was clear they were hitting it off.
"What if it's a symbol, like a logo?" Allison pondered, her attention fixed on her coffee cup.
We all paused for a moment, considering the possibility. The library suddenly became a hub of curiosity and speculation as we contemplated the potential hidden meanings behind the symbols we encountered in our lives.
When I turned my attention back to Lydia, I noticed that she had mysteriously vanished. Curious, I shifted my gaze towards the twins, only to find the strawberry-haired girl standing beside them. I couldn't help but marvel at Lydia's impressive speed in making connections.
"Lydia's got game," Allison commented, a smirk playing on her lips.
After school ended, Allison and I headed home. It was around 8 PM when I woke up from my nap. Descending the stairs, I found Allison in a spaced-out state. It struck me as odd, and I couldn't help but express my concern.
"You okay, Ally?" I asked, making my way to the love seat.
She snapped back to reality and looked at me with a smile. "Oh, I'm fine," she assured me.
However, something about her response didn't sit right with me. "Are you sure, cupcake?" I pressed, using a nickname—an uncommon occurrence for me.
She gave me a questioning look, seemingly surprised by the nickname. "Yeah, I'm fine, sugar plum," she giggled.
"Go-" I was interrupted by the sound of a ringing phone.
I pulled out my phone from my back pocket and checked the caller ID. It was none other than...
"Wolf boy, what's up?" I answered, stepping away from the couch to find a quieter spot.
"Sorry to disappoint you, but I'm not... wolf boy," a familiar sarcastic voice replied.
"Stilinski, what do you want?" I questioned, rolling my eyes in annoyance.
"Hey, don't roll your eyes," he retorted, pointing out my reaction with an uncanny accuracy.
"How did you know?" I inquired, genuinely curious about his seemingly clairvoyant observation.
"Uh... It doesn't matter, just come to Deaton's. Scott, Derek, and Isaac are here," Stiles rushed out his words.
"Why do you need me?" I questioned, not exactly thrilled about the prospect of dealing with three werewolves and one highly irritating person. I was tempted to pass on the invitation.
"Because... uh..." Stiles stumbled over his words, frustration evident in his tone. "We need you."
A mischievous smile spread across my face in an instant. "Stilinski needing help? This is just grand," I chuckled, enjoying the rare opportunity to tease him.
"Shut up and get over here. Also, just FYI, Scott told me to call you." With that, he abruptly hung up.
I glanced over at Allison, who was engrossed in watching TV. "I'll be right back," I informed her, making my way to the coat rack and grabbing my coat. Of course, I sought Allison's approval before leaving, knowing that she would understand my need to assist Scott and the others.
I entered the shop, the whole atmosphere filled with tension. Isaac stood there, slightly damp, next to a tube of water with ice in it. I couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at the peculiar sight. What kind of kinky shit is this?
"Derek," Stiles snapped at him, frustration lacing his voice, "there's a dead body. It's Erica. Doesn't exactly leave us much room for interpretation."
Confusion washed over me as I tried to piece together the puzzle. "What the hell is going on?" I looked at each of them, seeking answers.
"All we did was slow down Isaac's heart rate to near death, and we found out that Erica is dead," Deaton explained calmly, as if it were a simple everyday occurrence. My mind struggled to process his words. What did he mean by slowing down Isaac's heart rate?
"Then who was in the vault with Boyd?" Derek questioned, his expression filled with worry.
My gaze shifted down to Isaac, still visibly shaken. I quickly located another towel, knelt down beside him, and wrapped it around him, pulling him into a comforting hug. He glanced at me and managed a grateful smile.
Isaac looked at me, a hint of confusion evident in his eyes as he tried to understand who I was. It dawned on me that he technically hasn't met me before, considering his recent disappearance. This would be our first encounter.
"Stella Argent," I introduced myself, offering him a small smile. At first, his eyes widened with surprise, but they soon softened as he realized that I meant no harm to him.
"Someone else, obviously," Stiles huffed, frustration evident in his voice.
"Maybe it was the girl on the motorcycle. The one who saved you?" Scott suggested, throwing in his own ideas.
"No, she wasn't like us. And whoever was in the vault with Boyd was," Isaac denied, his voice tinged with uncertainty.
"What if that's how Erica died?" Derek contemplated, his voice heavy with concern.
"They, like, pit them against each other during the full moons and see which one survives. It's like werewolf thunderdome," Stiles quipped, attempting to inject some humor into the grim situation.
"Then we need to get them out tonight," Derek declared, determination etched on his face.
"Be smart about this, Derek. You can't just go storming in," Deaton warned Derek, although it seemed unlikely that he would listen.
"If Isaac got in, then so can we," I confidently stated.
"But he didn't get through a vault door, did he?" Deaton countered, and I couldn't help but smile a little. He had a point.
"Then we need a plan," I declared, rising from Isaac's level.
"How are we gonna come up with a plan to break into a bank vault in less than 24 hours?" Derek questioned, looking at me.
"Why don't we ask the people that have been in and out of jail?" Stiles turned to me with a smirk.
I felt a surge of irritation at Stiles' comment. I couldn't hold back my annoyance, so I pulled out my middle finger and held it directly in his face, accompanied by a snarky smile.
"Uh, I think someone already did," Scott chimed in. "Beacon Hills First National closes its doors three months after a vault robbery. It doesn't say here how it was robbed, but it probably won't take long to find out."
"How long?" Derek asked Stiles.
"It's the Internet, Derek. Okay? Minutes," Stiles laughed.