What a morning! Stiles never would have guessed his day would begin with gruff, growly threats from some cologne model in the middle of the woods behind his house. Man, he had all the luck. He also kind of had a problem brewing in his shorts and this point and he really didn't have so much time to deal with it before he had to get his punk ass to school. Think about gross things Stiles. Think about pus-filled infected wounds, your old math teacher's S&M heavy dating profile, geriatric sexy times. It was tough, but eventually Stiles did get 'lil Stiles under control. The icy run-off that counted as a spring had helped as well when he'd splashed a bit down his pants.
Then Stiles was practically running, very awkwardly like a newborn fawn unsure of how to work its own legs back to his Jeep. He was rapidly running out of time to make it Beacon Hills High without the Damocles' sword of lateness and detention hanging over his newly razored scalp. Wouldn't that just be the best way to make an impression on a new principal, roll up hella late to his first day. Damn growly, handsome strangers that he wanted to climb like a tree distracting him on such an important day. And to hell with always having to contend with not pissing off a new school's administrator. One day, Stiles would like to stick somewhere long enough to develop a punch-clock arch nemesis sort of relationship with the vice principal. You know the kind of sitcom style mischievous hero and straight-laced rule enforcer that were so used to each other they were able to have an easy banter about it. Something like "That's funny Mr. Stilinski, I bet that you'd be able to keep out of my office until at least Wednesday." That type of dry sarcasm with his detention-dealer had little chance of happening though with the way his dad's career path was going.
When Stiles did finally roll up at the aforementioned high school, he had about five minutes to spare and it was relatively easy to slide into his home room without attracting the kind of attention that led to after school special extra curricular activities. All in all, as far as first days went it was kind of standard.
Stiles' inability to employ common sense or keep his big fat mouth shut did not endear him to either the teachers or the more popular jock/bully set. On the plus side, he did appear to make friends rather easily with the dopey-looking lacrosse player that sat behind him in home room, named Scott McCall. Seriously though, that kid was kind of simple. You wouldn't believe the kind of remarks that went over his tousled brown head in their various shared classes. More than once Stiles had been sure that dyed-in-the-wool douche-saurus rex, Jackson, was going to deck Scott right in his scrunched up eyebrows. On the other hand, maybe Jackson was only holding back because it would be like slapping a puppy in the face. Even raging douche-sauruses were reluctant to stoop that low, Stiles was sure.
Scott was pretty easy to talk to. Under his simpleton and semi-attractive (yes, in a completely platonic way, Stiles could tell he was easy on the eyes) exterior Scott was really just a giant nerd. They liked the same brain-mushifying video games and they got into a few semi-heated arguments regarding superheroes. Stiles could tell this would be a fast and easy friendship for the two of them. It was like this Scott kid was just waiting for a loud mouth spaz, like Stiles to come along and shake up his world with the awesome powers of friendship.
Stiles did admit though there was one subject he could foresee he'd always be trying to avoid with Scott for the better part of their future buddy-ship, Allison. Stiles didn't know what kind of drugs that Argent chick mixed into her perfume that seemed to target Scott specifically, but if the subject of her ever came up, it only took about five minutes for Stiles' eyes to start glazing over and him to start searching for a dramatic mode of suicide to get himself out of the conversation. For the love sweet skateboarding Jesus, the topic of the exact shade of her (pretty standard coloured, in Stiles' opinion) brown eyes should not be the starting point for an hours worth of meaningless contemplation. Shut up already Scott, grow an extra pair of balls and ask the broad out already will ya, for the sake of Stiles' sanity.
During the approximately three hours of enthusiastic devotion to all things Allison, Stiles couldn't help his mind (and other parts of his anatomy) from wandering back to the topic of Mr. Growly Bear that he had met while trespassing in the woods this morning. He had pretty much decided that he would be trespassing in that area as much as possible for the remainder of his stay in this Californian armpit of a town. He wanted to see that scruffy frown as much as possible thank you very much.
In fact, Stiles went to far as to interrupt Scott's animated discussion of Allison's choice in scented lipgloss to ask Scott about the incident. "So, Scott, my man, there's all these big ass woods around my place, is it true that they're some kind of private property or something?"
Scott took some long slow blinks. Stiles sort of worried about the state of his new pal's mind if a simple change in topic could unsettle him this much. Scott's brow did that furrow thing that seemed to indicate deep concentration on his part. "The woods aren't exactly off limits..." he said slowly and carefully as if unsure how to phrase his answer.
"But?" Stiles interjected flailing his arms in an indication that Scott should finish his damn thought.
"But, there's this um family. I mean there was this family that kind of, sort of, mostly owned a lot of them. They kind of all died, I guess. Err. I mean most of them died, it was this big tragedy when I was little. I know a couple of them made it out and one of them just plumb went nutso, so I'm not really sure how much the whole 'don't go in there' thing is enforced these days, but I'd stay out of it." He stopped and stared at Stiles, clearly the effort of stringing all those coherent sentences had got to him at least a little bit.
"Oh." Stiles really didn't know what to say to that. I mean, that all made it sound like that if he continued to frequent the forest he would be abusing some broken up orphans or tragic anti-heroes or something. That didn't mean he wasn't going back there though.
Scott seemed relieved that Stiles didn't have much to add to that and he seemed to view it as the perfect opportunity to return to his topic of choice, the angel formerly known as Allison. This time he was discussing the subtle nuances that could be gleaned from the shy introduction she'd given Scott and by extension the entire home room this morning.
This left Stiles back where he had been, tuning out his new bosom buddy in favour of contemplating his own vision of perfection, the one with angry eyes that loomed large clad in a bitchin' leather jacket. Mmmm. What would it be like to feel that dark stubble scrape across your neck, he wondered? What would that frowny face even look like if it relaxed into a smile? Maybe this was why Stiles was destined to be besties with Scott, they had similar problems with unattainable, obsessive crushes based on extremely limited interactions...
