a/n - I usually put these at the end but I just wanted to say a quick Happy Independence Day to you all! I hope you like this chapter, I had so much fun writing it. Please read and review and let me know what you think! Constructive criticism is welcomed!
Chapter 19: Re-Lax
Game day was finally here! Melanie woke that morning with a large smile on her face at the realization. It was finally here! Maybe she'd even get a chance to play! If she was lucky. But even if she didn't she was content with sitting on the sidelines and cheering Scott and Stiles on. She would even start the wave in their honor.
She kicked back her covers and swung her legs over the side of the bed. The movement caused Nova's head to pop up from his curled up position on his bed. He stood, stretched out and then padded over to her, licking at her ankle.
"Breakfast is coming right up, Nova," she said, her words thick due to the yawn that momentarily took over her body. She reached down and scratched between his ears and stood. She stretched her arms above her head and followed the puppy out of the room and to the stairs, chuckling when he nervously paced in front of them. "Okay, this weekend we're going to learn how to go up and down stairs," she told him. She scooped him up in her arms and carried him downstairs. Once they were on the bottom floor she set him down and he scampered off, stopping every now and then to check if she was still behind him. "Dad! What's for breakfast?" she called out.
She got silence as a response. Frowning, she walked into the kitchen and straight up to the fridge. As she suspected an old junk mail envelope that had been written on was attached to the refrigerator with a large puzzle-piece shaped magnet. She pulled it off and read over his note, shaking her head. She crumpled it up in her hand and threw it into the nearby trashcan and then went to the pantry for dog food. She dragged out the bag and poured it into Nova's bowl. His tail whipped from side to side in his excitement and when she lifted the bag he dove headfirst into the bowl.
"Hey, slow down. You don't wanna choke," she told him. She put the bag back into the pantry and had started to open the refrigerator when the doorbell rang. Picking up an apple instead, she jogged to the front door and opened it only to be greeted by the sight of many balloons.
"Um…why are there balloons with legs on my doorstep? …Wearing amazing heeled boots. Actually, I want those," she commented, looking down at the black boots.
"Too bad we don't have the same shoe size," Erica said, popping her head between the multicolored balloons that floated in the air around her. "Surprise!" She tried to walk in through the front door but the balloons inhibited her. After a brief struggle, which Melanie watched while snickering, Erica finally gave up and extended her arm, holding out a small wrapped box.
"What's this?" Melanie asked, taking it.
"Open it and see," Erica replied. Melanie backed away, allowing Erica more space to try and maneuver her way inside with the balloons.
Melanie shook the box, hearing something tumble around inside. Breaking the tape seal on the box with her thumbnail, she popped open the top and cooed "Awwww!" once she saw the necklace inside. Hanging on a simple silver chain was a small silver lacrosse stick. Nestled in the net was a silver ball with the number 16 etched into it. "This must have cost your entire allowance," she said, ducking her head to put the necklace on.
"My mom helped," Erica grunted. "Said she didn't want you feeling—"
"Alone?" Melanie filled in. "Kinda can't help that my mom got herself placed in the hospital and my dad wants to be at her bedside every waking moment. Romantic, in a sense if you think about it. Kinda selfish to some but, romantic nonetheless. The one time they stop fighting is when there's a chance that the other won't be around to fight with. Funny how that works." She twisted her mouth to the side and then changed the subject. "Don't get me wrong, I like the fanfare but the balloons are a bit much," she remarked, pulling the balloons into her house. She was thankful that they were attached to a weight otherwise she wouldn't be able to play with them later.
"Nonsense! Today's the big game! I don't really get lacrosse but it's important to you so…it's important to me too," Erica replied. She licked her lips and shoved her hands into the front pockets of her short coveralls.
Melanie smiled, a bright red flush settling in her cheeks. It was official; she had the best friend in the world. Resting her palms against the door frame she said, "By that logic, you're important to me…question is, are you important to yourself?"
Erica paused. Melanie could tell she hadn't expected that question with the way her eyelashes fluttered and she pulled her bottom lip into her mouth. But if Erica was going to continue to lavish so much attention and support on her, she was only going to turn it right back around. Erica tucked a wavy strand of hair behind her ear and kicked at the porch beneath her feet. "Not yet." Lifting her eyes up from the ground she added with a half smile, "But I'm trying to be."
Melanie clicked her tongue and then made a sweeping gesture with her arm. "Good enough. We accept that password. You may enter."
Erica made a show of taking a large step inside and closed the door behind her. "Breakfast burrito?" She dug into her bag and then pulled out the foil-wrapped food.
"Thanks."
"My mom made it," she continued, loosely crossing her arms. "Wanted to make sure you had enough to eat this morning."
"Tell her thanks." Melanie took a bite and held it out to Erica who waved it away and said she already ate. Shrugging, she took another bite and walked back to the kitchen. "Don't I usually drive you? Did you mom suddenly get you a car or something?"
"I asked her to drop me off. She has a couple surgeries today and I didn't want her worrying about me getting up." Melanie nodded, taking that excuse. She knew it wasn't the truth but she accepted it anyway. After all, in the last few months she could drive Erica had no reason to meet her at her house. "You okay?" Ah, there it was.
"Yeah, totally. In fact I'm amped, I'm jazzed, I'm pumped. This day couldn't move any faster. I want it to be the game already. I'm stoked!" She swallowed the chewed up burrito and set it aside on the island. "Did you make that?"She lifted her chin at Erica.
She looked down, as if forgetting what she had been wearing. "Oh. Yeah. Last night. I just took some of my old shirts, cut them up, and then sewed them onto this. Do you like it?"
"Oh, yeah. I'll support anything that denotes you as being my number one fan," Melanie replied, smiling at the DIY tee. "In fact I want them mass manufactured. I want everyone to know you're my number one fan and mine alone."
"Yeah, well, I don't think I want to wave that flag while you're wearing that," Erica said, pointing to her friend's clothes. "You're not wearing that to school, are you?"
"It's not Spirit Week so as far as I know Pajama Day hasn't come around again yet."
