I would just like to put a disclaimer here to state that I know absolutely nothing about fashion. Medical stuff? Yep. Cooking? No problem. Fashion? Dear Lord, why am I writing a chapter about this?

Chapter Ten

Erica regards the hairdresser's chair like it might try to eat her. Sure, she had been talking about cutting all her hair out not too long ago, but that was just frustrated crazy talk. This was the real deal. She hadn't been to a hair stylist in . . . possibly ever.

Okay, not ever. But it has been years. Very definitely years. She watches as Lydia has some arcane but highly educated chat with the stylist before blurting out, "I don't want it short. I don't want to be one of those girls where you can't tell I'm a girl from behind because I have no hair left."

"Honey," Lydia says, "that won't be a concern, trust me. Hair or no hair." But she turns back to the stylist and says, "Not too short."

The stylist nods and gives Erica a reassuring smile before tying the bib around her and telling her to lean back so they could get her hair washed. She does as she's asked, actually used to being positioned and handled from her many times in the hospital, along with all the different imaging studies that have been done over the years. This is much nicer. It's like a head massage. She grins suddenly. "I just realized I'm never going to need an MRI done again. Ever. I think this calls for ice cream."

Allison laughs a little, over perusing the different hair care products. "Definitely," she agrees.

"Gelato," Lydia says. "Or sorbet, at least . . ."

Allison turns and points a bottle of Paul Mitchell something-or-other at Lydia in a manner that she has clearly picked up from Papa Stilinski. "One: you couldn't get fat if someone paid you. Two: do you have any idea how much sugar is in sorbet? Three: Erica can certainly use the extra calories. Four: as the person here actually in danger of gaining weight, I want actual ice cream." There's a pause. "I'm . . . not gaining weight, though? Right?"

"Of course not," Lydia assures her, without a hint of mockery. "You look great. Stiles may cook copious amounts of food, but at least it's always healthy food." She shakes her head a little and says, "I'm a little afraid of what the kitchen is going to look like when we get back to the house."

Allison smiles at her. "Thanks."

Erica relaxes into the hair-washing, just listening to the two of them talk. She realizes that she can hear their heartbeats and how basically steady they are. There was a slight rise in Allison's for just a few moments when Lydia complimented her, but that was okay. That was just some excitement. Erica's starting to know that feeling herself. But it's nice to just listen to them and get to know them that way. She had never thought she would be mixing with them like this. The pretty girls and the popular people, although it's universally agreed that Stiles is kind of strange. She likes him. She likes all of them.

Meanwhile, Allison is adding, "I'm worried that the table will collapse. Or Stiles will."

"I'm pretty sure that if he actually starts to hurt himself, Derek will intervene," Lydia says, amused. "My question is, will he go for quantity, or extravagance?"

Allison ponders this while rearranging the shampoo bottles into a new and attractive pattern. "Both. He'll start with quantity and then he'll get an idea."

Lydia laughs. "That is so true!"

The hairdresser interjects here to have Erica sit up, and starts combing through her hair. "Your hair is really fine and brittle," she mentions, as she trims away the split ends. "You're going to need a good conditioner to add more body to it," she adds, and starts talking about the different products they carry, which Erica has never heard of.

"Oh, man, you're speaking a language only Lydia understands," Erica says. "I'll just trust the two of you not to make my hair fall out." She looks at herself in the mirror. "Can you do something that'll make it look cute both when it's pulled up and when it's down?"

"Can do, honey," the stylist says. "It's got a great natural wave to it, which will help."

"The quality of your hair might improve now that you're not sick anymore," Lydia says. She had already explained to the stylist when they came in that Erica was a friend who was just recovering from 'a lengthy illness', which had minimized questions about her looks and style in general.

"It's always been kind of flyaway. That's why I kept it in those buns and stuff." Erica watches as the woman cuts away a layer of her hair and then pins up a section on the left. She wonders what her mother is going to think of all this. "It's kinda funny how I never gave a shit before. The wonders of drugs."

"Well, you won't be the first person around here not to care about fashion," Lydia says, and rolls her eyes. "I swear, one of these days I'm going to replace all of Stiles' clothes, just to see whether or not he notices."

"If we replaced his and Scott's at the same time, they would notice each other," Allison says despairingly. "I can live with Stiles' clothes. I just wish he would let his poor hair grow out."

"Yeah," Lydia says. "I'm thinking of hiding his electric razor. Except then with our luck, he would decide he looks good with a goatee."

