TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter contains discussions and allusions to child abuse, in relation to Isaac's backstory. Please proceed with caution.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Lydia asked me for the third time that period.

"Yeah," I replied. "Why wouldn't I be?"

She raised her eyebrows and gave a pointed look to my notebook. I followed her gaze, finally noticing the sea of black dots my pen was leaving on the corner of the page. I'd been tapping my pen so incessantly that the paper was almost entirely black, slowly encroaching upon the equations scrawled at the top of my chemistry notes. I grimaced.

"Oh. Yeah. I'm just, uh…tired…"

Her eyebrows rose even further, unimpressed by the excuse. "That is not tired. That is stimming."

"…what?"

"Repetitive self-stimulating activities that are often a symptom of extreme anxiety." Lydia gave me a hard look, as if daring me to be worried in her presence. "Are you currently suffering from extreme anxiety?"

I pursed my lips together and shrugged. "Nope. Just trying to keep myself awake."

Lydia narrowed her eyes at me for a few seconds, still skeptical, but dropped the subject, muttering something along the lines of, "whatever, weirdo," and turning back to her own notes.

She was right, of course; I was currently dealing with an extreme amount of anxiety. I was on edge about Lydia going back to school so quickly after the attack. I was petrified of talking to Stiles about whatever sort of relationship our friendship may or may not be turning into. And now I was also worried about the fact that Isaac Lahey was the newest werewolf in Beacon Hills.

The news had blindsided me, but it certainly explained a few things about his new confidence. In hindsight, I also realized that morning had been the first time in ages I'd seen him without even the ghost of a bruise or a cut on his face. I wasn't sure what kind of life he was leaving behind, but I wasn't surprised he preferred the strength and power that came with being a werewolf. I would have been happy for him if I wasn't so goddamn worried. What with Gerard in town, there was a good chance we'd find Isaac riddled with arrows before he learned to control his powers.

But that wasn't enough. No, our lives were far too complicated for that to be the only problem. Because immediately after discovering that Isaac had received the bite, before Scott could say a single word, Sheriff Stilinski had shown up. Apparently, Isaac's father had been found dead. Not just dead—brutally slashed and torn to pieces in what remained of his car. Police were still working on the details, but for the moment, they'd taken Isaac into custody.

That would have been a problem all its own, but on top of his impending incarceration, on top of the fact he was a newly bitten werewolf, it was the night of the full moon. If the police considered him a suspect, they'd be allowed to hold him at the station for twenty-four hours. Whether or not they'd be able to contain him for that long was another matter altogether. Once the moon came up, it was anyone's guess what Isaac would be able to do, or who would be hurt in the process. And we were sitting in chemistry like nothing was wrong.

"Everyone turn to page seventy three," Mr. Harris instructed.

I shook my head, trying to rid myself of my increasingly morbid thoughts. It was going to be difficult, but if we were pretending nothing was wrong, I had to do my work. But before I could even open my textbook, all thoughts of work went out the window.

A wad of paper soared toward the front of the room. It collided solidly with the back of Harris's head, then dropped to the floor and rolled a few feet away, as if the paper itself were afraid of retaliation. Mr. Harris froze as the class erupted into whispers and giggle fits. He turned around, his eyes ablaze with the kind of silent fury that made most sensible students quiver in their seats.

"Who in the hell did that?"

The class looked around, curiously searching for someone stupid enough to provoke one of the harshest teachers in Beacon Hills. Of course, I shouldn't have excepted that level of stupidity from anyone except my own idiots.

Stiles and Scott raised their hands, pointing at each other in unison. I nearly groaned out loud, letting my head sink into my hands.

"Mr. Stilinski and Mr. McCall," Harris sighed, almost sounding satisfied. "The pure insolence and audacity the two of you continue to exude never ceases to baffle me. Frankly, it's a crime of the American educational system that the most I can do to punish you is to give up my own afternoon to detain you here, and stop you from destroying the lives of others as effectively as you seem to be destroying mine."

"Great," Stiles snorted. "Another routine detention with Satan. That's really gonna straighten out my attitude. Thank you."

I slowly lifted my head back out of my hands, turning to stare at him in sheer horror. He was going to get himself killed. He was literally asking to get himself killed. Scott, at least, had the decency to look a little afraid for his life, but Stiles just leaned back on his stool, a smug smile on his face as he held his ground.

