Hi all!

The feedback for the first two chapters of this has been absolutely astounding! I am speechless and forever grateful for all of the support you guys have given both me and this story.

I want to apologize for the delay in my updates. Work has been insane and I hit a major writers block. Hence why this update is a bit shorter than usual. But, good news, it is more light-hearted, as next chapter will have some dark flashbacks and a heavier, more dramatic feel to it.

A few of you were worried about Charlie's darker nature and questionable lack of humanity. Though this installation does not confirm whether or not her humanity is literally gone or if PTSD is a factor from, well dying… her black humor is all throughout this chapter. Quite fun to write this version of her! This chapter also features her reunions with the rest of the pack and helps shape how their relationships will be in the upcoming chapters.

A very special thanks to my reviewers: Zikashigaku, Lauren, Heather, Guests 1&2, I Am The Eleventh, Teresa, Guests 3&4, xxxanniexx, klandgraf2007, Guest 5, ana, moriarty13, guest 6, & laurenalyse24 - you guys make writing this stuff so much more fun!

The song that inspired this chapter is "Better Strangers" by Royal Blood. Kind of fits where Charlie's head space is currently at, and it's got a badass vibe.

Okay done rambling! Please read away and leave any comments/suggestions if you got the time! Xoxo marahh

CHAPTER THREE: BETTER STRANGERS

One year.

Twelve months.

365 days and 525,600 minutes.

That's how much time had passed since I first sat here, parked in this very same car, staring at Beacon Hills High School.

Besides the set of windows currently being replaced after yesterday's 'freak' avian incident, the place looked exactly as I remembered. From those faded brick walls, barely held together by the dried out and crumbling mortar, to the wobbly flagpole that still proudly sported a 'Go Cyclones' flag from 1983, every inch remained just as I had left it.

I, myself, was even following my irreverent little tradition of arriving one day and a class period late, the prospect of starting another school year equally as uninspiring as the last.

But being a junior had have to have some perks, like calling dibs on the upperclassman parking spots and lunch tables. Plus, by some miracle I passed Mr. Harris' Chemistry final, which opened my science curriculum up to one of the three free-elective courses.

I, naturally, chose Computer Science.

I also managed to snag myself a second free period by signing up for the Cross Country team as a substitute for P.E. this semester; and although I was the number one advocate for avoiding any and all extra curricular activities, I figured what the Hell?

Running around the woods for an hour in exchange for sleeping in on Tuesdays and Thursdays? Count me in.

And sure, perhaps I wasn't thrilled to be returning with the same tense familial relations and lack of friends as last year, but the more I thought about it, the more I didn't care…

Or couldn't care…

Whatever. Semantics.

Regardless of the reason, I discovered a newfound confidence in myself. A sense of self-assurance one could only gain from letting go of all those petty societal norms and fully embracing oneself, even if the world couldn't.

I knew who I was and understood my purpose. I finally accepted the path I needed to follow to fulfill my destiny, a path I had to walk alone.

The old me, that pathetic, insecure, emotional wreck of a teenage girl, would have been devastated over this realization of a future of absolute solitude; yet I now had a different view.

With a new lease on life, I developed a fresh perspective.

And so, after throwing my schoolbag over my shoulder and hopping out of the Camaro, I headed up the front steps, quite eager to surprise faculty and students alike.

The registration process was a lot quicker this time around, with barely any paperwork needing to be produced as proof as to where I had disappeared during finals week. Part of me wondered if the school's latest principal was simply incompetent, but mostly I think he was far too wary to ask questions he didn't really want the answers to.

I was a Hale, and you didn't need to be part of the supernatural community to understand that when we left, our reasons and whereabouts were better left a mystery.

Thus, within minutes of strutting into the main office and handing in a few forged documents, I was given a new locker number and already making my way through those familiar, desolate halls.

Combination in hand as I went, the echoes of my heeled booties clacking down the corridor blended in with the muffled sounds of various teachers giving their lessons.

From behind closed doors I heard Miss Morrell's velvety voice reciting a sappy French poem, whilst Harris was busy harassing some poor student in the room next door.

