By the end of the week, the school was abuzz with talk of the first lacrosse game of the year. People were excited, but there was also an air of anxiousness, especially in my particular social circle.

Jackson had been cleared for the game…sort of. "Forcibly cleared" might've been a better description. Lydia heavily implied that Jackson's parents had placed calls to both the hospital and the school board, offering hefty donations in exchange for the answers they wanted. I couldn't even begin to unpack that in my mind. It was just a lacrosse game.

Until Saturday though, Jackson's arm was in a sling to take pressure off the ligaments in his shoulder. He bitched constantly about how annoying it was, how it was itchy, how it was confining, how it was doing more harm than good, and how he was going to strangle Scott McCall the moment he had use of both hands. Jackson was usually an irritable person, but the sling was pushing it to an all new level.

The only person more stressed than Jackson was Lydia. She dealt with the brunt of Jackson's attitude, and in turn, projected it onto anyone and everyone that got in her way. I was treated to more than one sermon about how Jackson was making her look bad by being injured, even if it wasn't strictly his fault. If Jackson couldn't use his arm, it meant that he wasn't the best on the field, and if Jackson wasn't the best, then what did that mean for Lydia? She seemed to feel that the very fabric of the community would be torn to shreds if Beacon Hills lost the game on Saturday.

I knew, in theory, that it all stemmed from Lydia's insecurities, but I was also getting really tired of dealing with it. Lydia was being even more high maintenance than usual, micro-managing my every move. She'd gone back to picking all my outfits, demanded I change the color of my nail polish, and point blank refused to let me pick up any shifts at work. I did my best to take the path of least resistance, but I was about one snappy retort away from taking my Econ textbook and smacking Lydia over the head.

Friday morning, we were almost late for school because Lydia had changed her mind about my outfit twice. In the car, I had tried to put on the radio only for her to reach over and smack it off. There was no time for music, not when the first lacrosse game of the season was a mere thirty-three hours away. Instead, Lydia verbalized her entire checklist of tasks we needed to complete, starting with accompanying Jackson to the hospital to get a shot of steroids and ending with a trip to the craft store for poster supplies so we could make supportive signs for the game. Then she recited the list again, this time ranking the errands in chronological order instead of order of importance.

I leapt out of the car the moment it rolled to a stop, fleeing to my locker in hopes of getting some peace. To my dismay, Lydia followed right behind me, somehow managing to keep up despite her height disadvantage.

"And you'll need to get most of your homework done during the school day," she instructed as we walked. "I can't have you worrying about Spanish conjugations while we're getting ready."

"Of course, Lydia."

"Try to work in between periods, but just blow off your electives if you have to."

"Of course, Lydia."

"If you tell Finstock you're on your period, he'll let you sit out no matter what they're playing. It's not like basketball has ever helped anyone."

"Of course, Lydia."

"And during lunch we should—oh, Allison!" Her tirade paused momentarily as Allison joined us in the hall. "God, you look absolutely killer today, as per usual. I love that belt."

"Wow, thank you, Lydia. Morning, Sadie."

"Morning—"

"So, Allison," Lydia interrupted, already back to business. "Sadie and I just wanted to make sure that you're coming to the game tomorrow."

"Oh, yeah," she answered with a smile. "I have to talk to my dad about it, but I was gonna try to go."

"Try?" Lydia repeated the word as if it were foreign to her. She gave a tense laugh. "Allison, this is the first lacrosse game of the year. You cannot miss it. Everyone is going to be there. And you want to support Jackson and Scott, don't you?"

"Well—yeah." Allison's eyes widened in alarm. "Yes, of course I do."

"Great! Then we'll see you tomorrow." She started to turn away before another thought occurred to her. "Oh, and we're all going out to eat after we win. Me, Jackson, Sadie, you and Scott, okay? Perfect."

With a chilling smile, Lydia turned on her heel and strutted down the hallway, allowing for no argument or discussion of the subject. I snorted, slamming my locker shut while Allison continued to stare down the hall in shock.