"He would stroke it like some evil overlord," Allison says, demonstrating.

Erica starts laughing. "Oh my God. It wouldn't be a normal goatee, either. It'd be like a Tony Stark goatee."

"And in ten years, Stiles could maybe pull that off," Lydia says. "But now . . .?"

"No," all three girls say in unison.

The three of them chat first about different possible plots to force Stiles to stop abusing his hair, and then move on to other topics while Erica tries to sit as still as she could. Before she knows it, the stylist is announcing that she's finished and holding up a small mirror so Erica can see the back of her hair, asking how she likes it.

"It looks bouncy!" Erica says, with evident glee. Lydia reaches over and tweaks one of the curls, which does indeed bounce. She's brought out the blonde highlights in Erica's hair as well, so it no longer looks like she's wearing a bunch of badly arranged straw on top of her head.

"Very nice," Lydia says, with an approving nod. She lets Erica continue to stare into the mirror while she pays the stylist with Derek's credit card.

Erica is bouncing now herself, sort of like a child on Christmas, and wearing a wide grin. "Now what?"

"Well, I know we shouldn't buy you many clothes, but . . ." Allison trails off, not sure how to phrase her opinion without coming off as a bitch.

"But a small wardrobe change is definitely necessary," Lydia states firmly. "We can always buy more if you do change sizes." Her eyes scan up and down Erica's body. "We need to start at the bottom."

"So, shoes?" Erica says to Lydia. To Allison, she says, "I'm wearing a gray sack. It's okay." She looks down. "No, this one's blue. But I think that makes my point. You can say it."

Allison gives her that warm smile, and Lydia tosses her hair and says, "Not that bottom." She points to the Victoria's Secret shop that's two doors down in the mall. "Those bottoms."

Erica blinks. "Oh." There's a pause. "We get to use Derek's credit card to buy me cute panties and stuff?"

"Maybe I'll use my credit card for that," Lydia says thoughtfully. "If he sees it on his statement, he might have a coronary."

"Then he should absolutely buy me panties! We'll loosen him up," Erica says, and sails into the store like she has some idea of what she's doing, which she doesn't. Lydia and Allison both follow her, giggling, and Lydia hails the nearest clerk with a winning smile.

"We need to get her measurements taken," Lydia says, and the clerk nods and gives them a polite smile in return.

Erica just stands there like a deer in headlights, but again goes where she's told and holds still when she needs to. Once they have her measurements, Allison turns to her and says, "Okay, here's your first important decision. Do you want to wear dark-colored clothes or light?"

Erica gives this serious consideration. "Dark."

"Some of each," Lydia says, at the same time. "It's not like we're only going to buy you one bra," she adds with a shrug.

Erica is starting to get into this. "Something lacey. And red. And black." This time her grin is kind of wolfy.

Amused, Allison says, "This is going to be interesting, I can tell."

Erica waits in anticipation and then whisks her new bras off to the changing room. There are so many choices. Turquoise! Fire engine red! Lime green with little pink hearts! Lydia has loaded her up with many choices. Most of them fit fairly well, although she sends a few out to get swapped for different sizes. She also spends several quality minutes just staring at herself in the mirror. When she comes out with her final choices, Allison says, "How'd it go?"

"They bounce! My tits bounce!" Erica does the same to illustrate. She's kept the lime green bra with hearts on, taking off the tags so they could pay for it at the register. "My tits bounce and my hair bounces and this is the best day ever!"

Allison covers her mouth with one hand, trying not to laugh hysterically. "So many people are staring at us right now," she says.

"Let them stare," Lydia says, tossing her hair and heading for the panty section. "You don't really need to try them on," she says. "Just grab anything that strikes your fancy."

"Awesome!" Erica gives that feral grin to all the people staring. "They bounce!" she announces cheerfully, giving a hop to demonstrate, and then she's off. In the end, she does limit herself to a relatively reasonable selection of bras and cute panties, the bikini kind she's always thought were sexy on magazine models but never came home in her mother's practical bags from Wal-Mart for a daughter that could barely be bothered to get out of bed in the morning.

"Where to next?" Allison says, as Lydia hands over the credit card to pay for Erica's selections. "Clothes, I guess?"

"Lunch?" Erica suggests. "Or, uh, second breakfast? Elevenses? Whatever. Food?"

"Wow, really?" Allison says, and then turns a little pink. "I mean, I'm not trying to be a bitch, but . . . wow."