"345… 346… 347… 348…"

Ms. Flemming's Calculus lecture seemed as boring as ever as I rounded the corner, only to catch part of Mr. Westover's typical rant as to why History was the most important discipline.

'Some things never change,' I thought to myself, soft chuckle escaping my quirked lips, but soon, I slowed down my search.

"380… 381… 382." I quickly looked from the slip back up to the wall of lockers: "382 B. Great."

I hated the B set. It was stacked on top of the A's and much harder to reach. Not to mention, I had always been convinced that they were smaller in size, though that hunch was never confirmed.

And as I debated whether or not to bring in a tape measure tomorrow and settle this, I started to work on the lock; yet once I input the combination and pulled, nothing happened.

Brows furrowed, I tried again, but the damned thing still wouldn't open.

God, this school was such a crapshoot.

"You have to jiggle it," a familiar female voice suddenly suggested from behind me, making me pause. "Apparently the school hands out crummy locks."

"You know, someone told me that once," I muttered, slowly turning to face none other than Allison Argent as I recalled the very first conversation the two of us ever had.

There she stood, curly brown hair lighter and cropped to about shoulder length as she flashed that characteristic dimpled smirk of hers; and while it still reached her warm eyes, it felt somewhat apprehensive as she stared at me.

"Must have been someone pretty smart," she quipped, heart rate even, though slightly elevated.

Intent gaze fixated on her porcelain face, I looked past the thin veil of friendliness she undoubtedly hoped would mask the true unease she felt. There were a wide range of emotions flashing behind those russet orbs, namely anxiety, guilt, and grief, and the very idea of feeling so much at once was enough to make my own head begin to spin.

"She'd certainly like to think so," I responded dryly, expression so flat that the young woman's genial face fell, and as she awkwardly fidgeted underneath my piercing gaze, I allowed a crooked grin to break my stony façade.

Practically sighing in relief once she realized that I was kidding, Allison laughed lightly and nodded her head, but soon, silence befell us again.

I could tell she didn't quite know what to say or do.

I recognized that helpless expression.

That same look was written across her face before we cleared the air after Winter Formal.

Not only had the young huntress discovered that Scott and I were werewolves that evening, but she also got to watch my homicidal father murder Kate.

But then again, her aunt wasn't some innocent victim, was she?

When it came to light that she had single-handedly orchestrated the slaughter of my entire family and set fire to the Hale mansion, she simply laughed before trying to force Allison to kill Scott.

That night, the brunette and I learned just how much our families had manipulated the two of us, and we were forced to come to terms with the fact that both sides in this feud were to blame. No one's hands were clean.

And now, here we were, in a similar if not more complicated situation.

In a last ditch effort to save McCall's life, Derek had bitten Mrs. Argent, leading to her suicide. In her heartache, an emotional Allison then turned to Gerard, who wasted no time in toying with her mind.

And I had to give it to the old bastard, he nearly drove his granddaughter insane. His only downfall was letting it slip that he actually wanted to become the next Alpha… and admitting that he killed me, of course…

But much to his chagrin, I didn't stay down for long.

No, my OD'ing on wolfsbane was a blessing in disguise, for I not only became immune to the toxin, but according to Ava, my temporary death triggered an evolution in my abilities, strengthening my powers to a point where my inner wolf overtook my humanity.

Maybe I should swing by whatever hospice the sociopath's currently rotting in and give my thanks before he keels over…

"Charlie?" Allison's timid voice pulled me from my ruminations, and as I merely arched a brow, she continued: "I owe you an apology."

"For what?" I asked, genuinely confused by her remorsefulness.

The girl looked stunned.

Perhaps it was my nonchalance about the subject, cause to be honest, she did nearly go postal. You know, with almost killing Erica and Boyd, brutally stabbing Isaac in the back, and trying to murder my cousin.

But hey, no harm no foul, right?

So I added honestly: "It's not like you did anything to me."

Apparently my words did little to ease her conscience, for her troubled gaze just fell to her brown combat boots as she morosely whispered: "But you died."

"Eh, wasn't permanent," I shrugged, jostling the padlock and popping open my locker.

Back turned towards the human, I heard her shaky breath hitch at my blasé response.