Harris was practically vibrating with rage now. Part of me was actually worried he would burst into flames, but when he spoke, he still managed to sound cool and collected.

"Mr. Stilinski, I can hardly believe that the words are about to leave my mouth, but perhaps for once in your poignant life you may be right. Clearly I've made little to no impact on your sense of discipline, so maybe you'd be better off in the hands of someone else. Both of you, to the principal's office. Now."

The boys closed their notebooks and packed up their things. I shook my head as they stood, walking to the front of the classroom and nodding tersely to Mr. Harris as they passed. To my surprise, when Stiles passed our table, he caught my eye, actually winked, then held up a pointer finger to indicate that I should wait. What I was supposed to be waiting for, I hadn't a single clue. Harris began lecturing again the moment they were gone, but I stared at the door, waiting for some kind of signal.

Lydia saw my look and repressed a snort. "I hope they've got their will and testaments in order, because they clearly have a death wish."

"Uh huh," I said distractedly.

My eyes stayed glued to the tiny window in the door, but there was no motion outside. It looked as though the two of them had actually left for the principal's office. When my sign came, it was in the form of a text.

My phone vibrated in my bag, and Lydia spared me a quick look of disdain. I waited until Harris's back was turned again before fishing my phone out and sneaking it into my lap to read the message from Stiles.

"Dad's interrogating Jackson about Isaac. Further investigation required."

I glanced at the back of the room, quickly locating Danny at the back of the room. I'd been so worried about Isaac, I hadn't noticed that he wasn't the only person missing. Jackson's usual stool was conspicuously empty. The guys were right to be worried, but it didn't take a detention to get out of class.

I waited two minutes before raising my hand to catch Mr. Harris's attention.

"May I go to the bathroom?"

Harris narrowed his eyes in suspicion, and I didn't miss the way he glanced at the empty table my friends had left behind.

"I'm sorry, Sadie. As pressing as you must find your own matters, I was looking for a student who could answer the question that I—"

"The hydrogen-carbon-carbon bond angle is one hundred and twenty-one point three degrees, and the hydrogen-carbon-hydrogen bond angle is one hundred and seventeen point four degrees. Because ethene is a symmetrical molecule, the angles on the opposite sides are identical, leaving the structure balanced with an even distribution of electrical charges. So it's non-polar. May I please go to the bathroom?"

Mr. Harris glared at me for a solid five seconds before grudgingly holding out the hall pass. I jumped from my seat, accepting it calmly before scampering out the door. I made sure to turn in the correct direction toward the nearest bathroom, sure that Harris would be watching me like a hawk. Once I was out of sight, I simply turned down a different hallway, taking the long route to the principal's office.

The boys were waiting in chairs outside the door when I walked up. Scott had his ear up against the window while Stiles leaned close to him, listening to whatever snippets of the conversation Scott was repeating. I cleared my throat as I approached, drawing their attention away from eavesdropping.

"Seriously? Sadie, do you trust us at all?" Stiles hissed. "We've got it under control! You didn't need to get detention just to check up on us."

I wordlessly held up the bathroom pass in response.

"…ah…yeah, I…I guess that works too."

"Moron," I offered, rolling my eyes before turning to Scott. "So what's going on?"

"Jackson lives across the street from Isaac, so he's talking to the sheriff as a witness," Scott informed me, his eyes fixed on the end of the hallway as he focused.

"Witness to what?" I asked in concern. "I know Isaac. He wouldn't do this. Not on purpose."

Scott and Stiles shared a look, the kind that made my heart drop.

"Guys? Tell me."

Still, Scott didn't answer immediately. When he finally looked at me, it was with an expression of sympathy, bordering on fear. "You're not gonna like it."

"Scott, it's Jackass Whittemore talking about my friend who's recently been incarcerated for the potential murder of his father. In what universe do you think I'd let myself hope I was going to like what he's saying?"

Scott cocked his head in ascent, but the anxious expression didn't leave his face. He started a sentence a couple times, but couldn't get the words right. He licked his lips nervously, his hands waving as he tried to find the best way to repeat whatever Jackson had said.

Stiles let him off the hook. He cleared his throat, pulling my attention from Scott, and clasped his hands in front of him in preparation.

