CHAPTER o4
Three days later…
"So…Stiles Stilinski, huh?"
It's the day of the party, and I'm at Kelly's house. I told my parents we were having a sleepover, that I was keeping her company while her parents are out of town. (Her older brother is also away, doing a summer abroad through his college in the Galapagos Islands for marine biology. Lucky bastard.) It's not a total lie. I am doing all those things; I just…failed to mention that there'd also be a party going on. Regardless, they bought it easily. Kelly is one of my best friends; we've known each other since, like, first grade.
Summers were always like this: We'd spend days at each other's houses, camping out in blanket forts constructed in the living room, munching on large bowls of buttery popcorn and doodling in our coloring books while watching Disney movies until our parents fell asleep. Then, once we were (fairly) certain it was safe to do so, we'd switch over to watching the "adult" movies on HBO or Showtime. Or we'd sneak out and go down to the little creek behind my house and sit on the rocks, dipping our toes in the chilly water, and just talk for hours. We'd more often than not wake up with a million and one bug bites the next morning, but it was worth it. We felt so rebellious, and it was so much fun.
I kind of miss those days. We don't have them nearly as much as we used to (granted, we gave up the blanket forts and watching Disney movies on a regular basis ages ago, but the coloring books still remain). Ever since we started high school, things have changed. Kelly got hooked into cheerleading and boys, and she just doesn't have as much time for me anymore, especially now that she has a boyfriend. But I don't mind (that much); I'm glad to see her happy. And the great thing about our friendship is when we are finally able to make time for each other, it's like none has passed between us at all.
"What about him?" I ask, wary but trying to play it cool. I know that tone; it's her I-know-something-you're-not-telling-me tone that always instantly puts me on edge.
We're in her bedroom and I'm rummaging through the overnight bag I'd brought with me, digging out the clothing options I'd picked out for the party. Being a girl, I naturally want Kelly to help me select the best option.
The party doesn't actually start for another few hours, and we still have to finish setting things up. Like, hiding all the breakable things that could easily be destroyed by a group of rowdy, drunken teenagers, putting out plastic cups and snacks, and swinging by the store to grab a few bags of ice for the coolers. Drew and his friends are coming by a bit early with a couple of kegs, and Kelly's got some friends on reserve with access to liquor. The Facebook invite specified that booze would be provided, but also encourages everyone to bring their own, if they can, so that there will be enough to go around.
"I don't know, I'm just surprised," Kelly says. She's lying across the end of her bed, head of long, wavy chestnut hair spilling over the edge of the mattress, watching me, upside down, as I lay out one outfit after the other for her perusal. "You never even talked to him at school, did you? Now you guys are, like, working together and hanging out all the time."
"Not all the time," I protest. "It's different. Working together, we kind of have to talk to each other. Whereas at school we didn't, so… I don't know." I shrug. "Jealous?"
"A little," she admits, winking. "I like him. He's cool. Weird…but cool."
I snort my agreement, having no other verbal response for that. Kelly's blue eyes look at me curiously.
"You like him, don't you?" she asks abruptly.
"Of course I do," I reply casually. "I wouldn't hang out with him if I didn't." Kelly rolls her eyes, unimpressed.
"No, dummy. I mean you like-like him." I know exactly what she meant; I just purposely chose to interpret it in the platonic sense.
"Uh, no. Not really…"
"C'mon, Zo. You can't lie to me. I see the way you look at him."
"God, not you too," I groan, referring to her use of my new nickname. Damn Stiles. First him, then Scott (that's how Stiles introduced me to him, actually), and now Kelly. Suze tried using it once, but the glare I gave her was enough to suppress any further attempts. Hell, even Mr. Stilinski calls me that. I'm afraid it's only a matter of time before my family eventually latches on to the trend, too.
"You don't complain when Stiles calls you that," Kelly points out, smirking. I grab the skirt I'd just lain out on her bed, wad it up into a ball, and chuck it at her head. I'm immensely satisfied when it hits her square in the face, before bouncing off and landing on the floor.
"Yes, I do, believe me." I bend over to pick up the skirt and lay it back on the bed. "Or I did. But it's no use. He won't stop."
"I think it's cute."
"You would." I play her words back over in my head: I see the way you look at him. "Is it that obvious?"
"To me it is, because I know you. I don't think he knows. Boys are usually clueless about that sort of thing."
I don't have anything to say to that.
"Are you going to do anything about it?" Kelly asks.
"Like what?" I look at her incredulously.
"Well, first of all, we can start by making sure you look super hot at the party," she suggests, gesturing to the pile of clothes I left on her bed. I roll my eyes.
"Please. Last I knew he likes Lydia Martin." I'm still going off mostly rumor and personal observation on that. Stiles and I haven't and (hopefully) never will talk about our crushes. Not outright, anyway. She's come up in conversation a time or two, when we're talking about school or whatever, and the pure, unchecked reverence in his voice just when mentioning her name is evidence enough for me. "You remember Lydia, don't you?"
