So we can take the world back from the heart-attacked
One maniac at a time we will take it back
You know time crawls on when you're waiting for the song to start
So dance alone to the beat of your heart


Chapter 3: Prevarications


The pre-lab was stuffed into her cargo-style backpack, finished and ready for tomorrow's class. Sherry scrolled aimlessly through her phone. Logged into a fake Facebook account, she read her old friends' recent posts. Most of them related to her, asking publicly if anyone knew what happened to Sherry Ming. No one from her old life had any clue where she was now or why she'd deleted all of her social media accounts and changed her phone number. She turned off her phone and rested her forehead on her folded arms.

A door opened, its hinges squealing. A middle-aged man stepped into the room his pink skin contrasting with the tan sheriff's uniform. He did a double-take when he saw the girl sitting in his kitchen.

"Sheriff?" Sherry exclaimed, her eyes widening. "You're Stiles's dad?" The discovery of Stiles's detective board made more sense in context.

"You know my son?" The sheriff was equally as surprised. "I thought Parrish said you're two years younger than him."

Her lips curled up. "I'm ahead. Stiles ditched me while I was working on a project. Can you drive me home?"

"Did Stiles say why he left?"

She debated whether it was her business to tell. "Not really. Someone called him," she allowed. "Something happened, I guess, so he just ran off."

Furrows appeared on the sheriff's forehead. "Hm."

"Anyway," Sherry continued, "I dunno if Jordan is out of work yet. Stiles was supposed to drive me home, but obviously he isn't here. I hope it's not too much of a hassle for you to take me."

He grimaced. "That boy…. Okay," he sighed. "Let's go."

She snatched up her backpack and trotted after him. In the car, she stared out the window with her eyes drooping.

"Was today your first day at Beacon Hills High?" the sheriff questioned, his gaze focused on the road ahead.

"Yep. Kind of a coincidence that I got paired with Stiles for chem," she noted.

The sheriff chuckled. "Coincidence," he repeated derisively. "Something that happens far too often for my liking. How have you been?"

"Adjusting is a pain," she admitted.

"I can only imagine. Is Parrish getting used to you living with him?"

"As far as I can tell. He only moved here recently himself." Sherry smiled ruefully. "Sorry, I generally think of, um, Parrish as my Uncle Jordan who I met once when I was six. Or that's what my mom used to tell me, at least."

The was silence for the rest of the drive. When the sheriff stopped in front of her new home, he disclosed, "Just for the record, Sherry, I don't believe your mother deserved that prison sentence."

She climbed out of the car unsteadily. "She did everything she said she did at the trial. She's guilty," Sherry insisted.

The sheriff's eyes flickered away. "Of course."

She shut the door and plodded to the house. How did he suspect that Sherry's mother wasn't as guilty as she claimed? When she stepped inside, Parrish's voice called, "I have takeout!"

Grinning, Sherry dropped her bag on the floor and hurried over. Parrish was bent over a plate of yellow curry. The tangy scent made her mouth water. She plopped into the chair across from her uncle and filled her plate with samosas and curry.

"You were working on a project or something, right?" Parrish asked.

"A pre-lab. Hey, Jordan," she started, "Who is Kate Argent?"

He paused in the middle of rubbing a spot of curry off his tan uniform, his eyebrows shooting up. He looked up slowly to meet her curious gaze. "Where did you hear that name?"

"Some newspaper article," she said, sweeping her brown hair behind her shoulders. "It mentioned that she was the Hale arsonist. What does that mean?"

Parrish tried to dissolve his tense expression. "She's just a crazy criminal. She burned down a house filled with people seven years ago. She was killed last year."

"Oh. That's it?"

Her uncle's reassuring smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "Nothing else is worth knowing."

Pushing on, she asked, "Have you heard of the Calaveras? Do you know who they are?"

Parrish narrowed his eyes. "What newspaper did you get this from, again?"