"Apparently, Isaac's father was abusing him."

"…wh—…what?"

Stiles nodded solemnly, letting his eyes fall to the floor.

The whole world seemed to go silent for a few seconds. The only sound I could hear was the blood rushing in my ears. I blinked repeatedly, swallowed hard, but the world still felt like it was stuck.

"Wha—how? Since when?"

"It sounds like it's been a while. I'm not gonna use Jackson's words, but it seems like it was pretty brutal. No one ever said anything."

I stared down at the ground in horror. I hadn't known a lot about Isaac's home life. I knew that, for one reason or another, his mother and brother were no longer in the picture. His father was the only family he had left. He had Isaac work the graveyard shift at the cemetery so he could mind it during the day. I knew Isaac didn't like it, that he wasn't a fan of the dark, but he'd always said it was simply his responsibility.

Suddenly, everything seemed to fall into place. I'd always assumed Isaac constant injuries came from bullies, some stupid jocks like Jackson who like to make fun of him for being a benchwarmer, for working at the cemetery, for not having a mom. I thought it was something I could find out on my own, imagined that maybe I could put a stop to it. But I'd never imagined this. If he'd told me, if I had known—

What would I have done? I'd spent the entire summer trying and failing to get Isaac to open up to me. What chance did I really have of that? There were classmates that Isaac had known for years, and he hadn't told the truth to any of them. He'd managed to keep all his suffering secret, hidden behind loose excuses about tripping or getting hit during lacrosse. I knew that he didn't have a lot of friends, but it still seemed impossible that no one had figured it out. Had no one ever asked him about his injuries? No students, no teachers? Had no one ever figured it out, after all that time?

No. Someone had figured it out. Someone had known. And someone had decided to not say a single fucking word about it.

"He knew?" I demanded, my hands clenching into fists at my sides. "Jackson knew the whole time, and he didn't say anything about it? To the police? To Isaac? To anyone?!"

Scott shook his head, listening in once more. "He…he said it wasn't his problem."

I saw red.

"Oh, well of course not. Of course, it wasn't his fucking problem. Why should anyone be motivated to help someone suffering if they're not gonna get something out of it? Why would you try and stop someone from getting hurt when you could be sleeping soundly or practicing lacrosse or putting some—some disgusting amount of gel in your hair?! Who the fuck cares about other people?! Why would anyone care about anyone's wellbeing except their own?!"

"Woah, okay!" Stiles sprang out of his chair, grabbing me by my shoulders. "Sadie, calm down—"

"No, he—Stiles he—he knew and—"

The door to the main office opened. All our heads snapped up, watching as Sheriff Stilinski and another police officer walked out into the hall. Stiles scrambled, pushing me in front of him and ducking behind my back, his hands still on my shoulders. Sheriff Stilinski raised his eyebrows, watching with a dangerous level of exasperation as his son used me as a human shield. I was too angry at the world to find it amusing, but I did swing my leg back to kick Stiles in the shin.

The sheriff shook his head, obviously deciding it was better not to ask.

"Hi, Scott," he said loudly. "And Sadie. You're not here to see the principal are you?"

"Not me," I assured him. I held my hall pass up again. "Bathroom."

"Right…"

Sheriff Stilinski nodded, then gave a pointed, questioning glance to the hands on my shoulders. I finally managed a smile, nodding sympathetically. Stiles was, in fact, waiting on the principal. The sheriff didn't seem surprised. Dejected, but not surprised.

"I'll see you kids later," he sighed, beckoning his accompanying officer down the hall.

Stiles shuffled behind me, forcing us to pivot on the spot so I was continuously standing between him and his father. He didn't let go of me until the sheriff had finally rounded the corner and disappeared from sight.

"Phew. Close one."

I gave him a withering look. "You know you're an idiot, right?"

"More than an idiot," offered a new voice.

Jackson had joined us in the hallway, looking pretentious and smug in his white, cable knit sweater. He shook his head at us as Stiles stood up to his full height and took a step behind me. I was too angry to glare, too angry to yell. When none of us took the bait, Jackson shrugged.

"Well, if you kids don't mind, I'm gonna go find some uh, less lame company."

His smirk widened as he turned around, walking toward the end of the hallway with a self-satisfied spring in his step.

I'd thought I was too angry to scream. I was wrong.

