A/N: Hey psst I hope you know that I save all the really good reviews (not on just this fic, but all of them) and look at them and read them when I feel like my stories are really bad. Also sorry for the relatively short chapter.

That's all you can read now.

"It is not your fault that some guy thinks you belong to him," Scott said, pulling me into a hug. He wrapped his arms around me tightly, but affectionately, rubbing shapes with his thumb into my back. My trembling lips turned into tears, something I wasn't good at holding back. Really shit at, actually. I rested my face on his shoulder, letting my tears soak directly into his shirt. "Anyways," he whispered into my hair, "I called dibs."

I choked out a laugh, lifting my head up from his shoulder and wiggling an arm out from between us so I could wipe my face with my hand. "When did you ever call dibs?"

"I though about it when I first met you -"

I pulled back from his hug to look at him. "I looked like I was dying. Literally. Why would you want to call dibs on that?"

"I wasn't finished. Now where was I? Ah yes, when I first met you. I knew you were dying, but I almost called dibs anyway. It wouldn't really count, though, since Stiles wasn't there; he wouldn't be able to witness me calling dibs, so it wouldn't be official."

"Official? What are you, twelve?"

"Shut up," he said playfully. "I'm trying to be romantic. Now shhh, quit interrupting." He looked wistfully into space, like he was imagining what he was telling me. "The second time I thought about it was when you told me you lost your inhaler. The third time was when you broke down, on the hospital bed."

"You almost called dibs -"

"Shhhhh." He pressed a finger to my lips to shut me up. "The fourth time was when you fell into your coma. But that was when I officially called dibs, and made Stiles witness to it."

"You called dibs on my when I was about to die? Wow, impeccable timing McCall." I deadpanned, then leaned in close to him and whispered, "I called dibs on you got me out of the first of many panic attacks."

. . . . .

"I can walk to class by myself. If I see him, I will literally punch him in the throat," I told Scott as we walked down the hall to my class, in the opposite direction of his.

"I'm not letting you walk alone, not since what happened yesterday," he replied.

I stopped him. "Scott, you're going to be late to class, and mine is just a few doors down. I think I'll make it without getting assaulted." I gave him a peck on the lips. "Now go."

He frowned, but gave me a kiss back before turning and mall-walking in the direction of his class. "Oh my god," I muttered. "He looks like an idiot."

"Who looks like an idiot?" a voice said behind me. I turned around to see a brunet boy who looked vaguely familiar, holding a few books.

"Oh, no one," I replied, waving my hand and beginning to walk in the direction of my math class. The boy fell in step with me, walking towards the room with me. "You look familiar, I think I've seen you around the school," I said, in a feeble attempt to make conversation. "What's your name?"

"Charlie," he said, not bothering to give a last name.

"I'm Natalie."

"I know," he replied airily. Okay, that was a little weird. I mean, not in an overly creepy way, since people could know you but you could not know them. Like famous people, for example.

We arrived in the classroom just as the bell rang, leaving only two spots - one in the front and one just behind it - open. Not meaning to be a complete douchewaffle, I made a beeline for the second seat, since I hated sitting in the front row. It was like being exposed, and it was just uncomfortable for me. That left Charlie with a front row seat, and I felt sorta bad about it.

"Alright!" The teacher - Mrs. Fredricks, who was also the fall back gym teacher when Coach was busy or unable to teach. She had one of those perpetual "I'M NOT YELLING I AM JUST REALLY EXCITED ABOUT EVERYTHING SO I SAY IT REALLY LOUDLY" voices, like Coach, too - yelled. "Who knows what the difference between odds and probability are?" A few hands shot up in the air. "Good! Now go and tell your neighbors what you know about them!"

Charlie swiveled in the plastic chair that was attached to his desk to face me.

"I know absolutely nothing about odds and probability," he said flatly, and I grinned.

"You're in luck then, because I know the difference: probability is wants over all, and odds is wants over don't wants."

"That makes sense. Like flipping a coin and counting how times you get tails?"

"Yeah, that's basically what it is."

.

"Oh, I have something for you," Charlie said, as the bell rang to signal the end of the hour and the start of the first lunch period. before stopping to reach into the front pocket of his jeans. He pulled out a square piece of paper, neatly folded and slightly crinkled. He handed it to me and before I could ask what it was, he was gone. I shrugged and unfolded the piece of paper to find compact and messy cursive writing that read: make the right decision - if you do happen to go against your insolent alpha, you are welcome to seat yourself with my pack. But this is a choice. If you fail to appear at my pack's table at lunch, there will be consequence - I'll let your pretty little mind imagine what that possibly could be. Signed, Mason Ward, with a little heart next to his last name. How revolting.

A hand appearing on my shoulder startled me. I turned my head to see Stiles, who ducked away from me - my eyes had been glowing blue.

"Jesus Christ Natalie," he said, putting a hand on his chest like I had just given him a heart attack. "Scott wanted me to walk you to your locker." I didn't respond, my eyes only flicking back to the paper in my hands. "Hey, you okay?" My hands are shaking without my permission now.

Stiles grabbed my hands to stop the shaking, slowly prying the paper from my grip. I didn't stop him; he probably already knew about the whole Mason problem already, considering nothing went on around Scott without Stiles knowing about it. Stiles quickly scanned over the note - er, super incredibly formal death threat - before basically going garbage truck compactor on it and handing it back to me.

"Let's just go now," I said, shoving the crushed paper into my pocket and running a hand through my hair.

"Yeah," he said, setting his jaw to the side.

We arrived at my locker shortly, where Scott was waiting. We exchanged a kiss (which made Stiles make a gagging sound), and I opened my locker to dump all of my math stuff into the bottom of it. I kicked the door shut with my foot, reaching into my pocket and pulled out the crumpled super formal death threat, holding it out for Scott.

"What's this?" he said with a confused look, taking the wad of paper from my hand and uncrumpling it.

"Something you're not going to like," I replied, leaning against my locker with my arms crossed.

"Did he give this to you?" he asked after he read it, crumbling it back up in a fashion similar to what Stiles had done a short while earlier.

"No, one of his betas did." I racked my brain for the name. "Charlie."