The next three days of the week seemed to be the exact same for Stiles, make it through each lesson without falling asleep, go to lacrosse practise at lunch and go back to the treehouse after school.
When friday came he was glad that he had made it to the end of another week. First break had just finished and he was walking to his class when he heard someone call out his name. Was that... Lydia? no no, it couldn't of been- she doesn't even know who I am. But when he turned his head he saw the beautiful red head making her way towards him, bearing a smile on her face.
" Lydia?! Hey uhm... I thought you didn't know me, how do you know my name?" Stiles asked, in complete and utter shock.
"Don't be stupid!" Lydia remarked. "you're in my history class, of course I know your name"
"Well, most people still don't notice me, even if I'm in every single one of their classes" Stiles admitted , embarrassedly.
"Well," Lydia started, smiling from ear to ear, "I've definitely noticed you, Stilinski."
She carried on to ask Stiles if he could show her the way to their second history class, which he did, of course, making small talk along the way.
" So, Miss Martin. what brings you to Beacon Hills?" Stiles questioned, hoping she didn't find it weird that he called her 'Miss Martin.'
" My parents got divorced, and i decided to stay with my dad. He decided to move here so I guess this is where I am too, Its quite a nice place though." Lydia carried on telling Stiles more of the ins and outs of her parents divorce, but he couldn't quite pay full attention- he was still shocked that Lydia knew who he was and had actually taken interest in talking to him.
When they got to their class he was pretty disappointed that he had to stop talking to her.
" See ya around, Stilinski." Lydia said, just before walking off to go sit at the back of the class.
God, he could get used to her calling him that.
YOU ARE READING
The Treehouse ( A Stydia fan fiction )
أدب الهواةStiles Stilinski, a young painter, falls in love with new girl Lydia Martin the moment she walked into his history class. He fell in love with her eyes first, they glistened like he'd never seen before. He started painting her, writing about her, he...
