Chapter 1: Some Body (Pilot, pt. 1)

Oh, my life is changing every day

In every possible way

And oh, my dreams,

It's never quite as it seems

Never quite as it seems

Dreams – the Cranberries

She drove me to the airport with the windows rolled down.

I'm kidding.

I am not Bella from Twilight. This is not Twilight, nor do I support the inept superficiality of its characters and awful penmanship that is the entirety of the Stephanie Meyer series. I am not from Arkansas or Arizona or wherever Bella was from. I am not going to fall in love with a sparkly, immortal vampire with a crooked smile and I am NOT going to eventually try to kill myself over and over just to hear that stupid vampire's voice, get married to him even though we're both still teenagers, and eventually get turned into a vampire because my demonic child (who was put in me by my stalker vampire husband, by the way) is trying to eat its way out from inside of my body.

By the way, spoiler alert.

No, no, no. My story starts simply with a hockey stick; a hockey stick aimed at my cousin's best friend's face, to be exact. And I was in pajamas. And it was the night before school. And it was dark. And everyone was screaming.

"You heard it, too?" whispered Scott as we joined forces in the foyer. He held a baseball bat while I brandished a hockey stick.

"No, I thought I'd get in a late night practice before my first day on the Bullets," I replied sarcastically. "Because I most definitely have the keys to the local ice rink just stashed in my bra for safekeeping. Of course because I heard something!"

Scott rolled his eyes and trudged over to the front door. "Then come on."

We cautiously stepped on the wraparound porch. My feet were instantly chilled by the cold wood beneath my toes and the somewhat brisk night air.

Another cracking noise echoed from the right side of the house. I held my stick a little higher as if it was a baseball bat, the blade (the curved end that hits the puck) up over my shoulder.

My shoulders were covered in goosebumps. This was pretty creepy.

As Scott and I rounded the corner, we lowered our weapons slightly. There was nothing there.

Suddenly, a body swung down off the porch roof, head dangling dangerously far from the ground.

I yelled in shock and held up my stick to swing at the person, assuming it was an intruder.

Both Scott and the other person shrieked. His hand shot out like lightning in front of me, stopping my hockey stick, then dropped his bat. "Stiles, what the hell are you doing?!"

"You weren't answering your phone!" said the boy.

I groaned in annoyance, but kept the blade of my stick held up. I recognized the name.

"Why do you have a bat?" he questioned. "And why is there a girl with a hockey stick standing on your front porch?"

I scoffed, then let my stick hit the porch with a resounding smack. "Hey! I –,"

"Stiles, that's not the point. We thought you were a predator!"

Okay, maybe it wasn't as simple as I remember, but it definitely didn't involve people smelling my blood, jumping off cliffs, or being impregnated by a guy who sparkles in the sunlight.

I do know, however, that everything that would eventually take place during my next three years of high school was significantly more meaningful, as well as made more sense, than Twilight ever was or ever will be – and we haven't even gotten to the part about werewolves yet.

My mom actually did drive me to the airport herself, but the windows were rolled up. I'm from Minnesota, and I'm not accustomed to leaving the windows down in my car, even during the summer. That's what air conditioning is for. Duh.

I had been scouted by one of the best premiere teen women's hockey teams in the country. But it wasn't in Minnesota; it was across the United States in a small town called Beacon Hills, California. Mom had made a few calls and found out that her sister-in-law, Melissa McCall, still lived there with her son, Scott.

I remembered Scott from family events as a kid. He was a shy boy, somewhat awkward, but very sweet. He did his best to keep up with me and our other cousins, but his asthma always slowed him down. Our self-refereed footraces often ended up with me winning by a landslide and him being left in all of our kicked-up dust, sputtering and wheezing.

But after his dad left, mom's brother and my uncle, we barely spoke to the McCall family. We'd get Christmas cards from them every year, but other than that, there was no face-to-face interaction between us. I soon became very focused on my hockey, and barely had time for much else.

Mom and dad were never around much, but when they were, all they ever wanted to talk about was hockey. Whether that be criticizing my skating techniques or encouraging me to keep on with the sport, it seemed their list of how I displeased them was endless, despite their enthusiastic nature for paying to keep me in the sport.

I tried to listen to their advice at first, but I quickly learned that I had to be there for myself. I had to take care of myself in the mornings before school. I had to make my own lunch and dinner. I had to make sure my homework was done and that everything was packed up and ready for the next day. I had to cheer myself on at games, unless they came and hollered at me and my team to 'get better at it' from the stands.

