"Um, excuse me!"

Busted.

I froze, bracing myself as I turned around to face Lydia's wrath. She was standing with her hands on her hips, glowering fiercely and ready to do battle. Behind her, my mom stood at the kitchen counter, sniggering into her teacup and watching the scene unfold.

"Yes?" I asked tentatively.

"Just where do you think you're going?"

"Homework date. At Allison's house."

Lydia's eyes narrowed down to slits. "You finished your homework yesterday."

"Right! I should probably go tell her that." I laughed nervously, which did nothing to soften her death glare. "You know, she really needs my help with English, and math, and…history…and I kinda…promised I'd hang out with her before the game."

"Sadie!" Lydia whined, and actually stamped her foot. "You're supposed to be helping me with poster duty!"

"And I have been helping you! All day! I've got the glitter to prove it!"

"You were asleep all morning," she accused. "You've barely helped at all."

Well, that was half true. I had turned off my alarm clock so I could sleep in, then stayed in bed for as long as humanly possible. I'd been on my laptop, drapes closed, staying stock still every time Lydia opened the door to check if I was awake yet. Even then, she'd driven me out of bed around one o'clock and forced me to act like an actual member of society.

I looked to my mother for assistance, who only held up her hands.

"Lydia, please," I sighed. "I promised her I was gonna help her get ready. I think she's more nervous for Scott to play than he is."

She glared at me for a second longer before tossing her hair over her shoulder.

"Fine," she huffed, "but so help me God, if you are a second late—"

"You will mercilessly end my life. Understood."

"And I don't want to hear you complaining about holding up Jackson's signs, or being cold, or being bored at our outing afterwards!"

"Woah, woah, woah!" Mom finally stepped in, putting her teacup down and walking around the counter. "What outing afterwards?"

"Um, after the game," I explained, wringing my hands nervously. "We were just gonna go out for some food. Me, Lydia, Jackson, Allison, Scott. Maybe Stiles?"

My mother's hands found their way to her hips, looking just as dangerous as Lydia had a moment ago.

"I'm sorry, what don't you understand about 'police enforced curfew?'"

"Mom, it's just food—"

"Yeah? Well it's just a wild animal on the loose that killed a girl a few weeks ago."

"Claire," Lydia started in a sweet, placating voice, but Mom silenced her with a hand.

"No, Lydia. I'm not your mother and I can't stop you from going out, but I'm sure Natalie wouldn't be too pleased either. Now, Sadie, I just lost your father—"

"Mom!"

"—and I'm not going to lose you too!"

"Don't," I snarled. "Mom, don't make this about Dad! This isn't about Dad!"

"You are not going, and that is final."

We stared at each other, locked in a standoff, waiting for the other to give first. Lydia hovered motionless in the doorway until the tension became too much for her. She coughed awkwardly and took a step back into the hall.

"I'll see you at the game, Sadie."

"Yeah," I agreed, still glaring at my mother. "I'll see you there."

I listened as Lydia retreated from the room, her light footsteps speeding up the stairs. A moment later, her bedroom door snapped shut.

Instantly, I relaxed, skipping over to Mom and grabbing the car keys from her waiting hand.

"Thank you!" I sang, planting a kiss on her cheek.

"Was that good enough?" Mom asked. "I felt like we were overdoing it."

"Hey, as long as Lydia bought it, I don't care."

"Are you sure you don't want to go out with them? I mean, if Stiles is gonna be there, it almost sounds like a group date to me."

"Yes, Mom," I groaned, "I'm sure that I don't want to go. One, I'm not sure if Stiles is coming. Two, if he doesn't come, I'm stuck with two sets of insufferable lovebirds. Three, if he does come, that still wouldn't make it a date."

"But Sadie," Mom whined, imitating Lydia's voice.

I laughed, blowing her a kiss as I headed for the door. "Goodbye, mother!"

"Fine. Have a nice time!"

I hurried out to the minivan, happy to be out of the house. More than anything, I was thrilled to drive myself for once instead of being a passenger in Lydia's car. The van might not have been stylish, but it was a lot bigger than the Beetle, which gave me room to stretch my legs. I checked Allison's address one more time, then pulled out of the driveway.