"Snooty little redhead from my Algebra 2 class? Yeah, I remember her. She's not all that."
"She was voted best smile in our yearbook two years in a row."
"Whatever. I promise, when I'm done with you Stiles will forget all about Lydia."
I don't think Kelly managed to make me prettier than Lydia, but I do have to admit I think she helped make me look pretty good.
I'm wearing a cap-sleeved, plum-colored blouse overlaid with matching lace. It has an attractive boat neckline and an open back crisscrossed with decorative bands, which are, thankfully, just thick enough that I can still get away with wearing a bra. Kelly offers to let me borrow her nipple pasties (which just goes to show how close we are as friends), but I decline. My tiny breasts need all the help they can get, and the only way for them to have any real presence is if I wear a padded push-up. I've paired the blouse with a charcoal knit mini skirt that, at first, I was reluctant to wear, but Kelly managed to convince me otherwise.
"You're ridiculous!" she'd said. "Do you not realize how awesome your legs are? I would kill for a pair of stems like that. Besides, you wouldn't have brought the skirt if you really didn't want to wear it."
She got me there, but I still put on some sheer black tights underneath, just to make myself feel better (also to distract from the fact that my legs are deathly pale), and a pair of shiny pewter flats. Kelly picked out a pair of my dangly earrings and a silver cuff bracelet for me to wear with it, thus deeming the outfit complete.
She then flat ironed my hair, adding about two inches to its natural length and making it look exceptionally smooth and shiny. All the while, I painted my eyes in smoky dark purples (Kelly claims I'm awesome at applying eye makeup. I think it's because I have a steady hand and I like to draw) and applied a pale peach gloss to my lips.
"There," she says once we're finished, steering me to stand in front of the full-length mirror in her bedroom and look at my reflection. Over my shoulder, she looks quite pleased with herself. "If Stiles doesn't fall for you tonight, he's a blind dumbass."
I could kiss that girl, seriously. In fact, that's just what I do.
"Get off me, you weirdo," Kelly says, laughing good-humoredly as she shoves me away, wiping at her cheek.
It isn't until about thirty minutes after the party officially begins that people really start to steadily filter in. I recognize a lot of them. Mutual friends of Kelly's and mine, classmates I've traded few words with but otherwise never had the chance to get to know, people I recognize the faces of but for the life of me can't place names to.
I keep an eye out for Stiles. And Scott. (One will likely lead to the other.) Stiles told me they were coming together. That makes me giggle just a little bit. They're coming together. That's so…"bromance" of them.
Okay, so I may have had a shot of the rum Kelly and I swiped from her parents' liquor cabinet earlier. So sue me. Pre-gaming is a regular practice, so I'm told, and I may have needed a little liquid relaxant to help calm my excited nerves over seeing Stiles tonight.
I'm perched on the arm of a patio chair on Kelly's outdoor pool deck, surrounded by Kelly, Drew and a group of our friends, all of us idly chatting and laughing amongst each other. Kelly keeps giving me weirdly amused looks and poking me in the side. Twice, I nearly topple off the arm of the chair, but (thank God for my cat-like reflexes) I manage I catch my balance before face-planting into the pavement.
A friend of Drew's keeps leering at me. He's kind of hot, actually, in a jock sort of way, and I think his name is Sam, or Sean, or…something. I've met him before, but he's never given me the time of day until seeing me dressed like this, and I don't care. He's not the one whose attention I want to attract, so I ignore him. But when Sam/Sean gets up to stand next to me, and keeps "accidentally" bumping into me, I decide it's time that I go mingle.
I clutch my half-consumed plastic cup of…I think it's Coors, and stand up to wander around, heading through the double glass doors leading back into the house.
I hate big crowds. I suppose I should be happy that Kelly's party had such a positive turnout, but, honestly, as a collective whole crowds are rude and annoying. Ungainly bodies bumping into me, careless feet trampling over my toes, a random dude pinching my ass as I walk by… Wait a minute—that's not normal crowd behavior. I look over my shoulder to shoot the random dude a nasty look, and end up colliding into another person.
This person has hands that grip my upper arms, attempting to stop me, or steady me. I'm not sure which, but it doesn't matter because all they really accomplish is making me slosh my beer over the rim of its cup. Luckily, I don't spill any on my outfit. The other person isn't so fortunate, however. Beer splashes onto one of his shoes.
"Ah, crud," he mutters, crestfallen, at the same time I blurt an embarrassed apology of, "Oh God, I'm so sorry."
I look up from the pair of men's black sneakers to see Stiles. My eyes widen in surprise. He looks nice. A little too businessy for the occasion, but I'm not about to make a fuss. He's wearing a blue pinstriped dress shirt with a navy satin tie, a gray suit jacket, and medium wash jeans. I never noticed it before, but blue looks incredible on him.