But I loved hockey. Nothing they said dampened my love for the feeling of cutting across freshly smoothed ice on my razor-sharp skates.

The Beacon Hills Bullets had won Young Women's Nationals three years in a row, and I had been recruited to be on the squad to win the championship again for the fourth year in a row. Each year, girls had to re-audition to stay on the team. As it happened, I sent in a video compilation of my best shots in games, my techniques at practice, and my ability to play almost any position on a team. But my main positions were center forward and right wing forward.

When my mom did drop me, and the final rest of my baggage, off at the Minneapolis airport that August morning, I breathed a sigh of relief. I barely knew Aunt Melissa or Scott, but I knew that they couldn't possibly be more cold-shouldered and heartless than my own mother.

"Have a good flight, Madison," she told me.

It's Maddie, I corrected miserably in my head.But I didn't care to remind her of my preferred nickname. I was soon to be out of her clutches.

"Thanks, mom," I replied, forcing a smile to form on my lips.

Mom gave me a strained grin. She stepped forward and gave me the quickest, light-as-a-feather hug I've ever received in my entire life. I didn't even try to hug her back. I despised physical affection, especially from my mom. She didn't mean what she said or did to me.

"You work hard on the Bullets, okay? Your father and I are paying a lot of money to ship all of your stuff over there. We're not going to pay to get it sent back if you're kicked off the team," she told me firmly, pulling up the handle on my large suitcase.

I nodded. "I will."

Another strained grin from mom. "Excellent. Say hello to Melissa and Scott for me. Call if you need money for anything."

And with that, my own mother quickly turned and left me standing in line for flight check-in in the Minneapolis airport. Alone. At four thirty in the morning. I had never been so happy to be in an airport in my entire life. I was finally out from under my parents large, dark umbrella and out of the endless cycle of sleep, eat, hockey, eat, sleep, repeat!

But that was nothing compared to the feeling when I stepped off the plane in San Francisco. A certain warmth overtook me, and not because it was over eighty degrees there. I was happy to be in a state my parents were not. I was halfway across the country where I would be actually taken care of by a real adult. An adult whose job wasn't to stand in the house and order our maid around; an adult whose job didn't involve yelling at his employees to get the 3D printer ready for his next architectural masterpiece in a large, sleek office with six espresso machines and a bunch of uptight, college interns overly worried about putting too much caramel in someone's three shot, soy caramel macchiato with extra milk foam and butterscotch drizzle to realistically focus on the real, innovative designing happening there.

Striding through the San Francisco airport was almost liberating, actually. The sun was high in the sky, the smell of fried foods wafted out of every greasy restaurant along the way, and the promise of a new, calm, suburban lifestyle was exactly what I was looking forward to.

As I passed through the gateway of the airport security, I finally glimpsed the figures of my aunt and cousin. Scott wasn't exactly jumping for joy at the sight of me, but his mother had a huge smile on her face. She ran forward and pulled me into a hug. I was taller than she was by only an inch or two.

"It's so good to see you, Madison!" she squealed.

I was extremely uncomfortable with the hug, but I ended up embracing her back anyways. It wasn't every day you reconnected with a family member after seven years of not seeing each other.

"Hi, Aunt Mel," I greeted cheerfully.

"I'm so glad you're here," she replied warmly, releasing me from her vice-like grip. She turned to her son. "Scott, at least say hi to your cousin!"

Scott's mouth upturned slightly. "Hey, Maddie. Long time no see."

"Hey. You got tall, kid," I said, reaching up and mussing his hair. His smile grew. He had always been smaller than me, and now, even though I was only a couple inches shorter, I was happy to see him finally getting bigger than me.

"Well, let's go get your suitcases. Most of your boxes have already arrived, including your hockey gear," Aunt Melissa told me, pulling Scott and I along towards the baggage claim carousels.

"Nothing was damaged, right?" I inquired rapidly.

"It's all there, trust me," she exasperated. "I didn't know hockey required so much…stuff."

"Tell me about it," I said sarcastically.

"Wait, you're coming here to play hockey?" Scott wondered.

I merely raised by eyebrows in surprise while his mom lectured him.

"Scott, I told you she was coming here to play for the Beacon Hills Bullets. Honestly, do you listen to me at all?"