She clasped her hands together. "Can I pick something out for you? Please?"
Melanie waved her hand as if to say "Have at it." Squealing in delight, Erica bounced on her toes and then ran upstairs, declaring that she'll pick something good.
Melanie didn't doubt her. Her closet was filled with clothes that would look great on her, if she ever got up the courage to wear them. Listening to Erica's footsteps overhead, she pulled her phone out of her pocket and quickly composed and sent a text to her dad:
Are you coming to the game tonight?
Once sent she set her phone down and continued eating. Nova had finished eating long ago and lay on the floor in the corner, already fast asleep. She wished her life were as easy as Nova's sometimes. She drummed her fingers on the island as she waited, pausing every now and then to lift the burrito to her mouth to take a bite. Soon she had finished eating it and checked her phone again. No answer. She huffed.
"Okay, I have two options just in case you don't like what I chose," Erica announced as she came down the stairs. Two hangers hung off her fingers and swayed to and fro as she entered the kitchen. "Option one or option two? Now I know it's a little bit nicer than what you wear for school but it's an important day and if people are going to be looking at you, you may as well look good. First impressions are key."
"I think I ruined my first impression when I managed to take out the entire marching band due to an ill-fated cartwheel last year during my short-lived career as the mascot," Melanie pointed out. She pushed her cell phone between her hands and it glided across the shiny countertop. She glanced up, her eyes shifting from side to side and added, "But I like option two. Let me get changed and then we can head out."
Amidst Erica's squeals of delight, Melanie checked her phone again. It remained blank. She put it down on the counter and took a hanger out of Erica's hand. She jogged up the stairs and closed her bedroom door behind her with her foot. She tossed the clothes onto her bed and picked up her lacrosse jersey that lay at the foot in a heap. She held it up, her fingers digging into the porous fabric. Her thumbs rubbed over the edges of the large 16 nestled on the back. Balling it up, she shoved it into her lacrosse bag and changed into the hooded romper and cardigan that Erica had laid out for her.
She grabbed her bag, shoved her feet into the first shoes she spotted, and ran down the stairs as best as she could; leaning to the side to be sure that she didn't miss a step. "Okay, let's roll out!" she announced, grabbing her keys off the table. "Eri, can you put Nova in his kennel? Oh, and hand me my phone please. Am I forgetting anything?"
"Yeah: breathe," Erica replied. She brushed stray dog hair off of her clothes and then picked up Melanie's cell phone.
"Good advice. Remind me to do that every five seconds." Once Erica slapped her phone in her palm she flipped it and pressed a button on the side to see if she had received an answer yet. Still nothing. Huffing, she swiped the screen with her thumb and typed out a message:
Well, if you can't come to the game at least check on Nova during your lunch break please.
She shoved her phone into her pocket and her eyes roamed over to the balloons by the front door. Her head tilted and she hummed. "Hey Eri, mind if I take one of these balloons with me?" At the way Erica's eyebrows furrowed she continued, "I think someone else could use a little bit of support." With Erica's nod of approval she grabbed a balloon and then led Erica out the front door, locking it behind her. Once at her truck she threw her bag into the bag and jumped into the driver's seat. She jammed her keys into the ignition and turned it, barely having pulled her seatbelt across her chest when trumpets began pouring out of the speakers. She fought hard to keep from smiling but she lost that battle when she saw the sheepish way Erica was smiling at her. Cranking up the volume, she buckled herself in, backed out of the driveway, and drove them to Beacon Hills High all the while singing along to Omi's "Cheerleader".
# # #
The energy levels in the halls of Beacon Hills High rivaled that of Spirit Week. The game wasn't until seven that night but people were still running up and down the halls, barking at one another and shouting their support for the Cyclones whenever a faction of the lacrosse team walked by. The words of encouragement and advocacy melted into taunts and jeers that buzzed around Melanie's head and in her ears and no matter how many times she tried to swat them away they dodged her attack and stung.
She rolled her neck when she felt the familiar tap of a Hershey kiss on the back of her head. Her fingers drummed against the lockers on either side of her as thick, hearty laughter sounded behind her. Her chest heaved with the heavy breaths. She gritted her teeth, a muscle jumping in her jaw. Her eyes crinkled in the corners from how hard she squeezed them and colors burst in the darkness of her shut eyes. Bright colors, shades so vivid they glowed and shimmied and shook and hurt.
"Mel! Are you okay?" Her shoulder jerked at the clamping weight of Scott's hand. She opened her eyes and looked around. For a brief moment the colors in the hall were bright, as if someone had turned up the saturation but she blinked and it had gone back to normal. She let out a breath and looked up at Scott and Stiles who wore identical expressions of concern. "Your heart was beating like crazy."
"I…yeah, I'm fine," she replied. "Saw a spider." She gave her head a shake, ridding her mind of the images as if it were an Etch-a-Sketch. "Did you find the necklace?"
"No. I checked her locker, her bags; nothing," Scott responded. He bit his lower lip and declared, "I think I'm going to have to check her house."
Melanie held up her hand and shook her head. Maybe she hadn't heard him right. "Wait. You want to just break into her house?" Her eyebrow popped at the end of her incredulous statement. "Sorry, Scott, but that's ten levels of creepy."
"Hey, it's the only chance we got," Stiles said. "Derek's nowhere to be seen, not that I'd jump to him for help—"
"Not that we can, with you two putting him on the run."
Stiles waved his hand. "Details. Anyway, the necklace is all we got right now. And now that Jackson knows—"
"Hold the phone!" Melanie waved her arms as if calling for a timeout. "What do you mean, Jackson knows? He knows what? How to finally tie his shoes? How to walk and chew gum at the same time? How to pat his head and rub his tummy?" It was clear what Stiles was getting at but maybe…maybe it was something else. Maybe it didn't have anything to do with werewolves at all. Maybe. Hopefully. Her bottom lip certainly hoped so, with how hard she was biting.
"Jackson knows about Scott being…of the hairy variety," Stiles continued.
