See how they run, lift me higher, let me look at the sun:
"-so then Tim tells this guy that he's better off buying plastic cleats because a lot of leagues around here ban metal and the guy freaks out," Isaac says, drying off his hair with one of the generic white pool towels and tossing it into the hamper on the other side of the men's locker room. "He starts lecturing Tim about how plastic cleats are for kids and how he's not going to let him make a fool of him, and Tim's just looking at me like 'please help' but I'm not getting in the middle of that, but he's being so obnoxious that finally Bill-"
"I think you should move in with Scott," you blurt out, gripping the metal bench under you to steady yourself.
Isaac turns around from where he was trying to get his curls in order in front of the bathroom mirror. "What?" he says, face contorting in confusion. "Wh-I can't. You know I can't."
"That was before he said his mother said it was okay," you tell him, crossing your legs uncomfortably. Your boss let you close today, so the pool's abandoned and no one's going to get mad at you for being in the men's locker room or interrupt you. Privately you think he's kind of an idiot trusting you with that- you're seventeen, and therefore prone to doing stupid things like sneaking in your homeless werewolf boyfriend so he can use the showers.
"So?" Isaac says, showing absolutely no surprise at this information.
"You knew?" you say, gritting your teeth angrily. "You didn't tell me that."
"I didn't think it mattered," Isaac says defensively, pulling his jeans on quickly. "I mean, Allison, c'mon. I can't just move in there."
"Why not?" you ask, hurt that he's determined to keep things just as hard as they've been these past few months. "His mom said it's okay!"
"Yeah, that's what she says now," Isaac says, looking confused and hurt too, for reasons you can't fathom. "But, c'mon. It's not like she's going to let me live there forever. Eventually she'll kick me out and then I'll..." He bites his lip, struggling to keep his face impassive. Isaac's always been terrible at remaining impassive, though, and you can quite clearly see the sadness he keeps trying to hide. "It's better if I don't...try that."
He does have a good point. It's unrealistic to expect Mrs. McCall to let a homeless teenager stay in her house for two years. But you knew that.
"Okay, yeah," you acquiesce gently. "But you should still do it. I mean, even if it's only for a little while you'd have a bed, running water, air conditioning. Scott seemed kind of worried about the winter, so that's at least six months. Just think about it like a break. I just-" To your horror, you find your eyes burning with emotion. "I want you to do it. I want you to have those things, even if it's just for a bit. You should...you deserve that," you finish awkwardly.
Isaac looks like he doesn't know what to say to that, looking off to the side and rubbing the back of his head.
"But," he says, avoiding your gaze. "I can't...It's just not a good idea."
"Why do you kee-"
"He likes you," he says miserably, looking up at you with a defeated expression on his face. "If I moved in with him...we'd have to break up."
"No, we wouldn't," you say, frowning at this assumption. "Scott's not like that."
"He's not going to let me live with him if I'm with the girl he likes," Isaac scoffs, like he thinks it should be obvious.
"Uh, no," you say, standing and crossing your arms over your chest stubbornly. "Scott's not like that."
He looks at you dubiously. He's the one who likes Scott so much, why doesn't he understand this? Who does he think Scott is, Derek?
"But, I mean, your parents know about me, right?" he says, shifting uncomfortably. "If I move in with him-I mean...I don't want them to find out about him. I don't want him to...you know. Get hurt."
It's a reasonable concern, but you're too distracted by the warm glow in your chest to register it. You just feel such a sense of relief that Isaac understands. That he knows that Scott is just... good, and must be protected. To be on the same page on that...you're so grateful.
"I don't think they're really paying all that much attention," you say truthfully. "Since, you know, Gerard. And anyway, I don't think they'd suddenly assume Scott is a werewolf too. Just probably think you're friends."
Isaac pauses for a second to mull this over.
"I...you really think it's a good idea?" he asks you hesitantly, and for a second the absolute trust he has in you throws you.
"I do," you say waveringly, and God, you hope you're right. "This is a good thing. It'll be safer, too, you know, with...everything."