She twisted her fingers under the table. "I forget. So?"

"Haven't heard of them."

Sherry stuffed her hands into the wooly pockets of her sweater and wriggled on the cold metal bleacher. Her chosen seat was at the top of the lacrosse field, right under the blinding stadium lights. From her perch, she could view the entire game, without having to crane her neck too much.

Illuminated by the floodlights, she could Beacon Hills' players, the white lettering glowing on maroon jerseys. The player with "Stilinski" on his back was sitting on the ground-level bench, talking animatedly with his friend, whose jersey read "Yukimura." McCall seemed to be in a debate with the coach, occasionally pointing to a player idling by the goal.

The coach, out of nowhere, hurled a ball at the kid, whose name Sherry could barely make out to be "Dunbar." Sherry gasped. Dunbar snatched the flying ball out of the air without even thinking. One moment before, he had been facing the opposite direction. How could he have seen the ball coming?

The players all lined up at the center of the field. The referee blew his whistle. The scrimmage had officially started.

Sherry didn't know much about lacrosse, or sports in general for that matter, but she could easily tell that these players were more than just good. McCall, Dunbar, Yukimura, and a player from the opposing school, Talbot, were all exceptionally swift and strong. Yukimura tore across the field dodging opponents and knocking them over easily. On the sidelines, Coach Finstock screamed, "Pass the ball!"

Yukimura didn't pause, instead making it all the way to the end and making a goal. The Beacon Hills fans erupted into cheers. The coach, however, motioned Yukimura over furiously. The player removed the maroon helmet, confused. Sherry was surprised. That star player was a girl.

Her black hair tumbled out of the helmet as she approached the coach in confusion. A moment later, she plodded over to the bleachers and sat down.

The game resumed. The lacrosse ball flew over heads, hopping from net to net. After a few more plays, Talbot ran and rammed into Dunbar, knocking him to the ground with a thud Sherry could almost hear. The audience let out a collective gasp.

Stiles and McCall crowded around their injured friend, grabbing his arms roughly and jerking him up. Sherry shifted in her seat, squinting down at the field to see what was going on. Was the kid hurt?

Coach Finstock ushered the boys off the field and signalled to the referee, crossing his forearms in an X repeatedly. The players were scattered, running around in confusion. Sherry scanned the field for Talbot, but he was nowhere to be found. Had he owned up to his foul and gone to see if Dunbar was alright?

A sharp whistle resounded across the stadium. "Game canceled!" the referee roared. "Go home!"

In front of her, the audience booed. A guy fully decked out in Beacon Hills gear cursed at the referee, throwing his drink down onto the stairs. As crowds stampeded up the stairs, Sherry tugged her fuzzy hat down over her ears.

Once most of the audience was gone, Sherry snuck another glance out at the field, but all was empty except for some straggling players. She sighed, picked up her bag, and headed out to the parking lot.

In chemistry the next day, Mr. Lewis shooed the class off to continue the second part of the lab. Sherry set out the equipment on the black lab bench, adjusting the height of the buret. Stiles shuffled over a moment later.

"Has anyone seen him?" he hissed to McCall. McCall's lab partner, a portly blond kid, followed behind them. Sherry passed safety goggles to each of the three boys. Stiles took his pair in his hand absentmindedly, fingering the ridges on the elastic strap.

McCall slipped his goggles onto his forehead. "Not that I know of."

To the side, she greeted the blond kid. "Hi. I'm Sherry."

"I'm Fred," he replied impassively.

Nodding over to Stiles and McCall, she noted, "It looks like we're going to have to do all the work ourselves."

"That's why I usually work alone during labs." Fred measured out a spoonful of powder and ladled it onto a small plastic plate, pointedly ignoring her.

She stopped, blinking. Was everyone in this town rude? Continuing to work, Sherry realized that the buret needed to be refilled with sodium hydroxide solution. She needed a hand. A glance over to Stiles confirmed that he was still furtively discussing something with his friend.