She gulped. Scott's eyebrows twitched. She almost forgot that his hearing was heightened as well. "How'd he find out?" She asked, twisting her fingers together. She could feel a bead of sweat rolling down behind her ear.
"We have no idea," Scott replied, running a hand through his hair. "But either way we need to work fast. Get a cure or an answer or…or something. Before he does something stupid like looking for the Alpha."
If the haunting eyes she saw everywhere were of any indication, the Alpha would probably find him first. She rubbed her palms together. Surely he didn't figure it out because of her. Right? He just asked her a harmless question. A harmless flower question. People did that all the time. Asked her about flowers. Because she knew about them. Because her mother was a florist, she owned the shop. So of course she would know about them. Was it getting hot? Melanie tugged at the collar of her shirt, wishing that Scott and Stiles would stop looking at her like she grew a second head.
"Okay! Okay! It was me!" She finally burst out, much to Scott's and Stiles's bewilderment. "He asked me about wolfsbane yesterday and I told him but I didn't think he was actually being smart about something; I thought it was just a harmless question! I'm sorry! Just stop…looking at me!" Her next few breaths were rapid and short. "I'm sorry! I wasn't thinking. It-it was a flower question. People ask me questions about flowers all the time; it just…went over my head. Although I should have been worried, I mean who asks about wolfsbane of all flowers, right? Sunflowers, maybe. Daisies, Lilies, Poinsettias, Chrysanthemums, all flowers that make sense! Wolfsbane should have jumped out at me but with all the stuff that's going I just – I didn't think about it. I wasn't thinking. I'm sorry, Scott. I really am. Please don't be mad at me."
Her rapid breathing stopped all together when he stepped forward and pulled her into a hug, squeezing her so tight she swore she could feel her bones creak but she chalked it up to his enhanced strength. She hadn't realized that tears had gathered in her eyes until she saw a few dark splotches growing on the front of his shirt. She sniffed, reliving the pressure at the back of her nose, and let out a hot breath as she hugged him back.
"I'm not mad at you," he stated, holding her at arm's length and looking down at her. "I mean, he had to have figured out about wolfsbane from somewhere else in the first place, right? And it was kinda smart of him to ask you about it." He rubbed her arms and she fanned her warm face. "You didn't do anything wrong. Don't blame yourself. We'll just…figure something out. Okay?"
"Yeah, like putting wolfsbane in his water bottle," Stiles suggested. "Shut him right up."
"You know I can't actually get any, right?" Melanie asked, brushing her eyes with her sleeve but even then she couldn't help but chuckle at his suggestion.
"We have werewolves and hunters running around and it's hard for us to get wolfsbane? Unbelievable," Stiles muttered, running a hand through his short hair.
"I know, it's a travesty." She swallowed the lump in her throat. "So is that all we can do right now? Get the necklace and hope the Alpha doesn't attack anyone else?"
"Hmm, no, I have an idea but it's going to take some time." Stiles's finger was pressed against his mouth as he spoke. "All we can do right now is lay low and act natural. Pretend we don't know anything. …Which I guess is the same thing for you, Mels." She shot a withering glare his way. He shrugged and a good-natured smile flittered across his lips. "Just kidding. But Jackson won't pump you for information if you…embellish things. So you're safe."
She nodded. Scott's hand dropped from her arm to her hand and he gave it a squeeze. "Everything will be okay. I promise," he said firmly. He briefly twisted his mouth to the side and then added in a softer tone, "And my mom says you can come over for dinner any time you want."
Her face burned again and she squeezed his hand back. She stood on her tiptoes, rocking forward slightly to kiss his cheek. Once back on her feet she whispered, "Thank you. I appreciate it." He nodded and lightly tapped Stiles on the arm to motion them away. Stiles held up a finger and Scott took the hint, walking off, dragging his fingers out of Melanie's hand in the process. Her fingers closed in the empty space as she looked after him. Probably going to find Allison. Her nose wrinkled. Why did her brain have to go there? Turn a good moment into one that made her stomach clench? Why did she torture herself? "What's up?" she asked, turning her attention to Stiles.
He dragged his tongue across his lower lip. She crossed her arms while she waited. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Isaac down the hall. She turned her head to watch him. His long fingers spun the face-plate on his lock this way and that. He pulled on it and the lock popped open with ease. He removed it, pulled on the lever to his locker door, and stood back only to get a balloon to the face. Melanie smiled at his confusion and then looked back at Stiles. The peculiar expression on his face made her smile disappear. "What?" she prompted.
He pressed his palms together, resting the side to his mouth, and then said, "I know you're angry…and upset and confused. But take it from me—from someone who knows—she may be fine now but she may not always be around."
"Stiles…I know what you're saying but…our positions aren't the same," Melanie pointed out, her voice hitching at the end. She kicked at the ground. She had to reel herself in much better than that.
"No, they're not," he agreed. His voice was so stern it made her jolt and her stomach lurch. "Because, unlike you, I could only sit by and watch as a disease took my mom. I knew she wasn't going to make it. And you..." his words trailed off and he let out a shuddering breath. He cleared his throat and continued. "She'll get help and she'll be around for however long she has left. Don't miss that. It will only eat you up inside. Trust me." He placed a hand atop of her head and ruffled her hair, hurrying to catch up to Scott.
She ran her fingers through her mussed hair to fix it and then gave her head a sharp shake. She could feel a headache coming on. She turned back to her locker, popped the lock, opened it, and pulled out her books for the day. She could already tell it was going to be annoyingly long. Just get to the game and everything will be fine.
But even with her cycling that thought around in her mind in an effort to believe herself she knew, deep down, that it wouldn't be fine. And her instincts didn't take long to be proven right. Her classes were a big blur of confusion and boredom, save for Finstock yelling in Economics about Greenberg splitting his pants and showing them a moon that they "didn't need to see in the day time, for Pete's sake!" The amusement that had filled her up and put a smile on her face drained out of her and pulled her smile down into a frown when she checked her phone after class.