Your parents, surprisingly, have been completely inactive since Gerard's death, which they've been spending most of their energy investigating. Your father seems to think that Gerard crossed the wrong people, another group of hunters maybe, and has been contacting connections throughout the country to see if they know anything (good luck with that). You know they're still keeping an eye on Derek, and were suspicious at Erica and Boyd's disappearance, but as far as you know they haven't made any moves against him since May, probably because Derek's stopped biting people. But that will change once they find out that the Alpha Pack is in Beacon Hills.
"Okay," Isaac says in a very small voice, his shoulders hunching.
"I'll call Scott tomorrow," you tell him and he visibly relaxes at the reprieve. "You ready to go?"
You take him back to the warehouse, which has thankfully cooled down, so it isn't unbearable to be in. You have no idea how Isaac has gotten any sleep at all this summer. You squeeze next to each other in his sleeping bag and Isaac strokes your hair idly, nuzzling your neck every once and a while. It's nice, but you can feel the desperation in the slight shake of his hands. Isaac tries not to be needy-he doesn't do a very good job of it, but he does try-but you wish he wouldn't. You understand why he thinks it's a turnoff, and it probably is for most people, but it's not for you. You hope he'll realize that he doesn't have to hold himself back. Objectively you know that the way he nuzzles at you like a dog is kind of gross, but it still gets you wet, so.
You cup his face to kiss him and pretty soon you're stripping out of your shirts and kicking off your jeans. Isaac settles on top of you, kissing and kneading at your boobs, and you tilt you head back and breathe heavily in the dark. It'll be different when he starts living with Scott, but you still plan on getting a motel room every once a while. You will not give this up.
"Isaac," you groan when he moves down and starts kissing your stomach. "What are you doing, come on."
Isaac shows no interest moving back up to get the condoms and lube and instead keeps kissing and sucking at the sensitive skin of your belly. It's nice, you guess, if not a little ticklish, but at this point you're too turned on for foreplay and you just really want him to fuck you already.
"Isaac," you hiss and grab his hair, pulling his head up to look at you.
He grins lazily, squirms out of your grip, and to your utter surprise, ducks his head down under the top flap of the halfway unzipped sleeping bag.
"What?" you say in confusion, staring at the shape of his head underneath the sleeping bag. "Isaac, what are you-"
And then he licks you, right...right there. You squeak in shock and your legs give a violent jerk, but he just grabs the bottom of your thigh to spread them further and licks at you again.
"Oh, okay, Isaac...that's..." you stammer, your hips automatically pushing up for more, because it actually feels really good. Which is...really weird, because it's his tongue, but his insistent licking over you, and then into you is shockingly arousing. It seems gross and embarrassing...but you suppose it's not like he can see anything under there in the dark.
You let your head fall back onto the pillow with a soft moan and gasp sharply, squirming under his mouth until your face feels so hot you're worried you're going to explode and your boobs begin to ache from lack of attention. And they're not the only thing that aches, your clit is on fire, because Isaac, as the typical male, is more interested in sticking things into you.
"Isaac," you groan, reaching down under the sleeping bag flap and tug his hair slightly upward. "Just...c'mon, like-"
Thankfully Isaac seems to get it without forcing you to explain what you want and you whimper helplessly for a second before you clap your hand over your mouth to stifle the noise when he gets his mouth on your clit.
He licks it, sucks on it, tongues it with quick patterns, leaving you helpless but to grip the sleeping bag beneath you with your free hand and spread your legs wider, hoping he won't stop.
It's shockingly good; your hand is wet with saliva and your throat hurts from trying to suppress your moans, but it's not enough. You need something else.
"Isa- hah, oh shi-it-Isaac, get up here now," you manage to get out, scrambling for the condoms in your purse lying next to your head (you are not going to need the lube). "I need you to...I need you to-"
Isaac makes a muffled questioning sound against you and you arch and have to bite your lip at the effect the vibrations have on you.
"Up," you order, grabbing his hair and push the condom into his hand. You see the brief flash on Isaac's teeth in the dark and then hear the sound of him ripping open the condom wrapper and groan in relief.
You let out a sharp cry when he pushes into you and wrap your arms around his shoulders to pull him in as close as possible, because you need, God, it's-
"Uh, Allison, are you-?" Isaac says, freezing.
"Move," you groan, hooking your ankles around his lower back.
Isaac is more than happy to do as he's told, pressing his still-wet mouth against your neck, and you come pretty much ten seconds after he starts rubbing your clit with his thumb.
