On Friday morning, I woke up before my alarm clock. I groaned and pushed my head back into my pillow, despite the lingering pain in my skull. I could still feel the place where my head had collided with the floor. Mom had offered me an ice pack, Natalie some pain medication and the anxiety pills she took on occasion, but I'd politely declined. Advil would suffice.

Today I felt better, but there was still something…off…like there was a knot under the surface of the calm. I wasn't sure what it was until I heard the yelling a couple rooms over.

I sprang out of bed, running down the hall and through the open door to Lydia's room. Natalie sat on the edge of her daughter's bed, raving words too fast for me to comprehend so soon after waking up. But it didn't take my eyes long to figure it out.

Lydia was sitting upright, visibly shaking from head to toe, her bloody hands held tight in her mother's grasp. There was blood on her hands, blood on her sheets, and Lydia just sat there staring at her broken skin—not in pain or regret, but horror on confusion, as if she couldn't imagine why there might be blood seeping from her knuckles.

Something on the other side of the room caught my eye: the makeup mirror on Lydia's vanity. The glass was completely shattered, cracks webbing out from the center, where Lydia had evidently punched it. That thought alone was enough to terrify me. Lydia wasn't a violent person. She was forceful, demanding, even vindictive sometimes, and she issued threats like a professional, but she rarely used brute force. I had a hard time even picturing her punching anything. But she'd clearly punched her mirror, and then gone straight back to bed without any recollection of it.

My mother ran into the room behind me, and my brain finally woke up enough to process the English language.

"That's it," Natalie was saying, pulling her daughter close and patting down her hair. "You're not going to school. Absolutely not."

"Mom, I told you, I'm—"

"I know you keep saying you're fine, sweetheart, but look at this! You're very clearly not okay!"

"And what am I going to do in the house, huh? Sit around an think about what I've done?! That is not anymore helpful than going to school and distracting myself. If I don't engage my mind, I am going to go out of my mind!"

"No. You're going to stay home. It will be much less stressful."

"Maybe for you!"

"Nat, maybe she's got a point," my mother sighed, wrapping an arm around my shoulder.

Natalie whipped around with a glare. "Claire!"

"I'm just saying. She's got an appointment with counselor, after all. Maybe it's better if she keeps it."

"There are plenty of private counselors that could help her just as much. Lydia, get dressed. There's an office a couple towns over. They take walk-ins, and—"

"I'm not going to a psychiatrist!" Lydia shouted, shoving her mother away. "I am already back at school, and I am going to keep going to school. I am coping just fine! Right, Sadie?"

Everyone in the room turned to me. I stood there, shuffling my feet in my pajamas.

"Well?" Lydia pushed. "You took me to school, you breathed down my neck just like they told you to, and I was fine. Right?"

I looked back and forth between our mothers, but eventually crumbled. "Yeah…"

"Thank you! So I got pissed a punched a mirror. So what? I will put on some gloves, I will go to school, and somehow I will still be the most competent person in the building. Now if you could all please get out of my room so I can get dressed, that would be great."

Natalie sighed, pressing a hand to her head. "Fine. You're old enough to make your own choices. But the deal still stands. You're keeping your appointment with the school counselor."

"Mom! I'm not going—"

"I'll come too," I agreed. Everyone turned to look at me again, and I rolled my eyes. "Oh, come on. Everyone's thinking it. I got attacked. I lost Dad. I lost Kate. I managed to stumble into yet another crime scene. Everyone's just waiting for me to snap, so…I guess a pre-emptive visit to the counselor couldn't hurt."

Mom and Natalie both raised their eyebrows at each other in agreement. Mom almost looked relieved that she didn't need to suggest it first. Natalie turned back to her daughter to gauge her response. There were a few seconds of silence, but Lydia finally sagged back into her bed, evidently giving up her fight.

"Well then," Natalie said with a smile, "that's settled. You and Sadie will both go to the counselor, and you can both keep going to school. Thank you, Sadie."

I shrugged, half-heartedly smiling at Lydia, who rolled her eyes at me.

"I'll call the school," Mom offered, rubbing my arm and steering me out the door. "Come on, honey."

I got ready quickly and quietly, focusing most of my effort on shutting my brain down. As it was, there were so many anxious thoughts in my head that the edges of my mind seemed fuzzy. Every blink was accompanied by Lydia's confused and horrified face, the lizard creature hissing at me from the dark, the mechanic paralyzed on the ground as the Jeep crushed his body, Isaac running at Stiles with his fangs bared, Kate bleeding out into the leaves as I held my gun on her…

By the time I'd made it downstairs, Lydia was already waiting for me. She swiftly won the argument she was having with her mother about driving to school, snatched up her car keys, and stormed out into the driveway. I rushed to kiss my mom on the cheek and follow Lydia outside. I wasn't entirely sure she would wait for me if I moved too slow.