"No, it's cool," Erica says, swinging her bag of lingerie back and forth as they leave the store. "I'm pretty sure I've eaten more today than I have all week."

"Well, to the food court we go, then," Lydia says, linking her arm through Erica's.

Erica holds her free elbow out to Allison, who takes it, and once they're linked up, lets Lydia lead the way. "This is the most fun I've had in ever, I think."

"It's nice to have a girl's day out," Allison agrees. "You need at least three girls for a good shopping trip. Not that it's not fun when it's just Lydia and I, but . . ."

"Also we get to dress you up!" Lydia says brightly. "That will be awesome. You are going to attract so much male attention when we're done with you."

"Are you two crazy?" Erica asks, as she scans the food court. "Even I noticed that you're the two prettiest girls in school."

Allison grins a little and says, "I really can't wait for her to look in a mirror when we're done."

Lydia twines a finger around a strand of her hair and says, "Of course we are, Erica, but everyone knows that Allison's taken and I'm way out of their league. You are going to be hip-deep in horny teenaged guys by the end of your first day back at school. Trust me."

There's that wolf grin again. "Well, when you put it like that, it sounds like fun."

She gets a heaping serving of barely edible food at Panda Express, while Lydia politely turns her nose up at it and gets a sandwich instead, and Allison claims she's still stuffed from breakfast and not at all hungry. They spend most of lunch debating the merits of various boys in their classes or the class above them.

"Of course, having a boyfriend outside the pack would be virtually impossible," Allison remarks, after discussion of a particularly good candidate.

Erica makes a gesture with her fork to indicate that she wants Allison to elaborate, because she's chewing, and she does have enough manners not to speak with a mouth full of fried rice.

"Just . . . too many secrets to keep," Allison says, shaking her head. "Scott nearly went out of his mind trying to hide it from me. Plus we spend almost all our time together, so any boyfriend not in the pack would probably be weirded out by that."

Erica finishes chewing. "Why was Scott trying to hide it from you? I mean, if you're from a family of hunters, didn't you kinda know that it wasn't a big deal that he wouldn't be much fun to be around a few days a month?" She pauses to contemplate that. "Oh shit. Us girls must be awful. We're like a bitch double whammy."

Lydia lets out a snort of laughter, wrapping up the second half of her sandwich for later. "The full moon doesn't make you bitchy. It's a whole different ball of wax."

"Anyway, Scott was mostly afraid that me being from a hunter family would mean my family would try to kill him," Allison says, "which they kinda sorta did. It was this whole Romeo and Juliet sort of thing, which has at this point been settled, mostly, thank God."

"Stiles and Derek tried to explain, and I listened. I really did. But I think some of it just rolled off because I'm not going to get it until I'm there, and I didn't really care anyway." Erica gives a little shrug. "I'm glad you two got together. Scott's a nice guy. And Romeo and Juliet was a stupid play."

Lydia opens her mouth, then just gives a rueful nod. "Buuuuut, if you did still want a boyfriend, there are two eligible guys in the pack. Three if you count Derek. Which . . . I wouldn't, personally."

"Wait," Erica says. "You will include Stiles in the dating pool, but not Derek? That just makes no sense."

"Well, it's not based on their relationship or non-relationship with each other," Allison says. "It's just that Stiles is your age and also interested in dating girls, whereas Derek is twenty-four and pretty much if a girl isn't in the pack, he wants nothing to do with her. Not because he's gay. Just because he's anti-social."

Erica shrugs. "I'm good anyway. At least for now. I mean, I'm not going to be picking anyone out right now. If nothing else, my parents can only take so many shocks at once." She takes a small, experimental sip of the soda and then makes a face. "Okay, the soda was a mistake. Too soon." She has a bottle of water that she had purchased as a backup, since one of the medications she takes has a tendency to make carbonated beverages taste awful. "Isn't Derek bothered by the fact that everyone is younger than him? Or does he have friends his own age?"

"I don't think it's the pack he would have chosen," Lydia says thoughtfully, "but, well, it's the one he has. And to him, the pack is everything. So he just . . . doesn't let it bother him, I think."

Erica nods a little, absorbing this and taking the opportunity to scrape the last of the food off her plate, chew, and swallow. "I guess he doesn't have anyone else, does he. All the money in the world can't make that better."

"He's a lot less gloomy than he used to be, though," Lydia says, rising to her feet and picking up the tray with the trash. "Really."

