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THREE

I carefully lowered myself onto the cold hard bleacher beside my mother. How she convinced me to come out for Scott's lacrosse game was beyond me. I hated high school, and I hated sports. So this was the equivalent of what I imagined the seventh circle of Hell to be like.

The air around us was cool enough for goosebumps to break out over my arms. Mom had brought a blanket to spread on our laps and I was suddenly so grateful for her ability to think ahead. I guess I took after my dad in that sense. I had difficulty "playing the tape all the way through" as mom used to tell me when she'd been forced to pick me up in the middle of the day after a call from the principal. It happened at least once a month.

But she was right. I'd never been one to think things through. I was impulsive. I guess that's my fatal flaw. It's what gets me in trouble time and time again. When I was young, it landed me in detention or with a suspension. As an adult, it landed me with a psychotic ex boyfriend and a few broken ribs.

Cool.

"He's number eleven." Mom said as she eagerly scanned the field. With their helmets and uniforms on they all looked the same to me. I watched in silence as the boys on the field ran back and forth tossing the little white ball. I had hooked up with some lacrosse players when I was a student in Beacon Hills. Or maybe they were soccer boys?

A few rows below us, two girls held up a sign and cheered, effectively blocking my view of the game. Not that I was watching it anyway. I let my eyes wander over the crowd. Proud parents cheered their kids' names, friends hollered for their favorite players, and a small group off to the side slid under the bleachers. I smiled, knowing exactly what they were about to do. I knew because it's exactly what I'd be doing if I was still in school. Sneak into a dark isolated place, light up a blunt and laugh at nothing for a few hours.

I wondered briefly how my old friends were doing. There hadn't been many of them, but I preferred quality over quantity anyway. Hannah had been my best friend, the one who was always willing to risk a day in detention for a bit of fun. The one who's name was synonymous with my own. When one of us was in trouble, we were both in trouble. When one of us was sneaking out, we were both sneaking out. When one of us was cheating on the test, we were both cheating on the test. God I missed having a friend like that.

I missed having any type of friend.

Dylan had made sure I had none. He did it in such a subtle way that I didn't realize I had no one until the day I ran from him. I grabbed my phone and the keys to his car while he slept off a bender on the couch. About a mile down the road I realized that I had nowhere to go. I guess I could have gone back to my father's apartment, but I couldn't stomach the idea of sitting through one of his famous "I told you so" speeches.

A loud burst of cheers pulled me from my memory. Mom was hitting me on the knee and waving her other hand in the air. Down on the field, Scott ran back to his teammates. I guess he scored. A kid on the bench kept yelling "that's my best friend".

Stiles Stalinski. It had to be him. Even as young boys, they'd been inseparable. It was hard to tell with his back to us, but he looked lanky and awkward enough to be Stiles. I smiled at his dorkiness and found myself scanning the crowd for his father. The sheriff and I didn't exactly see eye to eye. Maybe that was because I spent a little too much time in the back of his car as a teenager. I definitely owed him a fair share of thank you's for all the nights he drove my ass back home instead of throwing me in the drunk tank after he picked me up from a busted party.

I didn't find his face among the sea of onlookers, but I did find someone familiar.

Like a shadow, he stood off to the side of the crowd, arms crossed tight across his chest. His hard square face was pinched in thought as he stared at the players on the field. No, not the players. Just one player. My brother. His eyes followed number 11 as he hurried up and down the turf, dodging opposing players and making another shot on the goal. This time, the ball went through the goal. Like, hole-through-the-net through the goal. I looked back just in time to see the guy's jaw clench before he turned and stalked off.

The two girls in front of us went wild and ran down to the field along with a wave of others. I stood slowly trying not to let the muscles in my stomach contract. Each time they did, pain ripped through me.

"Melissa!" a voice called from beside us. Noah Stalinski scaled the bleachers with more grace than I expected a man his age to have as he made his way towards us.

"Scott scored!" Mom beamed. The smile on the sheriff's weathered face was almost contagious. Almost.

"He did great! Maybe he can teach Stiles a few things." They both laughed. I was itching to leave before the conversation turned to me. Cops, even ones like Stalinski, made me nervous. But of course, luck wasn't on my side tonight. "Chelsea." he nodded in greeting. "I'd recognize that face anywhere. Saw it enough back in the day." he joked as he reached out and

squeezed my arm.

It was such a harmless gesture, but my body's reaction was uncontrollable. I flinched away, yanking my entire form back a step. It didn't go unnoticed by either of them. They exchanged a meaningful look before my mother cleared her throat.

"Actually Noah, there's something we wanted to talk to you about."

"Mom." I began to protest, but Stalinski's voice cut me off.

"Where's Scott running off to?" we all watched as my brother sprinted towards the school alone.

Thank you, Scott. I thought to myself.

