A/N: Okay so before I wrote this story I wasn't very well read on teen wolf fanfiction. I'm very picky about my fanfiction so I really hadn't read a lot before writing Reckless. So because of this I had absolutely no idea how overused the premise for this story was in Teen Wolf fanfiction. Anyway, sorry for being so unoriginal and crap. Here I was thinking I was being innovative. Sorry this chapter took so long! Muse is a pain in the ass. I want to stab it repeatedly. Here is your chapter 7 after many long months (!) I finally finished it. Sorry, guys. School has been insane, but I'm nearly done with the hard part. :)
P.S. I'm still looking for someone to fill me in on lacrosse. Surely there is someone who knows something more than I do? I'm at Isaacled on tumblr or PM here! I'll give you special love and things.
"Mr. Whittmore," Mr. Clarke commanded. The sound of his voice resonating through the silent classroom caught Clare's momentary attention. She had been doodling on her note paper as her World History teacher had rambled on about romanticism in 18th century Europe. Mr. Clarke's tests were never as in depth as his lectures, at least, that's what Stiles had told her, so she often dozed off after she got the basic information she needed from his talks. She usually saw these ramblings as prime opportunities for doodling. Currently she was drawing a certain curly haired werewolf lying face first on the ground, his long legs contorted into a pretzel-like formation. She snickered at the thought. She was so engrossed that she barely heard Mr. Clarke say to Jackson, "I don't care if you were absent. I need your paper from the 2nd by tomorrow if you want credit." Clare rolled her eyes and continued to shade the cartoon Isaac as Jackson responded to Mr. Clarke. She thought it was unusual for her teacher to bring up Jackson's missing essay during class, but perhaps her World History teacher received as much pleasure from heckling Jackson as she did from imaging Isaac tripping over himself like the stupid shithead he was. She caught him in her peripheral vision as Mr. Clarke resumed his lecture and couldn't contain her scowl.
A few minutes passed and there was only about fifteen minutes left in the period. She stole a glance at Stiles and saw that he was nearly bouncing out of his seat with anticipation. She wondered if he forgot to take his Adderall that morning, but her thoughts were quickly interrupted when something Mr. Clarke said caught her attention. "You will be working with a partner." Clare's head shot straight forward. Her eyes looked about ready to fall out of her head. This wouldn't have been such a big deal had he not said, "You'll be choosing your partners by drawing names. The boys will be choosing." The names in hand, he fanned them out and began moving around the room. Boy by boy he went, instructing them to choose a name and then announce it. She didn't recognize any of the names and none of them had yet to be hers. She could hear her heartbeat growing louder as Mr. Clarke continued to move row by row. Soon, he was three boys from Isaac, then two, and then one. She gulped as he took a step towards Isaac and held out the ripped slips of paper to him. Isaac studied the fan of names and reached out a tentative hand. "Quickly now, Mr. Lahey," Mr. Clarke commanded. His fingers twitched to the right side, but he quickly changed his mind and pulled a slip from the very left. He looked at the slip for a moment, but the look he shot at her gave away what was surely written on the slip. She sighed deeply and fell back into her chair. Her arms had somehow become crossed. "Clare Lane," Isaac uttered before Mr. Clarke moved on to the next male, which happened to be Stiles seated two seats behind.
Clare would say she couldn't believe how unlucky it was, but she believed it. In fact, she'd expected it. Of course, this didn't make her any less unhappy with the situation. She didn't even known what the project was. She silently prayed that Isaac was a better student than she and had been paying attention earlier. Maybe she could just get the notes from Stiles and do the whole thing herself. Then she wouldn't even have to talk to him.
Clare and Isaac hadn't spoken since Tuesday. The few times they had coincidentally made eye contact she glared at him briefly before looking away. Her displeasure with him was very evident, but it was clear he was still angry with her as well. It wasn't obvious if either of them would be doing anything to rectify the matter, but being that neither were very keen on discussing their issues it seemed that they would be stuck despising each other until one decided to push their stubbornness aside.