"Who the fuck do you think you are, Jackson?!" I demanded, storming after him.

He turned around slowly, raising his eyebrows. "Sorry, what's that supposed to mean?"

"You knew?! You knew this whole time, and you just decided not to tell anyone?!"

"Yeah, pretty much."

"Is it really that much of an inconvenience for you to pick up the phone and dial three fucking numbers?! He could have died!"

"But he didn't," Jackson disregarded. "And it's not just the calling. Then it's testifying and proving it and all that other bullshit that, frankly, I don't have time for. Unlike some people in this town, I don't go sticking my nose into other people's business. Better to let the wimp work it out on his own."

For a moment, I was absolutely frozen with rage. I couldn't close my mouth. I couldn't take another step forward. I was so beyond furious with Jackson and his cavalier attitude that I honestly did not know what to do with myself. There were no words that could possible force him to see how terrible he was, and I knew it. He was far too concerned with himself, unwilling to listen to anyone or care about anyone else, even for a second. And I'd had enough of it.

I let out a strangled noise and sprang at him, shoving him back a few steps, and then a few steps more. Jackson stumbled back, smug smirk finally replaced by genuine shock.

"Sadie, what the fuck?!"

"Oh, I'm sorry," I growled, pounding my hands into his chest and ripping my wrists out of his reach when he tried to stop me. "I'm sorry, does—does this bother you?! Do you not like having someone hit you, you fucking asshole?!"

Jackson finally composed himself enough to shove me, and I toppled to the ground from the force of it. But I didn't care. It was a reaction. It was a crack in that soulless exterior that he was always showing off, and it was a crack that I intended to take advantage of.

I jumped back to my feet, lunging at him, but this time I didn't get to follow through.

A pair of arms wound around my waist, yanking me back. Stiles pulled me to his chest, barely able to restrain me as I writhed and kicked.

"Sadie! Sadie, stop!"

Scott had stepped between us, warding Jackson back with a hand as Stiles fought and failed to get me under control. Just because he was holding me back didn't mean I was going to stop.

"No! Obviously you don't like it, you absolute piece of shit! But who cares if someone else gets hurt?! Doesn't matter how! And you don't give a shit because now his father's gone and he can be a miserable, fucked up orphan, just like you!"

I was thrashing too hard to truly enjoy watching Jackson freeze. The haughtiness, the confidence, the shock al melted off his face, leaving him emotionless. And then the mask contorted to pure rage. His eyes narrowed to slits and his lips curled back into a snarl. And for some reason, that made a bubble of pride swell up in my chest. Objective achieved.

"You fucking bitch," Jackson growled.

He shoved Scott out of the way, lunging at my with his hands extended and poised like claws. I had just enough time to elbow Stiles in the stomach freeing myself from his grasp. Then I swung my arm back and punched Jackson in the face.

And explosion of pain shot up my arm from my knuckles, and I let out a squeak of pain. Jackson and I stumbled away from each other, him cradling his head while I held my arm close to my chest. He pulled his hand away from his face to reveal the trickle of blood coming from his nose. It was so dark, it almost looked black. Jackson looked up at me in horror.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!"

I didn't answer. I glared down at him, and if my hand had hurt any less, I would've punched him again. I considered kicking him in his stupid, sharp jaw, but as it was, Stiles was already pulling me back.

"And what is all the racket out here?"

Jackson looked over my shoulder and pointed accusingly at me. "She—she just punched me!"

"He had it coming," I defended evenly, still glaring ferociously.

I wasn't until I heard a vaguely familiar chuckle that I turned around. When I did, I forgot all about Jackson and Isaac and all my rage.

Gerard Argent was standing in the door to the office. He had his hands clasped behind his back and was watching out altercations with a highly amused smile. He took a few casual strides toward us, and I exchanged nervous looks with Scott and Stiles.

"Uh…um…hi, Mr. Argent," I greeted.

"Oh please, not Mr. Argent," he dismissed with a genial smile. "I'm sure that's what you call my son. Why don't we just stick to Principal Argent while we're in school? I'm sure that will be much less confusing."

"I'm—wha—p-principal?" Stiles managed to stutter out. "You? Since when?"

Gerard's sharp eyes snapped over to him, narrowing ever so slightly as they assessed him. Stiles immediately clamped his mouth shut; he and Scott weren't supposed to know who Gerard was at all. At least I'd been introduced.