Gritting her teeth, Sherry tapped on Stiles' shoulder.

He made a waving motion with his hand. "Wait a sec."

Her gaze flickered over to Fred, who was fixating on the yellow suspension in his beaker, completely zoned out. She sighed, tapping on Stiles' shoulder again. "Hey."

"I said, wait a-"

"This will literally take five seconds. Do you want to pass chem or not?"

He growled, stomping his foot like a toddler. "Okay! Fine!" He lifted the buret down from the stand, keeping it at a level at which she could pour in more base. Behind him, McCall looked blankly calm but for staring distractedly at Stiles. His face was narrow and angular, his jawbone squarishly wide. It struck Sherry that he looked uncannily puppy-like.

She stopped pouring as the liquid neared the top line. Setting the jug on the table, she covered the top opening with parafilm. Stiles set it back on the stand. "Is that it?"

"Yeah." She hesitated, thinking back to last night's peculiar game. "Do you know if that player on the lacrosse team is okay?" she asked. "I saw you and your friend help him when he fell yesterday. It looked pretty bad."

For some reason, Stiles sent McCall a fleeting look before he answered, his eyebrows arching in surprise. "What? Oh, um, Liam's fine." He grinned nervously. "Right, Scott?"

So that's what his name was. Scott gazed at something in the distance. "I'm not so sure."

Stiles started, alarmed. "What do you mean, you're not sure?" He leaned forward onto the table intensely. "Did something happen?"

At this point, neither boy seemed to remember that Sherry existed. Scott's forehead furrowed in worry. He snatched his phone from his pocket and studied the screen. His eyes shot up, staring at Stiles with intensity. "Mason just texted me. Something's wrong." He spun around and threw his backpack over his shoulder, sprinting out of the classroom without a second thought.

Stiles looked back at Sherry. "I suppose you want to know what just happened?"

She tilted her head. "Well, yeah!"

He patted her head, making her feel even smaller than she already was. "We don't always get what we want."

"Can you at least explain why you ran off two days ago? I had to do the whole pre-lab by myself."

He scratched his short brown hair, letting out a sigh of thinly veiled annoyance. "Nope."

She loosened the buret stopcock, watching as the clear liquid dripped into a flask of acid. "You do know that this lab report is due on Monday, right? That means we have to finish and write it up tonight."

He faltered. "Wha- It is?"

"Yes. So we should meet after school again or sometime during the weekend."

Stiles pretended to take a glimpse at his watch. "No, sorry, I'm booked up until... always."

"Well, that sucks, because I'm completely free." A flash of pink appeared in the acid-base mixture. She tightened the stopcock again and swirled the flask in lazy circles, the color dissolving as the liquid swished up the sides of the glass.

"Great! You can finish the lab report for us!"

When the bell rang, Mr. Lewis held up a hand to silence the class. "Before you all leave, I need to make an announcement."

Stiles groaned, punching his jacket. "Every time," he muttered.

"Last night, there was an attempted assassination at the lacrosse game. One of the killers, who was masquerading as a freshman named Violet, has been detained by the police. Her partner, who goes by Garrett, was on our very own lacrosse team. He is still on the loose, so if any of you see him, make sure to call 911 or notify an adult immediately." Mr. Lewis motioned to a paper stuck by the door. "There's a picture of him and some information on that flyer."

Everyone was shocked. Sherry couldn't believe that two assassins attended her school. Wasn't her new life supposed to be safer than her last? She was startled when she saw that Stiles didn't appear surprised at all, just his mouth tensed with anxiety.

"You're free to go," Mr. Lewis finally said.

After school, she hopped onto her bike and pedaled to the sheriff's station. A familiar dented blue jeep was parked outside, neighboring Parrish's small sedan. Sherry locked her bike into the nearest rack and strolled inside the building, looking for Parrish.