Clare had wished he wasn't such an asshole when Stiles and Scott hadn't shown up for school again on Wednesday. Her classes hadn't been all that different, but when she had strolled into the cafeteria that Wednesday afternoon, she was met with a dilemma. Over in the corner sat Isaac, Erica, and Boyd, talking in hushed tones to each other. Isaac looked up when she entered, but upon meeting his gaze Clare swiftly walked towards a table on the opposite side of the room. She placed her paper bag lunch on the table that Allison and Lydia were seated at. "Mind if I sit?" she had asked the pair, who had been rather startled by her sudden appearance. She was calm in demeanor, but she was sure that the two girls could see the desperation in her eyes. Lydia looked from Allison to Clare, a perfectly sculpted eyebrow raised.
"Only if I can borrow your shoes," Lydia said as she pointed to Clare's brown, heeled booties with a smug smirk.
Clare smiled lightly and took a seat next to Allison. The trio of girls more or less enjoyed their lunch together. Clare, who found herself still slightly irked by Lydia, did see the appeal. She was straightforward and frighteningly honest, but Clare realized that it amused her.
"Explain to me why you're under the impression that sweaters are made for everyday of the week," Lydia said, a gentle hand supporting her head as the other pointed at Clare's mint green sweater with her spoon. Clare, slightly flabbergasted, looked down at the sweater. "Do you even own a skirt?" Lydia continued, her eyebrows creasing in inquiry.
Clare shrugged. "Like two?" She answered. She immediately knew she had answered incorrectly as Lydia threw down her spoon. Lydia's mouth hung agape as she looked at Allison in disbelief. Clare licked her lips and played with the hem of the sweater, averting her eyes.
After a moment, Lydia relaxed into her seat and pursed her lips. "We are taking you shopping this weekend," Lydia commanded as Clare looked up at her. She opened her mouth to protest, but Lydia simply shut her down. "No, 'buts'. It is simply criminal for someone to own only two skirts and I can't allow you continue on with your life until you have at least four diverse and fashionable skirts," Lydia said decidedly, before returning to eating her Greek yogurt. Clare hadn't been sure if she should feel offended or if this was Lydia's way of accepting her, but she wouldn't deny that the prospect of shopping excited her. It had made her feel like she really could slowly ease back into normal life.
The rest of Wednesday's lunch had gone quite smoothly. Clare had found herself rather enjoying the company of the pair of girls. She thought that it probably helped that her back was to Isaac and she hadn't had to focus on her disdain and disappointment.
However, as she sat in Mr. Clarke's classroom that Thursday morning there was little else she could focus on, proven by the doodle. Stiles was to her right and Scott was seated directly in front of her. She was glad that they were back. It made it easier for her to forget about Isaac. Although, whenever the werewolf entered her line of sight she found herself pushing her pencil harder into the sheet of paper in front of her. She had never been quite so furious with any one person. She had never been so sad and angry that it had literally broken her apart. She cringed at the memory of that Tuesday evening after their argument. She had avoided a breakdown those entire two weeks. She had held it in for as long as possible, but Isaac had drawn it out of her. Maybe it had been too much to lose her dad and her best friend over the course of two short weeks.
Of course now, thanks to Mr. Clarke's partner project, she would be forced to speak to him, even if it was just to tell him that she would be perfectly fine with him fucking off and letting her do the entire thing on her own. She decided that this was a wonderful idea and that she would act on it eventually. As the loud bell sounded in her ears, she realized that Mr. Clarke had finished assigning partners about a minute before. She was too frantic to be bothered by what he had said while she was rushing out of the classroom hoping to avoid a conversation with Isaac.
She made it to her locker without interruption. However, as she turned the circular lock and pulled the door free from its frame, she felt a figure at her side. It was a rather tall figure with a distinct musky scent that caused her to sigh. She shoved her book and binder into the locker and slammed it shut before speed walking away from him to anywhere. She hoped she would find someone she knew before it was too late, but she felt him on her heels before he quickly fell into stride with her. She refused to look at him as she heard him speak. "You seem to think you're the only one annoyed with this." She rolled her eyes a turned a corner, heading straight for Econ. He continued when she didn't answer. "I know you don't want to fail this project. You'll have to talk to me eventually." There was a warning tone in his voice. She knew he was right.
