Stiles Stilinski was a loser. Lydia first saw him in third grade. He sat across the room and let his eyes wonder in her direction often. He never sat still. He constantly tapped his pencil against the desk or bit on the strings of his jacket. When he first tried to speak to her, she waved him away. He wasn't worth her time. That year, he wasn't on her birthday party list. And as far as she was concerned, he never would be. He wasn't on her level.
She thought he got the hint in fifth grade. He came to school one morning from a three day absence and didn't try to make conversation with her. In fact, he didn't try to make conversation with nearly anyone. The teacher would have to call his name a few times before he shook himself awake. She hadn't missed his eyes on her but she did wonder where they went. For the first time, she turned around to find his eyes downcast. He ripped apart his eraser like it was responsible for all the problems in the world. She swore his eyes were glistening. After lunch, they called him over the P.A. and he left home early. For some reason her mother wanted to add him to the list, but Lydia said no.
The next year he went back to wanting her attention. It was different from how it used to be, but she couldn't put her finger on why. He still watched her from across the room, he still tried to speak to her and she still shot him down, but something was off, she just couldn't tell what it was. That year her mother didn't ask to add him to the list, and she didn't, anyway.
Sophomore year rolled around and she eventually became the town psycho. She didn't ask to keep finding the things she found, it just happened. She made friends with Allison, Jackson broke up with her and all of a sudden, Stilinski's nerdy friend became successful. Lydia knew how to associate herself with success, even if it dragged in her childhood stalker (who, to add to the pile, was a lowly benchwarmer). That's the one thing in her life that didn't change. Stiles Stilinski still held interest in her. To her birthday party that year, he was last on her list, but only because Allison insisted she invited him. Scott and Stiles were a packaged deal, unfortunately.
She got launched into this world she never planned to be a part of. There were werewolves and sacrifices. She was a pawn. She was a pawn in some stupid little game they were playing so she decided to become a player herself. Well, it was more of an obligation than a decision, but she liked to think she had some control in her life. While Allison was shooting arrows and Scott was turning into a werewolf, Stiles seemed to be the only one not physically involved. He was also the only one that listened to her. And when she found that sacrificed body by the edge of the pool, he was her second call right after the police.
When he yelled at her because he knew he had to be her first call, he became just that. Her first call. Her first text when she found out something was wrong with the motel, and the only one who believed her, even if he alluded she might have something to do with it. It was easy to forgive him for that because he crumbled almost as soon as the words left his mouth. He didn't take her warnings for granted, he listened to each one and when he nearly got killed that night for the first time, she knew she couldn't lose him. So she reacted. She pulled the plug.
She heard that when someone was about to die, their whole life flashed before their eyes. But for her, it was different. For her, it was when Stiles stepped in with Scott. When he took the flare and threw it away from them. As it rolled back to their spot, she felt heart clench. The truth is, she didn't know a world where someone wouldn't listen to her, or even be her first call. Who would she call when she found another body, another clue? She couldn't think of a single person, not even Allison. Because as special as Allison was, Stiles was the one that was on her level, and that's who she needed.
Before the flare could light him and Scott on fire, she launched herself at him. Her heart nearly broke out of her chest as they hit the ground. Her instincts were to shield him like he shielded her from the birds in English class. And when she turned around and saw the black figure in the flames, she held on to him tighter. He would believe her, he would listen to her. He would try to solve this with her. She knew he was her first call.