Together We Fall

Chapter One: Cynthia Arden

**Chapter One: Cynthia Arden**

"Oh, you'll love it. Oh, it will be one of the greatest experiences ever. Oh, you have to!"

I didn't want to move here. I didn't want to move period. And let me tell you, those people who said all of those motivational things, they were lying. I stepped out of my car and had yet to feel the joy. All I got was a bunch of lost friends, a crapload of boxes, and enough supernatural smells to clog my nose for weeks. Not fun.

I looked over to my left, where the neighbor boy was. He looked to be my age, and he was kind of staring at me. Not in a super creepy way, but like he was spaced out. I waved at him, that seemed to knock him out of his trance, and he blushed in embarrassment. Once he got over that, he ran over to me.

"Hi, do you want help with those boxes?" I accepted his offer, because I had like, a kajillion boxes. Seriously.

In the house he said, "Hi, my name is Stiles. Stiles Stilinski."

I took a moment to examine the boy. He was a bit taller than me, and had brown eyes and hair. He had a lot of moles, and seemed to be really jittery. I mean, he was standing in my house - just standing - and he was nearly bouncing up and down repeatedly. It was kind of funny, kind of annoying. Admittedly, at times I'm not much better.

"I'm Cynthia."

"Wow! You're like the first person not to immediately ask whether or not that is actually my real name!"

"Is it?"

"Well, no, but my real name is a secret from pretty much everybody, and it's extremely hard to pronounce."

We dropped the first set of boxes down, and on the way back I to my new home, Stiles decided to bombard me with questions.

"Where are you from? Why did you want to come in your junior year? Do you know anybody else? Am I your first friend here? I am, aren't I? I feel so special now!!"

"Tawas, Michigan. I didn't. I don't. Yes, yes indeed," I replied to all his questions, and then in a gameshow-host-like voice," But wait, there's more..."

Stiles seemed to get continually more worried as I smirked at him. He finally just went, "Well, what is it?"

"Nobody can just automatically just become my friend. There has to be an initiation."

"I'm not so sure we can be friends, anymore. I know a lot of people though; they would really like you. You could go through with this initiation ritual with them."

"Trust me Stiles. We have to get a box, though. A large box preferrably. Why don't we grab one on the next trip out?"

"I know this girl, her name is Lydia. You would get along with her really well. You would also get along really well with Scott."

"Just trust me Stiles."

And fifteen minutes later, we were going down my flight of stairs in an Ikea box. The chair that went with it was in pieces still in the living room. Stiles had insisted that we put it together first, but I told him not to worry about it.

He was actually really enjoying it. He was all acting like it was a rollercoaster, putting his hands in the air as we went down, and yelling at the top of his lungs. I would have been surprised if his father hadn't heard us and thought I was murdering him. I was laughing hysterically at the boy, his arms flailing.

He raced back to the top of the stairs, and handed me the box. At this point it was getting worn out, we were using it so much.

"Get in!" Stiles exclaimed, adrenaline in his voice.