You're loud again, even though you press your face into his shoulder, and you can't quite muffle your desperate whimpers as you clench your way through another great orgasm. Your voice echoes around the empty warehouse and God, you hate it, why do you have to sound like a porn star? Why do you have to be so loud, can't you just keep your mouth shut like a normal pers-
Isaac loses his rhythm when you sag back in exhaustion and grips your hips hard, pulling them up when you limp legs start to unwind from his back. You wince as he thrusts harder, grunting and moaning quietly into your shoulder. He's not touching your clit anymore, but it still doesn't feel great, hurts really, and you wish he would come already.
He doesn't, though, and you let an involuntary pained hiss when his rough thrusts start to get too much.
"Allison?" Isaac gasps, pulling back to look at you with pleasure blown pupils. "Wh-What's wrong?"
"It's fine, it's just," you say, squirming around to try and find an angle that won't hurt as much. You feel bad for ruining things for him when he just made you feel great, but it really is kind of painful. "Are you...are you close? It's just a little-"
"Uh," Isaac says, looking conflicted, and then pulls out slowly.
You try not to let your relief show on your face and reach down as soon as he strips off the condom to finish him off.
"Mmm," Isaac says after he comes, panting into your boobs. His mouth is still wet. He should probably wipe it before your...whatever...dries, but bringing it up seems awkward. Part of you still can't believe he just stuck his tongue inside you. And clearly enjoyed it, which is just really, really weird. Why would he-it's gross for one, but it's not like it's any fun for him. Why would that even cross his mind? He'd better not expect you to return the favor, because you've already humiliated yourself enough for one day. The memory of your loud cry echoing around the warehouse is practically ringing in your ears and you try to keep your face impassive as you feel your cheeks begin to burn in shame. God, Isaac was probably right about the noise complaint at the motel thing. Was this going to happen every time, because you'd just rather not come then. It's already bad enough that Isaac has to hear you; you couldn't stand it if other people did and laughed.
"Allison?" Isaac says, lifting his head off your chest. "You okay?"
"Yeah, I'm just tired," you say quietly, closing your eyes so you don't have to look at him.
"Hey, don't be embarrassed," Isaac says, squirming up to lie next to you and cupping your face in his hands. "I like it when you're loud."
You open his eyes to give him an incredulous look. He likes it? You know you like when he moans your name, but he's not nearly as loud as you are. You sound obnoxious and ridiculous and... undignified. How is that at all attractive?
"It's hot," he says with a grin, and then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
I'm glad you find it attractive, but I still don't like it, you think passive-aggressively. But you have to admit you feel a little relieved that he doesn't seem inclined to make fun of you.
"Okay," you say dubiously.
Isaac's face falls a little. "Um...was it, was it not good?"
"No, it was good," you mumble, face burning. "I just don't really like to be...to act...like that," you finish, unable to find a word to describe your behavior other than "stupid."
"But...doesn't that mean it's good?"
Yeah, but can't it be good without you moaning like a whore?
"It was good," you repeat quickly, remembering that you shouldn't be making this all about you. "But you don't...have to, like, it's not a big deal if you don't...I mean, I don't mind."
You were perfectly happy having sex with him without getting off. It's really, really nice, you totally get it now. Sex is even more awesome than you thought it was. Ted is totally missing out with the weird virginity pact thing. But you know you're a lot of work, and you don't want him to have to worry about that, or feel like he has to get you off just because that's what always happens in the movies.
"What?" Isaac says, propping up his arm on his elbow, look confused.
"Like, you don't have to go...to do that again, if you don't want to," you say, waving your hand in a quick vague gesture as his mouth and feel your cheeks burn again.
"Uh, no, I want to," he says, looking at you like you're the weird one.
"Oh," you say and then get the urge to duck under the sleeping bag, because you can't think of anything else to say.
"I really like you," he tells you pointedly.
"Okay..." you say, confused, because he's saying it like he thinks you don't know that. "I mean, I like you too...obviously."
"And, so..." he says, raising his eyebrows pointedly.
"What?" you say, rolling onto your side to look at him more closely, your knees knocking together under the sleeping bag. Why doesn't he just say it?
Isaac groans and leans forward to press his face into your neck, throwing an arm over your waist.
