Daylight streams in from my window, casting pale splashes of yellow around my room stacked ceiling high with boxes. It's been a few days since my family moved to Beacon Hills, but I have a talent for procrastination and only some of my clothes and books have made it out into my new room.
Sweet tangy air wafts up the creaky wooden stairs from the kitchen. My mother calls out, reminding me that I might miss my bus and that she doesn't have time to drive me to my first day at Beacon High. I sigh and tug on a pair of torn jeans and old volleyball jersey from two years ago.
"Muffins," I say happily, plopping onto the bar stool on the other side of the counter where my mother is pulling plates from the cupboards. She rolls her eyes.
"Don't be expecting royal treatment everyday." She waves the empty cardboard muffin-mix box before tossing it in recycling and sits down to her own bowl of grits and cheese. I shove a bite of warm muffin down my throat to keep from gagging. Southern people quirks had never grown on me. Mom finishes eating, blows a kiss, and leaves through the garage door, keys jangling in her hand.
I have fifteen minutes to run a brush through my hair, slip on shoes, and jog out the door to the bus stop. No matter how many schools you attend the buses are always the same annoying yellow.
High school isn't like the movies. People don't stare you down, glare, and shove backpacks into seats to keep you from sitting next to them. I slide quietly into the spot next to a blond with headphones in. The ride is uneventful, which doesn't help the queasiness rising in my gut.
Classic high school building with lacrosse fields and a running track. I find my locker and only take what I need for my first two classes into my bag. I slam the locker shut and follow the map to history class, find a seat, and open the textbook. My mind wanders from the Civil War and out the window.
"Stop staring," A voice whispers behind me. I jump and glance at the boy seated there.
"I'm not," another boy replies. His golden brown eyes glint in the sunlight and his gaze flickers to the front of the room where a gorgeous girl with auburn hair is sitting.
"You are, so stop. Your heart rate is racing."
"Scott, just because you've got mutant hearing doesn't mean-"
Scott nudges him and nods toward me. Our eyes meet and my own heart skips as I spin back into my seat, flushing. I stare at the chalk board, silently cursing my stupidity, until class is over and people begin to shuffle out the door. I dodge out the door, ducking my head until I'm out and in the hallway. I keep walking. I can't figure out why I reacted like that. Two guys joking around. Gold eyes and adorable moles. I shake my head frustratingly and push the thoughts away.
I don't see them again until lunch, where I sit at an empty table in the farthest corner. People don't bother me, in fact I love being around people, but I just don't go out of my way to socialize. From my table I can see every student as they pass through the doors. The two boys are grinning and messing around like best friends do. The one, Scott, is tall and moderately toned, with dark hair and eyes and skin. His friend, the infatuated one, is slightly shorter and pale and twiggy. His crush is in the room, laughing prettily with a jock by her side, and his eyes seem pained to look away. I shovel mush into my mouth and observe them. The bell rings and I dump the tray into the garbage.
There is another new girl in Beacon High today. Her name is Allison. She has beautiful dark hair and fair skin. We talk a bit in the hallway at the end of the day, since our lockers are near each other. I feel a connection with her, this kindred spirit that knows the pain of moving around constantly, and am about to ask where she lives when the auburn-haired girl and her arm candy approach us - or Allison, to be exact. They don't even look at me, so I slip away. Let Allison have her popularity; no use pouting about it. Beautiful people like to be around beautiful people.
I turn the corner and ram into something warm and solid.
"Oh! Sorry!" says a familiar voice. I push back, dazed, and meet Scott's eyes.
"My fault," I reply, apologizing.
"You're new, right?"
I nod and look at his friend, whose heading is tilted, attention on the group in the hall. This close, I notice the cute way his nose is pushed upward.
"Oh, hey," Scott says, startling me from my daydream. "I'm Scott, this is Stiles." Stiles turns at his name, finally noticing me.
"Darcie," I reply. Stiles' eyes are unfocused and he turns back toward the hallway where Allison is making her new acquaintances.
"Cool," Scott grins like an adorable puppy. "See you around." I glance at Stiles, who is peering around the corner again, and nod before walking away. I don't get far before Stiles speaks, stopping me in my tracks.
"Can you hear what they're saying?"
"Yeah," Scott says. "Lydia is inviting her to a party."
I turn around, confused. Scott is leaning slightly toward the hall, head tilted sideways, Stiles at his shoulder.
"Gah, I love this werewolf thing." Stiles hits Scott's shoulder.
I frown. Werewolf thing? What the actual heck are they going on about? They're whispering now, so I shake my head and walk away. In the last few places I've lived, boys never gave me the time of day, so to speak. Apparently guys are stranger than I originally thought. Werewolves indeed. This isn't freaking Twilight.