"Geez, I'm sorry!" Scott apologized defensively. "Stiles must have been over or something."

"Stiles is always over," Aunt Mel said pointedly.

My eyebrows scrunched. "Who's Stiles?"

"Scott's best friend," explained Aunt Mel. "You'll be seeing a lot of him these next few years."

"He's pretty cool. You guys will probably get along. He's the most sarcastic person I've ever met," Scott relayed.

I smirked and shot some sarcasm his way. "Are you sure? Are you sure there's nobody else more sarcastic than him? Because I can't seem to think of anyone. Maybe they're walking with you right now. Maybe they've got wild blonde hair and are related to you? Maybe?"

Scott chuckled. "Okay, maybe you're as equally sarcastic."

It took us three hours to reach Beacon Hills by car.

As we approached the tiny town, Aunt Mel turned to me and said, "I think you'll enjoy it here. There are some really nice kids that go to high school with Scott. You'll make friends fast."

Little did Melissa McCall know, I was not the type of person to make friends fast. I had a hard time trusting people. The only reason Scott and I were even friendly was because we had been playmates as children. But I wasn't exactly a child anymore, and neither was he. Sure, we were sixteen, which is still in the middle of the teenage years, but I had to learn from a young age that I had to depend on myself to get things done. Adults, most of the time, were people who hadn't learned that. I already had.

I smiled back politely at my aunt from the passenger seat. I caught a glimpse of Scott's face in the rearview mirror. He wasn't convinced by my apparent physical charm. (That was sarcasm, by the way.) He was smart. Aunt Mel wasn't exactly stupid, either. She was a nurse, for crying out loud. She would figure out who I truly was at some point in time.

Even setting up my room in the McCall household was a little strained for me. I had a very specific style in mind for decoration, but Aunt Mel had her own ideas.

"So…you definitely like hockey," she said, voice tight as I unrolled my favorite hockey team's poster.

"Live and breathe it, Aunt Melissa," I told her honestly, a slightly smug expression on my face as I taped the poster to the cream-colored wall.

"Are you sure you don't want any…pictures of you and your friends, or – or maybe paint the walls a nicer color? You're going to be here for a while, so you're welcome to do whatever you want in here," she suggested kindly.

I raised my eyebrows in surprise. "I'm allowed to paint the walls?"

"Any colors you want," my aunt replied.

"How about green and red?" I said hopefully.

"Green and red? Like…Christmas colors?"

"No, the colors of my favorite hockey team – Minnesota Wild."

"Um…if that's what you really want."

My laugh was strained. I lied, "No, I'm joking! They're my favorite hockey team, but I'm not that crazy. The colors aren't exactly the most aesthetically pleasing, are they?"

Aunt Melissa chuckled uncomfortably once she realized that I was apparently messing with her. She still sounded unconvinced when she spoke. "Oh, funny. You got me."

I shook off the awkward interaction and lifted a box off the floor. I began to hang my clothing in the large closet across from my bed.

"Do you need any help?" she wondered.

I shook my head. I really just wanted to be alone. I was alone most of the time, but I didn't mind it. "No, that's okay. Thanks, though."

Aunt Mel seemed worried. She nodded. "Alright. By the way, I'm working the night shift at the hospital, so I won't be awake to see you off in the morning for school, but I'll cook dinner for the three of us before I leave. Does that sound okay?"

"Sounds fine to me," I shrugged. I was used to family dinners, but I didn't enjoy them. Mom and dad always would lecture me about my grades in school and about how I was doing in hockey. I absolutely despise school, but I do try my best. I'm not stupid, I just…I hate homework.

And if family dinners here at the McCall's house was anything like back home, I knew I was done for.

I spent most of the afternoon in my room, just getting it set up the way I wanted. Mom and dad had sent over my comfy queen-sized mattress. Mom had secretly sent over more 'girly' sheets for me, as she called them. Pink is not my color and it never will be. And butterflies? No thank you, ma'am. I'd rather stick with my one-of-a-kind Minnesota Wild bedding set I had gotten for Christmas when I was in fifth grade.

My history book collection was extensive, and finding room for them all on the tiny bookshelf my mom had sent over for me was not an easy task. And so was finding drawer room for all my nail polishes. I hadn't realized how many colors I had until I packed them back in Minnesota. I changed the color every Sunday night. It was like a fresh start to a new week. I had waited to do so, however, until that Tuesday I left Minnesota.