Lydia gave me the cold shoulder all the way to school. She put on music too loud to talk over and kept her eyes dead ahead as she tested the speed limit. I'd betrayed her by agreeing we needed therapy, which I figured was fair, since I'd lied about her being okay at school. Lydia didn't want to be analyzed. She worked hard to maintain her perfect façade, and having anyone dig beneath that was like a nightmare for her. She was probably fortifying her mental walls so that Miss Morrell wouldn't even be able to get a glimpse at the trauma inside her head. I understood why she was being standoffish, but that didn't make it any easier to put up with.

Lydia was strutting out of the car before I even saw her throw it into park. I scrambled behind her as she marched along her war path to the guidance office, and even with my long strides, she beat me by at least a whole minute. She was already seated in one of the uncomfortable waiting room chairs, straightening her hot pink gloves over her injured hands. I gave her a disapproving glare, but she elected to ignore me, tossing her hair over her should and precariously crossing her legs.

"Did you at least sign in?" I asked her in resignation.

"Please. Unlike some unbalanced people, I'm not a regular here. I have no idea how this works."

I forced myself to take a deep breath, summoning the image of Lydia's scared face to keep me in check. Her attitude was a defense mechanism. She had her own issues to work on. It would not help you yell at her.

"Excuse me," I said, walking over to the main desk to speak to the secretary behind it. "Hi. My friend and I are supposed to have appointments with the counselor office this morning. My name's—"

"Miss Bennet."

I spun around, only half startled by the guidance counselor's sudden appearance behind me. "Oh. Hi, Ms. Morrell."

"Are you ready to get started?"

"Uh, yeah. Just a second." Ms. Morrell retreated back into her office, and I paused to look back at Lydia. "Hey, are you—"

"We are only going to have a problem if the next word out of your mouth is 'okay.'"

"Of course..."

I sighed, shaking my head and following the counselor into her office. I shut the door behind me and turned around to face the familiar room. "Wow. Déjà vu."

"Have a seat, Sadie," Ms. Morrell said with a laugh. "I was wondering when you might decide to visit me again. If you don't mind me saying, I'm surprised it wasn't sooner."

"Ah, you've been expecting me?"

"It's a small town. Word travels fast." She gestured to the seat across from her and I hesitantly complied, perching myself in the same chair I'd been in the day before I started school. "So, what prompted you to make an appointment, Miss Bennet?"

"Um…well, I guess it's kind of hard to know where to start…"

"Well, this is your space," said Ms. Morrell, offering me a kind smile. "We can talk about whatever you feel like talking about, and it will stay in this room."

I nodded, staring at the edge of her desk, but what could I really talk about? I couldn't tell the school counselor that I'd shot someone a few weeks ago, that I was dealing with the guilt that I might've gotten that someone killed. I couldn't tell her that I was so afraid of myself that I could barely hold a gun anymore. I couldn't tell her my concussion was caused by a giant lizard that had almost killed me. I couldn't tell her I was already anticipating several new waves of guilt when more bodies started dropping, killed by a creature I was too weak to take down. So I started with the one thing I could talk about.

"I managed to stumble into another crime scene this week. That was fun."

Ms. Morrell raised a sharp eyebrow. "Another?"

"Yup," I confirmed, popping the p on the end. "I think that must be my…fourth? Wait…no, my fifth. Well, sixth if you count formal."

"I see…well, you've certainly been busy."

"Ha, tell me about it," I said with a shaky laugh.

"Why don't we start with your most recent one? What happened?"

Hiss. Crunch. Screech. Wham.

"I um…went to the auto body shop with my friend, and…there was an accident. Something happened with the machinery and the mechanic was uh…crushed. Under my friend's car."

"That's terrible," said Ms. Morrell, shaking her head. "Were you there when it happened?"

"No," I said quickly, perhaps a little too quickly. "No, I…my friend and I walked inside, and he was already…yeah."

"And is that the first body you've seen?"

"Yeah," I lied again. Kate. Peter. The janitor… "Outside of a funeral, anyway."

"Good. I know it may sound strange to say, but I'm glad. Given your track record, I'd say it's lucky you haven't seen anything worse."

"Yeah…right…"

I bit my lip, suppressing the memories as best as I could: Peter's burning flesh, Kate's blood seeping across the dusty floor, the mangled corpse in the back of the ambulance, Derek aloft in the air, blood dribbling down his chin.

Ms. Morrell watched me, her face frustratingly impassive. I wondered briefly if that was something she'd been trained to do as a counselor, to make sure her instinctual opinions and judgments weren't noticeable to her patients, or if that was the way her face had always been. Something told me it was the latter. This was even worse than talking to Derek, who rarely emoted unless he was angry. Morrell was just as emotionless, but with sharp eyes that seemed to know too much. It almost reminded me of Gerard.