The Argents lived in a really nice house. It wasn't quite as big as the Martins' or the Whittemores', but it was still a large, clean house that was grander than the one I had grown up in. It was two stories of brick with fancy white molding, huge windows, and large columns out front that framed the double door. Evidently, whatever the Argents did for work, they had money.

I got out of the car just as Allison appeared in an upstairs window. She waved eagerly, then disappeared from view. I had barely made it onto the porch when she swung the door open and attacked me in a hug.

"Hey!"

"Hi there," I laughed, and patted her on the back. "You good?"

"Sorry," she giggled, quickly stepping back. "I'm just kind of wired today."

"Hm, I wonder why…"

Allison gave me a playful glare and pulled me into the house. "Mom, Dad! Sadie's here!"

I stepped inside, wiping my feet on the doormat as I looked around. It was a grand entranceway, similar to the one at Lydia's house. With the open floor plan, I could see the dining room, the living room and the second story landing all from the front door.

"I'm gonna apologize in advance," Allison whispered urgently. "You remember how I was saying I wasn't used to talking to people? Making friends?"

"Okay," I agreed, suddenly nervous.

"Yeah, well, I don't really bring people home all that often. I told my parents you were coming, and they got…really excited…"

Right on cue, Allison's father strode in from the living room. I recognized his smile instantly, which was just as blinding close up. He was tall and slim, with a freshly-pressed blue button down. His hair was a bit untidy, but his eyes were sharp and alert; they were practically smiling themselves.

"You must be Sadie," he said, holding out a hand. "Chris Argent."

"Sadie Bennet," I replied, shaking his hand firmly. "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Argent."

"And you as well. Out of the car, anyway. Allison's told us all about you, and she was so excited when you agreed to come over."

"Dad," Allison growled, and he held up his hands in surrender.

"I know, I know. I'm embarrassing you. Sorry, but I'm your father, so it comes with the job."

"Yeah, well, Sadie and I are gonna go hang out in my room, away from you and your job."

I laughed as Allison dragged me toward the stairs.

"Allison," her father interrupted, calling us back. "Is Sadie staying for dinner?"

"She's a big girl, Chris. She can decide on her own."

Someone strode in from the kitchen, who must've been Allison's mother. She was a short woman with a very severe face, and short red hair that somehow managed to compliment her maroon blouse instead of clashing with it. And if I had thought Allison's father had sharp eyes…they were nothing compared to the piercing blue of his wife's. Her gaze rendered me completely motionless as she scanned me, scrutinizing every tick and thread for a judgment of character. Then her face broke into a smile.

"Hello," she greeted, wiping her hands with a dishtowel before reaching out to me. "I'm Victoria, Allison's mother."

"Sadie Bennet." I tried not to let my voice waver, even as the woman crushed my hand in a vice grip. "Thanks for having me, Mrs. Argent."

"Of course. You're welcome to stay for dinner, if you'd like. I'm making gigli puttanesca."

"Oh, I don't discriminate between pastas," I joked, subtly shaking out my hand. "That sounds lovely, thank you."

"Great," said Mr. Argent, clapping his hands together. "Why do you girls head upstairs? It sounds like you have a lot to discuss."

"Definitely," I agreed, even though I had absolutely no clue what he was talking about.

"I was telling them about the chemistry test on Friday," Allison supplied quickly. "Unit review, all those practice questions."

"Exactly! From what I hear, Mr. Harris is pretty strict, so we probably have our work cut out for us."

"Well, you girls get to work," Mrs. Argent ordered. "I'll pop upstairs to tell you when dinner's ready."

"Thanks, Mom!" Allison squeaked gratefully, and yanked me out of the room.

We hurried upstairs and down the hall, Allison ushering me into her room as if she were evacuating me from a dangerous battlefield. Once inside, she shut the door and leaned her back against it.

"Like I said," she sighed. "Excited."

"Allison, relax," I laughed. "Everything about that seemed completely normal. Intense, maybe, but normal."