You don't really understand, but at least you're done attempting to have a conversation about sex. It feels nice to have him against you like this, and you stroke your hands through his hair gently.
Everything is going to be fine. Isaac's going to move in with Scott and actually be able to sleep in a bed and eat food that isn't crappy Mexican take-out. The Alpha Pack will be dealt with, your parents will drop their investigation into Gerard's murder, and you'll start your junior year without stress. Everything will work out, you just have to focus on that. And the naked boyfriend in your arms.
"Hey," you say, feeling suddenly energized, shaking Isaac's shoulder a bit and stretching out your sore legs happily. "Round two in five minutes?"
"Oh, I love you," Isaac says with a grin, lifting his head to kiss you, which is super gross, but you're just glad it keeps you from having to say it back.
Scott's house is bigger than you thought it'd be. You can't imagine his mother makes much as a nurse. It's pretty average for Beacon Hills, but you couldn't be more intimidated sitting parked in front with Isaac. You've already been here a minute and neither of you have made any attempt to get out of the car.
"We should probably get out," Isaac says tensely. You wonder if Scott can tell that you're here and Isaac doesn't want him to know how freaked out you both are, because he's so white you don't think he's saying it willingly.
"Yeah," you reply, your voice very flat. You feel sick, like you might throw up your breakfast. You don't think you've ever been so nervous in your life. Not when you had to present your third grade science fair project in front of your entire class, not when you accidentally broke your mom's vase playing catch with Kate in the living room, not when you planned your grandfather's murder. Your hands shake when you open the car door and step outside. Isaac does the same, heaving the duffel bag that contains all of his worldly possessions over his shoulder.
You feel even worse walking up the path to his front door, like you can't get enough air into your lungs and you know you're sweating like a pig.
What if this ends up being a disaster? What if Scott's mom changed her mind? What if she hates Isaac and doesn't even let him stay a week? What if your parents fin-
"Hey," Scott says with the grin, opening the door only seconds after Isaac pressed the doorbell. "You made it!"
Because you totally didn't know we were there the entire time, you think dubiously, but attempt a smile. "Hey."
Isaac doesn't say anything, just nods awkwardly.
"Come in," Scott says cheerfully. Well, maybe cheerful isn't the right more. It's more like he's trying to be positive to be reassuring, since you and Isaac are probably transparently freaked out. "Can I help carry anything in?"
"No," Isaac says, after a second of confusion. "This is it."
Scott's face falls for a second, but then he smiles again without skipping a beat. "Okay, well, your room is upstairs, and my mom's-"
"Hi, Isaac," Scott's mom says right on cue, walking into the hallway carrying a laundry basket. "Glad you made it."
"Hi," Isaac says shyly and you frown a little at her familiarity with him. When did they meet?
"And you're Allison, right?" she says, looking at you a little less warmly.
"Yeah," you say, trying not to bristle at her wariness. You were sort of rude to her at the hospital after all. You hardly made a good impression.
"Why don't you come into the kitchen and we'll all talk," she says with an easy smile, but you feel the urge to vomit come back in full force. You don't want to talk. You thought this was settled. What is there to talk about? Oh, God, has she changed her mind?
"About, like, the floorboard that's loose on the stairs," Scott says quickly, when neither you or Isaac respond, frozen in terror. "And how you have to jiggle the toilet after you flush it or it keeps flushing."
"Why don't you get settled first?" Scott's mom says, looking a little worried at your reactions.
"Okay," you say, so relieved for the reprieve you could cry.
Isaac just nods, not seeming to trust himself to speak.
"Okay, up here," Scott says, with a forced cheerful tone. You and Isaac follow him up the stairs and you know that he must hear how fast your heart is beating, how it takes all of your energy to walk calmly up the stairs behind him.
"Uh, here," Scott says after you pass a messy bedroom that can only be his, gesturing into a small room.
There's an empty desk in the corner, a standalone lamp next to it, and an air mattress inside, but nothing else. The room is mostly empty and very clean- if you had to take a guess, you would say that it was probably being used as a storage space and they cleaned it out before you got here.
"Sorry about the air mattress, we don't have anything else," Scott says almost guiltily, glancing at Isaac for his approval.
"No, it's perfect," Isaac says, voice tight with suppressed emotion.