I closed my eyes, attempting to remain patient with the bundle of nerves behind me.

"Listen," I tossed a few books into my white tote bag before turning back around. "The past is the past. There's no changing what happened. So the way I see it, you just gotta accept it and move on."

Yet again, I rendered the brunette speechless.

Watery eyes wide, Allison merely stared at me, further testing my patience, but then she did something unexpected: she smiled.

"Since when are you so emotionally adjusted?"

"When I lost my humanity," I replied, cocking a brow as I shot back playfully: "Since when do you cut class?"

Gaze drifting from the clock on the wall to the car keys in her delicate hands, the brunette didn't miss a beat: "When I stopped doing whatever my family wants."

My smirk broadened as I took in her defiant and determined demeanor.

I sort of liked this new Allison.

"I'll cover for you if anyone asks," I offered in approval, yet as I tossed my bag over my shoulder with the intent to leave, the girl's light-hearted expression grew serious.

"It's, um, it's good to see you."

From what I could sense, her words were genuine; however, there was still an air of reluctance floating about, as if she hoped I wouldn't make her regret them.

Breezy disposition dampening, I was yet again made aware of just how much no one trusted me.

"You too," I responded stiffly, turning on my heel and leaving both the huntress and her exasperating sentiments behind me.

"So, risk and reward. One of the easiest economics principles there are," Finstock's grating voice boomed as he paced about the front of the room. "I mean it. It's so simple that even my cousin Mikey, who got dropped on his head as a kid by my alcoholic Aunt Debbie could grasp it. Anyone? Anyone at all?"

As usual, there was no response, for the students were either too terrified to speak up or didn't know the answer. Regardless, the second Coach buried his face into his hands and sighed in frustration, I saw my window of opportunity.

"God, you all must be massive disappointments to your parents," he groaned as I slipped through the back door, unnoticed by all.

Or so I thought…

"Charlotte Hale!" I cringed from the far corner desk I had just claimed, and once every one of my peers' wide eyes landed on my rigid form, an eruption of indiscernible whispers broke out.

"I-is that really her?" one girl muttered to her stupefied friend, whilst a boy sitting behind her nudged his own: "Dude, did she always look like that?"

"I thought she left the school," a teen mumbled to my right.

"I thought she left the state," another countered.

Playing with the hem of my black and white tribal print shift dress, I tried to ignore my ogling classmates, only to spot a fretful Scott, slack-jawed Stiles, and pursed-lipped Lydia.

"Missed the first day of school and late for the second," Bobby spoke over the incessant chatter, smug smile spreading across his beefy face. "Remind us all how you barely passed sophomore year and explain this summer's reading to the class."

"Well," I thoughtfully crossed my arms, "I could risk sharing my honest opinion about you and your teaching abilities… or your general attitude towards everyone else…" I paused, allowing the fuming teacher to soak in the sound of sniggering students before flashing a fabricated smile: "But I think I'll keep my mouth shut and accept a detention-free afternoon as my reward."

Soft chortles exploding into loud guffaws, I haughtily flipped my long, raven locks and took a seat, and for a second I could have sworn I saw the grouchy man stifling his own smirk.

"Good to know you're as obnoxious as ever," he shot back, before casting his harsh gaze elsewhere. "Anyone else?"

At this point, all present reverted back to avoiding Finstock's probing eyes, with the exception of a singular tan hand that slowly rose from the sea of hung heads.

"Yes, McCall, you can go to the bathroom," the lacrosse coach merely brushed him off, keen gaze still surveying the shirking crowd of adolescents.

"No, Coach," Scott sounded confident enough, yet his erratic pulse gave away the truth behind his posturing. "I know the answer."

Now it was the Beta's turn to be gawked at, and after about five solid minutes of the tactless teacher's thunderous cackles, he wiped away a few tears in an attempt to regain some semblance of control.

"O-oh," he cleared his hoarse throat, still gripping his side as he stared at the stone-faced pupil. "You're, uh, you're serious?"

