"I'm not leaving her," the young child fiercely stated as his hands grasped hers in a furious attempt to stay there, in the moment of it all. His name is a thing of the past, a thing that had been used against him a great many times. He preferred Stiles now.

"I can't just leave her."

Stiles' father gently pried Stiles' fingers off of his mother and struggled with his spastic body. "Stiles, please, we have to-" he began, but Stiles legitimately could not bring myself to leave. Not yet.

"No, dad," he pleaded, ducking out from his father's grasp and stumbling back towards his mother. "No." He lay his head on her chest, no hint of movement there. Stiles could basically feel the internal struggle that his dad was facing.

"It's time to go. The moving truck's already at the house, and we can't delay-" he tried, but faltered mid-way through his reasoning. Whether he was reasoning with himself or with Stiles, neither could know.

"Please, Stiles," his father tried once again.

Stiles kissed my mother on the forehead as his dad led him out of the hospital room, through the double-sided sliding doors, and into the parking lot.

It was goodbye Barclay, hello Beacon Hills for Stiles Stilinski.

The car positioned itself outside of the school, idling as Stiles collected his school things. Even after he had gathered every last pencil, paper, and book, he simply sat there, unwilling to greet the day, to greet his new school.

"We have to talk about her sometime, Stiles," his father forewarned, head grazing the headrest of his own seat. Stiles averted his eyes to the school, sitting undisturbed before him. "Whether it's tomorrow, or-" he began, but Stiles efficiently interrupted him.

"You can't…you can't make me talk about her, dad. That's in the past now, and…I'm okay. Promise." But was Stiles in any way, shape, or form sincere with these words as he exited the car and slammed the door behind him? Of course not.

"Have a good day, Stiles," his dad called as he raced off towards the school's entrance. He was late as it was, and didn't need to make any worse of an impression than he already had. Not on the first day. This last part of the year, he had vowed, would be different.

Everything had gone a lot less luckily than Stiles had originally intended, with the teacher automatically picking him out as a trouble maker and the kids being quite snarky in his direction. Stiles would have to toughen up…not that he wasn't necessarily tough, just that…he would need a bit more backbone in Beacon Hills compared to Barclay, in which he had been a stick to toss around and stomp all over. No longer would he be that kid. He had vowed to himself that a change would be made, and it would start with right then and there.

Recess came along at noon, and Stiles was forced to the office rather than ushered out onto the playground. He was met by a looming figure and a smiling face, both features belonging to two very different personas.

The principal, a stern looking woman, basically shoved the smaller girl towards Stiles, with a nod and a brisk, "Please show our new rank around the premises."

The girl? Well, let's just say that she was the most beautiful thing that Stiles had ever layed his eyes upon, with long flowing strawberry blonde hair and a killer grin. Immediately, he pinned her as the "pretty" type. Nice to look at, not to talk at. Not that he'd ever even have a chance with her. Not that he even wanted a chance with her. His walls were still hardened, defenses up since his mother had passed. If he'd ever trust again, he couldn't tell.

But while he might have never trusted again, he could have loved again, maybe, one day, if the future was holding his cards in the correct way for a change.

"I'm Lydia Martin," she informed him, extending her hand out in a friendly gesture. He took it slowly, making eye contact the entire time - and god, were her eyes beautiful. He had to basically force himself to tear his own pupils away, scolding himself extensively for being such a tool. "And you are?"

He cleared his throat before answering with a rather ragged tone, "Stiles Stilinski."

"Stiles? That's a nice name," she cooed, already beginning to walk down the hallway with him trailing behind her. "Different." And the best part, thebest part, was that she didn't say different in the way that most kids had when they had heard his REAL name, but in a way that made his heart melt. Not in a way that caused them to snigger thereafter, but in a way that caused her to look softly upon him…knowingly. "I'm the student council. The only active member, really." This caused Stiles to laugh hesitantly, leading Lydia to look peculiarly at him, which of course made his heart leap up about thirty rungs on his internal ladder. No, no, no, she's just a pretty face, nothing extraordinary, he assured himself. The funniest part was that he believed it at that point. She certainly hadn't SHOWN any signs of being ingenious, she really hadn't at that point. Sometimes, though, it simply took time to shake a shell.