It's not perfect, not at all. You don't like the idea of him sleeping on an air mattress-you've never slept on one before, but they seem uncomfortable, only a step up from a sleeping bag-but beggars can't be choosers. You wonder how much a bed is. Maybe you should buy him one.
"Okay, well I'll let you unpack," Scott says, even though Isaac only has one bag, clutching the door frame briefly as he backs out of the room and into the narrow hallway. "Shout if you need anything."
You turn to look at Isaac when he's gone. Isaac has his hands in his pockets and shoulders hunched, looking incredibly uncomfortable.
"You okay?" you murmur, aware you're not going to be able to have a private conversation in this house.
"Yeah, I'm..." Isaac mutters and then takes a couple steps over to the air mattress and carefully sits down on top of it. It sags bit under his weight and to be honest you're not entirely sure he'll fit on it, but he smiles up at you hesitantly. "This is good."
You don't end up staying much longer than that because your parents call you about going grocery shopping on your way home from Lydia's and you have to run out of there and do that so they won't get suspicious. You keep texting Isaac the entire day though, so much that your parents get mad at you at the dinner table.
Isaac mostly just responds that he's doing fine and that Scott's mom is really nice. None of it is at all informative, and you spend the day jittery and nervous, counting down the hours until tomorrow afternoon when you'll see him after work.
"How was it?" you ask him immediately when he climbs into your car, waving absently at one of his coworkers.
"It's fine," he tells you, looking a little bemused at your concern. "They're really nice, but I didn't really spend much time around them. Panera's?"
"What do you mean?" you ask, frowning as you head out of the strip mall parking lot and to the Panera's a couple blocks away.
"I just stayed out of their way, you know," Isaac says, wriggling out of his uniform shirt. "I just left in the morning and took the bus to the library. I don't want to just hang around there doing nothing."
You guess that's probably a good idea, but you thought...you were hoping that maybe it could be more than just-
But that was stupid, probably.
"Okay," you say, giving him a quick smile. "You'll never guess who came to the pool today. Finstock, and he was wearing this gross-"
Things change a little after Isaac moves in with the McCalls, of course, but not as much as you thought they would. You and Isaac still spend most of your free time together, occasionally with Lydia, who is bored out of her mind without any beach parties to go to. She gets you some fairly convincing fake IDs and takes you to a couple bars downtown where a lot of the college kids home for summer vacation or are in Beacon Hills for their internships hang out. It's fun, even though Lydia keeps trying to convince you to come with her alone for a "girl's night." Also, her tendency to have one night stands makes you extremely uncomfortable. It's not that you're some weird prude against casual sex, it just doesn't seem safe, her taking strangers home with her. Not to mention her type seems to be tall, blond, and mid-twenties, because she is apparently "done with teenage boys"- men who clearly have no idea she's underage. Or worse, maybe they do.
"Don't worry, I know what I'm doing," she says dismissively, when you hesitantly bring it up one night when you're watching another terrible romantic comedy and Isaac is in the bathroom. "I don't want a boyfriend right now, I want a distraction."
Can't you find distractions who aren't almost a decade older than you? you think worriedly.
"Oh, Allison," she sighs patronizingly when she sees the look on your face. "You just don't understand. I know you and Isaac are practically married, but not all of us are interested in serious relationships while we're still so young."
"We're not married," you grumble, even as you realize you're getting distracted from your original point.
"You spend all your time together and you're disgustingly in love with each other," Lydia says, rolling her eyes, brushing her hair to the side and leaning further back into the couch. "You have no idea the pain I go through being the perpetual third wheel."
"You think we're in love with each other?" you ask, giving her a strange look. You thought Lydia would be more realistic than that. "We're in high school."
"True, but I don't know if you realize this, but you don't exactly have the most normal high school relationship," Lydia says, taking another sip of her Cosmo. "Most high school couples don't financially support each other."
That's probably true, you think, but Lydia isn't done.
"They just make-out a lot and have terrible sex," she continues matter-of-factly, taking another drink. "How is that going, by the way?"
"Lydia," you hiss, mortified, because you are not talking about this with her, but also because just because Isaac is down the hall doesn't mean he can't hear you.
"You never give me any details," she complains. "Please tell me he's at least making an attempt to get you off."
