I do not own Teen Wolf or any of its characters. I only own Celeste. If I did then I would be creative enough to think of more things to write here.
Song - Girl // Grouplove
Celeste's POV
"It just doesn't add up. What possible reason could they have to lie about car troubles?"
Allison ranted to Celeste as they made their way through the crowded halls of Beacon Hills High, her cheeks still tinted pink with the kiss of the cold that had been given to her minutes ago.
"I don't know Alli," Celeste snapped at her friend without meaning to, for some reason feeling like she was on a very short fuse that had just been lit, "maybe they're secretly sociopathic serial killers who are exceptionally bad at corroborating their stories."
"Hey," Allison blinked at her with doe-eyed concern, "you okay? You look tired."
Celeste could understand why her taller friend had inquired, due to her deathly pale skin – more so than usual – and the thin sheen of sweat glistening ever so subtly on her forehead.
"Yeah," Celeste winced, rubbing at her temple as a meager attempt to lessen the pounding headache she was currently experiencing, "sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you. I'm just feeling a bit under the weather."
If the weather was a torrential hurricane.
"Why don't you go home?" Allison frowned, instinctively pressing a soft hand to Celeste's forehead.
"You know me," Celeste improvised, not necessarily wanting to tell Allison that she was needed in case of large, furry bipedal creature related emergencies, "you couldn't tear me away from school. I just love it so much."
"You think school is a fascist scheme instituted by the government to crush away children's creativity and separate the elite from the rest of society," Allison quoted her verbatim.
"You got me there," Celeste muttered, searching for another excuse.
"Could it be, perhaps, to check on a certain Stiles Stilinski?" Allison offered, mischief dancing across her delicate features.
"What?" Celeste snapped her head to face Allison in a panic, "What happened to Stiles?"
"Nothing," Allison giggled knowingly, "but you just proved my theory."
"Ag, what in the hell are you talking about?" Celeste relaxed, knowing her new friend hadn't been mauled by a werewolf or something.
"That you like Stiles," Allison sang, poking Celeste in the side.
"Dammit Allison," Celeste chastised, batting away the idea immediately, "have you been smoking Meth again?"
"Spare me the denial," Allison rolled her eyes playfully, "and you don't smoke Meth. You inject it with a syringe."
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