Author's Note: misfitwolves again! Oh my! All these reviews have been so nice and they make us so happy, so keep reviewing cause you readers and your reviews are just awesome!


Lydia wasn't sure what she was more upset about: the fact that Stiles had gotten so angry with her or that he was going to hang out with Cora that night. To be honest she sort of knew why she was upset about one of the two things; Stiles had never been angry with her before, no matter how shit she had treated him or how oblivious she had acted towards his feelings, he had never gotten angry at her. And the fact that he had just then…scared her. For one fleeting moment, Lydia felt a genuine and terrifying fear that there was a possibility that this boy, this boy who had been so utterly and completely in love with her since the third grade…might not be anymore. As much as she hated to admit it, Stiles' love for her had been the one steady and sure thing in what had become her crazy life; no matter what happened Lydia could count on it, could count on him.

While her fear faded slightly with his sincere and somewhat worried apology, it then flared up into an ugly jealous rage that Lydia didn't quite understand at the mention of Cora. Lydia didn't mind Cora per say, but what Lydia did mind was Cora's touchy-feely crap when it came to Stiles; she didn't understand why the werewolf girl felt the need to always touch Stiles-

Wait. Had this always bothered her? Maybe it had and she'd never noticed because Stiles had never responded. Until now. Who did Cora think she was anyway? Stiles was Lydia's-

Lydia stopped abruptly in the middle of the hallway, blinded by her rage, all the thoughts running wildly through her head, and her slight confusion at said thoughts, she hadn't noticed that she had stormed off in the completely opposite direction to her class. Fabulous. Now she had to walk all the way back round, taking a completely different route to make sure that she didn't bump into the very person who had caused her to stalk off in her very high heels in the first place. Just fabulous.

Lydia strutted into her Government and Politics class seconds before the bell rang, without a single hair out of place. Taking her seat next to a rather unfortunate looking Goth girl whose name she knew but could never be bothered to recall, Lydia tried to mentally compartmentalise her thoughts and feelings whilst getting out what she needed.

The compartments in her mind held for the majority of the class until she hit the one obstacle that she could just never quite get past: the stupidity of others. For some reason other people's stupidity always got her riled up. She didn't understand how people could be so stupid; well, of course, she understood the science behind it, but she didn't understand it. This, along with her anger from earlier, was not a good mix. Next thing she knew, Lydia was standing, and ending a rather elegant rant at the girl next to her, with the words, "Your stupidity disgusts me."

Judging by the vitriol in her voice, the shocked faces of her classmates and the tear-filled eyes of the girl she was looking down upon; Lydia knew that this wasn't even the worst of her explosion.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," she said to the girl. She spun around, overwhelmed at the sea of faces before her. "I don't know –" she shook her head.

"I don't understand –" She cut herself off as she didn't know what to say, what to do, and the situation was reminding her far too much of when Peter was controlling her, so she grabbed her things and ran out of the classroom.

She ran into the girls' bathroom, dropping her bag on the floor before tightly gripping the sink and staring in the mirror, trying to take deep breaths.

Was she having a panic attack? Was that was this was?

When her genius brain decided to fail her and not give her an answer, she thought about the one person who could most likely help through this situation: Stiles. Lydia remembered that when they were younger he was prone to panic attacks and that once, (at the end of third grade? Or was it the beginning of fourth?), she may have helped him through one with the use of her extensive knowledge and a promise that she would never die. She remembered the moment when he asked in a panicked and breathless whisper, with a desperate look in his wide, brown eyes, "Promise me you won't die Lydia, not like my mom, please."

It had been the way that his voice had broken on the please that had silenced any logical protests a nine year old Lydia Martin had come up with, and so she promised, pinkie promised even, which was a big deal for her elementary school self.

Why was she remembering this? She'd never thought about that before?

That was when she came to a very important realisation: she had never cared before.

Lydia felt her breaths slowing down and becoming more even when she had a series of particularly vicious thoughts: what makes you think that Stiles still cares? It's obvious that he likes Cora now and why shouldn't he? She's better than you.