Admittedly, it seemed hard to believe that the boy actually knew what class he was in right now, let alone the correct answer, for although Scott McCall possessed countless talents, academic proficiency was not among them. Being a selfless leader, fierce competitor, and genuinely kind person, sure. But a scholar? Well, that just seemed plain out of character.

"Y-yes," he was clearly thrown off, yet as his gangly best friend gave him an encouraging nod, McCall rattled off one of the most astute sentences I ever witnessed him utter.

"Risk and reward is the principle that a potential return rises with an increase in risk. Low levels of risk are associated with low returns, whereas high levels of risk are associated with high returns."

"Did McCall just say 'whereas'?" O'Hara obnoxiously asked aloud, whilst Coach Finstock had to literally shake off his own astonishment.

"WOW!" he roared, making a shy, albeit proud grin spread across the tan teen's face. "Who are you, and what have you done with McCall? Y-you know what? Don't answer that," he quickly blurted out. "I like you better."

Clumsily leaning over to clap his pal's back, Stiles nearly fell out of his seat from the excitement as Bobby posed yet another question to the class: "Does anybody have a quarter?"

"Ah! I do!" the giddy dork immediately swiveled to face the other direction, jamming his hands into his pockets. "Got one right… right here!"

And after a momentary struggle, out popped something much less innocent than a mere quarter.

Caramel eyes bulging from his skull the instant he realized what was currently sailing through the air, the hyperactive spazz's blotchy face drained of all color as that thin, paper package flew a few desks behind him, only to land smack in the middle of the isle.

"Oh God…" he groaned painfully, but as that flustered, honey-suckle gaze floated up from the XXL condom to my manicured fingers plucking it from the ground, his expression became that much more priceless.

A crooked grin painted my face as I gave the mortified boy a quick wink before handing the contraceptive over to a thoroughly surprised Finstock.

"Stilinski, I think you, um, you dropped this," his raspy voice cut through the dead silence with such comical awkwardness that it took all I had to keep from bursting.

Fresh wave of giggles rippling throughout the room, the pale nerd simply sank deeper into his chair as our instructor returned the package with an impish nudge: "And congratulations."

Ears now the brightest shade of pink, Stiles swiftly shoved the condom back into his pants, barely noticing that Coach had strode to the front of classroom, having taken a quarter from Mahealani.

"Risk and reward," he grandly held up his prized "Coach Rules" mug, recapturing most students' attention. "Put the quarter in, win the reward."

"Shut up," I heard Stilinski hiss.

Tearing my eyes away from Finstock's poor demonstration of how to play "Quarters", I watched the grumpy kid scolding his sniggering best friend with an air of mild interest, but soon Stiles' gaze caught mine.

His words fell silent almost immediately, his elevated pulse rising that much more, but it wasn't embarrassment I sensed this time around, or apprehension.

It was different, and the longer I stared into those piercing orbs, the more I came to realize that we were both trying to figure each other out.

"So that's how you do it!" Coach finally addressed the class after his third attempt of bouncing the coin into the mug. "Okay, Danny. Risk or reward?"

"What's the reward?"

"You don't have to take the pop quiz tomorrow."

"Coach, it's not a pop quiz if you tell us about it," Danny pointed out, brows arched in amusement.

"Danny, you know, I really expect more from you at this point," Coach growled, irascibly snatching the coin from his fingers. "Really…"

Then, ignoring the teenager's chuckles, Coach turned and gruffly handed the quarter to Scott: "McCall. Risk or reward? Risk: if you don't put the quarter in the mug, you take the pop… the... the quiz," he quickly shot Mahealani a dangerous look before the boy could say anything else. "And… and you have to write an essay. Risk: more work. Reward: no work at all. Or choose not to play."

"But isn't this just chance?" McCall examined the quarter.

"No. You know your abilities, your coordination and focus, your past experience. All factors affect the outcome."

Expression rather torn, the Beta clearly knew his likelihood of success was high, but then again, he had an unfair advantage, and like the tiresomely moral person he was, he shook his head: "No play."

"Okay," Coach swiped the coin, "Who's next? Who wants the quarter?"

Evidently Stilinski's rebound time from public humiliation was a tenth of second, for the kid loudly drummed his desk before eagerly volunteering.