Allison laughs. "How gloomy can you be with Stiles literally shoving cookies in your face?"

"Well, he did try to keep up appearances for a while . . ."

They go halfway across the mall to the store that Lydia has proclaimed has the best clothing for young ladies. They haven't been browsing for more than three minutes when Erica hears someone giggle. Her head jerks up and she looks around, but nobody's nearby. She shakes herself a little and holds a blue top against her chest. "What about this one?"

"I like it," Allison says, at the same time that Erica clearly hears a voice say, "Yeah, right, in your dreams."

Erica looks up again, this time taking a hard look around. She wants to make sure it's really directed at her before she says anything. All she sees are two female employees, one of them behind the register while the other folds shirts on a table nearby.

"I think she heard us," the cashier says uneasily.

"What? No way, she's all the way over there," the other girl says, dropping a shirt. "Should I go tell her that the dumpsters are behind the mall?"

Erica turns to Lydia and raises her eyebrows as if silently asking the etiquette of hearing things from across the store and then destroying people. She gets enough of this shit at school. In a store like this, they're basically paying the employees to be nice to them. But Lydia's not really looking at her; she's looking across the store with her eyes narrowed. "Excuse me," she says, and marches away from them, her heels clicking with every step.

Allison watches her go, having been alerted as soon as Erica looked up. She had long ago learned that it always paid to tune in when the wolves heard something she didn't. "They said something horrible, didn't they," she whispers.

"Yep," the blonde girl whispers back.

"Then relax and wait for the floor show."

"Awesome," Erica says, with that wolf grin, which is really starting to look at home on her.

"Excuse me," Lydia says, to the girl folding shirts, as the cashier is suddenly extremely occupied with changing out her receipt tape. "I was wondering if you could help me find something."

"Of course," the employee says, with a charmingly insincere smile.

"I don't know if you'll be able to," Lydia says, doubt creeping into her voice. "I think it's going to be kind of small."

"Small . . .?" the girl says.

"Yes," Lydia says. "See, I'm looking for your brain."

Erica starts laughing and repeats the gist of this to Allison, who joins in the giggling.

While the girl just stares at her, open-mouthed, Lydia continues. "See, I know that you guys are paid on commission, because I shop here all the time. Here we come in, obviously looking to improve my friend's wardrobe. We were planning on buying, at minimum, three or four full outfits for her. But now we will buy nothing. Which means you will earn nothing. But that isn't your biggest mistake. That? Is not removing your nametag as soon as I started over here. Because now I know who you are, and yes, you had better believe that I will be calling your manager and telling him about your behavior." She offers the girl a sweet smile and says, "I hope if you're ever recovering from a lengthy illness, people treat you with the same courtesy you've shown here today. And by the way? Your boyfriend is cheating on you with Jessi Adams. And pretty much three quarters of the girls in the junior year know about it, too. Give him and his four-inch dick my regards."

Allison is laughing so hard that she's holding onto her belly by the time Lydia gets back over to them. Erica's grin looks awfully predatory for having only human teeth showing. "You, you are amazing. I think I need to hug you."

She states it mostly as a joke, but Lydia steps right over to her, puts both arms around her waist, and gives her a tight squeeze. Erica's a little taken off guard by the embrace, and even more so by the sudden and unexpected impulse to press close and cuddle right up to Lydia. She hugs back tightly, her nose pressed to Lydia's shoulder, letting the older girl run the show since she isn't sure what to do with herself.

"Aw, group hug!" Allison says, tossing her arms around both girls from the side. "Best day ever!" She squeezes tight for a moment and then says, "C'mon, girls, let's blow this popsicle stand."

"That was my first group hug!" Erica crows as she's towed out of the store, leaving the clothes that they had selected in piles on the floor behind them. "At least that didn't involve my parents," she admits as they move on to the next store.

"Oh, Julian is working today, excellent," Lydia says, as they enter the store. She waves to a tall young man across the store and calls out, "Yoohoo, Julian, I'm back!"

Laughing, the employee crosses the store and says, "Lookin' fine today, ladies," including all three of them in a quick gaze before adding, "But I think I can see why you're here . . .?"

Lydia smiles at him. "Erica's just getting better after being sick for a long time. Give us your best shot."