"We're fine," you say lowly, cheeks heating up in embarrassment. "I'm not talking about this."
"I take that as a no," Lydia says, looking unimpressed. "Want me to give him a few pointers?"
"No! It's...it's fine, we're good," you choke out, unwilling to inform her that yes, you actually are coming during sex, and that Isaac even weirdly enjoys going down on you, considering he's done it, like, the last four times you've had sex.
Lydia looks deeply skeptical, but fortunately Isaac comes back before she can interrogate you more about your sex life, no indication that he'd been listening to your conversation on his face, and you're given a reprieve.
Two weeks before the start of school, you've just finished dropping off Isaac at the McCalls at about nine at night and are headed out of their neighborhood when you see Scott's mom coming from the other direction.
"Hey," she says through her open window, pulling up next to you in the middle of the road. "Just dropped Isaac off?"
"Hi, uh, yeah," you say awkwardly, rolling down your window and looking at the missing driver's side mirror on her car for a brief second before meeting her eyes. Is it even legal for her to drive like that?
"It's good that I caught you like this, I had a question to ask you," she says, not seeming to realize your discomfort. "Can we talk for a minute?"
"Okay," you say, mouth going dry, and pull over a bit onto the side of the road by the nearest street light. She does the same and you get out of the car in trepidation, palms beginning to sweat nervously. What does she want to talk to you about?
"Are you free sometime this week for dinner?" she says, walking across the street to stand next to you by your car. She's wearing a pair of light blue scrubs-you guess she must have just gotten off work, her hair frazzled and dark circles under her eyes. "I'm not sure if you know this, but Isaac seems a little...uncomfortable being in our house and I thought that if maybe both of you had dinner with us then he'd feel a little more welcome," she says kindly, smiling at you reassuringly.
That sounds like a terrible idea, you think, for some reason made uneasy by her kindness. It's reaction you also have around her son, but it's somehow amplified. Maybe because the difference between her and your own mother could not be more apparent.
"I'm not sure what my schedule is," you hedge, swatting at a mosquito that tries to land on your shoulder.
"I really think that it might make him feel a little more at ease," Scott's mom presses, clearly sensing your hesitation. "I know he's trying not to get in our way, but we really would like for him to make himself at home. I can't make it home for dinner every night, but he's welcome to eat with Scott and I think he's showering somewhere else, which just seems...a little unnecessary."
You agree with her on the last point. Isaac is still showering in the men's locker room at the pool and you thought it was a little overboard, but you didn't want to press him about it because of how nervous he seems to be at the prospect of overstepping himself. But more than anything you feel your throat start to close up and your eyes to burn in gratitude for her kindness. This is exactly what you wanted for Isaac, to be around people who didn't just tolerate him, but actually cared about his well-being. Your parents would neve-
"I can try to talk to him, but I'm not sure me coming over is a good idea," you say carefully, trying very hard not to let your voice waver.
"Why not?" she asks, confused.
Did Scott tell you nothing about me? you think, which okay, you suppose would be a rather awkward conversation to have. Hey, Mom, can this random homeless werewolf live at our house? His girlfriend's family is trying to kill him, but don't worry, she killed her own grandfather, so she's cool!
"I'm not really someone you want around your son," you say, trying to sound as reasonable as possible, and not like you're some self-esteem challenged teenager begging for attention.
Scott's mother looks concerned for a second and then her expression morphs into pity. Which, great, was totally not what you were going for.
"I'm sure that's not true," she says gently. "Scott says you've tried very hard to help Isaac after Derek kicked him out. That's burden no one your age should ever have to carry."
You have no idea what to say to that.
"Why don't you come over Wednesday night?" she says when you don't respond. "I'm afraid I'm not much of a cook, but my spaghetti isn't bad. See if we can't get to know each other a bit."
You're not going to like what you find, you think, but you say "O...okay," instead, inexplicably shy.
The McCalls must have some aggressively kind voodoo that makes people want to do what they say, you think on your way home, anxious and annoyed at how easily she got you to say yes.
"How was your day?" your own mother asks you perfunctorily when you open the front door and kick off your flip flops.
"Good..." you say, inwardly sighing at having to take part in another awkward conversation and walk into the living room to see her and your father sharing a bottle of red wine.
