A/N: Hi friends! So, I have recently gotten into TEEN WOLF and I have been wanting to write this chapter ever since I finished Season 1! But alas, school always has a way of getting into my writing schedule. Grrrrr. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy the first chapter of this fic!
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Teen Wolf, nor any of the characters from the said show. Booohooo me :(
Butterflies in his stomach. Weak knees. Clammy hands. Short, sharp, almost painful breaths. Stiles, concentrate on the game!
"Stiles?" Scott's voice echoed across the field as he tried to call his best friend.
Maybe if I close my eyes and turn in the other direction, I won't see her, and if I don't see her, maybe this weird feeling will go away.
"Stiles? Earth to Stiles?"
Breathe, Stiles, breathe. She isn't in your sight; the weird feeling should go away now.
"STILES STILINSKI! WATCH OUT!
Too late. The ten-year-old felt something hit the back of his head, and the next thing he was aware of was the bitter taste of dirt in his mouth.
"Whoa, you okay, dude?"
Stiles groaned and spat the mud out of his mouth. He was vaguely aware of Scott's sudden appearance by his side. "Yeah, yeah," he waved his best friend off. "I'm okay."
"You just spaced out back there," Scott said. "I don't think it's wise to space out at the dodgeball playing field."
Stiles passed a hand over his face. His vision was blurry from falling face-first onto the ground. "Yeah, of course I know it isn't wise to space out while playing dodgeball," he muttered. "Do you think I'm stupid?"
Scott seemed to find this funny. "Actually, sometimes I do."
"Just help me up, please," Stiles murmured. He ignored the snickers from the boys on the playing field. Not that their jeers ever really got to him in the first place; Stiles was used to getting into situations like this, his impulsiveness and stubbornness usually being the main culprits. But oddly, they weren't the cause of his embarrassing situation today. He had spaced out because he had gotten…distracted.
"Asthma attack, Stilinski?" Jackson teased. "Maybe you should borrow your friend's inhaler! Or maybe, you should just join him on the benches!" Jackson's friends laughed but Stiles turned a deaf ear to them. There was no use wasting his time on jerks like Jackson.
"Um, dude?" Scott said. "I think you should sit down for a while." He frowned, pointing to Stiles' forehead.
"What?"
"You're bleeding," Scott replied. "Maybe you can go to the nurse first. I'll take your place on the field."
"You? On the field? Scott, you could get an asthma att – "
"Hey," a girl's voice interrupted. "Do you need a band-aid?"
Stiles felt his entire body go rigid. The feeling made its grand return and he would have collapsed back onto the ground if it hadn't been for Scott's holding him up.
"What in the world is wrong with you, Stiles?" Scott hissed. Stiles was dying to know the answer to that question as well. What was wrong with him? Why was he so distracted? What did the clammy hands, weak knees and butterflies in his stomach mean?
Stiles gulped and forced himself to turn around.
It was her. The new girl. What was her name again? Stiles felt like running back to the field just to have his head hit by a dodgeball again. Maybe he'd remember her name and he wouldn't have to feel so stupid attempting to converse with a girl he didn't even know the name of.
"I-uh-um…." Stiles stammered. "Yes, I'm bleeding but… no, I am fine!"
Scott raised an eyebrow at his best friend. What the hell?
The girl pursed her lips and raised an eyebrow too. "Well, if fine means blood dripping down your forehead and into your eyes, then I guess you are very fine indeed."
"Uhhhh…" Stiles blinked, and sure enough, blood had started to drip down his eyebrows and into his eyes. Gross. Very gross. Stiles did not like blood. He did not like blood, even his own. He did not like blood. He stumbled again, but Scott steadied him. "I'm okay," Stiles murmured weakly.
The girl rolled her eyes and reached out to take hold of Stiles' arm. "That's it. I'm taking you to the nurse. You're probably another victim of heat stroke. You're exhibiting the symptoms. Faintness, light-headedness, loss of awareness," the girl rattled on. The boys exchanged glances. This girl seemed to be smarter than most other ten-year-olds in the field of first aid and emergencies.
"I suggest that you," the girl said, motioning towards Scott. "Get back on the field and finish the game for Mr. Heatstroke. Wouldn't want coach screaming his head off at the rest of the team just because of this incident, right?