"Wow," Allison said, evidently at a loss for words. "That was…"

"Brutal? Inconsiderate? Conceited?"

"I was gonna say nice of her." I scoffed again, prompting her to raise her eyebrows. "What's got you so worked up?"

"Nothing," I sighed as we made our way toward the English classroom. "Lydia's just driving me up the wall. I just want this stupid game over with. If we lose, there'll be no living with her."

"That bad?"

"Hm. Any chance your parents would let me move in with you? I'll pay rent."

Allison tipped her head back with a graceful laugh. I grinned, and was about to go on when I noticed just how full the classroom already was. In the opposite corner of the room, Scott and Stiles were already waiting in their seats.

"Hey," I said, grabbing Allison's arm to hold her back. "Can you just…not tell Scott about the post-game plans yet? I wanna talk to you about something."

"Yeah, sure," Allison agreed, eyes full of concern. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, it's fine. We can talk about it later."

Allison still looked suspicious, but I just herded her forward into the classroom. I took my seat without making eye contact with anyone else and busied myself taking out my books.

In English, we were still working on the existentialism unit. It was nice to think about the concept of free will, the freedom of choice, but it could also get a little depressing. We could do anything we wanted to, but only because we made virtually no impact on the big picture. Mr. Neske's lecture seemed to drag on and on, rehashing the same three points in a hundred different ways. Fifteen minutes in, my eyes had begun to glaze over.

A square of paper slid onto my desk, and Allison subtly pulled her arm back into her lap. I made sure not to crinkle the page too loudly as I opened the note.

"Are you still mad at Scott about the party?"

I bit back a sigh. I was still mad about the party, but not for the reason Allison thought. It also wasn't the reason I wanted to talk about tomorrow. It seemed like a lot to convey on a four-by-four piece of paper, but I tried my best.

"Yes and no. I was Lydia and Jackson's third wheel for the whole summer. And the only thing worse than being a third wheel is being a fifth wheel. No offense to you or Scott. I just wanted to give you a heads up that I'm probably not going."

I slipped the note back to Allison, who had to wait until Neske's back was turned to read it. When she did, her whole back tensed. She picked up her pen and began scribbling frantically, her nose almost pressed to the page. Her handwriting was noticeably messier when she passed the note back.

"Sadie, you cannot leave me alone with Lydia and Jackson! Please! I can't go on a double date with Lydia and Jackson. He and Scott will just fight the whole time, and then I'll end up talking to Lydia about fashion or theoretical calculus or something!"

I had to grin at that. Allison probably wasn't far off the mark.

"My point exactly. I'm not a masochist."

I thought I'd won the argument with that. Allison sagged in her seat, twirling her pen between her fingers and keeping her eyes on the chalkboard. It seemed like she was immersed in the lecture, but a few minutes before class was over, the note appeared on my desk one more time.

"What if Stiles comes?"

I frowned, stealing a look at the boy in question. I still wasn't talking to Stiles, but I also wasn't not talking to Stiles. I was annoyed about the party and his evasive questioning at the library. On the other hand, I hadn't seen any sign of Derek since the library either. I didn't want to get my hopes up, but I was hoping that the whole thing had just blown over. Then I wouldn't have to deal with it anymore.

I picked up my pen to respond, only for Mr. Neske to clear his throat at the front of the room.

"Miss Bennet! Something you'd like to share with the class?"

"Oh, um…" I looked around the room, thinking fast. "No, uh—I just was just thinking about how Sartre says, 'Hell is other people.' You can definitely interpret that as 'everyone sucks,' but I think that what he was getting at is that it's almost impossible to preserve free will in a society where we're all constantly judging each other. Especially in high school."

A few people laughed, and Neske gave me an indulgent smile. He knew full-well I hadn't been paying attention, but he couldn't exactly put me on blast when I was still on top of my game.