She read the message on the screen a few times, double-checking that her mind wasn't making up the words. Her heart dropped and her shoulders fell with it. She slapped it down on the top shelf and rubbed her thumbs into her eyes. She was in the middle of unloading her books from her earlier classes when the hair on the back of her neck stood up. One swift look over her shoulder and she was met with the sight of an annoyed redhead. Or, if Stiles was around to correct, strawberry-blonde head.
"If you've come here to tell me to not embarrass you through Jackson, you don't have to," she told Lydia. "I'm not going to the game."
"What? Wait. No. Like hell you're not!" Lydia declared. Melanie whirled around to face her. Lydia's eyebrows were furrowed and her wide eyes were staring at her pointedly. With her purse hanging from her elbow, she closed the distance between the two girls in the empty hallway. "Not only are you going to the game, you're going to play and you're going to show Jackson up."
Melanie closed her locker, resting her palm against the smooth metal surface. "Look, I get that you're mad about the break up but—"
"Oh no. I'm not mad about that," Lydia replied, her expression turning almost manic with her conviction. "Being broken up with by the co-captain? Please. That's nothing." She flipped her hair over her shoulder and crossed her arms. "What you're doing, however, is not nothing. Beating Jackson? Scott already did that. But a girl beating him? Hasn't been done. And it needs to be done. And you're the only one who can do it. You're going to war, Melanie. A lady going to war needs her war paint."
Now she was thoroughly confused and spluttered a few times before managing to get out, "War paint?"
Lydia dug into her purse and pulled out a blush brush, eye shadow, eyeliner, and mascara. "You may be playing a boy's game but you're going to be a lady while doing it. Come on!"
Melanie didn't protest when Lydia grabbed her wrist and dragged her to the bathroom. Because you didn't go against Lydia Martin. She knew what she wanted and she knew what she had to do to get what she wanted. Not that there would be a point in fighting her, it would be akin to speaking to a brick wall. A funny sight no matter the occasion. Not that Lydia and Melanie having a conversation on its own was something normal. She wasn't even sure they had even exchanged ten words in the seven years they've known each other. Sure, they did hang out during Valentine's Day but that didn't count. She spent more time with Allison and anytime Lydia talked to her was to keep her from dogging Jackson (who deserved it, by the way.) And yet here she was, allowing Lydia to lead her to the bathroom to get makeup put on her. As much as she claimed that it had to do with her fighting a "war" and wanting to show Jackson up, Melanie felt that Lydia cared about her predicament somewhere deep inside. It was sweet of her. A bit odd, but sweet.
By the time she escaped Lydia's clutches—she had to wrestle the eyelash curler away from her—lunch was long since underway and the ball of hunger in her stomach was trying to claw its way out while it shouted at her. All the good stuff would have been taken so she hoped that Erica had bought her something or at least saved her a seat. She didn't mind sharing. Erica didn't like butterscotch pudding anyway.
She pinpointed Erica's blond hair in the crowded cafeteria. It was like a beacon calling to her. She dodged and weaved her way around the other students in the cafeteria until she reached the table Erica was occupying. As soon as Melanie got close Erica lifted her head and smiled at her. She swore she saw sunshine in that smile. It was enough to make her put on a smile and pick up her energy.
"Eri! Did you hear about Greenberg? He split his pants wide open! He has a gigantic mole on his ass. It looks kinda like—aiiieee!"
Jumping up from the chair she just sat on, the occupied chair she just sat on, she scrambled to sit in the empty seat but her momentum caused the cheap plastic stoppers on the bottom to glide across the floor. Holding onto the chair for dear life, she could only sit back and wait for the terrible ride to stop. She ducked her head and felt her face twist to a grimace when she crashed into someone, watching as their food hit the floor. "Okay," she said, feeling many eyes on her, "I deserve at least an eight for that slide. I think I lost points on the lack of finesse." Glancing up, she smiled sheepishly at the boy who was glaring at her. "Hey, dude, I did you a favor. Tuna casserole? Rookie mistake. Go for the chicken salad. Your asshole will thank you later." She patted his arm and used her feet to scoot her back to the table where Isaac and Erica looked as if they were stuck between being completely done with her or laughing at her.
Cheeks aflame, she laced her fingers together and clicked her tongue. "Okay, Lahey, which did you like better? Me sitting on you or your balloon? Choose wisely."
One half of his mouth lifted in a smile and he tapped the back of his spoon against the mashed potatoes sitting on his tray. "I don't want you killing me, so the balloon," he replied. "Thanks."
"It was Erica's idea," Melanie said, reaching across the table to tap the back of Erica's hand. Erica's eyebrows furrowed and Melanie widened her eyes a little. Okay, so it was her idea to give Isaac the balloon but it was Erica's idea to buy them in the first place. So what if Isaac thought it was her idea alone? She wanted her two friends to get along.
She already had a separate thing going on with Scott and Stiles, she didn't want to have to juggle three sets of friends when one group could merge. In fact, she was sure Isaac and Erica could get along. They were both on the shy side but they could be funny and fun and confidant too! It may take a bit to get there, but those attribute were there. She only saw them in glimpses and so she wouldn't rest until she could pull it out of them.
"How'd you get it into my locker?" Isaac asked, his eyebrows furrowing.
"I know your combination," Melanie said offhandedly. She reached across the table and plucked a few chicken nuggets off of Erica's tray. "What? I saw you do it once. It's not my fault it's easy to remember and besides, anyone can see it standing across the hall like I did."
Isaac's eyes widened. Erica waved her hand. "Her eyesight's scary good. Always has been. She can always tell whenever something is moved even the slightest bit," she explained and took a bite of her lunch. Small pieces of the hamburger she ordered were scattered across her tray. "Don't even get her started when a picture frame is crooked. God forbid." Melanie stuck out her tongue and Erica threw a french fry at it. She happily caught the fry in her mouth and chewed.
"I'm not that bad. Unlike you, who can't eat things that have touched each other," Melanie shot back. Now Erica stuck out her tongue before stabbing a piece of hamburger with her fork and popped it into her mouth. "What about you, Isaac? You have to have a little weirdo inside of you somewhere," she said, nudging him with her elbow.