"You know, it's normal to experience some level of guilt," she informed me. "Most people do when they experience a loss."

"Survivor's guilt," I replied with a nod. "Yeah, but I—I didn't survive anything. I mean, it's not like I could've died in his place. I didn't know him."

"Guilt isn't always rational," she countered. "Even when we encounter the death of a stranger, it can make us reflect on our own lives, question our mortality, and that can manifest in different ways. Some people react outward and adopt something of a thrill-risk mentality, trying to make the most of the time they have. Other people reflect inward. That leads to something called if-thinking. If I'd only known earlier. If I'd fought harder. If I'd been braver—"

"I wasn't there," I reminded her. "When he died."

"If I'd shown up sooner, then," she said coolly, and something about her tone made me doubt that she believed me. "The point is that it's normal to have these thoughts. The important thing is moving past them. Accepting your situation, yourself, and learning to make the best of it. Second-guessing your actions isn't healthy. Although, I'm sure you already know that."

My stomach lurched. I knew word travelled fast in Beacon Hills, but I wasn't sure how Morrell could know so much. She couldn't know about what I'd done to Kate. Was she talking about formal? How I'd spent so much time hating myself for letting Lydia get attacked? The guilt I'd been carrying watching Derek turn my friends into soldiers for a war I'd helped start? How could she possibly know any of that?

"Sorry," I said softly. "I'm…not sure what you mean."

"I was referring to your father. Last time we spoke, you mentioned that you were having some trouble grappling with your regrets after his passing. I remember you said something very insightful, something like…"

"Don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened," I recalled with a wry smile. "Yeah, well…that was loads of help with my dad, but…I'm not sure that there's anything to smile about this time."

"Perhaps not," she conceded, "but death can appear in many different ways, Sadie. Finding a body, the death of a stranger, a family member, a friend. You'd be surprised how similar the effects are. Irrational guilt, resurfacing memories, excessive extrapolation—"

"Extrapolation?"

"When you imagine different situations based on past experience. It might be a prediction of the future, reimagining the past, even imagining what someone might say to you if they were still alive."

Now that one was far too close for comfort. Kate's voice giggled in the back of my head, so clearly that I could've pictured her sitting in the chair next to me. I ignored her insufferable smirk and tried to compose my face into a blank expression. I must not have been as good at it as Ms. Morrell, because she leaned forward with interest.

"Is that something you're struggling with, Sadie?"

"Uh, yeah," Kate's voice laughed. "I think it's safe to say that's something you're struggling with."

"No," I answered calmly.

"Are you sure? It's a very common behavior, especially with creatively inclined people like yourself."

"Creatively inclined? Is that what we're calling psychos these days?"

"I appreciate that, but…I'm fine."

"Are you? 'Cause hearing voices definitely doesn't seem normal. I'm surprised you haven't cracked yet—oh! Unless you have! Maybe you've always been crazy."

"Well, something must be bothering you if you decided to visit my office."

"Hm, let's see. My dad's dead, I moved to a town infested with werewolves and God knows what else, I got a little trigger happy and kind of killed my best friend's hot aunt, my other best friend is bat-shit crazy, and last night I listened to a guy get squished like a grape under my boyfriend's car because there was a giant lizard I was too scared to shoot! So yeah, I'm swell."

"Shut the fuck up, Kate."

I shook my head, trying to shake her voice out of my ear. She continued to giggle, but I succeeded in turning the volume down at any rate. I swallowed thickly and tried to collect my thoughts in her wake.

"I guess I've been struggling with…my self-image, mostly. There's been a lot going on and…even though I know logically that I'm dealing with a lot, I'm…not always happy with how I'm doing. I've made a lot of bad choices and…I don't like what that says about me as a person."

"Everyone makes mistakes, Sadie," Ms. Morrell said gently. "I think that just means that you're human."

I tried to hide my smile. I could hear Stiles's voice in my head, thanking me the night of the formal. It was a lot more comfortable listening to him than it was hearing Kate.

"I know that no one's perfect," I continued, wringing my hands in front of me. "I guess I'm just worried that these mistakes are…really bad."

"Mistakes like what?"

I grimaced. Time for some more selective truths.

"Like…lying to my friends. I feel like every day I turn around and I'm keeping another secret. And it's one thing to say 'honesty is the best policy' like it's a—a blanket truth, but then it comes down to it and you have decide whether or not to tell them and…at this point I'm not sure if I have real, valid reasons or if I'm just buying into my own excuses. Like, 'oh well this shouldn't come from me' or 'right now it would just upset them.'"