"Right this way, ladies," Julian says, and holds out a hand for Erica like some Disney prince. She blushes a little and takes it. It isn't long before he has her seated in a plush chair in front of the dressing area and is asking her questions or for her opinion while whisking items of clothing to and fro. Lydia often chips in her opinion as well, or says things that Erica doesn't understand like, "That's nice, but I don't know about the dropped waistline; do you have one with a basque waistline instead?" Allison runs around grabbing things she thinks would look good and offers many opinions on color if not style.

Before long, Erica is staring at herself in the mirror, dressed in jeans and V-neck shirt that's form-fitting enough to show off her breasts but loose enough that it doesn't emphasize her bony thinness. She's starting to look like a real girl. It's somewhat discomfiting. She stands in front of the mirror, hands and arms twitching because she isn't sure whether she wants to try to cover something up or flail and squee. After a moment, she settles for, "I'm not seizing. I promise."

"We know," Allison says, clearly a little amused.

Lydia is giving her that look that's critical in nature but somehow without being insulting. "Good!" she finally proclaims. "We'll be back in a month or two once we know what size she'll be in the long-term," she adds. To Erica, she says, "Do you want him to cut the tags off so you can stay in that outfit?"

Erica nods emphatically. Her hair bounces, which makes her giggle. "Awesome."

The others all laugh, and Julian cuts the tags off the outfit. Lydia takes that and the stack of clothes over to the register to pay. They've been fairly modest – three pairs of pants, four shirts, and a cute skirt (which she would be wearing now if she didn't have what she has deemed 'gorilla legs'). Lydia's chatting with the clerk, while Julian says to Erica, "So . . . can I have your number?"

This causes ineffectual opening and closing of Erica's mouth, and possibly a funny noise or two as she tries, inadvisably, to speak. Eventually she just nods and manages to enter it into his phone without dying.

"That was adorable," Allison says, as they leave the store. "You are adorable."

"He asked for my number," Erica says. She sounds like she might explode.

"Oh, Julian did?" Lydia gives an approving nod. "He's kind of a player, but he's got good taste."

"So we aren't talking about dating? Even better," Erica says, and this time she does let out a small squee.

Allison giggles a little. "I can see that you're really going to enjoy this whole 'not being sick all the time thing'," she says, steering them into a shoe store.

"This is the best," Erica agrees. "I'm going to enjoy the shit out of it." She stares at the shoes. "Is this what going into Disney World feels like?"

"At our age, this is better than Disney World," Lydia says, amused. "Let's see, we should get you one pair of decent sneakers, one pair of sandals, then at least one pair of pretty shoes in black and in brown . . ."

Erica blinks at Lydia. "I need that many pairs of shoes?" She looks at Allison, who only shrugs and holds her hands up as if to surrender. She's not getting between Lydia and her impeccable fashion sense.

"Oh, no," Lydia says. "You need far more than that. That's why I said 'at least'. Say you're wearing a white top and navy pants? You can't wear brown or black shoes with that. Ideally you should have shoes in black, brown, tan, navy, white, and at least one bright color, and all of those colors in both a summer shoe like a sandal and closed-toe shoe both casual and dressy . . . but let's start with the basics, shall we?"

"I . . ." Erica does some quick math to calculate. Not including the sneakers, that's eighteen pairs of shoes that Lydia feels are necessary for a minimum collection. She throws her hands up as well. "You know what? Lead me to the shoes!"

Lydia asks her size and then immediate delegates Allison to look for sneakers, since style obviously won't be as important there, and takes on the rest of the shoes by herself. She comes back a minute later with a young man behind her carrying eight precariously stacked boxes.

Erica smiles up from where she's lacing up a pile of sneakers. Allison looks at them critically once they're on her feet. She had picked out a practical pair of cross-trainers, since she knew exercise was going to be in her future. "Walk around in them some," she instructs the younger girl, who does so. "How do they feel?"

Erica shuffles, she walks, she bounces. "A little loose. Maybe half a size smaller? Or thicker socks."

"Smaller sneakers," Allison says, shaking her head. "They'll stretch as you wear them."

While she goes to find the sneakers in a smaller size, Lydia sets down her choices. Three pairs of closed-toe black shoes in a variety of styles, two flat and one with platform heels, two pairs of brown closed-toe shoes – one of the same variety as the black, and one different – and three pairs of sandals in different styles. "Take your pick," she says, beaming.

"It's like Christmas." She starts with the black flats first, and sets aside the pair she likes better, then picks up the platform heels a little suspicious. She eyes them. They do not eye her back. "I've never worn heels before."