He shrugged. "I like to think that I'm normal, so…"
"And we're not normal?" Melanie slapped a hand to her chest, feigning . "Did you hear that, Eri? Isaac thinks we're not normal. I am shocked! I am hurt!"
"Do I wound you?" Isaac teased, cutting off her guilt trip. Erica snorted and Melanie glared.
"You make me sound overdramatic."
"Because you are," Erica pointed out. "Remember back in fifth grade when you got a bad grade on your history report—"
Melanie threw her arms in the air. "Because I got a sucky topic! Who the hell cares about Mesopotamia?"
"—and you were so convinced that your mom was going to kill you that you made me give you a funeral during recess? Flowers and eulogy and all?" Erica asked.
Melanie sat back in her chair, her arms crossed loosely over her chest and squinting. "Huh. Yeah, I remember that. Stiles stepped on my headstone."
"You had a headstone?" Isaac asked.
"Eh, it was just a piece of paper. But still! You don't just tread on people's graves! You'd have ghosts on your ass for the rest of your life. You don't play with that shit." She clicked her tongue. "Okay, that was one time."
Erica smirked, her eyes flashing in mischievous delight. "You threw yourself on the ground when you dropped your ice cream cone one summer."
"I'm justified! It was cookie dough. You don't just give up on cookie dough."
"You went on a rampage when they changed the size of Chips Ahoy cookies."
"And you thought I was going crazy when I first noticed it too."
Erica held up her finger, running her tongue along her bottom lip as a large smile took over her face. She leaned across the table and motioned for Isaac to lean forward. Melanie rolled her eyes and rubbed her hand across her forehead, waiting for whatever it was that Erica was going to come up with to make the situation sound worse than it really was. "One time she ordered ten piece chicken nuggets, right? She got nine instead. A normal circumstance that people would brush off. But not Mel. Nope. She is still not over it and refuses to accept her order unless it has the correct number of nuggets in it. She will insist that they fry up one more for her."
Isaac hooted with laughter. Melanie smiled at the sound, despite it being at her expense. She had only heard him laugh a few times over the years. It was a rare sound, but one that she would like to hear more often. It filled her with a certain sort of joy that made her heart soar and made her come to a firm decision.
If he could find some way to have a good day even when he knew that his father wasn't going to the game, she could too.
# # #
"Are you nervous?" Erica asked. A strand of her hair was clenched tight between her fingers as she pulled on it, watching Melanie put on her lacrosse gear.
"No. I think you are, though," she replied, looking up from her shoelaces to nod at her.
Erica looked down at her hands and then dropped her hair, crossing her arms instead. "I just don't want you getting hurt," she stated.
"That's if I play. And I probably won't." Melanie made a scoff-like noise as she placed her hands on her knees and got onto her feet. "Lydia's whole 'war paint' spiel will be for nothing." Erica's eyebrows crinkled. It made the red in the acne that dotted her forehead stand out. "Earlier she caught me at my locker and was saying how I was a lady going to war and I needed war paint so she put some makeup on me."
"I thought your lashes looked longer," Erica muttered, her eyes roaming her friend's face. "But, uh…Lydia gave you makeup?"
"Uh huh," Melanie muttered, grabbing her lacrosse stick from her locker.
"I've been trying to get you to wear some for years."
Melanie pursed her lips. She didn't have to look at Erica to see the hurt on her face. She could hear it in her words and feel it in the way that they slammed into her and battered her. "It's just makeup, Eri. It doesn't matter. It doesn't mean I'm not your friend or anything just because Lydia put it on me. She didn't give me a choice, really. For a mallwalker she is scary strong." When she finally looked over at Erica she groaned so hard her head tilted backwards. "You're not going to be annoyed with me right before the game, are you? Come on! Don't be upset. We're not BFFs. She has Allison for that." She took Erica's hand and swung it between them, lacing their fingers together. "You're still my number one girl. Okay?"
Erica released the lip she had been chewing on, sighed, and nodded. "I know," she conceded. "Can we still get ice cream after the game?"
"Of course. Something tells me I'm going to need it."
Melanie clung onto Erica's hand as tight as she could as she walked off, feeling her fingers drag through hers until she was gripping empty space. Her heart thudded in her chest and she took in a deep breath to calm herself down. There's no need to get nervous, you're not even going to play she kept telling herself to try and calm her racing heart but it was hard. She could hear the muffled cheers from the field. She could hear sirens and horns bleating into the cool night air only punctuated by shrill whistles and Coach Finstock's shouting.
She gave her head a shake, grabbed her helmet and left the locker room. It was game time!
As usual, Isaac stood outside the door waiting for her and the two walked out to the field. The cold bit at her exposed skin and turned her breath into small clouds. Their cleats dug into the grass beneath their feet as they walked towards their teammates who milled up and down the sidelines or sat on the bench with bouncing legs and clenched jaws. The high energy from the stands colliding with the nervous energy from the team in the middle of the walkway made Melanie sick to her stomach. She just wanted the game to start. At least that way she could channel her energy into screaming like a maniac and supporting her team.
"Scott, where's Biles?" Melanie asked as she dropped down on the bench next to him. She snickered at the name. Leave it to Coach Finstock to be totally convinced that Stiles's name was actually Biles. Who would do that to their kid?
"He's with Derek," Scott replied, pointing to the phone up to his ear.
Melanie's head whipped up. Maybe she had heard him wrong. "What!? But the game's about to start."
"I know," Scott sighed.
"Scott! He's First Line!"
"I know!"
"What's he doing that's so important?" Scott held up his finger, signaling for her to wait. She huffed and rolled her helmet around between her hands as she waited for him to get off the phone. Her eyes scanned the field, watching some of their opponents running around the field and stretching. She could see their muscles beneath their jerseys. They were big guys. She gulped. They were going to be tough to beat. "Well?" She prompted, slapping Scott on the arm as he hung up. "What's going on?"
