Right Beside You | Stiles Stilinski | Two

16 - Drowning

It was both a blessing and a curse that the Beacon Hills Cyclones were one of the best lacrosse teams in the state. They'd won three championships in a row, which gave the town a little claim to fame—beyond gruesome murders—and rallied a proud spirit in every student, parent, and teacher alike. Which would've been sweet if it weren't for the downside: every lacrosse game was packed. It almost always felt as if the entire town had shown up. That meant there was no parking, hardly any seats, and it was nearly impossible to move without bumping into someone who'd come to support one team or the other.

I was already on edge, and the crowd wasn't making me feel any better. The only upside was that they would be loud, obnoxious, and distracting. It was our best chance to steal a seasoned hunter's keys, break into his office, obtain top secret information, and get out without getting ourselves executed. Really, it was our only chance.

I had to elbow my way through an endless stream of people to fight my way to the bench. The game was only a few minutes away from starting, and most of the players were already padded up and heading for their first pre-game huddle. Luckily, the person I was looking for wasn't on first line, or even in uniform.

"Scarlett! Geez, there you are!" Stiles leapt over the bench when he saw me. He grabbed my hand and pulled me closer to the field, out of the way of the spectators who were still filing into the stands. "Are you okay? The game literally starts in like sixty seconds. What held you up?"

"Lydia," I sighed, wrapping my arms around my torso to fend off the breeze. "I tried to get her to come out and get some air, but she's pretty determined. She didn't want to deal with the crowds or having to see Jackson, so she wouldn't drive me. Mom went out shopping because she thought Lydia was driving me, and basically we're all just really lucky that Mrs. McCall was running a little late too. What are you wearing?"

Stiles raised his eyebrows, glancing down at his attire and back at me. "It's a track suit. I thought that was pretty clear."

"And you play lacrosse, Stiles. I thought that was pretty clear. Or did you think the lacrosse sticks were with the pole vault equipment?"

"Funny," he grumbled, making me smirk. "Well, I'm sure as hell not playing today, so why bother?"

"You could still play. If everything goes well, you'll be in and out of the school with the book in a couple minutes. That's plenty of time for some key players to get injured and give you time to shine."

"Yeah, that's if everything goes well, which happens approximately zero percent of the time. Besides, I'm the last person Coach would put on the field. He hasn't even noticed I'm not in my gear. He doesn't care."

We turned to glare at Coach Finstock out on the grass. He was screaming his lungs out, as usual, huddled in the middle of the first line players. I frowned, grabbing Stiles's face and forcing him to look at me.

"Stiles, this is Finstock we're talking about. So what if he doesn't believe you're going out there? This is the same guy who thinks athlete's foot is God's way of rewarding team players and not an excusable medical condition."

Stiles snorted and ducked his head, nodding into my hands. "Valid. Still unlikely, though."

"Okay. Do you want me to tell Scott to break Jackson's arm? I think he'd do it if I asked nicely enough. Jackson would be in pain, you could be on the field—it's a win for everyone."

"Thanks, but uh, not in front of Gerard," he chuckled, finally lifting his head to meet my eye. He gave me a small smile, but it slowly slipped away the more he thought it over. "You really think we're gonna be able to pull this off?"

"Of course I do. I believe in you."

I smiled as I ran a thumb over his cheek, but Stiles just stared at me for a few seconds. Before he could say anything, a whistle blew in the distance, and the crowd roared in anticipation of the game.