"Hearing about what happened to you?" she asked for clarification.
"What happened to me, what's still going on...what I've done..."
"And what have you done?"
I could feel her watching me, so astutely I was sure she must already know. I pressed my lips into a hard line; therapy was hard when you couldn't tell the truth. Maybe I should be paying Deaton for sessions instead. At least then I'd be able to explain that I was freaking out cause I'd shot someone.
I bit the inside of my cheek, choosing my words carefully.
"A while back, I...was having a hard time. I guess I'm still having a hard time, really. But I got some...bad news that really upset me. Like, really upset me. And I lashed out at someone and...they got hurt."
"One of your friends?" Ms. Morrell asked.
"No, uh...kind of a friend of a friend. Some of my friends were there, and some of them know, and they all say that they get it. They don't mind, they forgive me, but...I didn't get a chance to apologize to—to the person, so...somehow everyone forgiving me just makes me feel worse. Like I should be punished or—or something, you know? And I don't know if it's because they just really care about me, or if they're too tired to talk about, or if they're just scared I'm gonna go postal again so...so they just don't wanna upset me...in case someone else gets hurt..."
I bit my lips to seal them shut. That time I was certain that I'd said too much. How far did doctor-patient confidentiality stretch? Did I even have doctor-patient confidentiality with a guidance counselor? If she thought I was going to hurt someone, she had an obligation to go to the police, right? God, if she told someone what I said, I was going to be so totally fucked. All the trouble that Derek and the Argents had gone through to stage Kate's death, to erase my involvement, and I'd just gone blabbing to a school counselor because I couldn't deal with my issues on my own. God, I was—
"Sadie, are you familiar with the psychology of the parts?"
"What?" I opened my eyes in surprise. I hadn't even realized I'd closed them. "Uh, no...sorry."
"That's alright," Ms. Morrell said with a patient smile. "It's a tool that some people use to cope with trauma. The idea is that each person's psyche is made up of different parts or personas. There's a child part, a nurturing part, logical, creative. You can divide it in whatever way you feel comfortable with. Does that make sense?"
"Yeah, I guess so," I said with a shrug.
"Every decision we make brings the parts into conversation, sometimes into conflict, and this dictates how we act. It's sounds to me like whatever has happened you has helped you develop a very strong critical part."
I smiled sheepishly. "Yeah, I guess that's me. Hyper-critical cynic."
"It's not always a bad thing," Ms. Morrell chuckled. "We all need to be critical when we make decisions. It helps us weigh different options, notice things others might not. Think about how being critical helps you in art: you judge your subject, the scale, the color, and all of that helps you recreate a better picture. You pay attention to the details, and consider the different outcomes."

"Or when you're reading," I suggested, following along. "Being able to tell where a story is going because you can see the foreshadowing."

"Exactly. Critical thinking is a skill, just like anything else. The problem occurs when we become too critical. If you can't turn that part of your psyche off, then you're constantly evaluating and reevaluating every decision you make throughout the day, and that can be exhausting. When you turn that power against yourself, you tear yourself apart before anyone else has the chance to."

"Well…yeah. I guess I just feel like…sometimes it's easier that way. I'm responsible for my own actions. If I hold myself accountable, then no one else has to do it for me. No one has to get mad."

"Sadie," Ms. Morrell said with a pointed look. "Someone is always going to get mad. You can't please everyone, no matter how hard you try. When you make a mistake, the only thing you can do is accept it, learn from it, and forgive yourself."

I nodded thoughtfully. "All you can do is decide what you're gonna do next time."

"Very good." Ms. Morrell raised an eyebrow with a small smile. "Another quote from your previous guidance counselor?"

"Uh, no," I chuckled. "Actually, one of my friends."

"Well it sounds like you have some very wise friends. I'm glad you've found a strong group of people to support you."

"Definitely." I grinned as I thought of Scott, Stiles, and Allison. "I got pretty lucky in that department."

"And how is Lydia?"

"She's…" I hesitated, glancing at the door to the office. "…sitting in the waiting room."

"I'd noticed. How has she been doing?"

I narrowed my eyes at her. It was pretty bold to start our meeting by saying "word travels fast," and then pretend she didn't know anything about how Lydia was doing. She'd been attacked on school premises, and then run naked through the woods for a day and a half. There was no way Morrell hadn't heard about that.

"I don't think Lydia would really want me to say anything," I answered, sitting up straight in my seat, "especially since she has to talk to you next."

"I understand," Ms. Morrell replied, smirking at my defiance. "Would you at least be comfortable disclosing whether or not you're worried about her?"

I faltered again, but I'd already concluded that she knew about Lydia. My concern wouldn't be out of place.