"I found the necklace earlier," Scott explained. "Don't get your hopes up; there was nothing in it or on it or the back of it. It was a dead end. Now Stiles is doing something with Derek and he's going to be late to the game."
"But…Stiles won't play if he doesn't show. He'll be kicked off First Line," Melanie pointed out.
"I know," Scott said grimly.
They fell into silence, both hoping and praying that they would see Stiles sometime soon so he could play. But as time wore on they knew that their hopes weren't going to be granted. Scott started to pull on his gloves, taking his time by latching and unlatching the Velcro on the wrists. Melanie tapped the front of her cleats together, looking around at the packed stands and the opponents on the opposite bench and Coach Finstock pacing, his whistle clamped between his teeth like a pacifier. He probably needed it, too.
Both she and Scott looked up when Jackson approached, his eyes trained on Scott which only meant he was deliberately sitting down next to him. Melanie lightly nudged Scott, letting him know that she was there to help him out if he needed it. He barely nodded his head and she sat perfectly still, not wanting to miss a single word Jackson said.
Her fingers drummed against the cold metal of the bench. So that's why he'd been acting weird. He wanted the bite! She almost laughed out loud. He wouldn't want it after he saw what Scott had to go through. How he couldn't be normal. How the bite wasn't a good thing, but of course Jackson wouldn't see it that way.
As far back as she could remember he'd always wanted the best. If someone got a new CD player he had to get the better one on the market. If someone got a nice car, he had to one up with a Porsche. Bigger and Better was the only game he knew how to play and the only game he wanted to play. And once he saw Scott and his newfound abilities made him a star of course he'd want in on it too. To restore his big man on campus status or some other bullshit excuse he needed to always be on top and step on others beneath him. She wondered if the thin air up there made it hard for him to breathe or if that was the reason he got so crazy sometimes. It'd explain how manic he appeared when trying to give Scott clues to the Argent name.
"It means silver," Melanie jumped in at the same time Jackson spoke. "Argent? Yeah, it means silver. Only the pronunciation is wrong, but that's what we get for Americanizing the word. It has more of a hard 'g' sound to it and you drop the 't' at the end and….I'm not helping," she trailed off, noticing the massive levels of "who gives a fuck?" that was radiating from Jackson. "But yeah, they weren't kidding when they said silver kills werewolves. I guess they just weren't paying attention to what kind." Now Scott was looking at her though his eyes were wide and panic settled into them. She flinched, her shoulders rising up to her ears. "Sorry! Would you rather have people or wolfsbane kill you?"
"I'd rather have nothing kill me!" Scott shot back. They all shut up when Finstock approached, wrapping his arms around Jacksons and Scott's shoulders in the process. Once again he went off on one of his brief yet confusing idiom-laden speeches which ended in him threatening to not give Scott an A in Econ if they didn't win the game that night. And then to make matters worse, Jackson then demanded that Scott get him the bite in only 7s hours.
"Are you crazy?" Melanie jumped in, leaning forward to look at Jackson. "You want him to get the Alpha to bite you? The Alpha. Do you not get how serious that is? He's called the Alpha for a reason! He's top dog, no pun intended."
"Well, then that makes it all that fitting for me to get the bite then, doesn't it?" He asked, his lips curling into a smirk. No one had a chance to respond to him due to Coach Finstock calling them all down to the field to give them a pep talk.
Melanie gripped her stick between her fingers and listened intently to his speech, which was basically pleas for a victory with put-downs peppered in between to make him sound more encouraging than he really was. At least he tried; they couldn't fault him for that. But as much as she tried to pay attention Scott's head turning to and fro got her attention instead and after they broke their huddle she immediately went to his side.
"I can hear them," he explained, lifting his chin in the Argent's direction. "They're talking about Jackson's scars. They think he's the other beta. Keep an eye on them during the game."
She put her hands on her hips and cocked her head. "Okay, and what do you want me to do if they try something? The Hokey Pokey? I mean, it's a crowd pleaser but I'm pretty sure hunters aren't going to take the time out of their regime to put their hands in and shake it all about."
"Let's go, McCall!" Coach Finstock barked.
"Look, I can't talk now. Just…just watch them. Alright? Watch them and do anything you can to stop them if they try anything."
"But who would be crazy enough to try anything at a lacrosse game!?" She wanted to shout after him but she clamped her lips shut, the unspoken words colliding against the back of her teeth. She dutifully plunked down on the bench with the other second line players. Her thumbnail immediately went between her teeth and she chewed on it while watching the game. Next to her Isaac's leg bounced against the ground and Matt's camera shutter went off every few seconds. The soundtrack to a lacrosse game was a unique one.
The game moved fast. Players in red and players in blue ran up and down the field, stopping on a time when the play called for it to change the flow. Their opponents got an easy lead, despite Jackson's and Scott's best efforts. They were bigger, faster, and stronger than the Beacon Hills team could comprehend. It was almost as if they could read the Cyclones' very own minds and covered their bases before they could even take one step.
Coach Finstock was going ballistic on the sidelines. It would have been comical if it weren't so sad. His eyes appeared to bug out of his head, his hair stuck out in all directions due to him pulling on it in aggravation. His jaw moved from side to side as he gritted and grinded his teeth. His cheeks pooled red; if that was from frustration or from the cold was hard to determine. His voice barked out clearly through the night, easily surpassing the whistles and the cheers from the audience in volume. He would certainly be hoarse the next morning.
Everyone would be. As the clock counted down to half time both teams were on their feet, yelling at the field. The audience in the stands shouted their support as well, creating a cyclone of deafening noise. The refs tried to keep the peace but it was chaos. Half-time couldn't come at a better time, even though the Cyclones were down 2-4 and they were a few players down due to injuries.
"Alright, get in here guys. Get your sorry asses in here," Coach Finstock barked once the whistle for half-time was blown. He was surrounded by a wall of red faced, sweaty, panting boys who waited to hear what he had to say. "What was that? We're playing a game here, not having tea! Attack them! Run through them! Don't give them an inch! You see those boys on the sidelines? They got scared! They got jumpy! They broke!" He grabbed at his hair and began to pace. "Where the hell is Bilinski? McCall! Where's your friend?"
