"So is it the same?" I ask Noshiko. She fingers the photo of my mother. I don't like having it out of the frame. It feels…unsafe.
"It looks to be…" Scott stands behind me, his eyes glowing red as he concentrates while Noshiko explains.
"I can see it," he says. "The fox shape. Over Stiles."
"Yes, but I cannot see it in your mother, Stiles. The power. However, you have it. It must have skipped her. She may have been able to use basic Kitsune power, but none like yours."
"But why would she have any power in the first place?" I ask.
"That's what puzzles me. Your mother is not even of Japanese descent, that is, directly. It must have been strung so thinly through her genes. It's just come full force through you. That makes sense. Kitsune blood is often transferred through a mother." I carefully pluck the photo from Noshiko, storing it away in my pocket.
"Do you think your dad knows?" Scott asks.
"No, he was totally clueless when I tried explaining any of the werewolf stuff to him. I'll ask him tonight." He'll pick me up from lacrosse and I'll tell him on the way home. Car rides tend to be my usual news-breaking approach. Maybe because he can't quite reach over to strangle me without wrecking the car.
I'm not practicing tonight, and I won't play this week's game as a cover up for my "injury." Everyone thinks I at least sprained something so I'll sit on the bench and watch everyone else. The worst part is that I was getting really good with my shots and planned to impress Coach. "Thanks, Mrs. Yukimura," I say and Scott and I exit her home with Kira in tow.
"Got your props?" Kira asks. I shake my crutches around. I've been practicing using them for the few days I've been out of the hospital, trying to make my limp convincing. People might mistake it as a twitch though, nothing new.
After a long day of Malia walking by my side as fake help, and crutching all over the school, my ass was ready to sit out practice.
Lydia's car pulls into the parking lot five minutes after practice starts. She hikes up the small hill in her low heels, her legs going up in smooth straight lines and disappearing under the edges of her skirt. She takes a seat next to me and says a quick 'hello' to Malia. "Nice stilts, Stilinski." Lydia smiles. She's been in a much better mood lately since she's been seeing Ms. Morrell to talk about Allison and Aiden. It's good for her to get rid of that bad energy. She says it helps her think more clearly.
"Couldn't have screamed a little earlier, Lyds?" I don't mean it as an insult. I know she listens for clues as well as she can.
"You had plenty of warnings." Lydia raises her eyebrows, cocks her head to the side, and turns back to watch the guys swing the sticks.
"Did you enjoy the game the other night? You know…without…" I put a hand on Malia's knee, stroking it with my thumb.
"It was fun," she smiles. "Wasn't it, Lydia?" Lydia turns her attention away from the players and looks us over.
She breathes in once, almost a huff and says, "Mhm." She flicks a hair away from her face and pulls the hem of her skirt. Antsy today, I guess.
"I made the sign," Malia boasts to me. "Lydia did the cursive, but I decorated." She beams when she's proud of herself. It was a pretty sign. I'd barely noticed it, what with Malia looking like Malia, and Lydia looking like Lydia, but for the short second that I did, I saw how much effort was put into it.
As much as I enjoy being whatever I am with Malia, I still think of Lydia as I did not long ago, before Malia. "Thank you for making it," I tell them both. They gave it to Kira after the game as memorabilia, since it had all of our numbers on it.
"Stilinski!" Coach's voice breaks in. Oh God. "Are you sure you can't walk on your hands?! I need you in goal!"
"What, Coach, you have Greenberg in goal!" I look over to prove my point but Greenberg is lying in the grass, legs up and clutching his crotch.
"Lopez hit him in the balls, and I know for a fact that Greenberg can't walk on his hands. He's left handed for God's sake!"
I want to, but I know I can't blow this. I shake my head. Coach huffs, spit flying and nostrils flaring more than they need to. "Fine. But you owe me. Yukimura! Get in there! And protect your junk at all costs," he grumbles.
Scott and Kira square up, Kira readying herself to guard the goal, Scott leaning down to stabilize himself. There is no couple's play when it comes to lacrosse, no mercy or gentleness, even with those two. They go for the throat.
Scott swings back and forth, keeping the ball in his stick, trying to fake her out but Kira wields her stick like a weapon; like a sword. He charges. With a rough swing, the ball hurdles through the air. Kira jerks her stick out to her left side just before the ball goes in to the goal at full speed. It's cradled in the net of her stick and she makes a sound at the impact.
I can see Scott's proud of her and I know he didn't go easy on her. "Take that, McCall!" Kira yells and kisses him on the cheek.
Greenberg is still whining, the ball must've hit him hard. Coach switches out players for the next few rounds. "Greenberg, do not puke on the benches I swear to God I will make you eat and digest it all over again!"
"You guys ready?" I ask after practice.
"Actually, Kira and I are going to Derek's and we were wondering if you wanted to come. To figure all this out." Scott gestures to my leg. "He might have something. A way for you to learn control. Deaton says that's all you can do."
"What do I have to control? Nothing's happened." I look up at him. Does this mean he's my real alpha now?
"Prevention is key," Lydia pipes up. "I'm coming." She gets up to go to her car and Scott, Malia, and Kira head for Kira's red SUV. Just on time, my dad honks the horn of the Sheriff's car. My jeep is in for inspection, so he is my only means of travel for now and I can't back out and go with Lydia since he drove all this way when he could've just gone home. "I'll pick you up at your house. We'll go to Derek's."
Lydia looks to the police car and back at me. I nod.
"Hey kiddo," he says and squeezes my shoulder when I slide in.
"I have something to talk to you about." We're halfway home now. I pull the photo out of my pocket and carefully unfold it. "Have you ever taken the family photos out of the frames?" He's still looking out the front windshield.
"Well, no, you know that. Most of them are in the attic, Stiles."
"She put them in the frames, right?" They were all taken with disposable cameras, so the photographer never saw the after-shot either.
He nods to confirm. "Claudia used her grandmother's frames. She never really wanted anyone to touch them. She said they were too fragile." The road is slick with a night rain.
"Maybe it wasn't the frame that was fragile; maybe it was what was in it that was fragile."
"What do you mean? Did she leave something?" He glances at me twice, his Sheriff expression present.
"Sort of." I turn the picture towards him.
"What the hell is that?" He squints. "Is that…is that a light leak?"
"Not exactly." I open my phone to show him the photo Kira took.
"Ah, hell," he sighs. "This definitely wasn't on the chess board."