"I think what he means to ask," I corrected, "is what happened to Principal Thomas?"

Gerard's eyes returned to me, still scrutinizing, but accompanied by a small smirk.

"Well, I don't believe that's really any of your concern, but if you must know, he decided to take a leave of absence. I've actually got a few years of, uh…authority experience, you could say. So I offered my experience. Temporarily, of course."

"Wow. Well, that's…lucky for us."

His smile grew, and his gaze slid past me. "Mr. Whittemore, I think it's high time you returned to class. Or perhaps the nurse's office?"

I heard Jackson shuffle behind me, his footsteps receding down the hallway. That left Scott, Stiles and I alone with Allison's grandfather, who was currently eyeing each of us up like steaks in a butcher's window, trying to decide who he'd enjoy devouring first. Stiles and Scott both stepped forward simultaneously, taking a place on either side of me. They'd meant it to be protective, but all they'd managed to do was confirm Gerard's decision.

"Now, boys, I know that we have something of an appointment, but given the circumstances I hope you don't mind if I have a quick word with Miss Bennet first. I'm sure we won't be long. Sadie?"

"Of course, sir," I agreed, before either of the boys could object.

Gerard swept an arm to the side, bowing me into the office. I chose to ignore the concerned stares boring into my back from Scott and Stiles. I walked forward, chin high and my right hand held carefully at my side so I wouldn't jostle my still throbbing fingers.

"Sadie, why don't you go ahead and sit down," he suggested, gesturing to his private office. "I'll just grab your file and be in in a moment."

I nodded silently, trudging into the principal's office. It wasn't my first time; my mother and I had visited briefly to sign some paperwork before the school year had started. The walls were still a disgusting pea green, with ugly, uneven tiling below it. They'd understandably tried to cover the walls with as much as they could, hanging up plaques and awards and installing tall bookshelves that I couldn't imagine getting much use.

I perched myself on the edge of one of the two armchairs in front of the desk and eyed the windows. Maybe the ones in the principal's office could open—then I'd be able to make an effective if awkward escape—but Gerard was already joining me in the office.

"So, Miss Bennet, let's take a look," he said, settling in behind his desk. "I notice that this is only your first year attending Beacon Hills High School. And you're living with another one of Allison's friends—Lydia Martin. Is that right?"

It didn't go unnoticed that he'd said all this without even opening my file. I knew that he'd already spoken to Kate about me, though I wasn't sure just how much he might've known. There was a good chance he'd already thoroughly inspected my file, every inch of it, purely because I was friends with Allison.

I leaned back in the chair in an attempt to look more comfortable. I had no intentions of proving to Gerard that I found him intimidating. He probably already knew that.

"Yes," I said, in response to his question. "My mother and Mrs. Martin are old friends from high school. After my father passed last spring, we decided we needed a change of scenery."

"Understandably so. It's a terrible thing, the death of a loved one. Father, sibling, child…"

He chose this moment to flip my file open and peruse the first page, which was lucky. I'm sure my face betrayed all the terror and guilt that had leapt up from my chest. He couldn't murder me on school premises, could he? Not with Scott and Stiles outside? Or maybe he'd do it just prove a point.

"Let's see here," he mused. "You have near perfect grades, despite having to make such a large adjustment, but I see that you're not taking part in any extracurriculars?"

"I keep busy," I assured him, an endless amount of werewolf-filled nights flashing though my mind.

"Oh, I'm sure you do, but you never even attempted to sign up for one. I find that a little odd for a new girl looking for friends."

"Well, like you said, I'm actually living with my friend, Lydia. She introduced me to a lot of people before school started, and then day one, I met Allison. Who else did I really need?"

"A good answer," Gerard laughed, folding his hands on the desk. "And, completely off the record, a good right hook."

I pulled my lips in, pressing them together in an attempt to keep myself from grinning. I knew Gerard was dangerous, but like his daughter, he knew how to keep up a charming air that made people desperate for approval. I'd let Kate sucker me in with compliments and life lessons; I couldn't let Gerard do the same.

It was as if he could read my thoughts.