"A good point. Which brings us back to what Kafka is trying to say about society…"

"Nerd alert," Allison giggled over her shoulder.

I grinned and leaned back in my seat to ride out the rest of the period. It was just a few minutes until the bell rang, and I barely had enough time to close my binder before Allison rounded on me with big, hopeful eyes.

"So?"

"I'll…think about it," I said reluctantly.

Allison beamed. "Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you! It's gonna be so much fun, I promise."

"Hey, I—I didn't say yes!"

But Allison was already gone, practically skipping to her next class. I pointedly ignored the curious looks I was getting from Scott and Stiles. I lugged my bag onto my shoulder and trudged out of the room, contemplating just how right Sartre was. There was no free will when you were dealing with other people.

Between Allison and Lydia, I was now positively dreading tomorrow. Just thinking about the amount of socializing I'd be asked to do was giving me a headache. But of course, just when I thought it couldn't get worse, it did.

Lydia slammed her tray down on the lunch table, making me jump about a foot in the air.

"What did you just say?"

I looked around in alarm, wondering what I possibly could have done wrong in the first three minutes of lunch, but Lydia wasn't talking to me. Danny was already slipping into the seat next to me, looking just about as tired as I felt.

"Apparently McCall says he's not playing tomorrow," he repeated. "He tried to talk to Coach this morning."

"What?" I gasped. "Why?"

"No idea. All I know is that Coach stopped me earlier and asked me to keep an eye on him. He also asked if I thought Scott was gay, but you know. That's just Finstock."

"God, this is just like him," Lydia spat, spearing a piece of broccoli with so much venom that her fork cracked against the tray.

Danny cocked an eyebrow. "…Finstock…?"

"No! Scott McCall! He causes this big scene at try outs because he thinks he's a big man, he pushes his way around to the top, and now that he's finally got everyone's attention, he's crumbling under the pressure. This is why losers need to stay on the bench."

"Lydia," I said in a warning tone, which Lydia ignored. The rest of the lacrosse team was already joining us, exchanging dark looks.

"Talking about McCall?" Tommy Heifer asked, taking the seat across from Danny. "I heard that if he doesn't play tomorrow, Coach is taking him off first line."

"Let him," Jackson snapped from the head of the table.

I bit my lip. "Okay, look, I get that no one here is crazy about Scott, but having him on first line is a good thing, isn't it? Like it or not, he's like...really good."

"It's not just about skill," said Dylan. "Dude doesn't play well with others."

He nodded to Jackson's arm, and I knew better than to argue. Tensions were high enough as it was.

The conversation moved on, everyone talking about the curfew that had been set by the police. I had been so concerned about starting school that I'd barely been paying attention to the news, but a week or two prior a woman's body had been found in Beacon Hills Preserve. It was a big deal at the time, but no one seemed to care that much about it anymore. Most of the table agreed that it was stupid to wait this long to enforce a curfew. Whatever or whoever had killed the girl was probably long gone. Lydia insisted that we'd still be going out after the game no matter what the police had to say about it. I didn't think that was going to go over with my mother, especially after losing Dad, but I held my tongue for the time being.

To make matters worse, at the end of the school day, I walked to my locker to find an extremely shaken Allison waiting for me.

"Hey," she sighed, wringing her hands. "Do you—can I talk to you for a sec?"

"Of course," I agreed instantly. "Are you okay?"

"I'm—I don't know. It's about Scott."

I did my best to keep at least some of the frustration off my face. "Allison, remember how we were talking about reaching that point where I tell you not to talk about Scott anymore? We're rapidly approaching that point."

"No, Sadie, listen, okay? So you put my jacket back in my locker, right? Which—thank you, I totally didn't even notice that I'd left it at your house—but then Scott sees me carrying it and he gets totally weird about it. Just demands to know where I got it, and then starts interrogating me about that guy Derek."

That certainly caught my attention. I looked down and suddenly realized that Allison was holding not one, but two jackets. I couldn't remember whether or not she'd been wearing her coat when she left the party, but I definitely would have remembered putting it in her locker for her. Only I hadn't.

