· 1st Time She's Caught – They're Laughing

Impatient to meet up at the library, Stiles hovered near Lydia's locker. Not exactly outside of her locker but deliberately within her eye-line and across the way.

So Lydia made excuses to meet her friends tomorrow or in another class. As she started to walk, he fell into step beside her and made it look casual and not at all like they walked 'together' together.

"Can this wait?" she asked, her voice was curt but not cutting.

"Hardly." He grinned his reply and she rolled her eyes. She knew he lied the more he insisted, "It's really important."

"Is this a joke?" she asked in the most literal definition.

"But hear me out."

Over time, Stiles' growing attempts to make Lydia laugh became more desperate and less subtle. As a side effect of his growing annoyance came a growth of familiarity and ease. Stiles had begun the practice of collecting bad jokes, so terrible it seemed like he'd bulk purchased those '101 Joke' books.

"So, wanting to see what the fuss was about, the blonde jumps down onto the train tracks and hops along behind the red-head. She counts along, too. Together, they're hopping and counting '22, 22, 22.'"

"I'm assuming the point is the cleverness of the red-head," she sided-eyed him with a crooked smile.

"Shush, let me finish. You're ruining my delivery." He sniped back, stepping toward her a little with a glare and overly-prominent frown. "Anyway, so a train appears heading toward them, but they're still hopping back and forth over tracks '22, 22, 22.'" And Stiles began to hop very minutely alongside Lydia as he counted. "And the red-head kept laughing and hopping, '22, 22, 22'. And the blonde is loving this, '22, 22, 22'. Finally, the train gets right there and the red-head quickly dodges out of the way! And whoosh!" at that Stiles rushed across Lydia's path for narrative emphasis causing her to stop short.

Blinking at him, she clutched her books to her chest and she waited.

He paused for dramatic effect, then continued at low delivery, "and once the train disappeared over the distance the red-head came out of hiding. Checked to see if the coast was clear, hopped back into the tracks and started to count '23, 23, 23.'" And he began to hop once more.

Scoffing lightly Lydia rolled her eyes, and continued walking.

"Wait, but you get it right," Stiles hurried after her, "the red-head would-"

"Oh, I got it," she said tartly, cutting him off before he started a 20 minute long over-explanation of another failed joke. "Googling 'Dumb Blonde' jokes just feeds into stereotype and it's barely that funny."

"No. You underestimate me," he scoffed, and rolled his eyes as well in a dramatic reenactment. "I didn't just Google it, I replaced brunette with redhead to make it relatable."

To cover up her giggling, mostly because she definitely did not want to encourage that sort of behavior, Lydia covered her mouth with one hand and tried to walk ahead of him. It only brought more attention to the act and Stiles tried to tease more laughter out of her. He tried to mock the vanity of the russet-to-redhead club.

All amusement died at the sound of Mrs. Martin calling Lydia's name from a door they had just hurried by. The tone left a clear intent for her daughter to return to her, immediately. A look in Stiles' eye meant to apologize or promised to make it up to her when they met at the library later, but Lydia's panicked glance told him to just 'GO'.

After school, Lydia never showed up at the library. Not that day or the next and Stiles didn't dare a repeat appearance by her locker.

Up to that point they had never exchanged numbers and, god no, they wouldn't add each other on any social media accounts. Which meant the next most likely time to see how she was doing was chemistry class on Friday. She was already seated by the time he hurried in, and he wasn't even late. When he said 'Hello,' she barely responded.

This wasn't your average cold shoulder for Lydia Martin. It was a hybrid vibe between 'lowly freshman, you are beneath me' and 'you hooked up with my ex-boyfriend'. Stiles tried all the polite platitudes and barely got the basics, but when he offered to go to her mom and plead her case he finally got a rise.

"Why would you do that?" she sounded nasty.

"Well, because I don't want you to get into trouble for... for whatever you got into trouble for," he shrugged slightly.

Lydia looked beyond his shoulder while he spoke, but when she answered him she glared directly at him warningly, "I didn't ask for your help and I don't need you trying to fix things for me."

"I- eh, uh- wasn't. I just," he struggled to get a word out.