But she wouldn't let him know it. "Try again," she replied, speeding up as the halls began to clear with a blink of annoyance. She barely heard the low growl that erupted out of his throat. She smirked lightly. "You've grown impatient in your old age," she commented smugly. Her eyes darted around the hallway as they conversed. She didn't understand why the entire school seemed to clear the hallways so quickly. She was edging towards to wall as she continued to walk with him at her side, only seeing a few stray students still mulling about.
Suddenly, she found her wrist in his grasp as she stood facing him in the quiet hallway. Her eyes narrowed at him as she felt the heat radiating off his hand. She tried to yank her wrist from his grasp, but clearly that wouldn't be possible. "If I'm late to class because of you, I'll make sure you regret it," she threatened, letting out a breath that she seemed to have been holding in. She realized the irony of the sentence as each letter passed through her lips. The likelihood of her attempting to do anything to Isaac was probably even smaller than the likelihood of her being able to do anything to him. He chuckled at this, and she found herself again reminded that this teenager might have looked like Isaac and sounded like Isaac (although barely considering that puberty had done quite the number on him), it wasn't Isaac standing before her.
"We'll work on it Sunday." It wasn't a question. He said it like she didn't have any choice. His lips were formed in a thin line. It seemed that he truly was as displeased as she. Perhaps the only thing that softened his annoyance was the fact that the situation seemed to annoy her to a much greater extent.
Isaac blinked and backed away from her, his arms falling to his sides. He seemed to realize for the first time that he had grabbed her wrist. He was having so many unusual urges he couldn't control. He truly had become a different person. He wasn't really ashamed of it before she had returned, but every time she looked at him with those judgmental green eyes he felt like an eleven year old again. He felt like his best friend was angry with him and not the stranger that stood in front of him. He wrapped an arm around himself and looked away, glaring at the ground as he recalled the vivid memory of that Tuesday afternoon. He wouldn't apologize because he was too stubborn to, but also because part of him wanted to believe he really wasn't at fault. He supposed that if he just apologized this could all be over, but why should he let her win? Why should he let her have control over him? He wouldn't allow himself to be controlled any longer. Now he had the power to control himself. He wouldn't let her take that from him, not when he had just earned it.
Clare looked back at him as he glanced at her. She was still annoyed, but she had decided to give in. There was no getting around it. "Fine," she replied simply. She turned to walk away, but she felt him grab her by the arm. His hold on her was surprisingly gentle, much more so than the previous time he had grabbed her. She turned to look up at him, and simultaneously pulled her arm from his grip with a huff.
"Are you going to the lacrosse game tomorrow?" He asked, sliding his hand into his pocket. The bell sounded and Clare sighed deeply through her nose. She nodded and started to walk away once more as he began to head in the opposite direction.
"Break a leg," she muttered after him. A normal human wouldn't have heard her, but his keen werewolf ears picked up the remark.
He grinned involuntarily. "Thanks," he replied, walking backwards slightly. She stopped walking and turned towards him. She wore a painfully sarcastic smile on her chapped lips.
"No, literally, I hope you break your leg," she answered as she lifted a middle finger at him before sauntering off to Econ to accept her lunch detention. Isaac watched her leave and couldn't hide his satisfied smirk as he began to head towards his own class.
The rest of her Thursday passed quickly. Lunch had arrived faster than she realized. She found herself seated at a table with Scott and Stiles. The topic of that afternoon was the events of the previous two days. Being that the two boys had missed both Tuesday and Wednesday, Clare had asked them several questions about their whereabouts. It took most of lunchtime for them to explain about the gay club, the kidnapping of Jackson, and the restraining order. She burst out laughing at this. It took several moments for her to realize that the blank, disappointed expressions on the two boys' faces showed their utter displeasure with her reaction. Clare hid her mouth with her hand as she reached out for the plastic water bottle on her tray. "That's hysterical," she commented before taking a sip of water. She was grateful. She felt that was the first time she laughed that day.
Stiles was less than pleased. "We are both seriously and perpetually grounded, I'll have you know," Stiles said pointedly as he took a bitter chunk out of a handful of curly fries. Clare shrugged and wore a self satisfied smile as she took a bite from her carrot stick.
Scott decided to switch topics away from their humiliating two days. "How was your Tuesday and Wednesday?" he asked. Their eyes connected as Clare gnawed on her carrot, but she briskly looked away.