"Stiles!" I exclaim happily, thrilled to see him. Stiles is looking at me strangely, eyes jumping from my hair, to my outfit, and back again. My heart does a nervous little flip at the attention.
"Zo?" he all but shouts, brown eyes big and round. It's louder in here than it is outside on account of the DJ's "station" (really, all it is is someone's laptop set up on a square folding table) being in the living room. Speakers are positioned throughout the room and facing the open doors leading to the pool deck so the music can be heard outside, as well. "I hardly recognized you."
"Hey Zo," Scott says, grinning. He looks pretty snazzy too, standing next to Stiles in a much more casual ensemble of a fitted V-neck tee under an open, short-sleeved dress shirt, dark jeans, and sneakers.
"Hey! Glad you guys could make it," I say. "Did you just get here?"
"Yeah, sorry we're late. Had to wait on my DD, here." Stiles jerks a thumb in Scott's direction and Scott turns a glare on his friend.
"That's such bullshit, man. You were the one taking forever to get ready. Texting me pictures every two minutes, trying to figure out which tie went with what shirt." Stiles shifts his weight from one foot to the other, clearly flustered.
"It's a party," he argues. "You're supposed to dress up a little."
"A little? Stiles, I think you forgot one very important accessory to your outfit," I say teasingly, grinning. Stiles looks skeptical. "Your briefcase."
"She's so right, dude," Scott agrees, laughing. "You look like you're here on business."
"I hate you both," Stiles mutters darkly.
"Here you go," I say, handing Stiles a plastic cup of beer (after topping off what's left of mine; just to save myself from having to make another trip to the keg too soon, of course). Scott looks at me expectantly. "None for you, I'm afraid."
"Why not?" Stiles wonders, taking a sip of his beer. He grimaces at the taste, and I have to agree. But it's booze, so who the hell cares? Once you've had a couple of them the taste doesn't matter so much anymore, anyway.
"Wouldn't that defeat the purpose of him being the DD?" The boys exchange a look, then focus their attention back on me.
"He can handle it, trust me," Stiles insists. I look at them doubtfully, but quickly relent. I'm not Scott's mother, so I won't pretend to be. (I'll just steal Scott's car keys from him later, if need be.)
"All right, but I'll have you know that's not very responsible DD behavior." I fill a cup for Scott and pass it to him with the sternest expression I can muster, which obviously isn't very stern, judging from the way Scott accepts his cup with a smile and a mock salute.
"I'll be good, scout's honor."
I lead them back outside to find Kelly and Drew. Kelly squeals upon seeing Stiles, jumping up from her chair and running over to throw her arms around him in a hug. (Clearly I'm not the only one feeling that shot.) Drew gets up too, albeit in a considerably more relaxed fashion than his girlfriend, and waits patiently for Kelly to detach herself from a stunned looking Stiles before greeting him. The two shake hands in that cool way only boys seem able to do, and Stiles introduces both him and Kelly to Scott.
Kelly's not really paying attention, though. She's too busy making excited, googily eyes at me, and I glare at her, silently trying to convey to her to knock it off. Yes, Stiles is here. That's great. Don't be a spazz about it and give me away. Thankfully, she gets the hint and stops.
Belatedly, I realize Scott is watching me, his dark head cocked at a curious angle. I take a big gulp of my beer and hold my cup in front of my face, hoping to hide the heat I can feel burning in my cheeks.
Once Drew finishes making sure Stiles and Scott know everyone else in our group, those of us still standing sit down. Kelly pushes her boyfriend into the patio chair we'd been sitting in and plops down on his lap, making room for our new guests. I squeeze onto the end of a bench next to our friend Chelsea, letting Stiles and Scott have the now vacant chaise lounge. Kelly kicks me in the shin, and when I turn to look at her questioningly, a little affronted at the undeserved treatment, she subtly inclines her head towards Stiles, who's already taken his place on the end of the chaise, next to Scott. I don't know what the hell she wants from me, so I just ignore her, and she lets out a huff of irritation, but otherwise lets it go.
"Nice place," Scott observes, looking around the pool deck. He's leaning forward, elbows propped on the tops of his thighs, arms crossed loosely between his knees. "This is your house, Kelly?"
Kelly instantly perks up, pleased with the praise. "Yep! The pool's new, actually. We just had it put in this past spring."
"Good timing," Stiles chimes in. "I swear, I think this is one of the hottest summers we've ever had."
"I know, right?"
Scott's about to say something else, but then he stops, mouth slightly parted, eyes distant as he looks at something beyond us. I watch the movement of his eyes for a second before turning around to look back at the house, curious to see what he sees.
Allison Argent. She's coming through the double glass doors, smiling and laughing at something Lydia, who's walking alongside her, has just said, and then there's Jackson, trailing behind them.
My heart sinks.
A/N: Thank you sooo much for all the reviews/follows/favorites. You guys are awesomesauce.