Lydia hurried up the flight of stairs at the end of the corridor, careful to make sure her heels did not click on the tile. She rounded corner, knowing that Stiles was close behind only by sound of his sneakers gently padding across the floor. Her locker was halfway down the next hall, far away enough from the closest classroom that she didn't have to worry about being quiet as she fumbled with the combination lock. Stiles propped himself up against the face of the locker next to Lydia's, watching her patiently. Lydia swept down to a crouch, rocking back on the balls of her feet. She hesitated briefly, considering the homework she had already been assigned, and then quickly selected the necessary textbooks and journals. After pushing her work into the green messenger bag swung over her shoulder, Lydia stood and pulled her leather jacket off its hook, folding it over her arm. With one last glance at the contents of her locker, she shut the door, waiting to hear the click and thud of the bolt sliding back into place.
"Ready to go?" she asked brightly, her gaze lingering on Stiles' profile, searching for any remnants of his usual self. His eyes remained dark and squinted, and his cheeks void of any color. He nodded tersely and turned back to the stairwell, his shoulders sloped and his hands buried deep in his pockets. Lydia lengthened her stride in order to keep up, her walk becoming a sort of half jog. Her quick breaths did nothing to convince Stiles to slow down, and though she did not have much difficulty keeping up with him, Lydia could tell that he was too deep in his own head to be considerate. It wasn't long before she had spotted Stiles' faded blue Jeep parked haphazardly next to Danny's Honda Accord.
The front wheels were riding up on the curb, and the back left tire barely grazed the restraint of the yellow parking partition. With one glance at Stiles' glazed eyes and trembling fingers, Lydia held out her hand, knowing he was in not shape to drive. Without breaking his dead gaze at the ground, Stiles dropped the car keys into Lydia's outstretched palm, his long fingers brushing against her wrist. He rounded the car and jerked open the passenger side door, his skinny frame barely jostling the Jeep.
Lydia sucked in a deep breath of the cool afternoon air, bracing herself for the drive ahead of her. What am I getting myself into … After swinging gracefully into the driver's seat and tossing her bag into the backseat, she jammed the key in the ignition and felt the floor rumble to life underneath her. Stiles sat low in his seat, his cheek pressed to the fogged up glass.
"Where to?" Lydia asked quietly, her hands resting on the slope of the worn steering wheel. Stiles rubbed his eyes furiously, staying silent for a few minutes. "Can you… can we go to the woods? There's somewhere I haven't been in a while. I feel like… I have to go there." He rattled off directions to the exact spot he had in mind, never once looking Lydia in the eye.
Without a word, Lydia pushed the Jeep into reverse and cautiously pulled out, frustrated by Stiles' mediocre parking job. The streets were empty except for the occasional driver and bicyclist. She maneuvered the twists and turns of the thinning roads with ease, leaving her mind free to wonder what Stiles thought he would find in the forest. The silence in the cab was beginning to feel suffocating, so she allowed her thumb to wander across the radio dial. The raspy guitar chords and mournful voice leaking through the speakers painted a pale pink smile across Lydia's lips. "Come on skinny love, just last the year," she breathed, mumbling the lyrics to one of her favorite songs. At the next stop sign, Lydia drifted to a stop and turned sideways in her seat, intent on pressing Stiles about their strange destination. The question faltered in her throat, sliding back down to her stomach. She stayed twisted in her seat, barely aware of the seat belt cutting into her neck, staring at Stiles, who had fallen into fitful sleep.
His neck was awkwardly crooked over the straining seatbelt, one arm cradling his head against the window, and the other resting dead on his lap. He looked like a baby bird, all limbs and blue veins. She absorbed the details of his silhouette, taking in his gently curled fingers, the slight bulge of his bicep through his jacket, the pale swell of his hipbone peeking out beneath his shirt, the pink of his pointed upper lip, the brown spots scattered across his cheeks and neck. Lydia sighed and tapped lightly on the accelerator, her stomach coated with the same sick acid from the Winter Formal. She shook the feeling away, refusing to feel tempted by someone who could never be hers. Would never be hers.