"Yeah, well, you don't know my parents…"

I grinned and turned on the spot to survey Allison's bedroom. It was a nice space; at least, it looked like it was going to be. The walls were beige, but a good portion of it was blocked by the piles and piles of boxes along the edges of the room. The only signs of ongoing life were the clothes handing in the closet, the laptop humming on the desk, and the tangled sheets on the unmade bed. There were a few books and magazines lying around, but for the most part, Allison still seemed to be living out of boxes.

"Remind me, were you reluctant to move?" I asked sarcastically, gesturing to the clutter. "Because I can't really tell."

"Ha ha, I know. It's a work in progress. But yes, originally, I was totally bummed about moving. Sometimes it feels like we move so much there's just no point unpacking."

"Originally?"

"Well," she added, with a sheepish smile, "making friends makes everything a little easier."

I beamed, dropping my purse and moving to sit on the end of the bed.

"Which is why," Allison continued, "you're gonna help me pick a new color for these god awful walls."

She tossed me a small can off her desk, which I caught with rapt excitement. "Painting! Painting, I can do."

If I had any worries about hanging out with Allison outside of school, they were gone in the first fifteen minutes. Allison was just as easy to talk to now as she had been on the first day of classes, when we'd both been nervous and shaking on the bench out front. She put on one of her favorite CDs, which turned out to be a collection of edgy, punk rock. It had thrown me at first, but then again, Allison had said very clearly that she wasn't a girly girl…even if all the paints she had picked out were pink and purple.

Together, we flipped through a couple of the interior design magazines Allison had collected, picking out our favorite ideas and taping them to the walls. We painted large splotches of colors all over the room, testing all the different paints so Allison could picture them in the space. Then I had to remind her that some paints looked super different when they were dry, and we abandoned the project for the time being.

We did study for a little bit—the upcoming test hadn't been a lie, just an excuse—but since my homework was already done, Allison didn't see any point wasting time by doing hers. We talked about school, which eventually led to talking about our classmates, which eventually led to Allison's favorite subject of all: Scott.

"I mean, he was super scary!" she exclaimed, hair tumbling toward the floor as she hung upside down off the end of her bed. "Like, freaky, controlling, possessive boyfriend scary! That should freak me out, shouldn't it?"

"I'd be freaked out," I agreed. I was sitting in Allison's desk chair, spinning myself in circles until the room became a kaleidoscope of colors. "I think that's a normal reaction."

"Then why don't I like him any less?"

"Because that's not how things work."

Allison let out a strangled groan and kicked her feet on the bed. I snorted, grabbing the desk to stop my incessant rotation. I nearly toppled off the chair, my head still spinning, but when the room came into focus, I fixed Allison with a sympathetic smile.

"Your head and your heart on just on different pages. No one's perfect, but you have to like someone enough that you're willing to look past all their glaringly obvious and potentially problematic flaws to make it work. It's batshit, but I think it's sweet you like him so much."

"Ugh, well, I like him that much," Allison groaned into her hands. "I don't know if he likes me that much."

"Do not make me come over there and smack you. Have you seen the way that guy looks at you? It is the most adorable, pathetic look I have ever seen a boy wear. He is whipped with a capital W."

Allison's eyes peeked out between her fingers. "Whipped?"

"Like a bucket of cream."

I punctuated the analogy with a wink, and Allison burst into a giggle fit, letting her arms flop over her head so her wrists smacked the floor.

"Okay, so maybe he likes me, but what if nothing comes of it? I mean, he hasn't even kissed me."

I really couldn't help it. I burst into laughter, cackling louder than I probably should have considering Mr. and Mrs. Argent thought we were studying chemistry.

"Allison," I wheezed, "you've been on one date! Half a date, considering Scott had that mysterious medical emergency. And from what I can tell, Scott is new to this whole thing."

"What thing?"

"All of it: girls, dating, popularity. A few weeks ago, Lydia had no idea who he was, and the way Stiles tells it, he and Scott were pretty much living in the background for a while. Just a couple of quiet, dorky guys that everyone ignored."

"Stiles? Quiet?" Allison asked with a giggle, and I rolled my eyes.

"You know what I mean. Scott's used to being a wallflower. And all of a sudden—bam! He's on first line. He's the talk of the school. He's got a personal feud with Jackson Whittemore, and now a pretty girl is fretting over his attention? That's a whole new ball game for him. Scott's probably so shy that he doesn't want to mess anything up. You might even have to make the first move."