"There you go! There's a gambling man! Step up, step up!" Coach bellowed with just as much enthusiasm while the school's biggest spazz hopped up from his desk, took position, and began stretching in the most animated of fashions.

"All right, Stilinski," Bobby clapped as the dweeb squatted in preparation; but just as he was about to play, an unexpected voice interrupted.

"Stiles."

Too engrossed in his current activity, the pale teen didn't bother looking up: "Yeah, Coach. I got it."

"Stiles," Sheriff Stilinski repeated from where he stood in the doorway, his face void of all emotion.

The same, however, could not be said for the two deputies standing just behind John.

Expressions grave, they were barely able to look the teen in the face as he finally glanced up in realization, and as he turned to his father, the man's stoicism gave way to deep concern.

This couldn't be good…

"Stiles, could you please step outside?" he stiffly asked.

Offering a reluctant nod, Stilinski followed his dad into the hallway, his heart racing wildly while the deputies closed the door behind them.

But before the unnerved class could begin hypothesizing as to what was transpiring, Coach Finstock picked the lesson back up, his coarse voice drowning out the conversation going on just outside.

Well, for the humans that is.

I didn't necessarily care what brought the sheriff here, but if it was Alpha related, I figured I should at least pay attention. I mean, Lord knew the holier than thou McCall pack wouldn't willingly share anything. They already made up their minds about the new Charlie, and she was not to be trusted.

"I couldn't find her. I figured she just met up with her other friends. Has no one really seen her since last night?" the amount of alarm behind the dork's words would have ordinarily led me to believe that this was about Lydia, but as I looked from the strawberry blonde exchanging worried looks with Scott, I scowled.

Who was this girl?

What could she possibly mean to Stiles?

"No. We put out an APB, but Stiles, all of her friends said you were the last person who saw her."

"M-me?"

"We hope it's just a bad series of decisions from having too much to drink," the sheriff mused aloud, confirming my hunch that whomever this person was, she was at that same stupid party Scott and Stiles had come from yesterday. "If you remember anything else, you call me alright?"

"REWARD!" Coach cheered over Stilinski's muffled response, only for the bell to ring, ending not only the class period, but my curiosity, as well.

Eager to leave before anyone approached me, I promptly collected my books and slipped out the back; yet just as I stepped through the doorway, I found myself cornered by none other than Kyle Greenberg.

"I heard you were back," the blue-eyed boy was breathless, having sprinted from God-knows-where to catch up with my elusive self.

"News travels fast around here, huh?" I dryly retorted while trying to side step away.

"Well when it's about you," the bespeckled teen mirrored my movements, his eager gaze drifting over my standoffish form, "Looking like this…"

My body stiffened as I fought the urge to wallop him.

"Oh no. There's no way you get to talk to Charlie before her best friend does," a pitchy voice cut in whilst I silently thanked my lucky stars; however, when I turned to look upon my apparent savior, my spirits sank right back down, for there stood Beacon Hills' queen bee.

Glossed lips pursed, Lydia's hazel eyes were fixated on me rather than my cranky companion as she continued with the usual amount of sass: "If I even allow her to keep such a privileged title."

My lip quirked.

I always did enjoy her snark.

Too impatient to wait for Greenberg's consent, Miss Martin then reached forward, grabbed my black leather vest, and dragged me down the hall with nothing more than a loud sigh.

"So," she finally stated, regarding me with deep scrutiny, "you had time to update your wardrobe but couldn't find time to pick up a phone?"

"Maybe I was trying to surprise you?" a wry grin decorated my face as I watched Greenberg skulk away.

"With what? Your sudden sense of style or the fact that you're still alive?" she countered testily.

I decided to take that backhanded compliment at face value, breezily quipping: "Don't tell me you were worried about little old me."

"Yes, I was," she crossed her arms and added: "We all were actually."

I snorted.

Right… I'm sure they were just so worried…

"I don't see what's so funny!" Lydia snapped heatedly, making a few passers-by stare.

"Could you lower your voice?" I growled, practically wincing underneath every pair of eyes that were now glued to us.

The queen bee blinked a bit, only to realize what had me so on edge.