"Well, just don't," she concluded. Leaning back she flipped open her textbook, crossed her legs and began to tap her foot in the air.

Confused but dismayed, Stiles left well enough alone. For now.

After school, he poked his head into the library in hopes that she might turn up and clear up something, anything but there didn't show any signs of her. It would have to wait until next Friday, which gave him a full week to think of a better thing to say aside from 'eh, uh'.

All of this proved redundant when Lydia leaned impatiently beside the passenger door of his Jeep. She said nothing only waved agitatedly for him to unlock the door and let her in already. At great speed he bolted to comply, it was a wonder he didn't break his wrist to get his key in the lock.

He asked where she wanted to be driven and she glared at him, "well, since my car is right over there; nowhere." Then after a pause, while watching the many different expressions and emotions flitting all over his face, all the things that left him speechless, she let out a laugh.

.

"How do I know you're not using me?" she said, as she shifted in the seat uncomfortably.

"How do I know you are not using me?" Stiles rebutted sarcastically. He smiled briefly but fell into confusion when he realized she was being sincere.

"Because why would I want to be dragged down to your loser depths?" she snapped harshly, her tone was hurt. Although she looked at him it seemed she looked through him.

"And why would I want to be exposed at your 'glorious' superficial heights? I could fall and break my neck in those shoes. I'm terrified of the thought, it keeps me up all night..." he started from a motor-mouth emphasis and ran to a dribbling pause. It seemed to carry Lydia's brewing hostility with it, the more she tried to concentrate on each particular word.

"A regular Acrophobic," she said, with a raise of her brow.

"Yep," he said with a grin. Glancing around, he searched the background for familiarity and just found her squirming uncomfortably in her seat, anxiously tapping her foot. "I embarrass you, so now you want me to keep my distance."

"You embarrass yourself," she scoffed defensively, but after a moment added reluctantly, "but that's what my mom wants."

"Not what you want?" asked Stiles, clearing his throat. The world around them never seemed more closed off than when waiting for an explanation from one of them, one of the uptown-ers.

"It's not that simple for me." Lydia struggled, biting her lip she searched for the words before putting them out there but still knew they weren't good enough. They may have been selfish, but she needed to defend herself. "I have affluential parents who are always looking for a reason to argue. With your reputation, this... whatever this is, it's as good as any, not to mention my mom's at the school every day."

"Can't you say-?"

"Say what?" she snorted. She wrung her hands on the edge of her skirt, pressing down on her kneecaps as if it would by proxy still her feet. "It's not like you would bring me around your friends."

"I would."

"Come on, that's a lie." She gave him a humorless smile. "You couldn't even introduce me without making an excuse."

For a split second Stiles didn't understand and then he did. However great his friends were, and they were great in his eyes, they would still definitely question 'why the heck' he was hanging out with an uptown-er. And not just any uptown-er but THE uptown girl, the one who put the 'Pop' in popular. But if he brought anyone else to a party he wouldn't be asked to plead a case.

"You'd say 'because chemistry class set us up?' or tell your bros 'because she has a good set of personalities?" she teased, feeling a little bitter and mean-spirited.

"What would you tell your friends? That you took pity on me?" he replied, feeling defensive. The moment he said it he regretted it. He could see he hit a nerve by her sudden stillness.

"No. What?" her eyes refocused on his, no longer searching the window for bystanders. Whatever she meant to say evaporated when Stiles moved to further face her. She exhaled sharply and smiled a little, "Stiles, aside from your wardrobe, what is there to pity."

"That's it, right there," he told her, smirking a little. "I'd tell them 'here's my friend Lydia. She's got a great sense of humor'."

"And I'd say 'here's my friend Stiles, he can be really smart. Sometimes.'" She tucked her hair behind her ear, her smile spread further and Stiles noticed her feet were curled up beneath her now.

They were good here. Safe here.

That thought shared euphoria to it, which made it hard to stop smiling.

"But we're not going to tell anyone, are we?" Stiles leaned a little further over and whispered to her conspiratorially.

She rolled her eyes, "oh, you are smart."