"No time like the present," Lydia says brightly, as Allison returns with the sneakers and takes out her phone, fiddling with it briefly.

"Right." With that, Erica pulls them on and stands up. She looks around and remarks, "The world looks totally different from just a few inches up." She grins and takes an experimental step, only wobbling a little before she gets the hang of it. She squees again, her arms windmilling a little. "This is the best. Mom doesn't even like me standing on chairs and shit. That rock climbing wall at school? That lecture lasted for hours."

"I bet," Lydia says. She gives an approving nod. "They look good on you. Heels are always good for bringing out the best parts of a woman's body."

"I have to try on all the heels!" Erica proclaims, but she tries on all the shoes that Lydia has brought over, heels or no heels. Half an hour later, she has four pairs of shoes that she likes – sneakers, black platform heels, brown flats, and black sandals – and they're getting ready to pack up when, on their way to the register, she walks past a pair of boots. And not just any boots. These are bitch boots. The kind that go all the way up to the knee, with unnecessary buckles and a four-inch heel.

Erica stops, and backs up. Then she actually pets them, grinning that wolf grin. "I have to try them on. I have to."

"Of course," Lydia says, grabbing a pair in her size. The miraculous boots fit almost perfectly, and look amazing with the jeans she's wearing.

She totters for a moment, and then gets used to the lighter, smaller heels. "I feel like Catwoman or something."

Allison lets out a snort of laughter. "I cannot wait to see the guys' faces when we get home."

Erica stops in her tracks. "Oh, that'll be fun. You'll take pictures, right?"

"Video," Allison says, grinning.

"Just like the video you took of her squeeing over her new shoes?" Lydia asks.

"What," Erica says.

Allison gives Lydia a narrow-eyed glance. "You weren't supposed to tell."

"Most likely not." Lydia sets down the shoes, including the box that the boots had come with, and whips out the credit card. "But it really was quite endearing."

Erica sticks her tongue out at them in her most mature move of the day. Lydia just lets out a snort of laughter as she pays for the shoes and says, "One last stop."

The last stop is make-up, which Erica is thinking she's not sure she'll actually even bother with on a day-to-day basis. But Lydia insists, so they sit down at one of those swanky counters and people slather things all over her skin. There's some debate over colors, and Erica can't help but roll her eyes at all of it, but then she gets a look at herself in the mirror when the woman is done with her.

"Damn, now I look super hot," Erica says with a grin. It's difficult to say exactly what's changed, because the makeup is well-done and therefore subtle. But her eyes stand out more now, her cheekbones are just a touch more prominent, her lips a little more full. It's a very good look on her. Apparently she will want to learn to do this stuff on a daily basis.

Lydia pays one last time and then says, "Ready to go stop some hearts?"

Erica rubs her hands in front of her face, and her grin goes from feral to positively evil. "Abso-fucking-lutely. Also, a snack."

"Well, let's get going, then." Lydia's been busily texting away while they have this discussion. "They're at Stiles' place now. Not surprising. He would want his own kitchen if he were going to do any involved cooking. I'm sure he'll have something ready for you to munch on."

"Sweet." Erica gathers up her bags. Once they were back in the car, she shuffles around in her seat so she can see both of the other girls. "Thanks. For all of this."

Allison smiles at her. "You're welcome. It was fun. Thanks for being a good sport while we played dress-up with you."

"You kidding? The stuff that didn't fit was hilarious." Erica's quiet for a minute. "Maybe I can get my parents to cover the next round of clothes since they won't have to spend the money on medical."

"Don't worry about the money, seriously," Lydia says. "Derek has more than he knows what to do with. And I think it makes him feel better to spend it on us. Like he's . . . using it to bring the pack together."

Erica shrugs. "Oh, I know he has a fuckton of money. I mean, I dunno how much money his family had, but the insurance on the house plus some of the stuff in it, and the life insurance policies . . ." She lets out a low whistle.

"Maybe your family can help us get life insurance policies," Allison says thoughtfully. "Seems like it wouldn't be a terrible thing to have."

"Mom will flip her shit," Erica predicts. "I'll ask my dad who a good agent is. He's an inspector, but he knows who's a douche and who isn't."

"Maybe in a bit," Lydia says. "I know Derek has one already, and the rest of us are all minors so I don't think we're eligible to have one anyway."

"I don't actually know. But we're not that likely to kick the bucket, are we? I mean, I know that no one was joking about the hunter stuff, but still."