I tried wait to paint my nails until after the 'family dinner' Aunt Mel had planned, but I didn't want to wait any longer. I had been feeling so much better since arriving in California that I decided to use white polish.

My nails were still drying by the time she called Scott and I down to eat.

I waved my hands around as I slumped down the stairs. Family dinners were not something to be excited about.

I entered the dining room, blowing air over my nails to dry them. Aunt Melissa was setting out a giant bowl of spaghetti in the middle of the small, round table. I had to admit – it smelled amazing.

"That looks really good, Aunt Mel," I complimented. My stomach grumbled for emphasis.

She chuckled. "Just wait until you see the garlic bread!"

I smiled a genuine smile back at my aunt before she went back to the kitchen. Maybe this wouldn't be as bad as I thought it would.

Just then, Scott walked in, his hands in his pockets. "Ah, spaghetti – the only thing mom can make without burning the house down."

I laughed. "Hey, it's better than Thanksgiving 2002, right?"

Scott laughed at our shared memory. "Yeah, that was pretty bad."

"I didn't know potatoes could even turn that color."

"I don't think she did, either."

"You two aren't talking about the potato incident, are you?" Aunt Mel demanded playfully as she carried in slices of garlic bread on a wooden cutting board.

"Nope, not at all," I replied sarcastically.

"Yeah, okay, you caught us," Scott held up his hands in defense.

His mother sighed dramatically. "Oh, you guys were like two peas in a pod when you were kids. You wouldn't let me live that Thanksgiving down for five years."

"We still won't, mom," he chuckled.

She gave him an amused, but menacing, look. "Sit down, Scott."

My cousin held up his hands once more as he did what he was told. I followed suit, still waving my hands slightly.

Aunt Melissa insisted on serving me my food. It wasn't because of my almost-dry nails, but because she said that I was their 'guest.' I told her that because I was a permanent member of her house, I'd be helping myself next time, just like Scott. She laughed and nodded, as if she didn't believe me.

The rest of dinner was much more pleasant than I ever thought. Dinners with my own parents were usually strained and awkward. Aunt Mel and Scott were not my parents. They were the exact opposite, actually. Aunt Mel was engaged and asked a lot of questions (too many for my personal liking). Scott contributed to the conversation when he felt he could add to it. He didn't try to bring any attention to himself, which I quickly recognized and connected with. Mom would have been silent throughout the meal unless speaking with my father about his business deals or asking me how my grades were. She only cared about statistics. Dad was more engaged, but he still didn't contribute much to the conversation except to lecture me about trying harder in school and fouling more people during hockey games. Melissa and Scott did neither.

Before Aunt Mel left for her shift at the hospital, she sat me down on one of the cushy couches in the living room. Her expression was one of a concerned parent. I was not familiar with the look, and it caught me completely off guard.

"Maddie," she started, "Joanne let me take a look at your transcripts when she flew over to sign you up for school."

I immediately sunk down lower in my cushion, brain already fazing her out. I felt shame without even hearing a word of what Aunt Mel was going to say. She didn't notice my obvious discomfort. Then again – I had made a few things very obvious, but she hadn't recognized any of that yet.

"I just want you to know that I am so proud of all you've accomplished so far."

I instantly snapped out of my funk.

"Uh…I'm sorry?" I stammered.

"I said I'm proud of you, Maddie," she repeated.

Confusion washed through me and my blunt nature shone through. "Why?"

Aunt Mel smiled. "You have done so well putting up with your parents. I know that I shouldn't – that I shouldn't be so, um…honest with you because, after all, they are your family, but –,"

"They are not family," I countered immediately. I wanted to be transparent with my aunt. She deserved it. "They are people that just happened to create me. I don't consider them family."

Aunt Melissa's eyebrows shot up. "Well, you put up with a lot of crap as a kid. And, given your mother's lack of encouragement, I'm really glad that you're here with me and Scott. I told Scott – I even told Rafael when we were together – that your parents were never parents to you. They were never kind or compassionate towards you, at least when you were little."

I shook my head and said quickly, "They still don't, Aunt Mel. My mom dropped me off at the airport and told me to call her if I needed any money, then she left me alone. She was on her phone the whole time."

My aunt waved off the comment, disgusted, as if she didn't want to hear more.

