"You wanted to see me, Coach?"

I entered his office very sheepily. Coach was sitting at his desk looking through some papers. His desk and walls were covered in athletic awards. A small diploma hung on the wall in a frame. I was pretty sure he'd bought it off the Internet. When Coach said he wanted to talk to me after practice, I had no idea what to expect. Was he going to congratulate me or scold me?

"Yeah, Stilinski," he said. "Come in. And, hey! Close the door."

I had left it open on purpose as I knew Scott was lurking somewhere nearby. He was just as nervous about this as I was. I wanted to give him some way of listening in on our conversation, but I guess my efforts were for naught. I let the door swing behind me and stepped forward to receive my fate.

"So," I said, "is this about practice? Did I make the team or...?"

Coach sighed and pushed his papers aside. He looked up at me and his eyes said it all. It still hurt when he said it, though.

"You didn't make the team."

I felt the tears begin to well up in my eyes, but I wouldn't cry. Not yet. I was trying to prove I wasn't the typical girl. I was tough. I was strong. I was a lacrosse player.

"Coach," I muttered. "I don't understand. I don't want to sound conceited, but I was great out there. You can't just not put me on the team because I'm a girl."

"It's not about that!" Coach snapped. "Sure, I will admit you got some pretty decent shots out there. But the only reason you pulled off half of the stuff you did was because the other guys were afraid to hit you."

"If they're afraid to hit me, that's their own problem!"

"I can't make a proper decision based off of my team half-assing it when you're on the field!" His eyes told me he wasn't going to budge. Well neither was I.

"You can't do this," I said quietly. The tears were threatening to overflow. "I've worked so hard for this. I'm a good lacrosse player."

"Yes, you are." Coach admitted. "But I'm sorry. My decision is final."

My breaths were starting to become ragged. I couldn't cry, not in front of him. I had to get out of there.

"Alright," I whispered. "Thanks for everything."

I wanted to flip him off, but I resisted the urge. I quickly exited his office, looking for a nice spot to sit down and ball my eyes out. How could he? That sexist bastard. He knew I would be good for the team, but he couldn't possible let someone with a vagina on the team. That was absurd! Only the manliest of men were capable of playing lacrosse. Well, that was fine. I didn't care.

I decided to sit down behind the stairs. I knew the school was pretty much empty, but I still didn't want anyone, especially Scott, finding me. I hugged my knees close to my chest and burst into tears. I cared so much. This was everything to me. My chance at actually being someone. If Scott could live out his dreams, why couldn't I?

"It's bullshit," I managed to sputter out.

I sniffed and wiped my eyes on the sleeve of my hoodie. I knew Scott would be looking for me and I didn't want him to see me in this state. I would tell him that Coach decided I wasn't good enough for the team and that would be it. No tears would be shed. I would continue to be the very strong and emotionally sound person Scott had always known me to be. I stood up and brushed the dust off of my jeans. I was surprised when I saw Scott standing in the middle of the hallway when I came out from behind the stairs.

"Hey," he said, "I've been looking for you." I expected him to have some kind of smile on his face, but he looked just as sullen as I felt. Did he hear me crying? Oh shit, he heard me crying.

"So what did Coach say?"

"Well," I sighed, "he said I didn't make it." I shrugged. No big deal. Just all of my hopes and dreams being crushed.

"Oh," he said. "Well, I was going to ask you to give me a ride somewhere, but you don't have to if you don't feel like it."

"No," I interjected. "It's fine. I'm fine. I will take you wherever you need to go."

"Ok. I need you to take me back to the Preserve. I lost my inhaler last night. My mom will kill me If I don't find it."

"Hey," I said already feeling better, "do you remember where you found the body last night?"

"No, no way Stiles!"

"Oh, come on!" I whined. "I need something to cheer me up."

"A dead body will cheer you up?"

"You know it."

Scott sighed. "Fine. But we are telling the cops if we find it."