"Sadie, I honestly do not want you to get in trouble for this. I admire your evident passion, your skill. I'm sorry if this seems a little personal, but…you do remind me so much of Kate. She always had that same sort of fire in her—getting into trouble, fights with people who disagreed with her. Seeing you do the same…well, it's a bit like having a piece of my daughter back."

I bit the inside of my cheek, hard, trying to keep my emotions in check. They were warring in my head, each fighting for my body to betray me in a different way. Every muscle of my body wanted to tremble in fear, and my guilt was, once more, burning through my organs on the inside. I gripped the chair in anger, furious that I was still being toyed with, and at the same time, I was on the verge of tears. I didn't want to hear that I was just the same as Kate. I didn't want to think about all the horrible things that could mean, all the good things that could mean. I didn't want to think about how she'd died in front of me.

Gerard smiled sadly, noticing my discomfort. "I'm sorry, Sadie. You'll have to forgive my sentimentality. I'm an old man."

I nodded stiffly, not meeting his eye.

"Now, I'm sure you regret it, and that you want this to go away just as badly as I do, but I need you to tell me what happened. Everything that happened."

Now I looked up sharply, blinking tears from my eyes. "S-sorry?"

"Just now," he prompted, raising an eyebrow. "With Mr. Whittemore?"

"Oh…" It took a second for my heartrate to return to normal, and I hastily tried to cover my pause. "Um…well there's a lot of reasons frankly. First and foremost being that Jackson's an asshole—"

"Language," Gerard advised, a twinkle in his eye.

"Right. Sorry, um…he's an extremely insensitive and self-involved person, who doesn't care about hurting others. He dumped Lydia, treats the rest of my friends like dirt, and today, I—I found out that he was keeping a…really dangerous secret that could have gotten someone hurt…"

I caught the look of interest on Gerard's face, and rushed to clarify.

"Just that—that he knew his neighbor was being abused and decided not to go to the cops. Even though Isaac could've—well, he did get hurt, a lot, but it could've gotten a lot worse, and he would've have gotten hurt at all if Jackson wasn't such a sick—um…arrogant person…"

I winced. That probably hadn't sounded great either. I knew it was wrong to throw Jackson under the bus, but I didn't want to implicate Isaac either. And—not to be insensitive—but if the Argents were going to go after someone with a crossbow, I would've preferred it was Jackson.

Gerard's response was markedly different this time. He nodded thoughtfully, sharp eyes darting over every inch of the desktop as he processed my words. "You're referring to Isaac Lahey? The boy the police have just escorted off the premises as a suspect?"

"Yeah," I agreed reluctantly.

"And is Mr. Lahey a friend of yours as well?"

I could hear the hidden question underneath, but I didn't know how to answer without lying. And I was certain Gerard would know if I was lying.

"Isaac's a really sweet person," I said instead. "He's quiet, shy. I don't care what the police say. He didn't do that to his father."

"Well, I think we ought to leave that decision to the professionals." He smiled slyly, then shook his head. "My, my, Sadie. Lydia's hospitalization, Mr. Lahey's arrest. Your friends don't seem to be having much luck, lately, do they?"

I shrugged meekly. There wasn't much I could say to that horrendous accusation, not without losing my temper and showing my cards.

"Well," he continued briskly, "I do wish that I could let you off scot-free, but I'm told that Mr. Whittemore's parents are of somewhat high esteem in this community, and this being my first day on the job…well, I hope you'll understand. How about we let this pass with an afternoon of detention and never discuss it again?"

"Of course," I agreed, as if I had room to negotiate. "Am I free to go?"

"Yes, yes, go ahead. And I'll see what I can do about keeping this off your record. Provided you keep out of trouble in the future."

He lifted the file into the air with a smile, then used it to wave me out of his office.

Stiles and Scott ambushed me the moment I stepped into the hall.

"Hey! What happened? What did he say to you? Did he threaten you?"

"You sounded really scared. Are you okay? You're okay right?"

I gave them an unimpressed look, glancing behind me to make sure Gerard was still out of earshot. "Please, like you two weren't listening in? I got detention. It's fine."

"How's your hand?" Scott asked, reaching forward. "Do you want me to—"

"No!" I looked back at the door again in horror. "Are you kidding me? Not here."

"Right…" He stuffed his hands into his pockets. "You should at least put some ice on it, though."

"I'll be fine, Scott. It was one punch."