"Anyways," she carried on, a lighter tone to her voice, "I just want to let you know that, despite your own parents telling you that you'd never be smart enough for college, I am very proud of what you've accomplished."

I smiled very slightly, but still wasn't convinced. "I get mostly C's."

"So?" Aunt Mel argued. "Maddie, you're an incredible hockey player who sacrifices a lot for her passion. School does not measure how smart you are. Intelligence does not equal your GPA. You're sharp, kid. Really sharp. I wish Scott had picked up on some of that when he was younger."

I let out a genuine laugh. Poor Scott.

Aunt Melissa leaned forward, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Don't tell him I said that."

"I won't," I grinned.

"Seriously, Maddie, I think your grades might even improve here in Beacon Hills. You won't have your parents breathing down your neck every second and I promise that I will be there at every game to support you."

Hearing Aunt Melissa actually caring for me made me want to cry, but I held it together.

This time, it was me that leaned in for a hug.

"Welcome home, Maddie."

Later that night, I was getting ready for bed in my new bathroom. I had changed into a dark red Minnesota Wild tank top and black sweatpants I used for after-hockey comfort and as pajamas. Toothpaste foamed from the sides of my mouth as I scrubbed my teeth clean.

Aunt Mel had already said her goodbyes and wishes for a good first school day. Scott and I had waved at each other from down the hall. I was officially ready to crash and watch a few best hockey plays of the twenty-first century videos on YouTube.

That's when it happened. The creaking. The cracking. Squeals and squeaks only a human could make. A thump or two.

I knew Beacon Hills was a small town, but Scott or Aunt Mel could have at least warned me about a vagrant intruder on the loose.

I spit in the sink, grabbed my nearest hockey stick, and quietly opened my door. I glanced around the hallway rapidly, my wavy white-blonde hair whipping me in the face. The lights were all out. Aunt Mel had turned them all off in assumption that no one would go back downstairs.

Well, you were wrong, Aunt Mel, I thought, outwardly sighing. And now I get to beat the crap out of, most likely, some idiotic freshman from my new high school that's looking for some extra cash.

I crept slowly down the stairs, hoping that they wouldn't creak.

As I rounded the corner, I saw a pair of soft, begging-puppy brown eyes. I took a good swing, nearly taking off the teen's head. Then, I realized it was Scott.

Thankfully, he had stumbled back and fallen on his butt in the foyer. A baseball bat lay near his feet. I winced and lowered my stick.

"Sorry," I whispered, holding out a hand to my cousin. He sighed and accepted. I easily tugged him to his feet. His eyes went wide as he bent down to pick up his bat.

"Whoa," he awed, staring at my biceps. "Do you lift?"

"Uh…yeah. Like 270."

Scott's jaw dropped. "I can barely lift 220!"

"When you're a hockey player, you have to keep everything strong," I told him quietly. "That baseball bat could shatter three layers of window shield glass in my hands."

There was another thump on the side of the house.

"You heard it, too?" whispered Scott. He brandished his baseball bat and slung it over his shoulder.

"No, I thought I'd get in a late night practice before my first day on the Bullets," I replied sarcastically. "Because I most definitely have the keys to the local ice rink just stashed in my bra for safekeeping. Of course, because I heard something!"

Scott rolled his eyes and trudged over to the front door. "Then come on."

We cautiously stepped on the wraparound porch. My feet were instantly chilled by the cold wood beneath my toes and the somewhat brisk night air.

Another cracking noise echoed from the right side of the house. I held my stick a little higher as if it was a baseball bat, the blade (the curved end that hits the puck) up over my shoulder.

My shoulders were covered in goosebumps. This was pretty creepy.

As Scott and I rounded the corner, we lowered our weapons slightly. There was nothing there.

"What the heck?" I hissed, annoyed.

Suddenly, a body swung down off the porch roof, head dangling dangerously far from the ground.

I yelled in shock and held up my stick to swing at the person, assuming it was an intruder.

Both Scott and the other person shrieked. His hand shot out like lightning in front of me, stopping my hockey stick, then dropped his bat. "Stiles, what the hell are you doing?!"

"You weren't answering your phone!" said the boy.

I groaned in annoyance, but kept the blade of my stick held up. I recognized the name.

"Why do you have a bat?" he questioned. "And why is there a girl with a hockey stick standing on your front porch?"