"Oh for the love of God," she rolled her eyes in exasperation. "You're surprised they're staring? With all the rumors flying around about your disappearance?"

Watching the pretty redhead swap out some books, I asked with keen interest: "Rumors? What kind of rumors?"

Again, Miss Martin was less than thrilled by my lightheartedness and merely gave me a sharp look as she slammed her locker shut.

I had to admit, I was somewhat disappointed.

Clearly she wasn't going to disclose any of the juicy gossip surrounding yours truly, so I went a different route: "I'm surprised anyone even noticed I left. I figured the entire student body would be too devastated over Jackson moving to… to…"

"To London," she stiffly finished, voice a bit higher than usual.

Had I been capable of empathizing, I would've tried to comfort the obviously distressed girl, but that part of me was gone.

"Right. So, uh, no one's heard from him?" I ventured awkwardly, catching a whiff of two familiar scents.

"Well, Derek gave him the whole 'werewolf 101' thing before he and his dad took off, and he texted me when they landed safely, so… if you'd count that, then yes."

Too busy scanning the packed corridor, I missed the bitterness lacing Lydia's words as I lazily offered: "Well at least you were the last one he spoke to."

"You're kidding me, right?" the strawberry blonde incredulously asked, forcing my gaze back to hers.

Again with the shouting…

Running a hand through my long, curly locks, I ignored everyone's shifty glances and mumbled: "I guess?"

"The love of my life says good-bye forever over a text message, and you act as though I should be happy about that?" her voice shook with just as much violence as her incensed form.

Good going, Charlie. Put your foot in your mouth again.

Well, at least that stellar part of my personality didn't change…

"I mean no, but um, it's… its kind of a carte blanche right?" The girl's irritation was quickly replaced with confusion, so I clarified: "You know, a blank check?"

"I know what 'carte blanche' means," she hissed.

"Good," the small smirk creeping across my face evidently surprised the testy teen. "Cause I'd hate to think of you pining over some boy that's an ocean away when there's a whole school filled with them."

"I don't pine over anyone," she stuck her nose up in the air.

"So then you're listening to your own advice. You know, about the whole distraction thing?"

The human's austere expression quickly softened as her glossed lips curled into a coy grin: "A lady never tells."

I laughed, knowing full well that the queen bee had probably been 'distracting' herself with several different suitors already, and as we exchanged roguish smirks, the second bell rang.

"Well, I have to get going," she sighed, all remnants of whatever hurt she had been harboring towards me seemingly gone. "Sit together at lunch?"

"Sure," I nodded, swallowing my smile as I headed off to my next class, walking right passed two very obvious eavesdroppers that were trying and failing to blend into a crowd of freshman.

Leaving a trail of fresh whispers in my wake, I felt the sensation of those two dweebs encroaching upon my personal space; so without warning, I spun around.

"Aah!" Stiles yelped, flinching alongside an equally startled Scott.

"What do you creeps want?" I demanded, holding my hand up to silence Stilinski before he could begin babbling. "And please, if your scents didn't give you two away, your heavy mouth breathing certainly did."

Jaw practically unhinged, a highly offended Stiles opened his mouth again; however, the lanky nerd's best friend wisely spoke over him.

"We want to go over the plan."

"Oh, you mean the plan to break into the bank. The one that you said you'd have ready in minutes," I quirked a brow. "But that was, what? Nine and half hours ago?"

"Yeah," McCall was now equally as peeved as his counterpart, the bags quite apparent underneath both of their eyes from a long night of fruitless research. "That one."

"Well," I looked between both of their grumpy faces, sadistic glee bubbling up inside of me as I decided to goad them some more: "Considering you made us wait, seems only fair we make you do the same."

"Oh, come on!" Stiles erupted, waving about wildly.

"Derek's loft. 5 o'clock," I cryptically stated, turning back around to continue along my merry way: "Don't be late."

"But… but what are we supposed to do until then?" Scott called after me, tone laughably helpless.

"I don't know, take a nap? You both look like you could use one," I suggested over my shoulder, assessing both whiney teens with a snigger. "Besides, I got a feeling tonight's gonna be a long one."