"No!" she gasped, her eyes going wide. "No, I can't do that! I don't know what I'm doing either! Sadie, I—I cannot do that!"

"I'm so not gonna give you the strong, independent woman speech. If you want to wait for him to make the first move, that's fine, but it might be a while. I'm just saying that you might need to give him a more obvious encouragement."

"Like what?"

"Like straight up telling him that you're waiting on him."

Allison clapped her hands over her face again, letting out a muffled scream that had me giggling. When her hands hit the floor again, she fixed me with a miserable pout.

"How did you get to be so wise?"

"Hey don't jinx it," I said, holding up my crossed fingers. "I'm only wise if I'm right."

"No, seriously, though." Allison rolled over onto her stomach and propped herself up on her elbows. "You must've learned all this stuff somehow. Who were you dating at your last school?"

The question left a sour taste in my mouth. I promptly went back to spinning in Allison's desk chair.

"I wasn't dating at my last school."

"At all?" Allison asked, surprise evident in her voice.

"It's not weird," I defended. "So I've never had a boyfriend. So what?"

"I didn't say it was weird," she corrected hurriedly. "I was just—you seem to know so much about dating and you're super nice and cute and smart."

"And funny," I added. "Don't forget funny."

"Ha, well that's a given." Allison paused to bite her lip. "I just meant to say that you're pretty much the whole package. There must've been some guys that were into you."

"What about you?" I asked, deflecting the question once more. "Any guys steal your heart before Scott?"

"Not really. I went to like a hundred different schools, and there was no way to tell how long my family would stay in one place. So I went on a couple dates, but I didn't really have time to build a connection or anything."

"Didn't seem to take long with Scott."

Allison rolled her eyes. Still, she had that dopey smile on her face. Her Scott smile, the one she got whenever she was looking at him or talking to him or just thinking about him.

I bit my lip, letting the chair beneath me spin to a stop.

"I've never had a boyfriend," I repeated, "but I did have a 'thing,' which I've been told is close enough."

"Okay," Allison prompted with barely contained excitement. "What makes it a 'thing'?"

"I don't know. I liked a guy, he liked me. I've been on dates that weren't dates, stayed up all night obsessing over anything a text message might mean, but at the end of the day…well. You can call me Drew Barrymore, because I've never been kissed."

I gave Allison a goofy smile, but I had a feeling it wasn't enough to cover my sadness. Allison picked up on it instantly, her lips pulling into a delicate frown.

"What happened? With the guy?"

"I left," I said with a shrug. "When my dad died, he just kinda stopped talking to me, which—well, a lot of people did. And I don't blame them, I guess. It was hard to talk about, and I wasn't exactly a fun person to hang around for a while. No one really knew what to do with me."

"That's not an excuse," Allison said fiercely, making me smile.

"I know. Anyway, then I moved away, and a couple people still kept in touch. I still have friends there and stuff, but…I haven't heard from him. So I'm just kinda over it."

"Over it or…kind of over it?" Allison asked astutely.

"I…will get back to you on that."

I was still braving a smile, but it took a lot of effort, and I was grateful that Allison didn't push the issue.

"Well what about Beacon Hills?" she asked, with all the abounding energy of someone changing the subject. "You've been living here for like four months. There must be someone who caught your eye!"

"Ugh, you sound like Lydia," I groaned, tipping my head back. "Or my mom."

"That's not an answeeer," Allison sang.

"I don't have an answer! For real, Allison. Maybe I've seen a few cute guys, but none that I want to date. Lydia kept me quarantined with the first line lacrosse players pretty much all summer. I guess Tommy and I get along alright. I'd date Danny, but he's gay—"

"What about Stiles?"

"Excuse me?" I gaped at her. "You're joking, right?"

"Why not?" Allison pressed. "He's like the only other guy I've seen you talk to outside of Lydia's circle. So why not? Stiles is cute."

"Stiles is…interesting, I guess." I contemplated it further, only to shake my head. "I don't know. That guy's got a lot going on."

"Oh, come on! I pour my heart and soul out to you and the best you can give me is 'interesting'?"