"According to Scott, they're not friends," Allison was still rambling, "which I don't get cause he told Derek about giving me the pen, right? And then he starts asking all these questions like 'how much did you talk?' and 'what did you say to him?' and he just seemed so upset! Like scary, irrational upset. It really freaked me out. That's—that's weird, right? I'm not totally overreacting?"

"Okay, hold on," I said, grabbing her by the shoulder. "Just—just breathe for a second."

"Breathe. Right."

She nodded, leaning her back against the lockers and closing her eyes for a moment. This gave me the time I needed to collect my thoughts.

I hadn't been the one to put Allison's jacket back in her locker. Clearly, it hadn't been Scott either. The other natural option was Lydia, but I hadn't seen the jacket in the car, and honestly, I couldn't imagine Lydia doing something so subtle as leaving the jacket in Allison's locker instead of returning it face to face so Allison could thank her for her overwhelming kindness. So how had it gotten there?

Scott certainly seemed to have his suspicions. I thought it was a little overkill to assume that Derek had snuck onto school grounds and broke into Allison's locker just to give her coat back. Then again, was that any weirder than driving her home in the first place, or showing up to the library to check out the exact same books as Stiles? I didn't know what Derek was trying to prove, but he definitely knew more than he should.

I sighed, ready to kick myself. And I'd just been thinking the whole thing had blown over. What a day to jinx myself.

"Listen," I said as gently as I could. "I don't think Scott's lying about not being friends with Derek."

Allison looked up sharply. "What? But—"

"I don't know how he knows about the pen, but Stiles also said that they weren't friends, and he was really…annoyed when he realized Derek was at the party."

"Seriously? Then what—why didn't you say something to me?"

"I thought I was the one overreacting," I said, which was the truth. "I definitely think they know each other. Maybe they talk to the same people, or they used to be friends but had a falling out? That's the way Derek made it seem."

"When did you talk to Derek?" Allison demanded, and I winced.

"Okay, full disclosure, he came to the library this week."

"Excuse me?" Allison's jaw dropped. "And you just—you didn't want to mention that?"

"I thought I was going nuts! It's a public library, Allison. He was just there to check out some books, and I happened to be working."

I was lying again, but I had to. I couldn't handle the expression on Allison's face. The girl was rapidly reaching a breaking point and looked like one more blow might push her over the edge. She didn't need to know about the werewolf books.

"It's probably nothing," I assured her. "Just…guys being guys and getting territorial about girls. But I think you should stick with Scott on this one. Just leave it and…let him get it out of his system."

"Even though he's being weird, and secretive, and territorial?" Allison asked glumly.

"Okay, hold on. I was the one being secretive, and I'm sorry. As for being weird and territorial: he's always weird, and right now he's under a lot of stress. His first game is tomorrow, and apparently if it doesn't go well, Coach is prepared to demote him from first line."

"What?" Her face softened. "That's awful!"

"I know. So maybe, just this once, we cut him some slack. Besides, I don't think you can blame him for being worried about you talking to Derek. The guy was seriously hot, and you're way out of Scott's league."

She rolled her eyes and pushed herself off the wall. "Very funny."

I grinned and entered the combination for my locker. Hopefully this time we could make it off campus without any more shocking revelations.

"Speaking of people acting oddly," said Allison, "do you know what's gotten into Lydia? Like did you say something to her?"

"About what?"

"I don't know, just…me? She's being weirdly nice today, walking me to my classes and introducing me to all her other friends. Not that she wasn't being nice before, just…"

"Lydia-nice," I finished bitterly.

I had noticed Lydia's strange behavior as well. She'd been all over Allison since lunch, toting her around and showing her off like a shiny new toy. I remembered that feeling all too well, and I didn't miss it. I had my own suspicions about Lydia's motivations, especially given the conversation at lunch, but Allison didn't need to know that just yet.

