WHY PETER? JUST WHY?
I AM IN LOVE WITH JACKSON WHITTEMORE.
At this bloody point, I adore him with everything in me. Although the jerk gave me a hard time throughout the first half of the game, I just loved how he punched the opposite team's captain square in the stomach for being a sexist pig.
Oh! I am just so proud of him.
And, of course, the other's misery got our team together, and we won the match. We destroyed the other team.
"Hey, Jackson," I called him out before he could go into the boy's locker room.
"What is it McCall?" Jackson asked with his usual bitchy face but that didn't deter me from my mission to spread love.
"I wanted to say thank you," I began with a smile, "You know for having my back."
"I didn't do it for you, McCall," The Jock said in a solemn tone.
I sighed, but tried my best to not let the smile slip off my face. "Why don't you just hear me out, okay? I am not asking you to marry me. I just wanna say Thank You.' I said.
Jackson released a harsh breath and gritted his teeth, "And I said I don't want it."
"Oh, my god!" I exclaimed, making a few heads turn in our direction, but when they saw it was us, they went back to their works. Because at this point the whole school knows about the Tom and Jerry thing we got going on. "Why are you such an ass. It's like you want people to hate you," I shook my head. Why did I even think otherwise? "This was a mistake," I whispered and turned on my heel, walking away.
Nevermind, Jackson Whittemore is still 100% asshole.
xxXxx
"You were so good on the field today," my fictional mother gushed, as she drove the car.
"Yeah?" I inquired, turning to her, my ears turning pink at the compliment, "Well, I wouldn't have done it if the team didn't pass me the ball."
"So, the guy who got benched," My mom said after a moment, confusion clear in her eyes, "He is the captain, right? The one you were talking about. He's got some temper on him."
"You don't say," I muttered under my breath and raised my voice a little for her to hear as I said, "He got the red card because of me. The other team's captain was being a jerk about me, and Jackson got angry at the remarks." I rolled my eyes a little, "Apparently, only Jackson can be a jerk to me."
"Really?" Melissa's uttered, puzzled, "That's..." she couldn't find a word to describe him.
"Yeah," I nodded my head with a chuckle in agreement as she pulled into the driveway. Jackson is one uncanny dude and is absolutely difficult to read.
"Ok, have a shower and come downstairs," Melissa instructed as she hanged the keys on the wooden key holder attached to the wall and closed the front door, "I will heat up the pasta and make some salad by then."
"Alright. Thank you," I hollered, making my way to the stairs.
As soon as I entered the tomboy-ish room, I threw my lacrosse kit aside and went directly over to the closet to take a pair of sweats. And just when my hands went over to my waist, to take my jersey off, I heard a clearing of the throat, making me pause all the actions.
"You are right above 'clown' on my creepy scale," I said with a sigh, dropping my hands to sides and turning around to face the intruder in my room.
"And you are nowhere near sensing the smell of another person in your room," Derek Hale sassed back.
"And who's fault is that?" I wanted to ask, but I withheld it. The last time we talked, it was about his murdered sister, Laura Hale, and I haven't seen him since.
"How are you?" I asked him instead.
"Well, I didn't die," was his simple reply.
"Really? Those are your standards," I couldn't help but snort at it.
"The hunters are everywhere, and every one of them knows I am a werewolf," Derek proclaimed.
"Right. So, what are you doing here?" I asked after a moment, dancing on my feet.
"I thought about what you said," Derek began.
"I told a lot of things that you might want to think over," I replied, cocking my head.
"About," The older werewolf hesitated for a second, but continued, "About my sister. And that I should bury her..."
"And?" I question, lifting my eyebrow in expectation.
"I want to do it," The born wolf said at last.
"Great," I breathed out. Because I really didn't like how the sour wolf dealt with that grief in the show. "Are you asking for my help to steal the body from the hospital?"
"No," Derek cried out, making me frown. "I already asked the Sheriff for permission, and all the legalities are completed. The department will hand over Laura's body tomorrow," Derek continued, and then released a long sigh, like he was mulling over something, "I want you to be there when I give her my final goodbye."
I was really surprised at the request. Because I never expected Derek to even think about it, and here he was...asking me to be there for him. When I saw Derek was waiting for my reply, I cleared my throat and nodded my head, "Of course, I will be there, Derek."
And that's how I spent the Sunday evening, with Derek Hale as he mourned for the sister that will no longer be with him.
xxXxx
Do you ever have that feeling when you wake up and realize you had a dream that was so scary that you had to wake up? But once you open your eyes, you can't for the life of you don't remember what you dreamt of.
Monday morning was rather unpleasant. I woke up with a start, sweating rather profusely, my alarm ringing next to my ears loudly. And the jerk caused me to get hit by the headboard, and I groaned loudly at the impact.
And then I got into the shower, and completely forgot I had to shampoo my hair. And so, I had to take off my clothes and go into the bath one more time. When I finally came downstairs, Melissa was long gone, and there wasn't any milk in the fridge for cereal. And since the toaster was also broken, I had to grab a Granola bar and be on my way.
When I finally reached the god awful school, something I never thought I would go to again, the usual chatty teenagers were a lot more chatty.
"Scott...Scotty," the sound of my name had me turn my head. When I finally eyed the origin of the voice, I smiled. Stiles was running towards me, panting like a dog who just worked his muscles.
"Stiles," I greeted the buzz cut guy with a grin.
"I...I.." Stiles took a few deep breaths and regained his composure, "I have been calling your phone for the past half an hour."
I frowned at that, fishing my phone from the backpack, and looked at the 4 missed calls. "Sorry. I kept it on silence." I said, putting it back in my jeans pocket. "What is it, anyway?"
