It's a quiet and lonely drive back into the city. You pass a sign that says, "Welcome to Beacon Hills." The roads are empty, except for the one motorcycle with two people on it, who seem to be going faster than they need to be at this time of night. All of the shops seem to be closed, except for the tattoo shop. Peering out of the window, and into the tattoo parlor, seems to be two guys in there. "Why would someone want to get a tattoo this late?" You think, while falling asleep.
The next morning comes, and you wake up on the couch, in what seems to be your new home. "Unpacking already?" you murmur to yourself as you see the spacious floor plan almost completely filled with furniture.
"Megan? Megan, wake up. You need to come bring these boxes up to your room." Your mom hollers from outside. You groan, checking your new iPhone, the phone that your parents bribed you with to move, to see the time to be 7:30. you mope outside to see the neighborhood. It sure looks like California, with the trees and wooden fences. At least there's a field right down the road, you think to yourself. You pick up the boxes and head to your room. You open them up to see all the old pictures and things from your old friends. You open another box to see a bunch of old medals and trophies from soccer. Time to restart my life, with some actual friends, you whisper. The room is drab, not much on it, so you leave and go into your bathroom, and start unpacking in there. You start pulling out your curling irons,straighteners, shampoos, hair product, makeup, and tampons. You pause, and slowly pull out the last box. Condoms. You look around, and decide to stash it in a drawer, since its only you now. Your brother left off to college, also partly why you moved.
The next day, you find no one in the house and see them talking to the neighbors, an older guy with a police uniform on. You go outside and get introduced. " Megan, this is sheriff Stilinski." Your dad says.
"Hi, I'm Megan." You say with a partly fake smile.
"Hi, there." He says and we shake hands. "Let me get my son. Stiles!" He yells. A tall, goofy but good looking guy walks out. He looks my age. I could get used to this town, I think.
"Hey, I'm Stiles." He says, with the best voice and smile ever heard.
"H- hi, I'm Megan" You choke out.
Your families continue talking, and Stiles asks if you want to hang out. You nod your head and you guys go into his jeep, where you can't hear your parents.
"So, where are you from?" He asks awkwardly.
"Arizona. Where there's nothing but fake friends and dumbass teachers." You say with a chuckle. The conversation seems to last forever. Before you know it, Stiles' phone rings.
"Scott, I'm kind of busy at the moment." He says, and looks at me with a smile. You blush, trying not to stare into his eyes.
You check your phone to see that it's already 5:30. "Oh, I'm I better get home. I don't want my mom to get all weird and stuff." You say as you exit Stiles' jeep, looking at him as you head into your new home. I mean, you even got his number! This is going to be a good town, you say right before dozing off to sleep.