"Lydia means well," I said off-handedly. "She wants the game to go perfectly, so she's in hyper-speed management mode. She wants you to be comfortable coming to the game, which in her mind means introducing you to all the cute boys on the team. She really does like you. She's just…Lydia."

"I get it," Allison said with a smile, "and I really appreciate it. Both of you. If I didn't have you to listen to my ranting, I probably would've combusted by now."

"That's what I'm here for."

We walked together to the exit, escaping the school to find that the Argents' red truck was already waiting on the curb. Allison's dad smiled when he saw us, waving with his teeth and all.

"That's my ride," Allison said, pulling a hand through her hair, "but listen, would you wanna come over tomorrow? We can just hang out, talk, go through my closet. I could use some help staying calm before the game."

"Allison," I beamed. "You have no idea how much I want to be at your house and not with Lydia tomorrow."

"Actually, I think I do," she laughed. "Okay, cool, so. I'll talk to you later!"

She gave me a quick hug, then ran down the path to her father's truck. Feeling a little lighter, I braved the parking lot so I could find Lydia.

The afternoon was a whirlwind of errands. We spent an obscene amount of time at the craft store, which would have been a dream if I had actually been allowed to wander. Instead, I was pretty much shackled to Lydia's side while she debated if using glitter glue on the signs would be juvenile or fabulous. After the craft store was the mall, so we could go shopping for new coats, then the sporting goods store to buy Jackson a get well gift that might put him in a good mood. We stopped for smoothies, then picked up Jackson, then drove to Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital for his injection appointment.

"Why do I have to be here?" I asked as Lydia and I sat in the waiting room.

"Moral support," she answered without looking up from her magazine.

"Lydia, I don't think Jackson gains any moral support from me. I annoy him by breathing."

"You're not here for Jackson. You're here for me. Do you think I like chauffeuring him around while he's constantly whining like a baby?"

"He's your boyfriend," I reminded her.

"And I love him. Most of the time." She turned to me with a genuine smile. "I appreciate your keeping me company."

"Whatever," I sighed, but it lacked conviction. "I still say I would've been more useful at home getting a start on the posters."

"Please. I know you're the artist, but I'm not stupid enough to let you do that without supervision. I'm not coming home to a sign that says, 'This is a sign. It is for Jackson.'"

"Actually, that's not a bad idea…"

Lydia smacked me, and I sniggered.

"By the way," I continued, "when did you decide to become Allison's welcome committee?"

"When Scott McCall told me he wasn't playing tomorrow," she replied honestly. "I figured that introducing Allison to all the much hotter, much cooler boys on the team might give him a little motivation to prove himself."

"Ha, naturally…"

"What? I had to convince him somehow."

"So you're using Allison."

"Don't say it like that. I'm…multi-tasking. You said I needed to make her comfortable, and you certainly haven't bothered introducing her to anyone. I can't stand by while a gem like Allison's slumming it with someone like McCall."

"Forgive me," I shot sarcastically. "You're so incredibly thoughtful."

"Oh, shut up. It's not a crime to show people around," she defended, tossing her hair. "I did the same thing for you, and you turned out incredible. I don't hear you complaining."

"Yeah. That's because you told me to shut up."

There was a beat as Lydia glared at me. Then I snickered, which made Lydia giggle, until we were both laughing loud enough to draw disapproving looks from the nurses at the reception desk. I tried to silence Lydia by swatting at her leg, which had absolutely no effect.

Lydia wouldn't be silenced until her phone went off in her lap. She sobered immediately, scrambling to open the phone for more information.

"You know, you're not supposed to use your cell phone in a hospital," I said dryly, "and I'm pretty sure a call from—Evie?—is not an emergency."

I peered over Lydia's shoulder at the phone, only for her to shoo me away.

"Duh, that's why I have Bluetooth. So it looks like I'm talking to you."

I bit back a groan as she answered the call. I wished I hadn't left my book in the car.