"Yeah, I'm worried about her," I sighed. "And there's probably some survivor's guilt there, too."

"So long as you can recognize that, you're well past the first step. The important thing to remember, Sadie, is that a lot of healing is internal. We can accept support from our friends and our families, but we need to do the work ourselves."

"I get it," I said, somewhat bitter. "I can't heal her trauma for her. She's not my responsibility."

"I'm not just talking about Lydia. Healing from trauma takes time, but you can do it."

I looked up at her, shifting uncomfortably under her intense gaze, but nodding all the same. Ms. Morrell's face broke into a wide smile, a complete reversal of most of our conversation.

"Well, thank you for stopping by, Sadie. I hope I was of some help."

"Um, yeah…" I shook my head as I collected my things, trying to rid myself of the odd feeling she'd left me with. "Thanks for seeing me. Guess I'm not as well-adjusted as I thought I was, right?"

I let out a wry laugh, but Ms. Morrell didn't join me. Her brows pulled together, thoughtful once more as she considered me from the other side of her desk.

"A lot has happened since you moved here, Sadie. Being well-adjusted doesn't mean that you're always perfectly fine. What it does mean is handling situations aptly, perhaps better than others in your situation might. Considering all you've gone through, I think you're doing admirably. You're stronger than you might think, Miss Bennet."

I let that sink in for a few seconds. On the one hand, Morrell's advice came without knowing the whole story. She didn't know that I was hearing voices, that I was having endless nightmares, or that I'd gone from being a good marksman to feeling paralyzed every time I touched a gun. So maybe my symptoms were worse than I was letting on. On the other hand, so were my stressors. I hadn't just been attacked by a cougar; I'd watched a murderer twist my words and then tear his fangs through my friend's side. I'd been emotionally manipulated by Kate, then shot her point blank. I'd listened to more than one person take their last breath.

So maybe I wasn't okay—okay, so I wasn't okay at all—but maybe things could be worse. I could have shot Kate in the head. I could have locked myself away in fear or stopped talking altogether. I could have run away from Beacon Hills or completely shut down. But I hadn't. I was still walking and talking and laughing. I was still taking care of my friends however I could manage, doing my homework, dating Stiles. All things considered, maybe that was enough.

I bid Ms. Morrell a final goodbye and stepped out of the office. I let out a long, controlled breath of relief. No matter what was said or how much it helped, going to the counselor always felt like a huge ordeal. I was glad I'd come, but I was equally glad to leave.

"Lyd, you can head in whenever you're…Lyd?"

I paused in my stride toward the hallway, narrowing my eyes at Lydia's frozen figure. She was glaring at a spot on the far wall, her legs crossed and her hands clenched in front of her in their pink gloves. She seemed intently concentrated, even offended, but even after I cleared my throat, she just kept staring at the wall.

"Lydia!"

She jumped, whirling around as if she were startled by my not-so-sudden appearance. The surprise faded to annoyance so quickly, I almost questioned whether or not it had been my imagination.

"Yes, thank you, Sadie," she snapped. "I heard you the first time. Goodbye."

She picked up her bag and stormed into Ms. Morrell's office, slamming the door without so much as a glance over her shoulder.

My eyebrows knitted together and I turned to look at the wall Lydia had been inspecting. There was nothing unusual, though, just a corkboard with some sports news on it: a flyer reminding people about the lacrosse game, an old list of the basketball line up, girls' track mile times, nothing all that interesting. I tried to shrug it off, shaking my head as I headed to class, but it was easier said than done. Lydia's trauma might be her own, but she would never be able to manage her supernatural symptoms; not until I told her the truth.

It was hard to focus on my own schoolwork. Luckily, Scott and Stiles kept me busy with theirs. They'd skipped half a day when they'd gone looking for Boyd, and they'd both missed an Economics test. Again. Stiles would get by with a little coaching, but Scott was another story. It took Stiles and I combined to catch him up to speed, and that was just explaining the concepts. By the end of lunch, he understood what was going on in class, but it was anyone's guess if he'd still remember at the end of the day. Unfortunately, that was Scott's problem.

"Please, Sadie?"

"No, Scott."

"Come on, Sadie, help the guy out."

"No, Stiles."

"But you know it so much better than Stiles and me! You—you don't have to give us the answers, just—"

"Wow, nice try. I don't think so." I hiked my bag higher onto my shoulder, outstripping both of them as I headed down the hall. "As Ms. Morrell said to me this morning, 'We can accept help from our friends, but we need to do the work ourselves.' Good luck, boys!"

I waved to them over my shoulder and headed out the doors to the courtyard.