"Sorry," I apologized, grinning at her dramatics. "He seems sweet, but he's totally head over heels for Lydia, and I mean like—genuinely in love with her. Maybe even as whipped as Scott."

"His feelings for Lydia have nothing to do with it. Do you think he's cute or not?"

"Eh…sure. He's kinda cute, I'll give him that."

Allison narrowed her eyes, inspecting my face for clues.

"I don't believe you," she said finally, with a self-satisfied tone that made her sound remarkably like Lydia. "You're totally into him."

"If you say so."

"I do! I remember how nervous you were on the first day of school when you thought you waved to him—"

"Because it was awkward."

"—and how you were talking to him at your party—"

"Because I thought you'd been kidnapped."

"—and he's pretty much the only boy I've seen that made you smile."

"Hey, don't look at me," I laughed. "Not my fault you snatched up the last eligible bachelor in Beacon Hills."

Allison allowed herself a smug, little smile. I hoped that would be the end of the discussion, but instead, the conversation took a hard right. Another thought occurred to Allison, and her jaw dropped.

"Oh my God! Sadie! What about Derek?"

I promptly choked on my own spit.

"I knew it!" Allison cheered, victorious, taking my violent coughing as confirmation. "You didn't just think he was cute. You said he was hot."

"Okay, sure, but—ack!—also just super, super sketchy."

"Tall, dark, and handsome," Allison countered.

"At least five years older than us."

"Oh, so you're not into older men?"

"Jailbait," I said flatly.

Allison cackled, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes, and at long last, a distraction came in the form of a knock at the door.

Mrs. Argent poked her head into the room, already wearing a knowing smile. "Are we talking about boys?"

"No," I replied, just as Allison giggled, "Yes!"

"I see," said Mrs. Argent. "Well, I just wanted to let you girls know that dinner is ready."

"Thank God," I sighed, leaping out of my seat and darting out of the room to escape Allison's laughter.

We settled around the table for dinner, Mr. and Mrs. Argent on opposite ends while Allison and I sat together in the middle. Mr. Argent had insisted that I to his right, as the "guest of honor" and all, and because they were being so polite, they even waited for everyone to be served before beginning my interrogation.

"So, Sadie," Mr. Argent started in. "Allison tells us you've been living here for a few months now."

"Uh, yeah," I answered, pausing between bites of pasta. "I grew up in Menlo Park, so not all that far from San Francisco. We moved in the beginning of the summer, so by the time school started I was pretty much settled in."

"And how do you like it here?" asked Mrs. Argent.

"It's been nice. I'm really enjoying myself."

The answer was an automatic response; at this point, my mouth just moved on its own. I'd answered the question so many times, it was muscle memory.

"Lots of friends?" Mrs. Argent pressed.

"Uh, yeah, I guess. We moved in with one of my mom's old friends, Natalie Martin, so her daughter, Lydia, and I have gotten pretty close. She introduced me to a bunch of people before school started. And of course, now I'm friends with Allison."

"Good answer," Mr. Argent chuckled, pointing at me with his fork.

"We just want to thank you for taking Allison under your wing," said Mrs. Argent, leaning forward in earnest. "I'm sure you can imagine how tough it is always being the new girl, and having you around seems to have made it a lot easier for Allison to settle in."

"Mom," Allison groaned, sliding down in her seat with embarrassment.

"Oh, I don't feel that way at all," I disagreed. "I mean, that I've taken her under my wing. I might've lived in Beacon Hills a little bit longer, but I'm no expert. This is the first time I've ever had to move, so on the first day of school, I was crazy nervous. But Allison was a total pro—very graceful."

Allison managed a smirk. "Practice makes perfect."

"She says you guys have moved a lot?" I asked, turning back to Allison's parents.

"Yes," Mr. Argent sighed. "Unfortunately, that's one of the few drawbacks of my job."

"Chris is a firearm supplier for the police force," his wife added from the other end of the table.

"Oh, that's interesting!" My hand unwittingly drifted to my dog tags, still hanging round my neck. "Yeah, my dad used to be in law enforcement."

"Police force?" asked Mr. Argent, and I nodded.

"Yeah, he used to be a big city cop. He went into the academy straight out of high school, city precinct, then the small town beat, but I think he liked working security better."

