Eye of the Hurricane ▸ Scott McCall (2)

xxi. BACK TO THE START

xxi. BACK TO THE START

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        Foster felt lighter than air, and she didn't understand why, if she was being honest. For the past few days she's been nothing but tired, almost as though she was falling into a coma herself, and everything seemed to set a bomb off in her head. Even a simple 'hi' was enough to make Foster want to scream out an agony.

        But something about today was different, and she was pleased with it. She may not understand why, but she also wasn't going to question it. She needed normalcy back in her life, so she's going to be thankful for even a day of being herself again.

        She was rushing alongside Stiles Stilinski, the two of them trying to make it to Finstock's class before the bell rang. They showed up a bit late, Foster's car wasn't working so Stiles had to take a detour to pick her up. 

        Foster glanced back at Stiles, joking, "Stilinski, could you go any damn slower?"

        "Sorry I'm not up to pace with you," he countered sarcastically, rolling his eyes at the girl.

        She let out a laugh, smiling widely. She took a deep breath, taking in the fact that she felt genuinely happy, shooting a grin in Stiles' direction. "Is it just me or does it actually feel like for once, we might actually be okay? I mean, Stiles, look! There's no bags under my eyes!"

        He chuckled, thinking over her words before nodding his head. "Something does feel different. Like, hey, I can actually read what that bulletin board over there says."

        With an assuring smile, Foster breathes out, "Maybe we have a shot of living normal lives."

        As she spoke, they turned into Finstock's classroom, the bell ringing above them as they searched for their seats. The only problem, though, was that their usual class wasn't in here. Scott wasn't in his seat in the front, Lydia wasn't in the back, and someone even had the audacity to sit in both Foster's and Stiles' seats. 

        With her brows furred, Foster glanced toward Stiles in confusion, the boy looking equally perplexed by the situation. Stiles simply shrugged, making his way up toward the red haired girl in his seat.

        Looking down toward her, Stiles began, "Hey, sorry, uh - I usually sit there."

        Standing behind the Stilinski boy, Foster watched as the girl glanced up toward him, beginning to move her hands in sign language. She held her finger up, allowing her other hand to circle around it before raising her thumb and flicking it under her chin. She then tapped the back of her hands together.

        Raising a brow at him, Foster inquired, "Is she swearing at you in sign language?"

        Stiles rolled his eyes, stating, "Foster, not everything is an insult." Glancing back toward the girl, Stiles states, "No problem, it's all yours."

        Stiles then slide into the seat behind her, Foster shooting him a glare. "Where am I supposed to sit?"

        "I don't know, Foster," Stiles spoke, Foster still glaring at him. "Maybe the floor."

        She rolled her eyes, speaking, "There's a seat in the back."

        "Good work, Foster," he called after her. "Using that keen eye sight of yours."

        Not glancing back at him, she responded, "Shove it, Stilinski."

        Foster was soon enough sliding into the last available chair, glancing around as she waited for Finstock to enter the room. Her eyebrow was raised, though, noticing that everyone's backs were stick straight, almost like a board. Their eyes were unblinking as well, and when she looked up, she saw Finstock in the same manner, staring back and forth from Stiles and Foster with a terrifying look on his face.