The Absence of Truth | S. Stilinski

V. |eavesdropping

V. | eavesdropping 

                    THE NEXT MORNNG, Presley and I walked into school together. Instead of splitting up like we did the day before, I gloomily followed him down to the school's basement, where the locker rooms where located. "And you're sure you didn't tell her that I ran away?" I asked for what was probably the fourth time.

He sighed and glanced at me as we came to a stop in front of the boy's locker room. "I can promise on my life that I told her exactly what you told me. She's still our mom, though. She knows you well enough to catch a lie." He pointed to the end of the hallway where a door was propped open with a block of worn wood, letting in the cool morning air. "The bleachers are that way. Go wait out there while the team gets ready."

I fake saluted him. "Sir, yes, sir!"

Then I spun on my heel and walked out to the surprisingly crowded bleachers. There were plenty of places for me to sit, but way more bodies than I had expected. Usually students weren't as invested in sports. At the other schools I'd attended, morning practices where always empty. It was just one more thing that made Beacon Hills more interesting.

When I found a seat away from the group of lacrosse fans, I pulled a notebook out of my backpack and flipped to an empty page. Up at the top in bold letters I wrote Theories, being careful to keep it hidden from the kids wandering around behind the bleachers. Ever since I escaped Mom's confusing anger last night, all I could think about was the man I saw in the back of the ambulance.

"Did you hear that Lydia Martin was back at school?" Some girl said to her friend in a loud whisper. Heads swiveled and caught on to the conversation, which quickly faded into something about a new lipstick shade that was released.

I sighed and looked at the notebook again. Of course the ambulance had been weird, but Lydia Martin showing up in the middle of nowhere was the cherry on top. Not to mention the attitude Stiles adopted as he was taking me home. He was as bouncy as ever, but he didn't seem too surprised about the whole thing in general. It made me wonder if he had anything to do with it.

The team jogged out onto the field as I wrote down 'What does Stiles have to do with this?' and 'Where did Scott go when he ran off into the woods last night?' At a second glance, I messily scribbled out Theories and wrote down Questions. I didn't think I'd be getting answers anytime soon.

Coach What's-his-face called out for the players to start practice. I saw Scott run over to the goal as the team simultaneously put on their lacrosse helmets. Every player except for Scott and another defender lined up and stood in a game stance, opposing the goal that Scott was protecting. Coach blew his whistle and tossed the ball towards the player first in line.

He caught it easily and began his descent on the goal. In a flash, Scott had abandoned his position, sped passed the unnamed defender, shouldered the kid to the ground, and made a show of helping him up. Coach yelled something that I couldn't hear from the top of the bleachers, but Scott nodded and moved back to the goal.

The whistle blew and the second player was off. He made it closer to the goal than the last kid, but was barreled down by Scott, who'd left the goal again. The defender threw his arms up in confusion and Coach seemed to make some kind of threat. When Scott made it back to the goal a third time, I noticed that Presley was up next.

I gathered my things and moved closer to the field, ready to make a move if Scott put my brother on the ground. Sure enough, when the whistle blew, Scott sidestepped the defender and rushed Presley, locking his shoulder low and flipping him onto his back. Presley hit hard and I had to hold myself back from running onto the field. Seconds clicked by and he still didn't move.