"You haven't heard?" Stiles didn't give me a chance to inquire as he elaborated, "There was an accident on the school bus last night. The cops are here, searching. They barricaded the whole place," he said, leading me to the place of commotion.
The students were swarming around the place. The cops barricaded the bus with bloody marks and have the back door ripped open. Few of them are taking photographs, collecting prints.
"Oh! Peter..." was the only thing I could utter.
"What?" Stiles asked, turning towards me, unable to hear my words.
"Stiles, I think I might have something to do with this," I whispered to the confused boy, and he looked at me, wide-eyed.
Just then, the bell rang, and all the students started to get back to their classes, and I dragged Stiles with me.
"Come on. We will be late for the chemistry class," I said to the guy who was looking at me open-mouthed.
"You can't just expect me to listen to what the teacher is saying after dropping a bomb like that," Stiles whispered fiercely.
"I had a dream, I think. I don't remember it clearly, but, I think I was here last night with the Alpha. I will have to ask Derek a little more about it," I muttered to him, minding the noisy teenagers around us. "Look, I will explain more about in break. So for now, Chill."
With that, I entered the class, Stiles, following my lead. "I can't chill. Chilling is not something I can do right now. Actually, we are way past the 'chill' word. It's scalding in here, and you can even make an omelet without an actual fire."
"You are not making any sense," I said to him with a straight face, sitting beside his desk.
"I don't have to make sense to you. You have to make sense to me," Stiles said, dropping his backpack on the floor, and sat on his chair.
"Stiles..."
"Yes."
"For the love of Frodo, SHUT UP."
"Fine," he said, throwing his hands up in the air in frustration.
And so, he started grumbling throughout the class, earning a few sarcastic violent remarks from Harris. But once we saw police carrying a bruised person on a stretcher, Stiles was on it again, and on the classes following it.
xxXxx
At lunch, we sat at the usual table with Isaac, who started being less awkward around us as he got used to the idea.
"Hey, Isaac," I greeted the boy with a smile as I put my tray down and sat in the seat opposite him.
"Hey, Scott, Stiles," He said with a shy smile. "So, I heard you and Jackson were on it again after the match."
"It's Jackson. What do you expect," I said, taking a few chips off his plate.
"What? wait, why haven't I heard about this," Stiles asked, confused.
"That's because you don't have any friends besides me," I said, facing him. "And I didn't tell you anything because... I don't know. I guess, I forgot with everything that's going on."
Stiles gave me a betrayed look at that. "I know what's going on. You changed Scott," he kept a hand on his heart and continued with a broken expression, "You don't want to be my friend anymore. You started finding new ones, and now you are planning to toss me aside."
"Why does Stiles look like an insecure wife who just found out her husband's infidelity?" Allison questioned, taking a seat beside me.
And I couldn't help but laugh out loud at the accurate description that a few heads turned in our direction. However, my laughter died down when I saw Lydia with few other Lacrosse players started filling up the empty space beside us. I raised an eyebrow at Allison, in question, and the brunette just shrugged, causing me to sigh.
I mouthed a sorry to uncomfortable Isaac, but he waved it off with a small smile.
"Lydia, Danny," I greeted the two with a smile, not even turning to lookover Jackson, who sat adjacent to me with a scowl. "No offense but, why are you guys sitting on this table?"
"Well, I planned on going to Macey's the other day, and I realized I don't have your number. And so, here I am," Lydia said, tapping the tips of her fingers together, calmly.
"Right," I said, "If you could pass me your phone," and she handed hers, and I put my number in it.
"So, I heard its some type of animal attack. Probably a cougar," Danny began.
"I heard mountain lion," Jackson interrupted.
"A cougar is a mountain lion," Lydia said, rolling her eyes a bit, and then feigned confusion, "Isn't it?" and I nodded my head to her nonetheless.
"Who cares?" Jackson said, offhandedly, "The guy's probably some homeless tweaker who's gonna die anyway."
"And you have no empathy for other human beings, whatsoever," I said, turning towards him for the first time since then.
However, before the jock could retort anything, Stiles exclaimed, "Actually, I just found out who it is. Check it out."
We all took a peek into his phone, as the reporter said, "The Sheriff's department won't speculate on details of the incident but confirmed the victim, Garrison Meyers, did survive the attack. Meyers was taken to a local hospital where he remains in critical condition."
"Garrison Meyers," I repeated the words aloud in a whisper.
"You know him?" Allision asked, facing me with a raised eyebrow.
"I think he was my school bus driver," I replied, thinking back to the show.
"Can we talk about something fun," Lydia said, getting our attention back to her. "How about we all hang out tomorrow night? We can go bowling or, something? Because I am not sitting home, again, watching Lacrosse videos," she said, looking at her boyfriend pointedly.
"But there is a curfew, right? No one's allowed past 9:30 PM," I said.
"Don't tell me you are against breaking the rules," Lydia said with a snort.
"I am not. My mom is. She is not gonna give me her car," I said, rolling my eyes at the teenager. "Unless, someone is willing to drive us back and forth in theirs," at that Lydia, Allison, and I looked at Jackson with expectant looks.
Because there was no way, Allison's dad is gonna agree, and let's not even talk about Stiles' jeep.
"No," Jackson said with a scoff, eyeing us. When Lydia didn't back down, he continued, "I would rather stab myself in the face with this fork."
"You can just wait in the parking lot. We just want a driver," I said, rolling my eyes.
As Jackson was ready to turn down the idea once again, Lydia exclaimed brightly, "Then it's fixed. Tomorrow, 7'o clock."