These days, I did my best to split my time between the boys and Allison. If I had lunch with one, I spent my free period with the other. Allison and I usually worked together in the library, but seeing as it was a relatively mild day for late winter, we'd agreed to work outside. I spotted her at one of the roundtables next to the parking lot. I waved to her as I walked over, only to feel a flannel-clad arm wrap around my shoulders.

"Stiles, I'm not helping you cheat Finstock's test."

"What? I didn't—who said anything about that?" He laughed and pulled me closer to his side. "I just wanted to walk with you. Is that a crime?"

"Starting to feel like one," I warned with a smile.

Stiles spluttered, affronted, as I removed his arm from my shoulder and took a seat next to Allison. She did a very poor job of hiding her laugh, but fixed Stiles with an expectant smirk.

"I'm sorry, are you joining us today, Stiles?"

"Uh, no. Nah, if I leave Scott alone in the library I'm not sure he's gonna find his way out again. I'm just here 'cause he wanted to make sure you were coming to the game later."

Allison glared at him and looked around the yard, checking to make sure no one was paying any attention to us. When she was certain that her grandfather wasn't about to jump out from under a bench, she nodded and lowered her voice.

"Yes, I am coming to the game. Tell him…I wouldn't miss it."

"Noted," Stiles said with a nod. "Anything else? Since I'm playing middle man."

"Um…" She chewed on her bottom lip and looked between the two of us. "Seriously?"

"Hey, don't mind me," I offered, lifting a hand. "You guys can't text, so say what you need to say."

I busied myself taking out my English work, which was about as much privacy as I could offer her while sitting at the same table. Stiles waited, drumming his hands against his legs impatiently. Finally, Allison sighed.

"Can you just…can you tell him I'm so sorry about the other day? I'm trying, really. And I know it's hard but…we'll get through this. I know that…because I love you. I love you more than you know, and more than my parents could ever understand. I love you more than I'm afraid of my family and what they're capable of. I love you more than anything and…I promise, I'm gonna find a way to be with you."

She stared at her hands for a few seconds, lost in the words of her monologue. When she did finally look up, it was with a grimace. She looked nervously between my sappy smile and Stiles's wrinkled nose.

"Was that too much? That was way too much, wasn't it?"

"It's you and Scott," I reminded her. "I think it was perfect."

Stiles tilted his head to the side, still looking uncomfortable. "…Do I seriously have to say all of that?"

Allison hid her face in her hands and I swatted Stiles on the arm. "Yes, you have to say all of that. Now shoo."

"Alright! Fine! I'm going, but uh—you have anything you wanna say? Any, you know, declarations of undying love while we're on the subject?"

"Sure," I said with a bright smile. "You can tell Scott I love him too."

Stiles's hopeful look quickly morphed back into one of annoyance. He mimicked my voice childishly and scuffed his heels on the way back into the building. I waved him off with a cheeky smile.

Allison lifted her head out of her hands, looking mischievous. "Hang on. Did he just ask—"

"No, Allison," I said, shutting her down before she could get started. "Come on, he didn't mean it like that."

"I don't know," she sang. "You might wanna ask him…"

"I'm not having this conversation with you. Are we gonna work on English, or what?"

She giggled at my expense—a growing hobby, it seemed—but relented. We each turned to the book we were supposed to be reading, our binders and notebooks out so we could take notes and answer questions in our reading packet along the way.

The problem being that Of Mice and Men was not doing a good job at holding my attention. Even with my deep love of English, my mind kept slipping away, my eyes sliding over the words without really reading them. Allison seemed to be having the same issue. She tapped her pen incessantly while she stared at her book, and after a few minutes, gave up the pretense of reading all together. She rested her chin in her hand and stared at the school building with longing. I didn't have to ask where her mind was at. It was in the same place it always was: with Scott.

"Hey," I began, putting my book aside. "What happened the other day? That you wanted to apologize to him for?"

Allison groaned and closed her book as well. "Usually Scott and I try to meet at the preserve a couple of times a week. He wanted to meet a couple hours early, but I got held up by Gerard and…I missed him. He said he couldn't wait up."

"Well, that's not your fault. Your family stopped you."

"I know, it's just…it's not just that. I feel like everything is getting harder now, you know? I couldn't see him at the preserve, and I—I was really hard on him at lunch, because I knew that he was going to get involved with Derek and his pack. And—ha—after that morning…"

She trailed off, grinning in fury and shaking her head. I nodded, finally understanding what she must be talking about. Stiles had half-told me about Scott's altercation with Erica. Given the way Erica had been treating me and Stiles, I could only imagine what she'd done in front of Allison.

"I'm pretty sure Erica only came to school to spy on us," I offered cautiously. "She was causing all kinds of chaos that day. She stole my seat in math and pretty much stalked Stiles and me all around the school, but I think she was just trying to keep us distracted, so we wouldn't realize Boyd was gone until it was too late. So whatever she did to Scott—"

"I'm not jealous."