I scoffed, then let my stick hit the porch with a resounding smack. "Hey! I –,"

"Stiles, that's not the point. We thought you were a predator!"

Stiles sputtered and coughed. "A preda – I – what? – I know it's late, but you gotta hear this."

"Can someone please tell me what the hell is going on?" I demanded.

The two boys glanced at each other, back at me, and then at each other.

Scott started to introduce us. "Stiles, this is – "

"Yeah, hi, I'm Stiles, nice to meet you, glad you're here with Scott, are you single, what's your favorite color, whatever," he rambled. "But anyways, my dad left about – "

I felt offended. I held up a polished, white nailed hand. My tone was short and clipped. "Hold on. Stop talking. This random guy pops down off my cousin's roof and refuses to even know my name? I don't think so! I am not starting off this new school year with someone completely dissing me. Let's start over, okay? My name is Maddie. Scott is my cousin. I came here to play hockey, as you can see from this hockey stick. If you can't see it from over there, then here, let me bring it closer."

I swung my hockey stick so that it was about an inch away from Stiles' nose. His eyes went as big as dinner plates. His hands dangled by his ears helplessly.

Scott reached out and quickly grabbed the blade. "Maddie, he gets overexcited. I promise, he's not some inconsiderate jerk. He's my best friend."

I cocked one annoyed eyebrow at the two and slowly lowered my stick.

Stiles nodded his head vigorously, his whole body shaking with the movement. He spoke at a rapid pace. "Please, don't knock my head off with your hockey stick. I promise you, human heads are not as fun to smack around as pucks."

"I don't know about that," I joked dryly. "I was just hitting one around the old frozen pond the other day."

Stiles giggled like a mad man while Scott just smirked lightly.

"Stiles, meet Maddie," he announced. "She plays hockey."

"Really?" the two of us chimed in sarcastic unison.

We shared a surprised look, then Stiles went right back to crazed, twitchy mode. "As I was saying, my dad left about twenty minutes ago. Dispatch called. They're bringing in every officer from the Beacon department and even state police."

"For what?" questioned Scott.

"Two joggers found a body in the woods," Stiles replied giddily.

My mouth fell open as Stiles jumped down from the roof. I trod up to the railing as Scott leaned over it. Stiles stared up at us, his moles dotting his face as dark spots in the faint moonlight.

"A dead body?" Scott replied in shock.

"No, a body of water," Stiles shot back, "yes, dumbass, a dead body."

I snorted at his response. "Let me guess – nothing exciting ever happens in this town."

Stiles hopped up and over the onto the porch to stand in front of us. "Nothing like this. There hasn't been an unidentifiable dead body found in Beacon Hills in over twenty years. Two people running and – BAM – dead body right there!"

"Wait, you mean like…murdered?" Scott asked breathlessly.

"Nobody knows yet," Stiles answered, slightly more serious. "Just that it was a girl, probably in her twenties."

"Hold on, if they found the body, what are they looking for?" Scott wondered skeptically.

Stiles spazzed out for a second. With the rate this guy moved, I was bound to get whiplash sometime. It almost happened right there.

"If they've got nothing left to find, why keep searching?" I suggested.

Stiles was dizzy with glee. "That's the best part! They only found half."

I felt like my mouth was going to catch flies. "Half a body? Who the hell would cut a person in freaking half?"

Stiles smirked over at Scott. "We're going."

Scott's lips slowly upturned into a grin. "You really want to?"

"Uh, yeah, excuse me. We are definitely going," Stiles argued. He turned to me. "And you're coming with us."

Scott and I immediately rejected the idea.

"No way," my cousin cried.

"Hell no! It's the night before the first day of school!" I protested. "I have not only got to suffer through the first day as the 'new girl,' but I've also got my very first Bullets practice tomorrow. I've got to get a lot of rest."

Stiles' head flew back, as if he had gotten punched in the face. His honey brown eyes went huge. "You're the new forward for the Beacon Hills Bullets?"

I frowned slightly. "You know about the Bullets?"

Stiles' hands flew up in the air, as if he was insulted that I hadn't known about his own joy for the team.

"Do I know about the Bullets? What century do you think this is, Madison? We are not living in Medieval France. Of course, I know the Bullets! My dad and I are some of the team's biggest fans!" Stiles freaked. "I talked to the coach and she said she was bringing in some phenomenal sophomore from the Midwest, but I didn't know it was you!"