"Is he retired?" Mrs. Argent asked.

I stiffened. For some reason, I'd expected the Argents to already know that part of the story. Instead, I had set the trap for myself and walked right into it. I heard Allison whispering a warning to her mother and had to pull myself together. Not the first time, not the last time.

"Actually, he passed away last spring," I recited. "It's why my mother and I moved to Beacon Hills in the first place."

"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that," Allison's mother apologized.

I merely nodded in response. Mrs. Argent's words had been scripted too, delivered in an automatic, artificial tone that I was growing used to. Most people didn't know what to say.

"Not another one of these animal attacks, was it?"

Mr. Argent's question caught me off guard. I looked up from my plate, startled, only to find Mrs. Argent staring at her husband intensely.

"Chris…"

"Just a question," he defended innocently. "Menlo Park's not too far, and with the body they found in the woods—"

"Oh, n-no," I stammered. "No, he died on the job. There was a robbery and…yeah…"

Silence settled over the table. I hated to bring the mood down, but they'd asked, after all. And not that I was going to admit it, but I did get a small grain of satisfaction out of inflicting some awkwardness on them in return for their callous response to my dad.

"Uh—actually, Dad," Allison said, clearing her throat. "I heard that it wasn't an animal attack."

"What?" her mother asked sharply.

"Yeah, apparently the sheriff arrested someone this morning."

"Where did you hear that?" Mr. Argent demanded.

"Um…I was talking to my friend, Scott," Allison explained hesitantly. "He's friends with the sheriff's son."

"Did they say who it was?" I asked.

"No, just that they had someone in custody. We were actually talking about the game, because if they caught the guy, then there's no need for curfew, you know? We were thinking—"

"An arrest and a criminal charge are two very different things, Allison," Mrs. Argent said sternly. "The police haven't lifted curfew, so I expect you home right after the game. Do I make myself clear?"

"Alright, Mom, I got it," Allison snapped. "Crystal clear."

There was another beat of tense silence, and Mr. Argent forced a smile. "Well, that certainly is interesting. I'll have to drive by the station after dinner, see if I can get any details."

He gave me a friendly wink, and I smiled politely. I was starting to understand why Allison had been so nervous about bringing me over.

The rest of dinner was held in supreme courtesy. I answered all of the Argents' questions about my old town, my friends here, my pass times. Mr. and Mrs. Argent shared stories about the places they'd lived, and obligatory embarrassing stories about Allison. Still, the energy never truly recovered from the tension early on. I wasn't sure if it was because of my father or the news of the arrest, but I remained prickly and uncomfortable for the rest of the meal, and it was a huge relief when we were dismissed.

I darted out to the car to grab supplies before returning to Allison's room. Allison was already standing in front of her closet, pulling out blouse after blouse and holding them up against her so she could model them in the mirror. I shook my paint pens and poster board as I walked into the room, catching her attention.

"Wow," she laughed. "I thought you said you wanted off poster duty."

"No, and no," I replied, to both the shirt Allison was holding and her statement, "I said I wanted off poster duty with Lydia. We made like three different signs for Jackson. 'Go Jackson Go!' 'More Whittemore!' 'Oh Captain My Captain!' and whatever. But this is not for Jackson. I figured Scott could use some encouragement too."

"Oh my God," Allison gasped, her face dropping suddenly. "Should I have done that? Should I have made him a sign? I totally should have gotten him something, right? Maybe if we leave early—"

"Allison."

"Okay, I'm getting ready."

To a soundtrack of Allison's rock collection, we worked on our separate projects. Allison rotated through every article of clothing she owned, frowning at herself in the mirror while I called out encouragement and disapproval from the other side of the room. I made myself comfortable on the floor, splayed on the carpet and surrounded with red and black paint pens. I carefully outlined bold block letters, clear black lines shaped and filled with red. I wanted to be certain Scott would be able to read it from the field. I drew smiley faces, lacrosse sticks, stars, little hearts, and when I was finally done, I sat back to admire my work.

"Wow, Sadie," said Allison, wandering over to get a better look. "That looks really good."

"Eh, thanks. It's a little simple for my tastes, but I figured drawing his face of the poster might be a little overkill."