I blinked at the abrupt answer. "Okay…?"

Allison deflated. She closed her eyes in frustration, and dropped her pen in favor of flexing her fingers in front of her.

"I'm…I don't want to be jealous. I trust Scott. I know he wouldn't just—just leave me for something better but…all of this has been so, so hard. The sneaking around, the lies, and I just…sometimes I wonder if he wouldn't be better off with…"

"Another werewolf," I finished for her.

She nodded, looking up at me in despair. I couldn't say that I blamed her; I'd spent Friday obsessing over the exact same concerns for very different reasons. Allison was worried Scott would like Erica because they were the same: werewolves struggling with their powers, running from hunters, keeping secrets from their families. I was worried Stiles might like Erica because they were different. Stiles liked being with a human now, but we both knew the benefits of the bite. Would I really be able to hold his attention forever, just because I liked the same movies he did?

"Well I don't think you need to worry about Erica," I assured Allison. "She's definitely enjoying her power trip, but if she's gonna steal anyone's boyfriend, it'll probably be mine."

"What do you mean?" Allison asked with a frown.

I bit my lip, tapping my nails on the edge of the table. "She's…had a crush on Stiles for a while now. I knew last semester, but I didn't really stop to think about it. And now that she's got the bite and she's feeling pretty and confident…"

"You think she's gonna make a move."

I nodded nervously, but to my surprise, Allison smiled.

"Hey, Stiles isn't going anywhere. He literally just asked you to say you were in love with him." I swatted at her, but this time she persisted. "Really, Sadie. I mean, watching the two of you on that date? You're perfect for each other. He's not gonna go running off to Erica just because she's got bigger boobs or whatever."

"I guess you're right," I sighed. "If he was looking for better boobs he just would've stuck with Lydia."

Allison burst into laughter and quickly pulled me down with her. As if on cue, the doors to the school opened again, and Stiles came tumbling out in our direction. We laughed harder, both gasping for breath, and were still wheezing when he made it to our table. He looked between us both in suspicion.

"Okay, uh, what did I miss?"

"It's nothing," Allison dismissed with a few final giggles. "What's up, Stiles?"

"Please," I added, "tell me you have something more interesting to discuss than Of Mice and Men."

"Well, probably more interesting, but not necessarily good. Talked to Scott. The uh, giant lizard that keeps attacking people? Deaton confirmed that it has some kind of paralytic toxin it uses on its victims, which in the wild is for predators to catch their dinner or whatever. Now I, for one, am very glad I wasn't eaten, but while not being eaten usually sounds like a very good thing, apparently the fact it hasn't tried is a very bad thing, because that means it just likes killing. So. That's fun."

"Well did he have any idea what it was?" asked Allison.

"No, but he thinks he knows someone who might."

"Well, that's good right?" I asked. "Who is it?"

Stiles lifted a hand to point at Allison, whose eyebrows shot up instantaneously.

"Me? But—"

"Well, not you specifically," Stiles amended, "but your family in general. He says most old hunter families have a bestiary."

"Bestiary?" Allison repeated skeptically. Stiles nodded, but she just lifted a hand over her mouth, holding back another giggle. "I think you mean—"

"No, I mean bestiary!" Stiles snapped. "And you and Scott, I don't want to know what's going on in your heads! Yeesh..."

"It's a catalogue of creatures," I explained to Allison, who still looked confused. "Hunters would keep some kind of record to detail all the different kinds of creatures they encountered, what they could do, how to stop them. This way they'd already have some information if they ran into one again down the road. Kind of like a hunter version of a Book of Shadows."

"Oh…"

"Thank God." Stiles sighed, lifting his hand to give me an overly enthusiastic high five. "You see? That's why I'm dating this one."

I pursed my lips together, trying to beat down at blush as Allison rolled her eyes at him.

"Okay, can you describe this thing?"

"Uh, it's probably like a book. Old, worn…"

"Like…bound in leather?"

"Yeah! Yes, why?" Stiles agreed in excitement. "Have you seen it? Do you know where it is?"

"Maybe," she said timidly. "I mean, I've seen him with a book like that. It's this little leather notebook, with a tie and everything. He dropped it in the driveway the other day and said something about…I don't know. I think he said he'd be lost without it or something."

"Good! Well that's—that's great! I'll uh—I'll be right back!"

Before either of us could say a word, Stiles was sprinting back into the building with his limbs flying in all directions. I watched him go with a fond smile, Allison pouting thoughtfully beside me.

"How long do you think it will be before he realizes you two could just be texting each other?"

I shrugged. "Probably not until it's too late."

"Are you gonna tell him?"

"Nah. Where's the fun in that?"