"These are obviously the classrooms," she conveyed, pointing at the row of classes down the hall. "The cafeteria, the library…" He was barely paying attention.

"-and she's quite the pain, if you know what I mean," she finished with a laugh that would have made any person within a ten foot radius gawk. He had missed everything completely, having spaced out for several minutes, but he couldn't care. Not then, with her in front of him.

Lydia stopped at the end of the hall, sitting at the bottom of the steep steps. She motioned for Stiles to sit beside her, but he merely leaned against the wall across from her with a shrug. "Well, that concludes the tour of this small school, and soon enough the bell will ring, but for now I'd like to hear some more about you," she confessed. Stiles raised his eyebrows, shocked by the interest. He had never, ever, had interest shown to him, in his direction, and suddenly, he did, which brought him to the rocking realization that he really had…nothing to say about himself.

"I'm…new?" he offered simplistically, causing a giggle to burst through the surface of the gorgeous being sitting right there, within his reach.

"Yes, I've most definitely gotten the message. You're new. But why? Year's almost done, and school's coming to a near-close. Yet you've arrived here, looking as if it's sudden even to yourself. So tell me - what's your big secret?" she inquired.

He smirked weakly. "What would a girl like you know about secrets? You look about as open as my refrigerator at night." Which later he would smack himself for, because it was a stupid analogy/joke hybrid, but she laughed politely anyways, causing him to fall even further into an abyss of…some strange, foreign feeling.

"Well…Not many people know why I moved here," she confessed. "In fact…only one person does. This one boy," she professed. "His name's Jackson. Really, he can relate to me, so we're kind of inseparable. Not many people get him, but I do. You should meet him, I think that the two of you would really work well together." Stiles simply shrugged, mussing his hair in frustration. A boy. Obviously they weren't dating, not in the third grade, but in the future…It was obvious that this boy, this Jackson, would steal her heart - had already stolen it, maybe. Never mind that, you don't even like her, Stiles promised himself, but he was no fool.

"So…uh…why did you move here?" Stiles tried, his mind wandering as always.

She gulped, adjusting her hair piece. "Why, you're a curious one, no? I guess that I was just always closer to my mom, and when there is a split between two figures that you aren't necessarily bonded to, you choose the one that you suppose will be the most caring towards you. So after the divorce, it was my mother I chose to live with. Meaning moving here."

Lydia, this smiling girl, had divorced parents? Stiles would never have guessed. She was basically brimming with joy, yet had been through the pain of divorce? Was this for real? "And, uh, you?" Stiles was lost for a moment, until he realized that she had just asked him about himself.

"Reasons. I prefer to keep a mysterious finesse, y'know?" he pressed, and she let it fall. She didn't drill him about whether it was his parents or his lifestyle or what that had conjured the move, she let it fall, only continuing with -

"And what about your hobbies, your pastimes? What makes Stiles…Stiles?" she questioned, which forced him to really think. What did make Stiles STILES?

"I mean, I'm kind of a science geek. And ADHD, which translates to-"

"Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder," she intercepted. He gaped. "What? I know my stuff," she teased, standing to nearly meet his height. "I also know a lot of other things, for your information. Don't look so surprised." She flipped her glossy hair, pale skin shining under the dim bulb above them. "Just ask me anything."

He thought carefully. "What's a fact that few people know?"

She laughed at this. "Might as well have asked for a quadralic equation. Simple. How about the fact that…er…floccinaucinihilipilificatio n, the declaration of an item being useless, is the longest non-medical term in the English language? Also, the word 'modem' is a contraction of the words 'modulate, demodulate,' and Ernest Vincent Wright wrote a novel, Gadsby, which contains over 50,000 words - none of them with the letter E."