"Yeah," Stiles agreed, his face splitting into a grin that threatened to split his face in half, "and it was awesome! Seriously, Sadie. Seriously, seriously awesome."

He shook his head in awe, smiling at me in a way that had me shaking in a very different way. I averted my eyes to the ground and cleared my throat.

"I'm uh…I'm going to go back to class. Now. I'll—I'll see you guys later."

I rushed past them down the hall, rounding the corner and ducking out of sight before the new principal could even call them into the office. It allowed me to escape Stiles and his adorable smile, but the trade-off was that I had to go back to chemistry.

The class stilled for a moment when I walked in, everyone pausing in their work to stare. I kept my chin up, walking to Mr. Harris's desk and returning the hall pass, then handing him the detention slip that the office secretary had written out for me. The teacher's expression morphed into a peculiar smile, one that looked very painful and annoyed.

"An eventful trip to the bathroom, Miss Bennet?"

"You could say that."

He gestured for me to take my seat and I joined Lydia once more. I glanced at her textbook to check the page she was working on, then flipped to the same problem set so I could continue my work.

"What happened to you?" she asked suspiciously.

"Nothing."

I flexed my fingers before picking up my pen, something that Lydia noticed immediately. She grabbed my wrist, forcing my had flat so she could inspect my knuckles. Then she glanced over her shoulder and leaned closer.

"You come back to class late with bruised knuckles and a detention, right after Jackson walks in with a bloody nose, and you expect me to believe nothing happened?"

I followed her lead and glanced to the back of the room. Apparently, Jackson had skipped on the nurse's office. He was hunched over his book next to Danny, holding a tissue to his nose. Drama queen. I hadn't hit him hard enough to make him hemorrhage or anything.

"Well?" Lydia demanded.

"No," I answered, turning back to my work, "but that's what I'm going to continue to say."

Lydia pursed her lips in annoyance, and I let her think I didn't see her smile. As far as she was concerned, my only problem with Jackson was the fact that he'd dumped her, and as much as it killed me, I was going to let her believe that. I wished I could tell her the truth about what an asshole Jackson was: the real reason he'd dumped her, the people he'd threatened, the lives he'd put at risk. I knew I would be able to tell her eventually, hopefully sooner rather than later, but I wasn't going to drop a truth bomb like werewolves in the middle of the school day. It'd have to wait until after my detention, and hopefully before the full moon came up.

It was only a few minutes before the classroom door opened again. Scott and Stiles shuffled through, trying to cause as little of a disturbance as they could. Scott kept his head down and hurried back to his desk. Stiles, on the other hand, stopped in front of Harris's desk, dug his hand into his pocket, and grandiosely presented the detention slip he'd been given at the office.

My stomach dropped. I'd been so wrapped up in Jackson's bullshit that I'd completely forgotten why Scott and Stiles had been sent to the principal's office in the first place. Stiles had whacked Harris with a paper ball and then called him Satan to his face. Of course he was getting detention. Of course he was getting detention the same day I got detention. Of course this was going to happen when I could hardly stand to be in the same room as him without feeling so nervous I wanted to vomit. Lucky me.

The fear of spending a whole hour alone with Stiles after school made my jitters even worse. I spent the whole day avoiding him, taking the long way to classes, ducking behind other people in the hallway, ignoring any and all of my friends. It was stupid. It was beyond stupid. It was ridiculously mental, especially considering all the other colossal problems we were dealing with. Even Isaac's arrest was banished to the back of my mind every time I caught a glimpse of the bright red, plaid shirt that Stiles was wearing.

I knew what I wanted to say to him, in theory. I didn't know how to say it in actuality.

"Hi, yes, I kissed you and I would like to do more of that, thank you."

"Yes, I know that a shot a woman out of pure spite, but would you still consider going to dinner and a movie with me sometime?"

"Hello, if you're still not in love with my best friend, you make me so nervous that I feel like my stomach is going to fly out of my face, so if you find that attractive you should definitely plan on taking me out sometimes."

Yeah. Real smooth.

As soon as the last bell rang, I sprinted from Economics and hid in the cover of the crowded hallway. Instead of going to my own locker, I decided to ambush Lydia at hers. I barreled up to her as soon as I caught sight of her bright hair, staying low so my head wouldn't be seen over the crowd.