After about twenty minutes of being a third party participant in Lydia's counseling Evie about her boyfriend, I'd had enough. I had some cash in my purse and, besides the smoothie, I hadn't eaten since lunch. It was already pitch black outside and I was dying to stretch my legs. I got up from my seat only to have Lydia snatch my forearm.

"Wait, where are you going?"

"Bathroom," I excused. "I'll be right back."

"What? No! You can't go! If you leave, people are going to think I'm talking to myself."

"Well then, you better wrap up the call, otherwise someone might think you're crazy and make you stay here."

And with a sardonic smile, I pulled myself out of her grasp and escaped down the hall.

If only it were more freeing. Even as I wandered the halls, I had to fight back the feeling that I wasn't supposed to be there. People had important jobs to do, doctors and nurses rushing up and down the hall to attend to their patients, and here I was exploring just because I was bored out of my mind.

Eventually I happened upon a vending machine, where I bought myself a bag of chips, a pack of Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, and a bottle of water. I stayed there as long as I could, leaning against the wall while I ate my chips. But by the time the bag was empty, I'd gotten bored again. Hopefully Jackson would be getting out soon. I couldn't believe we'd already been waiting this long. How long could it take them to stab him in the arm and send him home?

When I got back to the waiting area, Lydia was no longer alone. She was nodding vaguely, her phone still in her hand, but someone had taken up my spot beside her—someone who was leaning over-casually on the wall with their shirt sleeves rolled up to their elbows. My heart dropped. There was no mistaking that buzzcut.

"I sit behind you in biology," he was saying, blissfully unaware of the fact that Lydia was not listening to him. "Anyway, I always thought that we just had this kind of…connection? You know, unspoken, of course, and uh…maybe it'd be kinda cool to...get to know each other a little better!"

I grimaced, bracing myself for impact.

"Hold on, give me a second," Lydia said, finally removing her earpiece. "Uh yeah, I didn't get any of what you just said. Is it worth repeating?"

And bang. Impact. Stiles deflated on the spot and I could only watch, holding in a sigh of pity for the poor kid. Lydia could be vicious.

"Uh…no," he replied, his voice full of defeat. Lydia immediately went back to her phone call. "Sorry. I'm…I'm gonna sit—yeah, you don't care."

Stiles shuffled back around the corner, collapsing into a chair and letting his head sink into his hands. He was so crushed that he didn't even notice me watching him from a few paces away. I hesitated for a moment before returning to my original seat.

Lydia smiled when I sat down, patting me on the knee and gesturing to the Bluetooth in her ear to indicate that she was still on the phone. A kindness that clearly hadn't been afforded to Stiles. I gave her a small smile, waving for her to continue about her business. I waited until she was fully immersed in the conversation again before making my next move.

I turned in my seat, leaning around the corner where Stiles's shoulder was just visible beyond the wall.

"We have a connection? For future reference, that might actually be the worst pick up line. Like ever."

My voice startled him out of his seat, and he leapt up with a shout. He spun around in a whirl of flailing arms, one hand clutching at his chest while the other grabbed the arm of the chair for balance. I had to press my lips into a very tight line to stop myself from laughing.

"S-Sadie!" he panted, his voice relieved but his eyes accusing. "God, don't—don't do that! Hi! What—what are you doing here?"

"What do you think I'm doing here?" I asked, unimpressed. "Lydia dragged me to wait for Jackson."

"Right, yeah, that…makes sense." He collapsed back into his chair, one leg tucked up on the seat so he could face me more comfortably. "How long have you guys been here?"

"An eternity. I went on a snack run when I got tired of Lydia ignoring me."

I held up the pack of peanut butter cups as evidence and Stiles grinned. Stiles looked between me and the candy, his eyes accusing once more.

"Wait, did—did you know she was on the phone?"

I grimaced, which was a good enough answer for Stiles.

"Wow. Great, well, thanks. Couldn't have warned me?"