"No, we're pretty tough, all things considered," Lydia assures her, as Allison parks the car in Stiles' driveway. "We'll be fine."

"Cool." Erica gets out and stumbles a little on the uneven pavement of the driveway, and laughs about it. "Clearly, I need more practice."

"Makes perfect," Lydia agrees, as they walk past the sheriff's cruiser on their way to the door. Stiles' Jeep is parked on the street, as it usually is, so his father can get in and out of the garage quickly if he needs to. She gives the door a quick knock but doesn't wait for it to be answered, pushing it open and calling out, "We're back!" before going inside and pulling the front closet open to store her coat.

"In the kitchen!" Stiles shouts back, as if such a thing is necessary.

Erica sniffs. "Oh, fuck. What are you making?" She turns to the other two girls. "I'm not drooling, am I? You'd tell me if I was?"

Both girls reassure her that they would, and they move into the kitchen to find Stiles standing there leaning over the counter, chopping fruit. Derek is sitting on the counter next to him, close enough that his leg presses against Stiles' left arm where he holds the cutting board steady. Scott's sitting at the kitchen table doing chemistry homework with Isaac. All four look up when they come in, and the friendly expressions of greeting and smiles turn quickly into gap-jawed expressions of shock. Stiles takes a minute to notice the way the room has gone silent, and turns around holding the cutting board, which currently has a bunch of sliced strawberries on it, and says, "Hey, Erica, do you like – Erica?!" he squeaks when he catches sight of her, and promptly fumbles and drops the cutting board and all its contents.

Erica leaps forward and catches the board, her hair and breasts bouncing. "Safe!"

Derek leans over and catches a hold of Stiles, pulling him back against the counter and his legs so he doesn't fall over. He blinks at Erica over the top of Stiles' head.

Erica stands from her partial crouch. "Still bouncy! And strawberries, yum." She picks one up and is about to eat it when Lydia swoops in to take it and the cutting board away from her.

"Let's not do that," she says. "They'd start passing out from the blood leaving their brains."

"I, uh, buh, you, uh," Stiles says, still just blinking at her.

"I agree," Isaac says, staring just as blatantly.

Allison giggles. "It's okay, Scott. I won't hold it against you. Just this once."

"Wow," Scott says, with definite appreciation in his tone. "Just wow."

Derek gives Erica a reasonably polite onceover. "Very nice," he says. He means it sincerely enough, but he isn't going bibbly over her like the others.

Stiles is just staring, slack-jawed. He swallows and manages to look at Lydia and say, "What are you trying to do to me?"

"Hey, I stopped her from eating the strawberries of sin," Lydia says, handing the cutting board back.

Erica, however, looks pleased. "Don't I look awesome now? And a guy asked for my number, and I think Lydia made a clerk cry because she sucks. The bitchy clerk does, not Lydia. Apparently her boyfriend has a four-inch penis. That must be a shame."

"I've heard that it's not what you have, but how you use it that counts," Allison says, "but four inches would be pushing it, I think."

"You, uhm." Stiles sets the cutting board down and rubs one hand over the back of his head. "You look nice. I mean, you look great."

She grins at him. "My tits and my hair bounce. It's awesome."

"You, uh, your, uhm," Stiles replies.

Derek reaches out and puts his hand over Stiles' eyes. "Just breathe. And then greet her with a proper hug."

"Right, right." Stiles wraps his arms around Erica's waist and then says, "Oh God you smell nice."

Derek grumps. "I didn't say to sniff her."

"And I can take the credit for it all on my own," Erica says, knowing that Stiles is talking about her scent, not the fancy shampoo or the makeup or any of that. She's not sure how she knows this, but she does. She's also overwhelmed by that urge to cuddle again, and presses her face into Stiles' shoulder.

"Hey, save some for the rest of us." Isaac has gained some confidence during his month in the pack, and he gives Stiles' a friendly shove to the shoulder. "Can I cut in?"

Erica lets herself be passed over, snuggling right up to Isaac.

Derek nudges Stiles in the leg with his toes. "Food," he reminds him.

"Right," Stiles says, turning around. "The fruit is for after dinner. I'm making – well, it started out as a pot roast but then I realized that it would make really good beef carbonnade and, you probably don't care, anyway, if you're hungry there's some egg salad. I can make you a sandwich."

"I'd love a sandwich," Erica says, from where her face is squashed against Isaac's chest. She doesn't really want to move, but she might when food becomes available.