He was agape at this point, unable to speak. Pretty face? Not able to comprehend? You underestimating idiot, he told himself. You must be in a dream. Coffee, coffee is the cure for this. When you get home in three hours, get coffee. Get it from the box in the truck. "Coffee," he must have mumbled, because in the next moment Ms. Lydia Martin in her genius was spurting out a fact about coffee.

"Which reminds me that there are more than 1,000 chemicals in a cup of coffee, but only 26 have been tested, and half caused cancer in rats." Of course which made Stiles rethink the cup of coffee he had been planning on sneaking just seconds ago.

"You…are…quite unusual," he managed, which of course flattered her while meanwhile taking her aback.

"…Nobody's ever told me that before. Not in that way," she promised, eyes glazing over in a way that made her look mystified. Could she feel some -

The bell sounding the end of recess rang throughout and outside of the school, causing Lydia to stumble backwards with a smirk and give a small wave to Stiles as she turned to head back to her own room. Instead, she was intercepted by a boy with a lacrosse stick over his shoulder. "Hey, Lydia," he called, a smile playing on his lips. He looked…amused, but not at Lydia, no, at Stiles. "Hey…shrimp." Lydia glared at the kid, of who was being an unbelievable arsehole in that moment.

"Jackson, please, don't," she begged, whilst Stiles was absolutely stunned.

"JACKSON? This is the kid that you feel bad for?" he quipped.

"Feel bad for? Yeah, right. Although, you know, I feel bad for you…Inski, right? Inky? Eh. Word spreads fast about new kids in this town. Heard your mom kicked it, and imagined another pity case in the form of a scrawny boneless loser. I nipped this one in the bud," he drawled, which of course sent Stiles fuming.

"JACKSON!" shrieked Lydia, which make both him and Stiles' eyes widen. She cleared her throat, racing up the stairs and grabbing him by the arm. "Stop," she murmured before whispering a few things into his ear. His jerky face simmered down to a kind-hearted looking one, a slight grin left in sight. He looked genuinely bad as he shrugged and raised a hand in Stiles' direction, pulling himself away from Lydia and heading to class, back up the rest of the steps and around the corner.

"Sorry…about that," went Lydia, hopping down the steps and back to Stiles' side. "But…I really should be going." She gave him a full-hearted smile, eyes grazing over him.

"Yeah. Um…yeah. Class is awaiting and all. Opportunities and whatnot. Things to learn." Stiles was grasping at straws here, but she didn't care, she didn't, Lydia didn't give a damn if he was clawing at air, because he was being real.

"I won't forget you, I don't think, Mr. Stilinski," she suggestively retorted. He laughed at this, not entirely confidently. Then she was heading up the stairs again, but not before stopping halfway to turn towards the wall and pull a pen from her boots, adjusting a half-hanging poster and adding an oxford comma to the single sentence sitting there, a message about drugs, having previously been absent of the third singular comma to make it a set.

"Doubtful. People always forget me," he edged on as she briskly put the pen away. "Kind of like the comma there."

"I won't. Promise." Those were her last words, uttered without much thought, before disappearing from sight, but he could hear her calling Jackson's name as her feet shuffled through the hall above him.

And those were her last words before he realized that - wow, maybe he was actually falling for this girl. "I'm in love," he muttered to himself, but no, he couldn't be, it didn't make sense, he was nine and…oh, gosh, was he really falling for her? Could he have, somehow, in the course of one recess, found love in the form of the prisitine lone student council member known as Lydia Martin, the very one who knew numerous outrageous facts and could probably recite The Raven back to him on the spot, with the proper motivation?

She had thought she had told the truth about not forgetting her. That she wouldn't forget him, Stiles Stilinski, quirky boy who could have been a great candidate for a friend. But she had lied.

Because in the end, she had forgotten him, and it hadn't taken long, not even a year, not even all that many months. But he couldn't forget her, ever, no matter how hard he tried, because he had fallen in love with somebody who was pretty much still a total and complete stranger to him, and had stayed in love with her for years upon years, until it was routine to long for her, a need, a necessity that went unexplained, unfulfilled.

She had forgotten him.

And he wasn't even the least bit surprised.