I'd opted for a simple, supportive message: "YOU CAN DO IT SCOTT!" and in a big heart at the bottom, I'd added "MCCALL #11" for good measure.

"It's perfect," Allison assured me. "Thanks for doing this, Sadie. I know you're not really friends with Scott."

"Hey, any friend of yours is a friend of mine. Well, within reason. Just don't start talking to Dylan Peters."

She laughed, and looked like she was about to reply, but her words were cut off by a loud, harsh squeal from the driveway, followed by a very audible thud. Both of us jumped and turned to the window, where headlights were lighting up Allison's curtain's from below. Allison sprinted for the door, already on her feet, and I scrambled to follow after her.

"Dad? Are you okay? Dad!"

We pounded down the stairs and burst out into the driveway, where Mr. Argent's truck was parked but still running. He'd gotten out of his seat and was crouching in front of his car, a body at his feet. The figure groaned and rolled over, and I instantly recognized the floppy brown hair of Scott McCall.

"Dad!" Allison screeched, sprinting over to kneel at Scott's side. "What the hell are you doing?!"

"H-he came out of nowhere, Allison!" her father stammered, clearly shaken.

"Are you trying to kill him?!"

"No! No, of course not! He just ran out in front of the car!"

I hung back, watching in concern as Scott looked frantically back and forth between Allison and her father, his face still contorted in pain. His hair was wild and his face was drenched in sweat. I really hoped that was a normal physical reaction to being hit by a car.

"I—I'm sorry," Scott groaned from the ground, wincing as he spoke. "It's my fault, I'm sorry."

"Are you okay?" Allison asked softly, brushing his hair back.

"Yeah—yeah, yeah, I'm fine. I swear." Scott looked up at her with a smile, somehow still managing to get lost in her eyes. Thankfully, he pulled it together for just long enough to apologize to Mr. Argent. "Sorry I hit your car. I was just coming to say hi…"

Allison's father shook his head, still too stunned to form words. Not that it really mattered. Scott was already looking at Allison, puppy dog eyes activated at full blast while Allison wore her Scott smile.

Mr. Argent looked suspiciously between the lovebirds, and I was able to watch as the pieces clicked into place. I did my best to swallow a laugh. It wasn't strictly appropriate, seeing as Allison's boyfriend had just been hit by a freaking car, but Scott appeared to be fine and the look on Mr. Argent's face was just too priceless. It was only a matter of seconds before he decided the couple needed to be split up.

"You sure you're okay?" he asked Scott, helping him to his feet.

"Yeah, yeah! Completely." Scott's reassurance was tainted by a groan of pain, and he finally looked around to take in his surroundings. His eyes landed on me, which only seemed to embarrass him further. "Oh, uh…h-hey, Sadie…"

"Yeah," I replied, unable to contain a smirk. "Hi, Scott."

He grinned sheepishly, turning back to Allison. "I should go. I've got a lacrosse game to get to. You're still coming, right?"

"Of course I'm still coming," she assured him with a giggle, now standing dangerously close to him.

This time, I did laugh, a quiet snort sneaking out from behind my hand. This caught the attention of Mr. Argent, who looked between me and the couple in alarm.

"We all are," he said suddenly, effectively breaking the pair from their happy daze.

Allison was suddenly glaring daggers at her father. Scott actually looked worse than he had after the collision. Mr. Argent just smiled that wide, unnerving smile and patted Scott on the shoulder.

"G-great," Scott stuttered, looking between the three of us. "Well—well, I guess I'll see you guys at the game…"

"Yup!" Mr. Argent said brightly.

"Yeah," Allison bit, still glaring at her dad. "I'll see you there, Scott. Dad, can I talk to you?"

She grabbed him by the coat sleeve, dragging him into the house to have an argument I was certain she was going to lose.

I turned back to Scott with a low whistle. "Good luck."

"Yeah," he said hopelessly. "I think I'm gonna need it."

He lifted his hand in a half-hearted wave before jogging off the property and out into the street. I watched him go, frowning in confusion. Had he actually walked…?

I shook my head, walking back into the Argent house. There was a lot I didn't understand about Scott McCall, and I wasn't really sure I wanted to.