Scott's heavy breathing paused only when he swallowed thickly. He shook his head. "I…I don't know, coach," he replied, his voice hoarse. Melanie could tell it was more out of concern than it was about the fate of the game. It had been near forty minutes since the game had started and there had been no sign of him. No phone calls, nothing. It made Melanie's gut twist; she only wished she could twist his neck the same way her insides were turning. It wasn't a pleasant sensation, especially coupled with the return of her headache.
"We need someone who can get past them. They're quick," Coach continued. "That way McCall or Jackson can be open for any shot on their end." He rubbed his chin, his wide eyes moving back and forth as he surveyed the group until finally they landed on the shortest person in the circle. "Crowe! Today's your lucky day. Get your helmet on and for the love of God, don't embarrass me!"
"Me!?" Melanie squeaked, pointing at herself.
"Her!?" Jackson repeated, extending his lacrosse stick in her direction. "Coach! At least put Lahey in. He can cover more distance."
"That may be right, Jackson, but she can squeeze her way between these guys like cheese oozing out of a burrito," Coach Finstock replied.
Melanie raised her hand. "If I'm going to be oozing out of anything, can I ooze out of a chimichanga instead?"
Coach Finstock ignored her, continuing to speak to Jackson. "We need agility, not speed." He approached Melanie and added, "Crowe, get your rear in gear! And you better be good or you'll be riding that bench for the rest of the season!"
"Not like she's not used to riding things," she heard someone mutter beneath their breath, followed by quiet snickers.
She ran her tongue along her teeth and nodded at Coach Finstock. Their huddle was broken for them to get drinks of water and get their minds back into the game. Melanie kept her head down, watching herself take every step towards the bench where her helmet and gloves were waiting. Once she got to the bench she looked up at the stands. Maybe her father came after all…. Her eyes swept the stands, hoping to catch the proud smile on his face and the sparkle in his eyes but his face was missing. She ducked her head to dig into her bag and when she looked up again Erica was standing in front of her.
"What's up?" she asked.
Without a word, Melanie reached out and hugged her tight. Never in her life had she been so happy to see her friend sitting up in the bleachers. She knew that Erica was probably cold and bored and would rather be doing something else but she was here. For her. And that's all she wanted.
"They're letting me play," Melanie replied once they pulled apart.
"What? Mel, that's great!"
"No it's not! They'll be running at me! With sticks! The only time I imagined this happening was during a very vivid dream where I became a piñata," Melanie replied, throwing her arms into the air. "It didn't turn out that well!"
"Because you broke apart?"
"Because the greedy little kids took my candy."
Erica slapped her on the arm. "Mellie, all you've wanted to do since we got into high school was play on the lacrosse team. Now's your chance! You can do this. I know you can." She lightly nudged Melanie. "You got your war paint on. Put it to good use."
Melanie looked down to the glove in her hands and then back up to Erica, a fire burning in her eye. The two girls briefly pressed their foreheads together, smiling at one another, and backed away. Erica scurried back to where she was sitting and held up her thumb. Melanie shot the gesture back and grabbed her ipod. A good few minutes of her lacrosse playlist and she'd be in the zone. But before she could put her earbuds in two boys from the opposing team walked by and grinned at her. Her eyebrows crinkled but then they stopped and approached her.
"So how many times did you have to open your legs to get here?" One asked, a smarmy smile on his face. "What do I get if I give you hot chocolate?"
"Your mom must be proud of you. Having a whore for a daughter," the other laughed. "Does it run in the family? Did she teach you everything you know?"
"Hey, do we get a turn with her after the game?"
The boys walked away, hooting with laughter. Melanie shoved her ipod back into her bag. She had to let go of it, or else she would have destroyed it with how hard she held onto it, wishing that it was their necks between her fingers. How dare they talk to her like that? They didn't even know her! And bringing her mom into it too? She was going to bash those words right out of their mouths!
Her head throbbed and she did her best to control her sharp breaths. Her fingers twitched by her side and then curled into fists, pressing the nails against her palms. Her jaw clenched shut and colors brightened and faded every time she took a breath until they held still. It was almost as if someone had turned on high definition in her vision, she could see everything from the fly buzzing around a woman's head to the small mole on the shin of one of the opponents' players who sat on the bench as if they were held right in front of her face.
"Mel? Are you okay?" Scott asked.
She grinned, yanking her gloves on. "Never been better, Scott." She grabbed her helmet and pulled it down over her head, tapping the top to make sure it was in place. "We have a game to win. No sense in delaying their defeat, now is there?"
"Err. Don't you want to get water first? Stretch a little bit or something?"
"No." Melanie lifted the lacrosse stick pendant off her chest, gave it a hard squeeze, and tucked it beneath her shirt. "I'm fine. Great even." She could count every little strand of fiber in the thread of her glove. "Let's do this."
Despite eyes showing confusion, Scott held out his gloved hand and she fist bumped it. The whistle blew and they made their way back onto the field: Scott in the left Attacker position, Jackson in the middle, and Melanie on the right. Her eyes narrowed when she saw that two of the attackers on the opposing team were the two idiots that thought they were funny. Hmmm. This could be interesting.
"Jackson," she muttered, easily garnering his attention. "When they blow the whistle, let them get the ball."
"Okay, now I know you've completely lost your mind. Or however much of it you had left," he grunted. "I'm not giving them the ball!"
"Will you get your head out of your ass for once and do this one thing for me please?" She exploded. She swore, for a second her vision turned purple but she chalked that up to her agitated state. "Just let them get it. Trust me!"
He stared at her for a moment and then turned back to his opponent as the ref walked up to the field. The two crouched down, holding their sticks against one another as they waited. Melanie turned her stick around in her palms. The boy standing across from her grinned. She could see the little fleck of pepper wedged between two of his teeth. She blew a heavy breath out of her nose. She dug her cleats into the ground. Her heart beat thudded in her ears.