Lydia snapped her head up so fast she nearly gave herself whiplash; she looked at herself in the mirror and stumbled back slightly. Her eyes were different. They were still green, yes, but they were different: they were darker, unnatural and flashed dangerously. If she didn't know any better she'd have said that her eyes were green with envy.

She blinked and as quickly as they had changed, her eyes were back to normal. She must have been lightheaded; her shortness of breath must've had her seeing things.

After a few more deep breaths, Lydia picked up her bag and walked out of the bathroom just in time to catch the bell signalling that she had to go to her next class: English. Which she had with Stiles. Great.

As she headed down the hallway, Lydia walked straight into Allison, "Hey Lydia, you okay?"

Lydia gave a slight nod, "Yeah I'm –"

"Great, so I already asked Stiles and he said yes but I'm assuming from the look on your face that you have no idea what I'm taking about?"

Lydia raised an eyebrow, "Your assumption would be correct."

Allison smirked, which confused Lydia for a moment. "Well after school, you and Stiles are coming over to learn archery."

For the second time during this conversation Lydia found herself raising an eyebrow. She sighed, too tired from what happened in her previous class and the bathroom to argue with or question her best friend. "Fine."

Allison beams at her, "Great, let's go." She says before she lightly grabbed Lydia by the arm and pulled her along.

As she walked down the hall, Lydia looked out of the large windows and spotted a figure on the lacrosse field. She found this odd because one, there wasn't a gym class today for the Juniors and this guy looked like he was in her grade, and two, he wasn't in gym kit. Sure, people can roam the Beacon Hills lacrosse field whenever they want but this guy seemed to have been staring at a spot in the distance, (a classroom maybe?), before he turned and disappeared behind the bleachers. Urgh, whoever this person was, he seemed far too much like Derek for her liking.

Lydia walked into her English class behind Allison with as much of a confident and carefree attitude that she could muster and hesitated for only the shortest of moments before taking her seat by the window next to Stiles.

"Hey." She could hear the apologetic smile in his ever so slightly cautious voice,

"I'm sorry about earlier, I must be hormonal," she said before he could say anything else. Her tactic for him to not talk about their previous conversation had worked, according to the stunned and somewhat uncomfortable look on his face; she allowed herself a small smirk.

"Uh okay, um I'm sorry about snapping at you earlier, again." He looked down, clearly still a bit ashamed at himself for his outburst.

"It's fine," Lydia replied.

As she sensed that things were about to become a little bit awkward, Lydia changed the subject, "So you're driving me to Allison's later, right?"

He feigned shock and gasps, throwing a hand to his heart, "Lydia Martin wants to travel in my Jeep?"

She laughed and smacked him playfully on the arm. "Yes, now be quiet, Ms Blake's looking at us."

Still laughing he looked up at Ms Blake who was standing at the front looking right back to them.

While Stiles was looking at the teacher, Lydia took the opportunity to look at him: at each of the freckles that decorate his face, his hair that is now longer and suits him in a way that makes Lydia uncomfortable to admit, and those eyes. Those big, brown eyes, although, to Lydia, brown seems too bland a word to describe them. She was in the process to trying to think of a way to describe them; she was on the colour of whiskey as sunlight streams through it, when he interrupted her thoughts.

"Everyone's been acting a bit strange if I'm honest. Scott's been more wolfy, Isaac's going out of his way to piss people off and Allison, well, she just seems different." He explained to her, complete with his usual hand gestures.

"Allison has been acting a bit strange now that you mention it," Lydia said. Neither of them mentioned each other's strange behaviour but it's the small elephant in the room.

"What do you think it is?" Lydia asked and she could see that the question shocked him a little. She realised that no one has ever really asked him what his theories were. He had always just said them. He blinked a few times before he answered.

"Um, I don't know, maybe we're all finally cracking from the stress of the supernatural." He laughed quietly and Lydia found herself laughing with him, though deep down she knew something was up. She, with Stiles' help of course, just needed to figure out what.