"What did you and Lydia do?" your father asks, as always, because he disapproves of your friendship with Lydia. If not for the fact that they think she's your only friend, you're pretty sure they would try to dissuade you from hanging out with her on account of her being "that kind of girl."
"Just hung out at her house and got dinner later," you say vaguely, looking down at your nails instead of at them.
"You spend a lot of time at her house, but she rarely comes over here," your mother says, raising her eyebrows at you pointedly. She's leaning against the couch, one arm over the back, managing to look relaxed and dignified at the same time, makeup as perfectly done as Lydia's, though a lot more subtle.
Yeah, wonder why?
"You'd know why if you saw her house," you say, and attempt a grin.
Your parents look a little irritated, but you suspect it stems more from their annoyance at the nouveau riche than the fact that you don't bring Lydia Martin over more often.
"I'm going to head upstairs," you tell them, trying not to watch your mother take another sip of blood-red wine, her perfectly sculpted lips leaving a mark on the glass behind.
"Good night," your father says and your mother just nods at you leisurely, unperturbed (uninterested) in your abrupt departure.
Scott's so lucky, you think as you go upstairs, realizing that your reluctance to be around his mother is probably rooted in envy. It must be nice to have a parent you can completely and utterly trust.
Dinner at the McCalls is...weird. It's not because they're not as rich as your parents, more laidback and friendly, or that Scott's mother is a single mom. You've been over to friends' houses with similar qualities or situations Before. They're both just so... nice. It doesn't even make sense. Neither you nor Isaac has done anything to deserve such kindness. They don't know you, or Scott's mom doesn't. The things Scott does know about you are mostly bad, and you keep catching yourself trying to figure out what their angle is, even though you know they don't have one.
"Would you like some more mashed potatoes?" Scott's mom asks you, holding up the plastic bowl questioningly.
"Yes, please," you say politely, even though they're obviously from a box and have far too much garlic in them to make up for the cardboard flavor. She clearly was not lying when she said she wasn't much of a cook, but you've gotten used to no one being able to cook as well as your parents (though Lydia's cook could probably give them a run for their money) so it's not like you're majorly disappointed or anything.
"So, Isaac, Scott tells me you're on the lacrosse team too?" Scott's mom says from the head of the table with a smile, trying to get a conversation going.
"Uh, I was," Isaac says, visibly uncomfortable and hunched in his seat next to you. You feel bad for him and are annoyed at his oversensitivity in equal parts. "I quit, though, because..."
"Yeah, Finstock was really mad," Scott says quickly, in an attempt to cover Isaac's awkward trailing off. "You should join again when school starts. It'd be cool to play together and you were good even before you became a werewolf."
Isaac raises his eyes frown his plate where he was pushing his spaghetti around with his fork to give Scott a confused look across the table. "Uh, not really," he says truthfully.
"Hey, man, you actually played once and a while, which is more than I can say," Scott says self-deprecatingly.
"Isn't lacrosse only in the spring?" you ask, trying to steer the conversation away from Isaac. It would be nice if Isaac could play lacrosse again, you know he really liked it, but that's not going to happen. He has a job now.
"Yeah, we do cross-country in the fall," Scott says, taking a big bite of spaghetti.
"Do you play any sports, Allison?" Scott's mom asks interestedly.
"No," you say, far too flatly. "I mean, I used to...I used to do archery. And gymnastics. But then I quit."
"Oh, that's too bad," Scott's mother says awkwardly, unsure how to respond to your abruptness.
Not really, you think bitterly, considering it was all a ploy to train me to hunt and kill people like your son.
You take another bite of spaghetti to avoid having to say anything else and there is an awkward pause.
You've been running lately, though. In the woods, alone, though you tell your parents you go to the gym with Lydia. It's always a pain working yourself up to it, but you always feel much better afterward. Like everything is clearer. It's nice to have some time to yourself too, and if you run fast enough you don't have to think.
"Anyone want dessert?" Scott asks, even though neither of you have finished your meal yet. "We have some ice cream in the freezer, I think."
"Uh, no, that's alright."
"I'm good," Isaac says quietly.
"How about fruit salad?" Scott's mom asks, getting up and heading out of the dining room and into the kitchen. "I have a cantaloup and I think I have some strawberries and blueberries somewhere here."