The whistle blew.
Jackson wrestled with the other player but, surprisingly, he backed off and allowed them to get the ball. The sound of Coach Finstock's screams drowned out as Melanie took off. Everything felt like it was moving in slow motion as she ran ahead of Jackson, ducked her head, and smashed into the boy. All his breath flew out of him at once from the force of the blow but she didn't stop. She brought her arms down, scooped up the ball, and ran.
The opposing team was stunned for a moment but then they charged at her. Cradling the ball in the mesh pocket of her stick, she moved this way and that, stopping and starting and spinning around anyone that came at her. She could see every step they were about to take, every swing of their stick before they even moved and adjusted accordingly. She could see the beads of sweat rolling down their cheeks, each individual freckle on their faces, and the bit of plaque on their gritted teeth as she ran.
One defender charged at her. He was a mountain of a man, wide shoulders and thick powerful legs. She grabbed her stick tighter and ran at him, meeting him head on. He stretched out his arm, his stick an extension of his reach. She smirked. He left himself wide open.
She stopped, aimed, and with a grunt, swung her arm down. The white ball in her net sailed past the small space beneath his outstretched arm, shot past the goalie's large pocket, and into the back of the goal with a satisfying swish!
"Wooohoo!" Scott cheered from behind her.
She blinked, her wide eyes staring at the goal in front of her. Did she actually score that goal? She bounced on her toes, the rush of adrenaline making her breath heavy as she laughed and raised her stick in the air in triumph.
Turning around and jogging back to the line granted her the sight of a few of the opponents staring, open mouthed. Erica was going nuts in the crowd. The Cyclones on the bench were shouting support and Scott rushed at her, lifting her off the ground from the force of his hug.
"Oh my god! That was amazing!" he gushed. "Keep doing that and we'll win for sure!"
The beaming smile on her face slowly faded as Jackson approached her. They held each other's gaze and then Jackson muttered a quick "Nice shot" and went back to his position. She reeled. Jackson Whittemore just gave her a compliment.
Oh yeah, she could do this.
The other team put up a valiant effort but they knew they were playing a losing game. Their once confident smiles melted and sagged as they huffed and puffed to catch up to Scott, Jackson, and Melanie who dominated the field. There were a few slipups, where Melanie was tagged two-on-one and bowled over but Scott would be right there ready to protect her, shooting the ball to Danny who would score since he wasn't covered. Everyone underestimated Danny. Jackson, Scott, and Melanie were like magnets, drawing the team towards them as Danny snuck in the open spaces and waited for Scott to pass him the ball.
Jackson would take down anyone that came in his way, knocking people over with little effort. He would feign passing to Danny to take the shot that they left wide open. They had the opposing team running around, forgetting their plays as the Cyclones ran them ragged. After that, it was all downhill for them.
Twenty minutes, a throbbing head, a bruised knee, and a split lip later the game had ended in favor of the Cyclones and Melanie slowly walked off the field. She wanted to savor the moment, but a large weight sat on her chest. It wasn't really her moment, though. It was Stiles's moment. He should have been there. He should have been on the field playing so Sheriff Stilinski could watch him with pride brimming on his face. He should have been the one making the goals and helping propel the team to victory. He should be the one basking in the wave of celebration from the spectators that stormed the field. But he wasn't. Her mouth twisted to the side. Hopefully he'd forgive her.
"Mellie! You did it!" Erica cheered. Melanie almost fell over when Erica collided with her. The weight of her body pressing against hers made everything come out all at once in a laugh: the anxiety, the fear, the uncertainty, the pain, the nerves. Her little haze had broken and was now replaced with a cloud of sweet smelling shampoo and body wash. "You did it! I told you!" The two girls laughed in glee, spinning around on the field. Once untangled, Erica grasped her hands and started jumping up and down. Her giddiness was contagious and Melanie soon found herself jumping with her. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Isaac approaching and before he could get out a word she dropped Erica's hand, grabbed his and ordered him to jump up and down with them. He hesitated for only a moment before joining in, the once small smile blossoming like a well-nurtured flower.
She was soon swept up in the huddle of the winning Cyclones and those chanting "State! State! State!" amidst the noise. They tried to tone down their celebration to go through the obligatory line as they said "good game" to their competitors but it was tough and some of them broke before they got to the end. The post-game high carried her off the field. She swore she had little wings on her shoes. She had to get showered and changed as soon as possible to go out for celebratory ice cream with Erica. And of course Isaac was invited now, too. Hopefully Erica didn't mind one more on their outing. After all, who didn't like ice cream? And the saying "the more the merrier" tended to ring true.
The warm shower felt like heaven on her dirty, game-worn skin. She groaned as the water worked its way down her body, massaging heat into her tired muscles. She washed herself and her hair—one of the boys on the other team spat at her—and shut off the water, wrapping her arms around herself to shield from the invading cold. Goosebumps erupted over her skin and she dried off as quickly as possible to get into her clothes.
Dragging her lacrosse bag over to the line of mirrors over the sinks and grimaced at the mascara and eyeliner dripping down her face. "Ugh! That's not a pretty sight," she muttered. She reached over and pulled a few paper towels out of the dispenser and rubbed at her face. Colors burst and swam around her eyes in the darkness and once she lowered the paper towel it all came back at once.
Her heart leapt in her throat. A pair of red eyes stared back at her, over her shoulder. She whirled around, her eyes wide and her mouth dropping in a silent scream as the man approached. She lifted a trembling finger and gasped, "It's you! But…but your face!"
The man grinned, revealing a set of sharp teeth. "Please, dear, now's not the time to focus on such trivial things," he taunted. His eyes flashed red again. His nose wrinkled and a snarl rumbled in his chest.
And then he pounced.
a/n - P.S. I know that Omi's Cheerleader didn't come out until 2012, while this story is set initially in 2011, but it's basically Melica's theme song so I had to put it in.
~Musings
*Revised 10/5/17*