"Okey dokey." Stiles swings over the fridge and begins asking her questions which she has virtually no opinion on – white or wheat? Tomato? Pickle? – and assembles her a sandwich. When he turns around, Isaac has shifted so he's got an arm around Erica's shoulders and she's sort of tucked underneath it. The angle makes her cleavage very obvious, and Stiles stares hard at Erica's shoulder while he hands over the food.

"Uh . . ." Erica gives him a funny look, having never experienced the shoulder-stare before.

"Sorry!" Stiles squeaks, quickly turning back to his cooking.

"I'm so confused!" Erica blurts out.

"He was trying really hard not to stare at your chest," Lydia informs her. Stiles flushes bright pink and focuses on the fruit he's slicing, but doesn't argue.

"Oh." Erica looks down at it. So does Isaac. "Why? It's kind of awesome now. I'd stare at it."

Stiles goes from pink to red. "It's not polite," he says.

Erica laughs. "I called you a used-up douchenozzle once."

"I deserved it," Stiles replies.

"Well, I deserve to have people looking at my boobs," Erica says with a decisive nod. "Because they're awesome."

"I . . . think I'll let Isaac take on that duty," Stiles says. "He seems to have a pretty good start on it."

Isaac's head and attention jerk up. "Huh? What? Sorry!"

Derek snorts, trying to hide his laughter. The others don't bother. "Don't worry, I was the same way after I met Allison," Scott says. "I never knew where to look."

"Everywhere," Allison tells him. Derek makes a face.

"Everywhere what?" Sheriff Stilinski asks as he comes into the kitchen, reaching for a glass of water that he had left on the kitchen table. "Oh, hi guys. Hi . . ." He's caught blinking at Erica. "Erica?" he concludes, the word definitely a question.

Erica nods. "Apparently I clean up well," she says, pleased.

"Yes, you certainly do." Stilinski clears his throat and says, "Blink, Stiles. You're going to dry your eyeballs out."

"Okay, Dad," Stiles says, his face turning darker pink by the minute.

"I have to go pick some things up at the station, but I'll be back by five," he adds. "Erica, you might want to, uhm, if you did get a slightly more modest shirt, you may want to put that on before your parents get here." He tousles Stiles' hair and heads for the door.

"What?" Erica asks, confused.

"I was, uh, gonna mention that myself," Stiles says. "Your parents are going to be joining us for dinner. My dad called them."

Erica turns to face Stiles, her chin coming up, eyes narrowing. "Now why would he do a thing like that?" she asks.

Derek eyes her from behind Stiles, hops off the counter, and gets out of the line of fire. The others hastily back away a few steps as well, suddenly becoming very interested in Scott and Isaac's chemistry homework. Stiles, for his part, is unfazed. "You said you wanted us to be there when you told them about the werewolf thing," he says, "so I figured it'd be easiest if we just had them over for dinner. Scott's mom is going to come over, too."

"No warning?" Erica asks incredulously. "No 'hey Erica, is it okay if I do this behind your unsuspecting back?, you, you . . ." She stands there vibrating for a moment, and one can almost imagine her making a high-pitched whistle like a boiling tea kettle. "You twice-used condom!"

"Okay, wow," Stiles says. "You said you wanted our help telling them. And we had to do it before you went home tonight, because if they saw you like that they'd have all sorts of questions, and you would've been stuck trying to explain by yourself."

"You could have asked! Or talked it over with me! Or I could have put my old clothes on for tonight until I decided what to do!" She picks up an orange that's sitting on the counter in the fruit basket and chucks it at Stiles' head.

Stiles reaches up and catches it before it can hit him, rather than dodge and have it break something. "Erica, if I'd asked, you would've come up with some reason we shouldn't do it. Think of it like ripping a Band-Aid off. Better to get it over with sooner rather than later."

Erica begins edging from pissed to pouting, because she knows that he's right. "I'm still mad at you." She folds her arms over her chest and adds, "If you do something like this to me again, I'm going to punch you. In the dick."

"Ohhhh-kay," Stiles says, trying not to grin at the sight of her pouty lower lip. It's somehow both adorable and sexy at the same time. He tries to his reaction to it by turning back to the counter and then offering her the fruit again. "Strawberry?"

She wrinkles her nose at him. "I demand chocolate."

"I think we can do that," Stiles says, and starts rummaging in the pantry.