She shrugged. "Uneventful." There was no inflection to notice in her voice, but Scott heard it in her heart beat. He raised an eyebrow at her.
"You're sure?" he asked, looking at her skeptically. She gulped.
She knew she had been caught. She had avoided discussing the topic of Isaac all day, but she wasn't sure how she would weave her way out of this one. A thought suddenly popped into her mind. "I made plans with Lydia and Allison this weekend," she said with a casual shrug. "Nothing you boys would be interested in." Scott nodded a small smile on his lips as he went back to eating. He seemed satisfied with this answer and Clare was relieved. She could have told them about Isaac and she would have if he had asked her specifically, but if she didn't have to, she preferred to stay silent on the topic.
Her eyes drifted to that table in the corner where he and Erica and Boyd sat. They were laughing and Clare smiled lightly as she saw the wide, genuine smile across Isaac's face. He was handsome when he smiled. Even more handsome than when he was glaring at her, or angry with her or breathing near her. She tore her gaze from him and stared coldly down at her tray of food in annoyance. Isaac had been blessed by the puberty fairy, and there was no shame in her noticing that. This did stop her from feeling both disappointed and appalled at herself for thinking so.
She decided to insert herself into the discussion Stiles and Scott were having in order to help ease herself out of this disappointed feeling. They were discussing the lacrosse game that evening. "Do you think you'll win?" Clare asked as she slyly snatched a curly fry off of Stiles' tray. Scott shrugged and looked towards Stiles. Stiles shrugged too.
"Maybe. It's hard to say. We beat Riverstone last time, but only by one point," he replied as he stuffed a handful of curly fries into his mouth. Clare nodded, hiding a chuckle as a few stray curly fries fell out of Stiles' mouth. "You're coming, right?" He asked through his mouthful of fries.
Clare chuckled and nodded. "Yeah, I'm bringing my brother." She plopped another curly fry into her mouth. "I hope you're better at lacrosse than you are at eating," she said as she observed Scott in a valiant but failed attempt to take a bite of his large sandwich; tomatoes, mayonnaise, and other condiments pouring out over his hands. Stiles laughed at Scott. Clare shot him a reproachful look. "Don't act like you're any better, curly fries boy. I swear, they should give boys courses on how to eat; you're horrible."
Clare reached for another carrot, simultaneously knocking the water bottle over with her arm. Unfortunately, she discovered the hard way that the bottle had been left uncapped as the water cascaded onto her lap. She muttered profanities under her breath as the boys laughed at her. Scott proceeded to hand her napkin over his laughter, which she was grateful for. She thanked him quietly as she dried herself. As she placed the soggy napkin on her tray she flicked the water on her fingertips at Stiles, who was still chuckling uncontrollably. He hissed at her and wiped the droplets off his face as she stood the water bottle up. She scowled lightly as she reached for another napkin.
"I hope that incident isn't a metaphor for your life in the near future," Stiles said as he ironically stuffed his face with the rest of his curly fries to spite her, a few tangled strings falling onto the floor. Clare rolled her eyes, but secretly hoped so too.
"So you're paired with Isaac for this history project?" Scott asked a few moments later. Clare nodded and rolled her eyes with a sigh. Scott raised an eyebrow. "Isn't that a good thing? I thought you guys were cool?"
Shit, Clare thought, averting her eyes. She chewed on the inside of her cheek. "Uh," she paused. "We sort of had a falling out on Tuesday." Stiles leaned in ever so slightly, his eyes locked on her intently.
"What happened?"
Clare sighed deeply and licked her lips. "We just got in an argument and we haven't spoken —Well, until this morning we hadn't spoken since that afternoon." She shrugged, still trying to dry the damp spot on her leggings. At least they were black. It was giving her an excuse not to look up at them. She was afraid Scott would someone see right through her and catch a vivid glimpse at that afternoon simply by a jump in her heart rate or a glimmer in her eyes. She stole a timid glance at Scott and flicked her eyes toward Stiles.
"Oh," was all he said. She nodded and continued to wipe her pants.
"Do you like your partners?" She asked in an attempt to move away from the subject of Isaac. She refrained from looking at him as she threw another napkin on her tray and scooted her chair back in. She had given up her effort to dry herself off. Stiles shrugged and Scott nodded.
