Right Beside You | Stiles Stilinski | Two

6 - Principal Argent

"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.