He was resting on the desk in the sheriff's office, talking to two teenagers, one of whom Sherry instantly recognized. Stiles. The other one was a pretty redhead Sherry was almost certain she'd seen talking to Stiles and Scott the other day. Stiles and the girl approached Parrish, showing him a piece of paper.

Sheriff Stilinski appeared around a beige wall, sipping from a mug of steaming coffee. Sherry hastened to meet him. "Sheriff!"

His eyes widened. "Sherry? Why are you here?"

She looked back at Parrish. "I meant to talk to my uncle. For my English class, I have to interview someone in a particular profession."

"I can redirect you to another officer," the sheriff suggested. "Parrish is preoccupied at the moment."

"Talking to teenagers?"

"It's important," he restated, steering her away from the office and toward one of the desks in the center of the room. "Meet Deputy Haigh."

The man stared at her. "You are?"

The sheriff returned the way he had come. Given no choice, Sherry smiled politely and stuck out her hand to shake. "Deputy Parrish's niece, sir. Sherry Ming."

The deputy shook her hand, still watching her warily. She pulled over a chair and sat down. Pulling out a notebook and pen, she said, "Do you mind answering a few interview questions for a school project?"

He reciprocated her smile, the movement not quite reaching his eyes. "Not at all."

As Sherry bombarded the deputy with questions, to which she received standard, if not automatic, answers, she kept an eye on the window of the sheriff's office. The window blinds had been drawn half-closed, but she could still make out silhouettes and the gleam of the girl's strawberry-blonde hair.

Once Deputy Haigh responded to each of Sherry's prepared questions, he dismissed her brusquely with a gruff "Get outta here."

Sherry scattered, attempting to stuff her notebook into her bag while stumbling toward the exit. At the same moment, the sheriff's door flew open. Parrish, Stiles, and the girl burst out, talking fervently. They would have rushed right past Sherry, if Stiles had not noticed her out of the corner of his eye. The boy halted, turning to point at her and blurt, "You! Freshman!"

The ginger tilted her head at Sherry curiously. Her hair was curled flawlessly, make-up and lip gloss adorning her pale face almost professionally. The raspberry locks swung like a pendulum when she paused. Parrish's green eyes widened, but he quickly recovered, his blond features relaxing. "Sherry? What are you doing here?"

"Everyone is always asking me that," she grumbled. "I came to ask you interview questions for English, but Deputy Haigh helped me out instead."

"Tell him I said thanks," Parrish answered. "I've got to go. I'll see you later." He beckoned Stiles and the girl, racing out the door.

She didn't know what to think. "Well, I'm not going back to thank the deputy," she muttered. "He was even surlier than Fred." Sherry located Sheriff Stilinski, who had taken up residence again in his office. She knocked on the door and entered before the frustrated sheriff had even allowed her permission to enter. "Do you know where my uncle is going?"

"I have no idea, kid. Go home."

"But he's your deputy!" she protested.

"Go home."

She wanted to press further, but with a glance at the sheriff's stern expression, Sherry sighed. "Alright, Sheriff. See you." She ducked out of the office.

"Have a good day." Stilinski's voice drifted into the hall.

Sherry wandered out of the building and into the clouded sunlight. She unchained her bike, watching Parrish's police cruiser and Stiles' Jeep speed into the street. As she tightened her cherrywood brown jacket buttons, she swept her dark, lank hair behind her shoulders. Unlike the rest of her day, her ride home was smooth and uninterrupted.

A/N: Yes, sorry, I know I kind of changed what happened in the episode. Stiles and Lydia are supposed to skip school and visit Parrish in the middle of the day. Sheriff Stilinski is supposed to be out escorting Violet, but let's pretend everything gets shifted down a few hours. Thank you 3

Remember to follow, favorite, and comment! P.S. Guys my favorite character is Fred. Like, you go, Fred! Keep on ignoring my OC like that! Work it, dude.