Somewhere amidst bloodthirsty werewolves and vengeful hunters, Carson Bradley did the one thing she thought she never would: she fell for her best friend.
(season 1, book 1)
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CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE THE HALE PLOT TWIST
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"How much longer is this going to take?" I groaned from Stiles' bed.
Danny was still bent over Stiles' lap top, typing and opening up new windows every five seconds. Stiles was behind him and keeping a leisurely pace from end of the room to another. Derek was still reading my chemistry text book.
He had finally found a shirt that fit him. It was one that Stiles never wore mainly because Scott gave it to him. It wasn't that it was an ugly shirt or anything, but it was like three sizes too big for Stiles. Scott had a knack for being the worst gift giver ever.
"Someone's impatient," Danny muttered, tapping another few keys.
Stiles nodded. "Pretty much."
"Says the guy pacing," I retorted. I looked at Danny. "I though you said you knew how to do this."
"I do," he sighed. "It just takes some—got it."
I shot up like a bullet, holding myself up of the heels of my hands. Stiles, Miguel, and I locked gazes before scrambling over to the computer.
"See, it was sent from a computer," Danny said, sitting back. He looked extremely confused as to why we ran to the computer like someone had lit a fire under our asses.
I took one look at the screen and my eyes widened to the size of bowling balls. I rubbed them a few times. I had to be seeing things. That wasn't real. Maybe I was developing dyslexia. There was no way the letters were in that order.
"Registered to that account name?" Derek asked. He had to being what I was. Maybe we were both hallucinating?
"No, no, no," Stiles said, leaning away from the screen. "That can't be right."
"That's it," Danny repeated, tapping the name for emphasis.
Stiles and I looked at each other, then back at the computer. There had to be a mistake.
Because the name written in bold red text said Melissa McCall.
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"Where the hell are you guys?" Scott yelled the second I answered the phone.
I sat in the darkness of Stiles backseat. The aforementioned car owner and his 'cousin' (I'm seriously never letting that joke go) were looking back at me.
"We got a little caught up," I said, knowing it wasn't a good idea to tell him about the text.
"Well, did you get the picture I sent?" Scott asked me.
"Yeah, we did. It looks just like the picture," I told him.
And then Derek so rudely yanked the phone from my grip. "Is there anything on the back?"
