Teen Wolf Imagines

Number 22//Stiles

***Taken from (@all-alone-he turns-to-stone) on Tumblr***

You were scared. Some fears and insecurities. A normal thing, considered that you had never played on a field, with a real team. You trained hard, shoot, catch, run, but it was quite different on the field. There would be the other team.
And Lacrosse was known to be a rather violent and dangerous sport.
Ah, and you were a girl, slight detail. Okay, it was a fear, being refused in the team because girls are known to be weak and blah blah. But not you. And then, Lacrosse was a mixed sport, so you had nothing to fear. And you really wanted to play, you trained hard for that.
Luckily, all the candidates had to wear helmets during the tests and would be named by the number on their designated jersey. Your number was 22. So nobody would know that under the mask and the too big jersey was the frail body of a girl that everyone would considered weak and go gently with you out of fear of breaking you in half. And you didn't want any special treatment.
So it was the big moment and all the players circled the coach who was doing one of his classical speeches. If you wanted to be part of the team, you would have to stand out, show everything you had in your bellies, give everything without fear of tomorrow. Something like that, something no one really gets, well except for Greenburg. Then coach whistled to announce the start of the training that would determine whether or not you were going to join the Lacrosse team.
First test: the race. Your worst enemy. Everybody had to run several laps as quickly as possible. But if you had a defect, it was the cardio... You run fast yes, but only for short distances. So the first test was a lamentable failure to which you finish before last, just before the number 24 which crashed on the ground as soon as the coach had whistled. Besides, the coach gave him a desperate look before turning to you.
"Thought you were better, number 22. I'm disapointed."
You felt a rage boiling in your veins. You were not letting that pass, oh no! Do better? Just wait for it.
Second test: push ups. Do as much as possible for one minute. While you were in position, waiting for the whistle, more motivated than ever, you heard your neighbor the number 24 talking with number 11.
"I finished last, no chance of being in the team. At least I won't be the only one to stay on the bench," he mumbled non-subtly, nodding in your direction. He was talking about you.
Oh dear. The fury of victory intensified and you felt your muscles filled with energy. You were going to show him what you were capable of!
When the whistle sounded in the air, you were ready. Your mind was concentrated and your body was full of energy.
You didn't break any records. You even fell to a low rank. But you had beaten number 24 and even other people. You had done more push ups than some boys and you were very proud of it. But was that enough?
The other tests, you did them without problems. Throwing the ball in the goal by avoiding the defense was easy. You were agile and fast in short distances, so you passed them without problems. And aiming was your secret talent, so the ball easily went into the goal and the goalie never got the time to react.
Making passes was just as easy. Aiming, passing, catching, running, avoiding defense, aiming, shooting, scoring, being applauded by the few people in the bleachers.
Your lungs were burning and you liked it. The sensation of giving everything you got was perfect. And you knew you were making a difference. It was while you took a short break on the bench that you captured a conversation, again number 24 and number 11.
"I don't like him. Number 22. Must be some werecheetah. "
"You said that with Liam and... "
"Please, do not remind me."
"It could be a good thing to have him on the team."
"Scott, please don't say a word. Stop talking. You're not my friend anymore."
"What about best friend? Dude, come on! "
You couldn't help smiling, even though some of their words were unknown to your vocabulary. Then the coach whistled.
"Number 22, in goal!"
Catch the bullets that darken like arrows towards you? Child's play. Once again your agility allowed you to be good.
But your confidence dropped at that moment because on 24 balls, you only catch 11. A poor result for you. You had doubts about successfully integrating the team.
You sighed, scratching your neck and looking around. Number 24 kept looking at you, as if he was trying to guess what was under your helmet. He was so concentrated on you that he never saw the ball that he received brutally on the helmet and fell backwards.
"Stilinski, stay focused, take the example of number 22!"
You had already made an enemy, seeing the facial expression that he adopted after he removed his helmet to stare at you.
Too bad, he was pretty cute.
The rest of the training went well. You got caught some time, fell to the ground, missed balls. So you came to think that you weren't up to it and that you would never join the team, but the thought of giving up never crossed your mind. You tried harder and harder each time you got up from the ground.
Then the last whistle sounded in the air, announcing the end of the training. All the students, including you, put themselves all around the coach who began another one of his speeches that still had no meaning.
"You played well," he smirked before dropping his smile and raising his tone, "no, you were awful! You made mistakes, my grandmother would have done better and she's dead! However..."
Everyone held their breath.
"Despite your lack of talent, many of you have earned the privilege of playing the next game on the first line. You're better honoring this privilege."
Then the coach turned to you. He pointed at you several times, looking at all the others to attract their attention, just to make you feel at ease and smile.
"You are agile, precise and fast, and above all, you never gave up. Despite your mistakes and the blows you took, you always raised and continued harder each time. It's this boy you should all take as an example, you weakers! Welcome to the team, young man. "
"Hum coach," you started, cutting off his speech and everyone turned to you, surprised to hear your not at all masculine voice.
"I'm not a boy," you confessed, pulling out your helmet to show your face.
Obviously it was a surprise for everyone. You saw number 24, the so-called Stilinski, pulling out his helmet, revealing his expression bewildered by surprise. He advanced towards you and asked a question so strange and not related to the subject of the moment that you hesitated between bursting with laughter, blushing or get a little scared.
"Are you free on Saturday?"