"When we find it," I corrected, "my dad will be the first person I call." Maybe today wasn't going to be the worst day of my existence after all.

We hopped in my jeep and started our drive toward the Preserve. Oh what mischief would we get ourselves into today? Scott kept awkwardly glancing at me during the whole drive. I checked my reflection in the rear-view mirror. It wasn't obvious I was crying, but still.

"Ok," I asked, "what's up? You keep staring at me. How much did you hear?"

Scott was silent for a moment before saying, "All of it."

I looked at him strangely. "All of it? Even the stuff in Coach's office?"

Scott nodded somberly.

"I'm so sorry, Stiles."

"Scott," I sighed, "don't be. If you somehow managed to hear all of it, then you probably heard my mental breakdown behind the stairs." His face told me he did. "Well, it's just a chick thing. Sometimes we just need to release our emotions in the most violent way possible. I'm fine really. Now enough about me. Let's talk about you."

"What about me," Scott asked innocently enough.

"Those moves!" I elaborated. "How did you even do that?" We were pulling into the Preserve by now. We exited the vehicle and began to tromp our way through the woods. It wasn't as ominous during the day.

"I don't know what it was," Scott finally said. "It was like I had all the time in the world to catch the ball. And that's not the only weird thing. I can hear stuff I shouldn't be able to hear. Like, I could hear your heartbeat when you were on the field."

"Scott," I snorted, "That's impossible."

"I know! But I could. And I can smell things."

"Smell things? Like what?"

"Like," Scott thought out loud. "Like the mint mojito gum in your pocket."

I stuck a hand in my pocket. "I don't even have any mint mojito-"

I pulled out a small piece of gum wrapped in paper. Ok that was weird. I forgot that was in there. Scott just held out his hands as if to say "I told you." The cogs of my mind were beginning to turn and I could feel the adderall wearing off.

"So all of this started with a bite?" I speculated.

"What if it's an infection?" Scott worried. "Like my body's flooding with adrenaline before I go into shock or something?"

This was all a little strange, I would admit, but it seemed as though Scott was blowing this all out of proportion. My mind bounced from one idea to the next, gathering all of these "symptoms" and trying to link them to something. The heightened senses, agility, strength. I mean, the way he was describing it, it almost sounding like he was a-

Oh, this was too good.

"You know what," I said, "I actually think I've heard of this. Yeah, it's a specific kind of infection." Scott turned to me, mouth open.

"You serious?"

"Yeah," I assured him. "I think it's called 'lycanthropy'"

"What's that?" Scott asked alarmed. "Is that bad?"

"Oh yeah," I replied, "it's the worst. But only once month."

Scott looked confused. "Once a month?"

I nodded. "Yeah, on the night of the full moon." I made a little howl. Scott shook his head and pushed me in the chest.

"Hey," I laughed, "you're the one who heard a wolf howling." I caught up with Scott who did not look amused.

"There could be something seriously wrong with me!"

"I know!" I agreed. "You're a werewolf!" Scott rolled his eyes and kept walking.

"Ok," I said, "I'm obviously kidding. But if you see me in shop class trying to melt all of the silver I can find, it's because Friday's the full moon." Werewolf. Yeah right.

Scott stopped walking and stared at the ground in confusion.

"I could have sworn this was it," Scott muttered. "I saw the body, the deer came running, I dropped my inhaler-" Scott bent down and searched through the leaves. I looked around the forest. We were totally alone.

"Maybe the killer moved the body," I suggested.

"If he did I hope he left my inhaler," Scott said. "Those things are like 80 bucks."

I rolled my eyes and decided to scan the forest again. Just as I brought my eyes past Scott, I saw something.

"Oh shit!"

A man. I nearly jumped out of my skin when I saw him. The forest was completely empty two seconds ago. Now there stood a man clad in a leather jacket. A very tall, very muscular, very good looking man I might add. And then I recognized him. I slapped Scott on the shoulder and he turned around to see him. The man, Derek Hale, quickly advanced on us.

