Little Memories ; S. Stilinski ; book 1

[19]

melody

+

The hallway was cramped. Teens were stuffed through the halls, opening and slamming their lockers, so that the only sound I could hear is that of metal smashing against metal in my ears. The smell of breakfast foods, and Victoria Secret's Pure Seduction body spray were trapped in the halls. 

My own appearance different greatly from that of the other girls roaming the halls. I was dressed in a casual pair of sweats, and my old sweater over a casual shirt. I didn't even bother to wear a bra. I was too tired, and too sleepy to put effort into anything any more.

My hair was a mess, too. I didn't have any makeup on. My whole life was disorganized, and it was reflecting out.

I pushed my books into my locker. They were cramped, and I'd probably have a hard time taking them out when I needed them, but I was too stressed to fix them neatly.

A loud thud besides my locker made my anxiety skyrocket. Stiles leaned against the lockers. "Jesus, Stiles give a warning. You scared me."

"Sorry," he said. He cleared his throat. His thumbs ran over his palms. He was nervous. "How are you?"

I sighed, "Tired," I said, "I didn't get any sleep again."

"Still?"

"I've been sleeping more than I was three weeks ago."

"But you're still not sleeping."

I shook my head, "I'm too terrified to sleep."

"It's gonna be fine. You're gonna be fine," he said. He closed my locker for me, "Have you told Scott?"

I groaned, "It's been two weeks," I grunted.

"Two weeks and five days, actually."

+

"Son of a bitch!"

The loud sound of thuds, and bumps, and clatters shifted the entire class' attention to Mr. Finstock's scream.

"What exactly did you guys do?" I asked.

The two boys giggled, "You'll see."

Mr. Finstock came rushing into the classroom. His face flashed hostility, and agitation, "Mischief Night, Devil's Night. I don't care what you call it. You little punks are evil. You think it's funny every Halloween my house gets egged? A man's house is supposed to be his castle. Mine's a frickin' omelet." Finstock roamed the seats in the front with rage. He slammed his hands down onto Scott's desk. Scott and Stiles laughed.

Finstock lifted a small box with one hand, "Oh, this? We're gonna do this again? I don't think so." he tossed the box to the ground. He sent his foot slamming down onto it. Glass broke, and upon opening the box, Finstock lifted a piece of a broken mug in his hands,"'Happy Birthday." "Love, Greenberg."

+

Stiles shoes squeaked as he raced behind his father. He dragged me along with him, his pinky finger firmly grasping my own, "Wait a minute, wait a minute! The William Barrow? The Shrapnel Bomber? Spotted nearby?" 

Mr Stilinski jolted to a stop. His jacket stopped making the same noise that plastic makes when it rubs on another piece of plastic. His hands swayed at his sides. He pointed at Stiles with his palm, "A little closer than nearby, actually."

The sound of my dad's voice rang in my ears even before he came into my view. His footsteps were fast, and he had a whole group of officers and agents surrounding him as he walked. he walked with superiority. He walked with confidence. He walked as if he hadn't tried to get Mr. Stilinski fired two weeks ago. "How do we get down to the basement? I need to know where every entrance is. I don't want anybody coming in or out of the school."