Scott shrugged back at his friend, offering a small smile before running back towards the field.
Great, Stiles thought. Now he was stuck with her.
"The name's Lydia, by the way," the girl said. She pushed a strand of her hair behind her ears. Stiles drew in a breath. Man, her hair was pretty under the sunlight. He stared for a few seconds, wondering if her hair was really on fire, or just a product of his deranged imagination.
Lydia cleared her throat.
"Oh, hi Lydia. Um, I'm Stiles," he said, trying to keep his voice from quivering.
"Stiles," Lydia repeated. "Interesting name." She started walking and Stiles suddenly felt like his feet were glued to the ground. He could only follow her with his eyes, and his muscles refused to move.
Lydia stopped and turned around. "Stiles," she enunciated, "I thought we were going to the nurse?"
"Oh, um, sorry," Stiles murmured and jogged to catch up with her. "I just got distracted."
"Distracted?" Lydia glanced over her shoulder to look at him. She was actually a few inches taller than Stiles; he had never noticed. Curse early puberty in girls. Her height difference hurt him, making him feel like he was an annoying little brother being led to the school clinic.
"Yeah," Stiles murmured. He glanced down at his shoes, hoping Lydia couldn't see the blush he felt on his cheeks.
"Well, I suggest that you snap out of your reverie because right after the nurse fixes you up, she would probably send you back out on the field. Wouldn't want part two of that nasty cut on your forehead, right?" Lydia said.
"Reverie?"
Lydia rolled her eyes. "Reverie. It means 'daydream'."
Stiles huffed, suddenly feeling defensive. "Well, I don't reverie-ing."
Lydia tilted her head to the side and laughed. "It's a noun, you dummy. You don't say reverie-ing. What are you day dreaming of anyway?"
Stiles glanced over at the girl walking beside him. The sun still illumined her light hair so that it looked almost golden. "Nothing," Stiles lied.
At that moment, another drop of blood fell from his forehead and onto his shoes. He gulped and tried not to feel nauseated. He hated, hated, hated blood.
Lydia seemed to notice his reaction. She reached into the pocket of her jeans and pulled out tissue. "Wipe," she instructed. But when Stiles reached down for his shoes, she yelled, "No, dummy! Your forehead!"
So he did, and stuffed the now dirty tissue in his pocket. "How do you even seem so calm at a time like this?" he asked.
Lydia shrugged. "I'm trained in first aid. It's essential."
"Well," Stiles continued. "You know what? You're pretty smart for a blonde." As soon as the sentence was out of his mouth, he felt regret punch him in the stomach. He hadn't meant for it to come out that way. He had wanted to say that she was smart, and that her hair was pretty. But he had ended up saying both facts in the same sentence, and now it came out with a totally different meaning.
Lydia suddenly stopped in her tracks and spun on him. "What?" she gasped. "What did you just call my hair?"
"Uhhh…blonde?"
Her palm collided with Stiles' cheek. It took him a few seconds to realize that he had been slapped, and a few more seconds before he finally felt the burning sensation. "Ow!"
Lydia huffed and crossed her arms. "It's not blonde, you stupid boy! It's strawberry blonde!"
"Ouch," Stiles muttered, rubbing at his cheek. The impact on his face had made more blood run down his forehead and down the bridge of his nose. He swiped away at it, but accidentally made contact with his wound. He winced in pain, his eyes stinging with tears. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Strawberry ."
Lydia shook her head and continued walking. "Strawberry blonde," she repeated, sticking her chin up in the air. "Come on, the faster I drop you off at the clinic, the better."
Stiles took a deep breath and tried to numb out the pain he was feeling, both physically and emotionally. Man, getting slapped was a painful way to be woken up from a reverie. And it was even more painful when the girl who slapped you was the girl you were reverie-ing about.
Aww geez, girls were weird.
A/N: Don't you just love Stydia ahhhh! Tell me what you think and leave me a review, please!
I'll try my best to update really soon. Christmas break is fast approaching anyway yahooo! Next chapter will be set when they are in 6th grade and just to hype you guys up, there will be some SHAKESPEARE oooh interesting
