"STILES!" He just wanted to check the mail but Lydia was squealing and running towards him with a paper in hand. She skidded to a stop on the grass between their houses. "If I jump on you will you catch me?" She questions. With a sigh, he opens his arms and she continues her squeal before clinging to him like a koala, legs around his waist and arms around his back. He didn't know what she was so excited about but laughed in her ear anyway, the rumbling in his chest sending vibrations through her own ribs.
"I got a letter from Yale!" She screamed. "What?! Open it! Open it!" He encouraged. She agreed and leaned back but still close enough to him so she didn't fall over. With shaky hands, the letter was ripped open. She read. The smile slowly fell from her face and he legs loosens around him causing the boy to gently set her on the ground.
He didn't need her to tell him. "I'm sorry..." He murmured and pulled her into a hug. She squeezed him tight and let out a sob against the soft cotton of his shirt. Immediately he pulled her away to wipe up her tears. "Hey! Hey, there are plenty of other colleges. Hell you can even apply to Yale again." She nodded but was still crying. "Someone will take you, you're so fucking smart Lydia. Okay?"
She attempted to smile and nod again and almost managed it until bursting into tears once more. Her head flopped against his chest and by now he was kind of confused. No way could she be crying just over this one college, it wasn't even her go-to, it was a backup. "You never call me 'Lydia'!" She babbled. "And Drew is on the lacrosse team!" The words were barely distinguishable between her chocking on large gulps of air. Stiles sighed and rolled his eyes, bringing the girl back into his arms while making a mental note to beat the freshman's ass for whatever he had done. |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
"I shouldn't be in public, I'm not wearing makeup and I was just bawling my eyes out in your jeep." Lydia sniffles as if to prove her point. Stiles told her nonsense before adding the second shot of espresso to her cup and setting it on the counter in front of her. There's always a safe haven; a little coffee shop where skin was always tan from the summer and college wasn't happening next year but rather years from now. The cup was still warm and she knew if she tried to drink it, it would burn her tongue. After deciding she was a rebel, she took a sip.
Stiles sighed and took a seat on a stool behind the counter, continuing to sketch where he had left off in his book. She smiled at the freckles of purple paint staining his skin from the day before, eyes chasing after his pencil on the paper. "I like it." She mumbled, the drawing of a woman she'd never seen before. He thanked her with a blush. She stretched out her arm against the length of the paper. "Think it would tattoo on my hand well?"
The boy chuckled with pearly teeth and a shrug that meant it was nothing though everything to her. He pushed the notebook aside and took her hand in his instead, a sharpie appearing from seemingly nowhere. He tucked the cap between his lips before beginning his design on her skin. "And I like that shirt. You look hot in it; lots of muscle."
His cheeks heated up. "I'll make a mental note of it." And it's not that he liked her but she was so comfortable calling him hot or sexy but every time he'd done the same to her, he was either drunk or stoned. He would being lying if he said he wasn't jealous of her confidence. With a smile, he capped the marker again and allowed her to examine his work.
Her brows furrowed as she tried to decipher the four little lines on her skin. It looked kind of like a parenthesis with three sunshine rays sticking protruding from it. She liked the way the ink looked against her skin, a little touch of him on the back of her hand. "What is it?" She asked. Stiles shrugs and walks down to the opposite end of the counter where a girl wait for her order to be taken. Lydia sighed, tracing his ink with the tip of her finger. Wait a second. Did she just hear him laugh?
She whipped her head in the cash registers direction so fast she was sure it would fall off and sure enough, Stiles was grinning and blushing. The customer was fairly pretty, she noted. Midnight black, long, slightly curled hair and darkish tan skin that made her look absolutely stunning. She had curves that instantly made Lydia's mind scream sexy Latina, not that she meant to stereotype. Stiles rubbed the back of his neck and chucked a thumb over his shoulder while saying something Lydia couldn't really hear but Miss Pageant Queen nodded and laughed. It was a cute little giggle that suddenly made Lydia self conscious of her involuntary snort.
In fact, almost everything about this girl made her just a little self conscious. Latina wore a dress that hugged her body very nicely, some heels that weren't entirely uncomfortable looking but obviously expensive, hair that fell seemingly perfect, not to mention the perfect wing on her eyeliner. Lydia, on the other hand, was wearing athletic shorts when she probably shouldn't have been (to be honest she was a bit prickly), one of Stiles' overly sized hoodies and some flip flops. Her eyes were red and sore from crying and her hair had been the result of a messy bun and the windows rolled down on the way over here.
Stiles returned with the girls coffee and of course she had to pull out an Amex proving that she was probably Daddy's daughter. They smiled simultaneously and Lydia could almost see the perspiration on his forehead as he returned to her with the girls receipt in hand. He sighed, looked at it then back to where she'd been standing, then back to it, then nervously to Lydia. He tore it in half and cleared his throat, pretending like nothing had happened as he sat down on his stool.
"She give you her number?" "Nope." He responded immediately and with no hesitation, continuing to sketch. Lydia narrowed her eyes and went on into a huge monologue about why it wasn't a big deal that and attractive girl gave him her number and how maybe it was a good thing and he should call her. "You need to get over Malia." "I'm over her!" He responded in the tone a whiny teen would use on their mother. Hell he didn't even believe himself. ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||| Authors note:
Stydia:
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