"What are you doing here?" he asked very sinisterly. "This is private property."

"Uh," I stammered, "sorry, man, we didn't know." He looked us both over with scrutiny. Although he was very scary to say the least, he was still very sexy. I mean, goddamn, he was attractive.

"Yeah we were just," Scott added, "just looking for something, but, forget it."

So fast that I wasn't sure he did it, Derek tossed something toward Scott. He caught it and opened his hand to see that, lo and behold, it was his inhaler. It was no dead body, but at least the trip wasn't a total waste. Derek turned and walked back the way he had come. Well that encounter was sufficiently terrifying. And easy on the eyes.

"Come on," Scott said hazily, "I gotta get to work."

"Dude," I said, "that was Derek Hale!" Scott shook his head confused.

"You remember right? He's only a few years older than us."

"Remember what?" Scott asked.

"His family," I indicated. "They all burned to death in a fire like 10 years ago."

"Wonder what he's doing back."

I shrugged. "Come on. Let's get out of here."

We walked back to my car in silence. I allowed Scott some time to think, as he didn't do much of it in his teenage years. I also gave myself some time to think. Derek Hale? Back in Beacon Hills? Why? If I remembered the police report correctly, his sister became his legal guardian and they moved away only a few days after the fire. They didn't arrange funeral plans or make plans to sell their house. They just up and left. The police report wrote the fire off as an accident, but a few people thought there was something more to it. I was included in that few. I don't know why, but it was now my job to find out why the brooding, attractive, Derek Hale had returned to Beacon Hills.

I glanced at Scott. Werewolf. Why was that word striking such a chord with me? When we eventually made it back to the jeep and began the drive to the vet where Scott worked, it was all I could think about. It was absurd to actually entertain the idea that my theory might be correct. I mean, werewolves? Come on, Stiles. It makes no sense. Werewolves aren't real! They couldn't be. Could they?

I dropped Scott off at the vet and unloaded his bike from the back of my car. I told him I would call him later if I got the chance. I didn't know if I would though because I drove straight to the library and checked out every book they had on werewolves. I kept calling myself a crazy person as I drove home, a stack of books on mythical lore in my passenger seat. When I got home, I first brought in my book bag and lacrosse stuff, leaving the books for a second trip. I then returned to the car for the tower of books. My dad watched with confusion the whole time.

"What are all of those?"

"Uh," I scrambled for a response. "Books. For, uh, a research project. Yep."

"Uh-huh," my dad grunted. "And do you need a hand?"

"Um, I'm good, thanks." Before I could make it to the stairs, my dad brought his hand down upon the pile of books and picked up the one on top.

"'Werewolves: A Field Guide to Shapeshifters, Lycanthropes, and Man-Beasts'?" My dad stared at me waiting for an explanation.

"Personal interest."

My dad nodded and placed the book back onto the pile. I stepped tentatively up the stairs, being careful not to let any of the books come tumbling down.

"So," my dad called, "what happened at the lacrosse tryouts?"

Really? He had to bring that up now? I was just getting over it with my strange new curiosity of the supernatural.

"He let me tryout," I said.

"And?" my father prodded.

"I did good," I supplied. Please don't ask for more than that. Please.

"But are you on the team?" Fuck.

"Um," I stalled. "He said, uh, not at this time. No, dad. I didn't make the team." I was just outside of my room now, but I had stopped in order to try and keep my composure. It was bad enough Scott heard me cry. I didn't want my dad to as well. My father started to say something, but I ignored it and entered my room. I swung the door closed with my foot and leaned against the door frame. The lacrosse tryouts didn't matter, I had to keep telling myself. What mattered was that I knew I was good at lacrosse and now the rest of the school did too.

I let the stack of books fall onto my bed and I fell back into my desk chair. Was I really about to read and research all these things about werewolves just because I made a joke about it to my friend earlier in the woods before being reprimanded by the world's scariest male model? The answer was "yes". Yes I was.