"Oh, I'm sorry," I replied, full of false sincerity. "Does it—does it bother you when people don't tell you things?"

"Okay, that—that is not the same thing."

"Well, I wouldn't know that, would I? Because you won't tell me what it was. So you know what? Consider us even."

I promptly turned back in my seat, arms folded over my chest as I glared straight ahead. I could hear Stiles muttering mockingly behind me, then the dull thunk of his head bumping into the wall. I puckered my lips, stubbornly fighting the guilt that was brewing in my stomach, but I only endured for a few seconds. I grabbed the peanut butter cups off the table between us, and blindly held them out around the corner. It took a moment, but I finally felt Stiles pull the package from my hand.

"I don't need your pity candy, you know," he grumbled as he fumbled with the wrapping. "I know it's a—a losing battle, or whatever. I don't know why I thought she'd even talk to me."

My lips pulled into a frown. I glanced to Lydia, making sure she was still occupied, then turned fully in my seat to face Stiles.

"How about because you're human?" I suggested. "Look, Lydia's my best friend, and I love her, but she's also a bitch. She didn't need to brush you off like that. I'm sorry."

Stiles blinked at me. He struggled with his response for a moment and then returned his attention to the Reese's. He pulled the package open, passing me a peanut butter cup with a shrug.

"Doesn't really matter. I'm used to it. I mean, Lydia's never paid any attention to me. Even when we were in the same class it's just like—I don't know—she's in a different world. And that world is really, really different from mine."

"Tell me about it," I laughed in agreement. I caught the annoyance on Stiles's face, and continued, "What? I didn't run with the popular kids at my last school. Lydia pretty much had me in finishing school all summer. I'm a born brown-noser."

He considered that for a moment before cracking a smile. "Yeah, okay, I buy that."

I swatted at him, but Stiles recoiled before I could reach. Evidently, he still remembered my assault on Scott's shoulder.

"Well you're bound to be on her radar this year," I added. "You're friends with Scott, he's dating Allison, she's friends with me. So don't worry about Lydia."

"Yeah, I'm always worried about Lydia," he sighed.

"Anyway. What about you?"

"Me?" He glanced over my shoulder, then lowered his voice so there was no chance Lydia could hear him. Even I had to lean in to understand what he was saying. "Pft! Me, I—I have been in love with Lydia since like the third grade. Okay? Like, I let her take one of my colored pencils and somehow ended up selling my soul. That's probably the last time she talked to me too, cause that's when she started getting really pretty. Well, not started, but—I mean, I've always thought Lydia was beautiful, but by middle school she was already so unbelievably beautiful that it was impossible to ignore. She started hanging out with the popular crowd, and me, I just sorta…faded away into the background. Which is why I've never really had the guts to talk to her, you know? Cause she's gorgeous and talented and smart—so much smarter than people give her credit for. I know that, but also I'm not—I'm not any of those things, so…why would she talk to me? And it just…it sucks…"

His voice broke on the last word, and his eyes sunk down to his hands, still fiddling with the plastic wrapper from the candy.

I couldn't help but stare at him. I'd known that Stiles had a thing for Lydia, but I hadn't been prepared for a heartfelt speech like that. The way he'd been driving by the house all summer, I'd kind of written him off as just some horny kid with boundary issues, but after that…well. It sounded like Stiles understood Lydia a lot more than most of the people she was friends with.

There was something pure about him too, something I couldn't place, but made me smile just the same. Maybe there actually were some decent teenage boys out there, and not just a world full of Dylan Peters.

"I'm sorry," I offered, which felt lame after his long, eloquent speech.

"S'fine," he replied, waving off the concern. "I've had a lot of time to think about it, you know?"

"…I was actually asking why you were at the hospital…"

Stiles blanched.

"Why am I—oh! Shit! Sorry, um—I'm here with Scott. He's fine," he added when he saw my alarm, "he's totally fine! It's just that—uh—yeah, his—his mom works here, and he needed to drop something off so—so I said I'd drive him."

