Jealousy is never a good thing. Stiles knew that from experience and he was witnessing Scott coming to the same conclusion. The atmosphere was bitter-sweet at their table, none of them was as talkative as usual, with the flagrant exception of Stiles who spoke even more, as an attempt to produce the same amount of conversation as four people, all on his own. Scott was staring at his plate and playing with his fork, a defeated look painted on his face. Stiles was growing desperate, not succeeding at distracting his friends to make him think of something else than the fact that Allison was sitting just a few feet away, with none other than Jackson.
The worst was, the girl seemed to genuinely enjoy Jackson's company, laughing at his jokes and smiling as she spoke. Maybe this was what hurt Scott the most, the idea that he was miserable without Allison, but that she was doing just fine without him. Or maybe the worst was that Scott suspected Jackson was toying with him, still trying to find out how Scott had managed to get so good at Lacrosse in such a short amount of time and getting closer to Allison just to force a confession out of him.
Thankfully, Scott was soon distracted from his thoughts by a very unremarkable event. It had been subtle at first, but it was now painfully obvious that the number of French fries in his plate had decreased at an alarmingly fast rate. Scott frowned, he had barely eaten anything. He looked up at his friends, sitting across from him and doing their best to seem as innocent and sweet as lambs. But Scott knew better and the growing smiles on Lydia and Jamie's faces soon betrayed them. Lydia was doing her best to contain her laughter and Jamie had the look of someone who had thought of a joke and was dying to say it out loud.
"You looked like you had a lot on your plate, so... we helped," he said with an innocent smile, looking very proud of his pun.
Lydia face palmed, hiding her smile. Stiles shook his head, laughing against his better judgement. Scott felt a smile tugging at the corner of his lips and did his best to fight it, since he had to maintain at least some amount of dignity.
"You're an idiot," Lydia chuckled.
Another pang of jealousy hit him when he saw the look on Lydia's face. She was looking at Jamie, relieved he was slowly going back to his usual self. The selfless concern she showed, the need to make sure someone other than herself was happy, that was what Scott envied. He had foolishly believed he'd had that with Allison and he couldn't even imagine thinking of any other girl the way he still thought about her.
The day dragged on for Scott, who felt like the entire world was making him remember Allison. If he heard a laugh, he'd turn his head to see if it was her. If he saw dark, long hair, he had to check if it was her. It wasn't long before he felt like his head was about to explode. He looked at his phone for the third time in two minutes, counting the seconds before he could finally go to Lacrosse practice. He needed to empty his head and sports were just the way to do it.
Not a second after the bell rang, he was already rushing to the locker room. The small, smelly room was becoming his personal sanctuary, it seemed, a place like a refuge to hide away in, to remember what it feels like to be simply human. Coach interrupted his trail of thoughts with his usual lack of finesse.
"All right, geniuses, listen up!" he bellowed. "Due to the recent pink eye epidemic -- thank you, Greenberg -- the following people have made first line on a probationary basis, emphasis on the word 'probationary'," he explained, looking at each of them intently. "Rodriguez. Welcome to first line. Taylor, and, hum... Oh, for the love of crap. I can't even read my own writing. What is that, an 'S'? No, no, that's not an 'S'... That's a... That's a 'B', it's definitely a 'B'. Hum, Rodriguez, Taylor, and... Bilinski."
Rodriguez and Taylor joined Coach, grinning to have been made first line. Coach frowned when he counted the new players and noticed one was missing.
"Bilinski!" he called again.
"Yes!" Stiles cheered, understanding he was now to be called Biles Bilinski. He jumped on his feet in pure joy, howling loudly.
"Shut up!" Coach frowned. He understood his student was happy, but that wasn't a reason to yell.
"Yes, sir."
"Stiles," Scott called.
"It's Biles," Stiles immediately corrected his friend. "Call me Biles, or I swear to God I'll kill you."
"Another thing," Coach continued before Scott could answer, "From here on out, immediately, we're switching to co-captains. Congratulations, McCall."
"What?" Jackson asked in disbelief, a vein on his neck dangerously popping out.
"What do you mean, what?" Coach repeated, "Jackson, this takes nothing away from you. This is about combining separate strengths into one unit. This is about taking your unit, McCall's unit, we're making one big unit," Coach explained like he was talking to a three-year-old, making gestures with his hands. "McCall, it's you and Jackson now. Everybody else... asses on the field! Asses on the field!"
The players all rushed outside, with the exception of Stiles and Scott.
"Dude, can you believe this? You're a captain. I'm first line. I'm first freaking line!" Stiles exclaimed happily, not believing this day had finally come.
Instead of answering, Scott patted his friend on the back. For some reason, he didn't appear as cheerful as he should have been. Just a few weeks ago, before this whole werewolf madness, he would have been running around the room in happiness just at the thought of being co-captain. Today, receiving this title simply meant Jackson would try even harder to find out what was going on and Scott would have to work even harder to keep it hidden from him. The secret had to remain a secret, or the consequences would be dire.
"It's just a stupid title," Scott sighed. "And I could practically smell the jealousy in there."
"Wait, you smell jealousy?"
"Yeah, it's like the full Moon's turned everything up to ten," Scott rubbed his eyes. Fighting the growing influence of the full Moon was taking its toll and he was growing more tired by the minute. "Let's go."
Scott trotted to the field, Stiles on his heels. They waved at Jamie and Lydia, who were comfortably sitting in the bleachers. They waved back and chuckled when Stiles yelled, "I'm first line!" and ran off happily.
Even from afar, it was easy to see that Jackson was, once again, doing his best to anger Scott. Every chance he got, he tackled him or threw him to the ground, teased him and instructed the other players not to pass him the ball. Most players were obeying, except Stiles, of course, and surprisingly enough, Danny. It seemed the young man was supporting Scott, seeing he was a great asset to the team and that it would be foolish not to use him.
Despite the efforts of Stiles and Danny, Scott didn't get the chance to play much during most of the training. He grew angrier and angrier, slowly losing control and becoming more aggressive on the field. Lydia and Jamie shared a look, a sense of déjà vu invading them. They had seen this before and both knew how it would end. They got up from their seats, and reluctantly made their way towards the field, waiting for disaster to strike again. It didn't take long before Scott lost it and charged at his teammates, friends and foes alike. This time, it was Danny who had the misfortune of being on his path. Everyone tensed when the two players collided, afraid Scott had injured someone again. With reason, as Danny remained on the floor, groaning in pain. Coach and the lacrosse team gathered around the injured player, worry etched on their faces.
"Dude, what the Hell are you doing?" Stiles asked Scott accusingly. "Everybody likes Danny. Now everybody's gonna hate you!"
Still fuming, Stiles dragged his friend to the locker room to let him calm down. Jamie and Lydia followed, sharing the feeling of living the same scenario again: Scott losing control, injuring someone, and them, staying behind to put the broken pieces back together.