She shook her head at me, chuckling as she pulled her books back toward her.

As the messages became shorter, so did Stiles's trips in and out of school. I barely got back into my work when he came gracelessly tumbling out of the doors. He ran back to our table and grabbed the edge for support lest he collapse.

"Where—does he—keep it?" he panted, his chest heaving with every word.

Allison bit her lip in an attempt to keep her face impassive. "Um, I'm not sure. But he had it in his pocket the other day, so I don't think he lets it go too far."

"I guess that makes sense," I followed with a nod. "So when he's at home, it's at home, and when he's not…"

"It has to be in his office, right?" she suggested. "The principal's office? I mean, it's a secure place, someplace only he has access to, it's where he spends most of his time…"

"And no one—would be able to find it—great." Stiles swallowed thickly, which seemed to cause him some degree of pain. He turned to me in desperation. "Are you sure you don't want a turn?"

"Oh, gosh, I'm sorry, but I—I can't." I grimaced and pointed to the back of my head. "Concussion, remember? I'm not really supposed to be exerting myself in case I go into another dizzy spell."

The reminder seemed to strengthen him, and he nodded dutifully. "Right! No, you—you just sit right there. Take it easy, get your work done, and I'll be right back."

He gave us a thumbs up and puffed out his chest before barreling back toward the school.

"Seriously?" Allison giggled. "And you're worried he's gonna leave you for Erica?"

"Please," I scoffed. "If you asked, Scott would forward roll in and out of school for the rest of the year."

Stiles eventually returned, completely hunched over by the time he got to the table. I went to pat his back and ask if he was alright, but the next moment, he straightened up to full height, holding what looked suspiciously like Scott's old inhaler to his mouth. He took a huff, shook his head violently, and turned to Allison.

"You know, drug dealers have been using disposable cell phones pretty successfully for years."

His voice was strained with exertion, but she still gave him a withering look.

"My parents check every call, email, and text message I send. They don't even like that I talk to Sadie. Trust me, they'd find it."

"Alright, can you get the book?" he asked bitterly.

Allison sighed and shook her head. "Not without his keys."

There was a pause, a complete moment of silence. And then Stiles burst.

"Seriously?! That's it?! I'm sprinting back and forth between you and your boyfriend and the only message you have to send is 'no'?! Do you realize how freaking exhausting this is?!"

"I didn't say 'no.' I said 'not without his keys.'"

Stiles glared at her, grumbling to himself before he trudged back to the building. "Unbelievable…"

I choked back a laugh, waiting until he was out of sight before I turned to Allison.

"So do you have any idea where he keeps his keys? I mean, can Scott get at them with some werewolf strength, or is this a covert mission for us girls?"

"I think I can do it," she pondered to herself. "It should be simple enough to slip his keys from his coat pocket or something—"

"You're gonna pickpocket a trained hunter?" I asked skeptically, and she firmed her resolve.

"I can get them. The problem is going to be getting the office once I do. There's always someone at the front desk during the school day, and even if the principal is my grandfather, they're not gonna let me in without telling him."

"Right. So we need a time where the school is open but there's no one inside."

"Didn't work out so great last time we tried that," Allison said dejectedly.

I tilted my head in ascent. I didn't like thinking about the night we'd been trapped in the school any more than she did. Sprinting through the halls, locked in the chemistry room, hiding in some disgusting gym locker…

"Wait," I said, shaking my head. "The school's open with no people all the time. It's gonna be open with no people tonight."

"What? What are you…?" She trailed off, then her face lit up with understanding. "The lacrosse game."

"Exactly. Do you think you can get the keys tonight? I mean, would that be enough cover?"

"Yeah, I think so. I think if I disappear with his keys, he'll know something's up, but if I can pass them off to you or Stiles, then you should have enough time to check before he notices that anything's wrong."

"Alright! There's those Argent planning skills kicking in." I punched her lightly on the shoulder and pulled out my phone. "Stiles looked about one lap from dying, so I guess I'll take pity on him."

"You're terrible," she scolded, making me grin.

"So I've been told."

Her giggles didn't faze me as I typed out a message to Stiles.

"Allison's got a plan to get the keys from Gerard. You and I should be able to check his office tonight during the game."

It took a few minutes for him to respond, during which I ignored my work and stared impatiently at my phone. When I did get a text back, it didn't disappoint. I had to hold back my laughter as I read, Stiles's annoyance coming through loud and clear with every word.

"We literally could have been texting this whole time."

"Yup."

"I had to run back and forth like an idiot until I almost passed out, and you just sat there and let me."

"You're cute when you run ;)"

"You are the worst, Bennet."

"You like it, Stilinski."

"Seriously rethinking that decision."

"Let me know what you decide."