He's eight the first time he sees her.
He doesn't really know how he managed to miss her for so long. It was true they'd never had the same teacher, but surely he should have spotted her on the playground before now. She's beautiful with her strawberry blonde hair - punctuated perfectly with a pretty bow floating atop her head - and bright green eyes. As she strolls across the playground amidst her friends, laughing and chatting and looking every bit a princess of their third grade class, he finds himself mesmerized. He can't take his eyes off her - especially not when she steers herself directly towards him.
"Get off," she commands, her tone firm and her eyes challenging.
Well, those certainly weren't the first words he expected out of her mouth, but at least she'd spoken to him. It was a start, okay?
"Why should I?" He challenges, mainly because he wants an excuse to talk to her. She's pretty and the sunlight looks so nice shining on her hair. Maybe he should write her a love letter when he gets back to class. Yeah, he'll do that.
"Because I want to swing. Get off." Her eyes have narrowed just a little, and she gives a flick of those gorgeous curls as she says it. He can tell she's tense, probably because her friends are watching the exchange with wide eyes, and he has a feeling people don't argue with her often. She has that air about her.
"Tell me your name first." Smooth. Yes, this is good. Stiles can't keep a wide grin off his lips as he continues to watch her, wondering whether she will grace him with her name. He hopes she will.
But she doesn't.
Instead, she spins around with a huff and heads off in the direction she came. He immediately regrets not giving up his spot, his eyes slipping closed as he mentally yells at himself for not letting the pretty girl swing. It was a dumb -
His train of thought is interrupted when, rather abruptly, he's shoved from his spot on the swing.
Sputtering dirt, Stiles slowly lifts his head.
And sees her.
In all of her gorgeous glory, sitting in the very swing he'd just been perched upon, a smile on her lips, he sees her. "I wanted to swing," she informs him, which - of course - causes her friends to giggle. With a dismissive shrug of her shoulders, she pushes off from the ground and begins to swing, nearly kicking him in the head in the process.
He knows better than to argue. He'd probably just get tongue-tied, and her friends are there to back her up anyway. Instead, he simply stands, dusts off his clothes, and turns to walk away.
"My name is Lydia, by the way," she calls, her voice sugary sweet and utterly innocent.
Lydia.
Lydia.
It's the perfect name for the perfect girl.