I chuckled slightly. "Well…thank you, I think? Nice to know that I'll have at least two more people cheering us on."

Stiles' hand came up and smacked Scott hard on the arm. "You didn't tell me that your cousin played for the Bullets? Son of a bitch!"

"Hey! Sorry, it just never came up, that's all," Scott defended, rubbing his upper arm.

"Speaking of which, dead body hunting time!" Stiles cheered. "Are you guys coming or not?"

Scott and I turned to look at each other. His face was hopeful. Mine was the complete opposite.

I sighed. "Scott, it's the night before the first day of school. You're trying out for the lacrosse team tomorrow and I've got my first practice with the Bullets. We should both be upstairs asleep."

"Maddie, it's half a dead body!" Scott pleaded.

"Come on, Maddie! It's gonna be so cool! I promise, half of a dead body sounds gross, but it's actually awesome," Stiles added.

I stood my ground and shook my head. I valued sleep too much to miss it for something Scott and his wacky friend would never find, especially if it was something like half a human carcass.

"I will pass on the blood and gore for tonight," I told them firmly. "But the next time there's a dead body lost in the vast city of Beacon Hills, I will go looking for it with you. Like that's ever going to happen again…"

"Dude, go get your shoes!" Stiles urged at Scott.

My cousin instantly sprung alive and ran back inside. I was left standing there with Stiles. He twitched anxiously, his hand scratching the back of his neck.

"So…are you single?" he asked nervously. The tone of his voice made it sound like a joke at first. Several awkward seconds passed.

I laughed, then held my stick out like I would if I was playing hockey right there on the porch. "Ask me that one more time," I warned, amused.

Stiles leapt out of my way as I walked past him.

"Oh, sure, sorry, yeah, see you tomorrow," he rushed.

"Have fun, body snatcher," I called back over my shoulder as I entered the house.

As I approached the stairs, Scott appeared at the top, flying down each step. When he reached the bottom, he pulled his hood up over his mess of wavy, brown hair.

Scott and I did not look related in any way, shape, or form unless you looked at our hair. Although completely different colors, the texture was the same. Because of my hair's length, it curled more at the ends, but the rest was thick and wavy.

I ran a hand through my own locks. Worry settled in the pit of my stomach.

"Just be careful out there, okay? Who knows what happened to the other half of that poor girl's body. Could be a wild animal, a cannibal –,"

Scott merely scoffed. "Maddie, there aren't any cannibals in Beacon Hills!"

"You don't know that," I deadpanned. "Cannibals look just like everybody else. It's the same with serial killers, which is another option in this situation."

"I promise, we'll be okay. Stiles and I have staked out crime scenes hundreds of times. We've never gotten hurt before. I'll be home in an hour," Scott reassured me gently.

"Come on, Scott! The night won't stay young forever!" Stiles' voice was muffled through the walls of the house.

I sighed and stared directly into my cousin's eyes. I pointed a finger at his chest. "Whatever you do, keep your friend out of the cannibal's way. He's too eager and is going to end up getting himself sliced in half if he's not careful."

Scott smiled widely and saluted. "See you later! Don't wait up!"

And with that, he was gone. I watched out the window as the car lights turned and faded out of sight as Stiles drove down the road.

I shook my head and clutched up on my stick's handle.

"They're crazy," I muttered to myself as I climbed the stairs. "Hey, Scott, let's go find half a dead body with its psychotic, criminally demonic cannibal on the loose. Why not, Stiles? Great idea! It's not a school night at all. We definitely don't have lacrosse tryouts tomorrow where I'll completely humiliate myself because I'm dead tired and not athletic!"

I went into my room, shut the door, and set the hockey stick on a leaning rack with the others. Then, I crawled right into bed. I snuggled down deep into my familiar comforter, then pulled my phone out of my sweats pocket. I checked to see if someone from back in Minnesota had texted me, but the screen was blank. Nothing. Why would I expect anything else?

I set my phone on my nightstand, clicked off my lamp, and promptly fell asleep.

But sleep was not peaceful for me that night. Nightmares plagued me. Nightmares of death. And in the morning, I remembered nothing.

And there ends the first chapter of Tear in My Heart! I really hope you enjoyed Maddie's character. If you'd like to read more of Maddie's addition to the story of Teen Wolf, please follow and review! I'd really appreciate some feedback on whether or not to continue the story. :)