"I'll go check on him." I volunteered, leaving absolutely no room for arguments. I hurried to the end of the bleachers and hopped down. We were in the fourth row so the drop wasn't bad. But the pound of my feet hitting the grass jostled my whole body. I clenched my teeth and continued to walk up the small hill to the school before anyone could see.

A girl, the dark haired one that had been holding the sign below us, was also rushing towards the locker room entrance. Was she going after Scott too? I wasn't far behind her, but the sound of rushing footsteps had me turning around ready to defend myself from an attack.

"Chelsea?" the newcomer said in a startled voice.

"Stiles?" I squinted in the dark. Without the glow from the field lights, it was almost impossible to see his face.

"Scott said you were back." He closed the distance between us, but left a good two feet for which I was grateful. Maybe he'd talked to his dad who had told him I was "skittish". That's how the Stillwater police had described me when I tried to file a report there last year.

"I just saw him take off this way." I motioned towards the brick building behind me. "Some girl was after him I think."

"Allison?" He seemed alarmed but in true Stiles fashion, he tried to hide it.

"I don't know who it was." I shrugged. "I don't know anyone, remember?" I chuckled softly, but Stiles didn't laugh. He just threw an apprehensive look towards the door. "Come on." I started towards it again. He hesitated for a second, calling my name. When I didn't reply I heard his footsteps as he followed.

Why was this kid so damn weird? I thought passively as I walked down the narrow hall in the direction I knew the boys locker room to be.

"Chelsea, wait." Stiles caught my wrist, forcing my body to move on instinct as I whirled around and yanked free from him. He held his hands up in a show of innocence and simply waited for me to give some sort of signal that I was good.

"Sorry." I muttered. The boy shook his buzzed head as if to say 'don't be'.

"I'm not sure that it's safe...in there." He nodded to the locker room door.

"What do you mean? Scott is in there." I cupped my hands to peer through the frosted window of the door. When I couldn't see anything (obviously the frosted window worked), I pushed the door open with my shoulder. I heard Stiles groan but he didn't try to stop me again.

I heard voices as soon as I entered the locker room. They were soft and barely audible. I followed them, weaving my way through the rows of lockers and benches. At some point, Stiles jumped in front of me, taking the lead.

He came to a short stop just before we reached the showers. Oh great, I thought. I just walked in on my brother showering. But what I really saw was Scott and the sign girl locking lips. After a confused hesitation, I turned to Stiles who wore a little shit-eating grin on his face.

"Why didn't you just tell me he was in here with some chick?" I whispered angrily. He shrugged and put his hands up.

"I didn't know!"

He was awful at whispering. He always had been. Even as a kid, I could hear him and Scott "whispering" to each other from down the hall when Stiles slept over. The kid just wasn't built to be quiet.

"Stiles." The girl said his name sheepishly. She gave me a small nod and walked out as she hid the smile on her lips. Scott too wore a lazy smile. If I hadn't just witnessed the kiss, I would have thought he was high.

"I kissed her." he announced to Stiles in a dreamy voice.

His friend nodded. "I saw ."

"And she kissed me back."

"Saw that too."

"Wait a minute." I chimed in, breaking whatever little spell the boys were under. "What about that guy from last night?" It took a second, but Scott's face finally fell from it's little dream cloud and his smile was replaced by obvious confusion. "The one in your room?" I added.

"Derek?" he half yelled in surprise.

"Whatever," I waved the name away. "I thought you two were, you know." I shrugged, letting him pick up on my implication.

"Derek was in your room?" Stiles asked hastily.

"You thought I was dating Derek?" Scott seemed offended. Not because I thought he was he was gay, but because I thought he was was with Derek

"Well, you guys were huffing and puffing when I came through the door. What else was I supposed to think?" I shrugged.

"Why was Derek in your house?" Stiles asked another question that my brother ignored.

"No!" Scott ran a hand down his long face. "I like Allison. Derek is just…" he struggled to find the words.

"A friend with benefits?" I supplied, a small teasing tone in my voice.

"No!" he yelled quickly. "No, I'm straight. I like Allison. Derek is a jerk."

"So why was he over last night?" I asked. From the corner of my eye I saw Stiles throw his hands in the air and spin in a little frustrated circle.

"He," Scott cast a glance to his friend. "Was just dropping something off."

"Through the window?" I challenged with a raised eyebrow.

"Just drop it, okay." He growled. It was a bit startling to hear my baby brother's voice grow so dark and angry. I decided to leave it for now, but I wasn't letting it go. There was something strange about Derek, and I wanted to know what it was.

"Come on, let's go." Stiles clapped Scott on the shoulder once we heard voices growing louder down the hall. The rest of the team would start piling in, and it would be pretty odd for them to find me in here, the boys locker room.