"I got Michele—" Scott began, before he was promptly interrupted by someone slamming their fists into the table. Clare jumped and looked toward the source. It was none other than Jackson. Clare cocked an eyebrow at him.
"Don't you have a restraining order?" she asked, crossing her arms. He turned his attention to her and blinked once in annoyance. The look he wore on his face was pure, utter disdain.
"It, unfortunately, isn't effective until Monday," he answered dryly. "In the meantime," he turned his attention back to Stiles and Scott. "If tweedle dum and tweedle dumber here attempt to kidnap me again, I will see your asses in court," he seethed, leaning down as if to appear even more threatening. He glared one final time before pushing himself off the table and sauntering off to Danny.
Clare was the first to speak moments later while the two of them were still slightly stunned. "Remind me not to piss him off."
Stiles nodded and let out a feeble, whine-like "mmhhmm."
Clare's head was rested on her arms as she sprawled out on the cold lab table. She was exhausted and annoyed, but that was probably just a symptom of her exhaustion. Perhaps it was a result of her current situation, stuck in lunch detention. Granted it was only thirty minutes long, but she still wasn't pleased that she had to waste her lunch stuck in that stupid classroom with one of her least favorite teachers, Mr. Harris.
She heard a chair screech against the linoleum floor next her, but she refused to look up. Whoever it was wasn't worth moving her aching head. She thought she must be catching a cold or something, because her head was throbbing uncontrollably.
"Nice of you to join us, Mr. Lahey." She stifled a groan. Whether it was at the sound of Harris' voice or Isaac's presence that made her head ache to an even greater extent she couldn't tell. In a zombie like manner she lifted her head off her arms and looked at the teenager seated next to her incredulously. He was facing forward but she saw him steal a glance at her through the corner of his eye. They were silent for a moment before Clare sat up straight, tamed the messy golden locks on her head, and rested her head on her hands.
"There's plenty of open seats," she muttered so Harris wouldn't hear. He didn't look at her and he didn't respond. She slumped down and crossed her arms, glaring at him. "I really don't get you," she hissed at him in a whisper. "You're supposed to be mad at me but here you are following me around and talking to me—forcefully grabbing me," she ranted on. She thought she should stop, because her headache was slowly worsening, but she continued on, her anger getting the best of her. "and then you ignore me like I deserve it and maybe I do, I deserve a lot of things, but did you ever think that maybe I wasn't telling you anything because I didn't want to admit it to anyone. Maybe I'm not even ready to admit it to myself. Maybe this whole thing has absolutely nothing to do with you and it's about time you figure that out," she finished. She immediately brought a hand to her throbbing head and rubbed her temples as her eyes squeezed shut.
"That will only make it worse." She heard him mutter under his breath. She peeked at him through her tired eyes, glaring even though it made it hurt worse. She was slightly satisfied that he looked at least a little dejected. She was hoping to get at least some kind of reaction from him. He looked somewhat wounded; like he wanted to say something but didn't know what. She wouldn't deny that she could somehow relate. These days it was rare if she was able to say anything that wasn't slightly sarcastic or annoyed.
She felt another pang in her head and sighed. She had another nightmare the previous night. She hadn't exactly been sleeping well. She guessed this massive migraine was symptom of her poor sleeping habits. She couldn't help that every time she closed her eyes she just saw that night play out before her eyes. All she wanted was a distraction—something to keep her from thinking about all these awful things.
They spent the rest of detention in silence. Clare's mind wandered to how excited she was that it was finally friday and that she and Bryn would being going to the lacrosse game that evening. She couldn't believe how eventful that week had been. Was everyday in Beacon Hills so chaotic? She prayed that it wasn't. Otherwise she feared for the remnants of her sanity. As the bell rang, signally the end of lunch, Clare shot up out of her seat and rushed to the door, though she aggravated her headache in the process. As she reached the door she took one last look at isaac in spite of herself. She caught his stare as he gazed at her from his seat and paused momentarily. She quickly turned and walked out of the room, an imaginary awful taste lingering in her mouth.
An early Christmas present to my favorite readers. Happy holidays! Hoping to get chapter 8 out this weekend. As usual, I apologize for suckiness and general lack of interesting things happening in this chapter. Next one will be better. I promise!
-Dani