"Hi!"

Lydia jumped and squealed in surprise. She smacked my shoulder when she realized it was just me. "Jesus, Sadie…"

"Wait." I stood up a little straighter, peering curiously into her face. "Are you okay?"

"Of course I'm okay. Stop asking me that. I'm fine."

She snapped at me and quickly returned to pulling her binders out of her locker, but it didn't hide the fact that she'd been wiping her eyes.

"Lydia, what happened?"

"Nothing! Nothing happened, Sadie, it's just…ugh. Just Jackson being stupid."

"Do I have to punch him again?"

"No," she said with a grudging smile. "No, he just…I went to thank him for saving me on the lacrosse field…"

"Lyd—"

"I know! I know you keep telling me to ignore him or whatever, but I can't, okay? He—he helped save my life…" She took a deep breath and then shook her head, slamming her locker shut. "Anyway, he twisted the whole thing around as usual. Reminded me not to go getting attacked again because I'm not this responsibility and we're not getting back together. And then he started spewing all this crap about the full moon and—"

"What?" I cut in, eyes wide. "Crap about what?"

"I know, right? I honestly don't even know what's gotten into him. I mean, I know he can be an ass, but I'm supposed to be the crazy one."

She scoffed and tossed her hair over her shoulder, oblivious to my rising panic. Was Jackson trying to warn her about tonight? What could happen if she really was turning? Was he—

"Whatever," Lydia sighed, jingling her car keys in my face. "See you at home!"

"Wait!" I grabbed her arm as she went to turn around, all of my nerves springing back to the surface. "Y-you're leaving?"

"Um, yeah. You're the one who got detention, not me."

"Yeah, yeah, I just—I was hoping you'd drive me home."

Lydia smirked, raising a solitary eyebrow. "I'm sorry, do you think I'm blind?"

"W-what?"

"I'm not an idiot, Sadie. You have detention. Stiles has detention. Stiles has a car. So Stiles is going to drive you home, and if you two haven't worked out all your sexual frustration by the time you pull in the driveway, I'm strapping you into that death trap he calls a Jeep and pushing you onto the freeway. Or worse, I'll remind Dylan Peters you're single. Do I make myself clear?"

I deflated. "...Crystal."

"Good. Have fun in detention!"

She pulled herself from my grip and strutted down the hallway, dashing my hopes for a quick escape at the end of the day. I tried texting Allison, but her radio silence was answer enough. Scott didn't have a car, but even if he did, he probably wouldn't have bailed me out. My friends were conspiring against me again, making sure that there was no way I could avoid Stiles any longer, whether I was ready to face him or not.

I dragged myself back to the chemistry classroom with the little energy I had left. Mr. Harris seemed pleased to see me so properly miserable. He grinned as he confiscated my phone and ordered me to leave my bag at the front of the room. I would not be permitted to work on my homework. I was to sit in silence and "contemplate the delinquency I had committed to earn myself an afternoon of penance." I barely managed to swallow a scathing comment about how he was probably using SAT words to compensate for various aspects of himself, then collapsed into a chair on the far side of the room.

Stiles showed up a few minutes later, a bounce in his step as proof that he wasn't the slightest bit bothered about another afternoon in detention. He smiled at me and made a beeline for the seat next to mine, until Mr. Harris called him back.

"Oh, I don't think so, Mr. Stilinski. This is detention, not ."

Stiles groaned, throwing his arms out in frustration. "Seriously?"

"Yes, Mr. Stilinski, seriously. I am Satan, after all. Can't have you enjoying yourself in Hell."

He beckoned Stiles back to the front, collecting his bag and phone. I folded my arms on the table and hid my face in my elbow so I didn't have to look at anyone. I listened as Stiles stomped over to the other side of the room, his stool screeching on the tile as he yanked it back, and squeaking underneath him as he plopped moodily down in his seat.

We sat in silence for a few minutes before I worked up the courage to peek over at him. He was dragging his finger over the desk, tracing patterns across the tabletop. And then, as if he could sense me, his hand paused and his eyes darted to mine. His lips pulled into a small smile, and I could feel my cheeks beginning to heat up. I buried my face in my arms once more. At least there weren't any werewolves around to tease me about my pounding heart.

Oh yeah. He was not going to make this easy. It was going to be a really, really long hour.