Slightly Awkward (Teen Wolf) Book 1

chapter ten---CO-CAPTAIN

I hadn't gotten seriously hurt tonight, but I had some, blood coming from my arms and my forehead and my cheek from the glass window breaking above my head when Derek's uncle had thrown Derek through it, and I was too busy stuck outside, pulling out a piece of glass from my cheek while Scott and Stiles were inside the boys' locker room.

Other than the few scraps, I was fine, but I didn't exactly know how I was gonna explain this to anyone, especially Stiles and my dad, the sheriff.

Would it be believable if I'd said that I had been under bleachers when a glass beer bottle broke and landed on me?

I doubted it.

I kept remembering how Derek had looked at me after he had gone through the window inside of the hospital, landing on the ground while I was ducking for cover underneath the desk so I didn't actually die when his uncle was walking closer, and Derek had used his arms and crawled out of the room without a word, not giving me away while even though I knew he would've heard me, and Derek must have too, but . . . he still tried.

His uncle didn't do anything to me or Stiles, but he had made Scott want to kill us, Jackson, Lydia and Allison. That right there didn't make him my biggest idol. Like, at all, or ever.

After that, I was getting back to the way I used to be, the sarcastic, funny, witty sister of Stiles Stilinski, and he was a big help in doing that, because he was just like me, except more of a clutz.

I stayed home for most of the next day, wanting to bandage what I could, with the skin colored bandages that were invisible against my skin, so you couldn't even tell something was wrong unless you really looked.

I didn't want Dad to freak.

I was getting a Coke from the fridge when Stiles pushed around me to get to the milk, drinking straight from the half-gallon, and starting to walk away, then backed up, looking to Dad in the dining room, the table cluttered with papers and articles and police work. "Whatcha doing?" Stiles asked.

"Work," Dad answered.

"Anything we can help with?"

"You know, if you poured me an ounce of whiskey, that would be awfully nice."

Stiles went to get a glass and the whiskey bottle while I walked closer to Dad, asking, "Any leads?"

"You know I can't discuss that with you," Dad said. "Not too much."

Stiles sat down at the end of the table, while me and Dad sat across from each other, and Stiles was starting to pour the whiskey. "Okay, there you go, Dad."

"Thanks," Dad said, taking the full glass.

"Bottoms up."

Dad drank the whole thing in one sip, and said, "You know, Derek Hale would be a whole hale of a lot--Hale of a lot?"

Yeah, he was already drunk. "Hell of a lot?" I suggested.

"Hell," Dad repeated, nodding, holding up a good thumb. "He would be a hell of a lot easier to catch if we could get an actual picture of him."

"How do you not have a picture?" Stiles asked.

Dad shook his head. "It's the weirdest thing. It's like every time we try to get a mugshot, it's like two--" Stiles took the picture before Dad finished. "Laser beams are pointing at the camera."

I took photo out of Stiles' hands, looking at what Dad had described pretty closely. It was a lot like two laser beams, and they made it impossible to look at the rest of his face. "Nice," I said.