Desperate Measures (Teen Wolf) [UNDER CONSTRUCTION]

01 |

"Wear the grey dress with the black, leather jacket and pair it with a pair of your black, heeled boots." Lydia mused from the other end of the phone.

I raised a brow at the grey dress I had laid out on my bed. "For the first day?" I asked her. "Don't you think that's a little too much?"

"Never," She responded, most likely grinning. "We have to show everyone that we still run the school, so looking a little dressed up is always the way to go."

A grin slid on my face as I listened to my best friend explain her theory. To be honest, I didn't nearly care as much as she did about being popular or running the school. Of course, everyone in Beacon Hills High School knew Lydia Martin and Jackson Whittemore had the entire student body wrapped around their fingers. I simply had the pleasure of sharing that experience with them since I've been friends with Lydia since kindergarten.

"Do you need me to pick you up in the morning?" Lydia changed the topic slightly. Her tone turned to an exasperated sigh as she added, "And please don't say you are riding--"

"Scott's giving me a ride," I stated before she could finish what she was saying.

Another sigh came from her end. She was annoyed I brought up my twin brother Scott. Lydia never liked him, mainly because he wasn't popular in any way, except being related to me.

"You do know I have a car, right?" Lydia reminded me, as if I could forget the beautiful car her parents bought her when she turned sixteen. "You don't have to ride on the handle bars of your brother's bike. We have a reputation to uphold, Ellie, and you continue to ruin it with that damn bike."

"It doesn't make sense for you to drive all the way to my house to drive us to school when my brother is already heading that way," I explained. I picked up the hanger of the grey dress and hooked it on the handle of my closet. "Besides, I don't care about my reputation. That's all you."

Lydia exhaled, slightly annoyed by my choices. "Fine."

Suddenly, a creaking noise sounded from downstairs. I slowly turned toward my open door, eyes squinting through the dimly lit hallway. It was pretty late at night, which meant no one should be wandering around downstairs, unless Scott got a little hungry for a midnight snack. Mom was working her usual night shift at the hospital, so I knew it wasn't her.

The noise repeated itself. I walked over to the baseball bat I keep beside my bed and rest it on my shoulder. Scott was usually too noisily when he was in the kitchen. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I dialed 911 and slide it in my pocket, ready to press the 'call' button if it turned out to be an intruder.

Beacon Hills was a place that was rather safe, but my friend Stiles often told me stories of the criminals that passed through his dad's sheriff station. I knew better than to ignore some weird sound. I crept out of my bedroom, growing a little more freaked out when I saw my brother's door was shut. Scott was most likely already asleep. He did say earlier that he had lacrosse practice in the morning.

After several horror movies marathons, I knew better than to shout out if anyone was there. I, also, knew what a bad idea it was to investigate a noise by yourself, yet here I was, sneaking down the stairs, following the faint noise. The noise seemed to be coming from the roof, which meant I would have to go out on the front porch to find out what it was.

I unlocked the front door and slipped out on the porch, bat held in both hands, prepared to swing at the first thing I saw. I tried out for softball when I was ten. I knew how to swing a bat. The creaking noise continued from above my head. I raised the bat and moved closer to the railing.