"Er, I might have eaten the blueberries," Scott says guiltily.
"No, it's fine, Mrs. McCall," you say uncomfortably, leaning over the table a bit to watch her digging through the fridge. She wants to make you fruit salad right now?
"Oh, God, don't call me that," she says, standing up and turning around to look at you. Oh, shit, you think, of course, she's divorc- "Just call me Melissa."
"Uh, okay," you say, confused. She couldn't really expect you to call her by her first name, could she? That was so... rude. You're seventeen and she's an adult. Your parents would never let a kid ca-
"Hey, Allison and Scott, why don't you two clear the table, and Isaac, can you help me with this cantaloup?"
You and Isaac glance at each other skeptically, but get up obediently, while Scott beams unnecessarily brightly for someone just told to clean up after dinner.
"Hey, thanks for doing this," Scott says while Isaac and his mom wash and cut up fruit in the kitchen.
"Okay," you say lamely, because why is he thanking you? He's the one who's housing your homeless boyfriend. You should be thanking him.
"So what classes are you taking this year?" Scott asks you conversationally as you stack your water glasses on top of each other.
"Uh, Pre-calc, Physics, French, US History, English, I don't know what else..." you say, glancing into the kitchen to check on Isaac. He's standing next to Scott's mom at the sink, holding a bowl of washed strawberries hesitantly. You can't see his face, but his shoulders are tense and he's clutching the bowl like he's afraid he might accidentally drop it.
"Have you done the English reading yet?" Scott asks excitedly and you turn to give him an odd look, because school doesn't start for another two weeks.
"Uh, no, haven't even looked at it."
"The Longest Journey was my favorite, but I also liked Great Expectations, though it takes a while to get into it," Scott says, hoisting the stack of plates up in one hand and a handful of silverware in the other. "White Fang was really weird with the whole werewolf thing, and Absalom, Absalom! was just really depressing. I'd avoid the Hemingway ones, though, I have no idea why he's so famous."
"Wait, did you read the entire list?" you ask him, heading into the kitchen to put the dishes next to the sink. "I thought we just had to pick two."
"Yeah, I know, I just couldn't stop once I got into it," Scott says sheepishly, and you're annoyed to find yourself charmed against your will. Despite his less than desirable circumstances, he's always so positive. You're a lot better off than he is, but you don't think you could ever be like that. You envy him. You also find it sort of...cute.
"Isaac started the Longest Journey yesterday," Scott informs you, putting the dishes in the sink after his mother has finished washing the fruit and moved it to the cutting board next to the stove.
You turn to look at Isaac, who is throwing away the strawberry heads and see his cheeks flare red with embarrassment.
"How is it?" you ask, inwardly wincing at your clumsy attempt to draw him into the conversation.
"Um, okay, I only read the first chapter, though," Isaac says, looking between you and Scott hesitantly.
"Well, you have time, school doesn't start for another two weeks," Scott's mom says, throwing the last pile of cantaloup in the glass bowl. "That looks about done, Scott, can you get the-"
Scott is already opening one of the wood cabinets and pulling out four plain white ceramic bowls. Melissa grabs the spoons and they move back to the dining room in an awkward group.
It must be weird only having one parent, you think as Scott's scoops out helpings of fruit salad with a yellow plastic ladle. Especially one so nice as Scott's mom. Of course it seemed natural to Scott to ask his mom if a homeless teenager could and live in their house.
You end up talking about school while you eat dessert, which is a surprisingly safe topic. It's easy to talk about, even for Isaac, and when you exhaust the list of classes you three are taking next year, you move on to complain about your teachers.
Isaac still seems pretty nervous about the whole thing, but he does offer his opinion every once and a while. It's definitely an improvement from the awkward start, though he flinches away when you try to kiss him goodbye outside next to your car, widening his eyes in alarm even though Scott is back inside helping his mother with the dishes.
You think...you think this could really work. It's clearly going to take a while for Isaac to get used to them, and you guess you really can't blame him for being careful, but Scott and his mom are just so nice. It'll be good for Isaac, to get to have that.
He deserves it, finally.
A/N: Yay for Scott and Isaac living together! Now they will be forced to interact, mwahaha. Please review!