"Oh, well, that's okay then," I said, relaxing. "That's really sweet of you."

"Yeah, thanks I…sorry. You know, we were just—and I thought you meant—"

"Stiles, it's fine," I assured him. "Really. I'm glad you told me."

I offered him a genuine smile, which he returned even though he was still mortified. Before he could come up with any different response, Lydia's voice ended our conversation.

"Okay, I've gotta go, Evie. Bye!" She threw the earpiece into her purse with revulsion and pulled me out of my chair. "God, what a nightmare. That boy deserves to be shot."

"Who?" I asked in alarm.

"Anthony?" Lydia said, as if this was something I should know. "Evie's boyfriend? God, keep up, Sadie."

"Right…"

Lydia was already brushing past me, walking across the lobby to meet Jackson as he returned from his appointment. He looked as ill-tempered as ever, rolling and rubbing his tender shoulder, but the sling was finally gone.

"Hey there," I greeted, standing at Lydia's side. "How ya feeling?"

"Peachy," he shot back.

Lydia snapped her fingers in his face, grabbing his attention. "Did he do it?"

"Yeah," Jackson answered. "He said not to make a habit of it, but one cortisone shot won't kill me."

"You should get one right before the game too," Lydia suggested snidely, earning her a pointed look. "The pros do it all the time! You wanna be a little high school amateur? Or do you want…to go…pro?"

She swayed over to him, taking his hands in hers and pressing herself to his chest. Jackson's irritation evaporated, and within seconds, they were making out in the middle of the hospital. My lip curled, and I turned away to collect my things. Over by the chairs, Stiles jumped, and quickly hid his face behind a booklet on the menstrual cycle, which he was pretending to read instead of watching Lydia and Jackson kiss. I snickered as I picked up my bag.

"Well, I'm out of here, Stilinski."

"Hm? Oh! Yeah, sure. Bye, Sadie."

"Guess I'll see you at the game tomorrow. Good luck."

"Eh, I don't need it," he dismissed, peering around me to get one last look at Lydia and Jackson swapping spit. "I never get to play anyway."

"Well then, good luck on your ongoing quest to get on the field. Nice reading choice, by the way."

Stiles furrowed his brow, closing his booklet to look at the cover. He instantly dropped it as if he'd been burned and wiped his hands on his shirt. I smirked, waved, and backed away.

"Come on," I said, breaking up the amorous couple. "Can we get out of here now?"

"Please," Jackson groaned, and he led the way to the parking lot.

I had hoped their good moods would last the night. As much as I hated Lydia and Jackson's PDA, watching them flirt was better than watching them fight. But by the time I had folded myself into the back of the Beetle, they were already bickering about how long the visit had taken and what sort of steroids Jackson should have taken.

I rested my head against the window and tried to tune them out. These days it always seemed like they were either fighting or making out; there was no middle ground. I knew that was part of being in a relationship, but I had always imagined most of the time to be the quiet moments in between: talking about your day, sharing your interests, coexisting in silence. I wanted to be able to enjoy hanging out with someone regardless of what we were doing, going out for a date or spending a night in. But what did I know? I'd never had boyfriend before.

My mind strayed to Stiles, sitting in the hospital and pouring his heart out at the drop of a hat. I didn't think Jackson liked Lydia the say way Stiles did. He loved her, in his own, private way, but he never seemed to like her. It was weird those things didn't go hand in hand.

But Jackson and Lydia were good for each other in a sense. They both came from the same kind of home—one that came with power, popularity, and wealthy, if slightly neglectful, parents. They both felt like they had to prove themselves to the world. Lydia made Jackson a better person, and Jackson…well, he made Lydia happy. They fought a lot, but she was head over heels for him, and Jackson always wanted what was best for her.

Still, I thought as I sat squashed in the back seat, if someone ever fell in love with me, I could only hope they'd talk about me the way Stiles had talked about Lydia…