Just me, Lydia.

En Garde

I rummage through my purse. My 'glossy-touch lip shine' has grown legs and trotted away along with my car keys. "Just great." I mumble under my breath. "Mr. Harris," my hand shoots up, "may I be excused for just one moment?" I pop my lips, trying to spread my coconut lip balm into the corners of my mouth.

"Fine." I stand up and walk into the hall. The jocks stand there in a clump, laughing and showing off their "skills", which involve kissing a basketball and seeing who's pinky is the longest.

"Alright. Which one of you little twerps stole my lip gloss and keys?" I put my hands on my hips and tap my 4 inch heel on the floor to get their attention.

Their heads turn to me in one swift motion. Almost half of them whistle, and all of them eye me up and down. The boy in the front lifts up the keys and shakes them above his head. Another boy turns his basketball around to show a painted on face, made by the one and only lip luster I cherished so well. "Give it back."

A few of them laugh while others grin sheepishly. "You'll have to play for it, Martin." He practically chucks the ball at me and it hits my chest while I catch it. "Show us what you've got."

I try to scurry past them and snatch my belongings but they stop and trap me in their crowd. "C'mon, you can at least try." They shove me back and my left stiletto breaks. I sigh and growl.

"Let go of her, you brutal wretch---es!" I squeeze my eyes shut and bite back a laugh.

"Ah. Look, it's Biles Bilinski. The boy with no mother!" I almost tense up at their comment. No one should say anything like that.

Stiles fake scoffs. "En garde!" He points his 'dueling sword' and the crowd and I look up at him. His chocolate yes and delicate quiff decorate his face perfectly. Oh, and don't forget the moles that dot his cheeks. "What? You afraid to fight me?"

They laugh. "No. Absolutely not." A punch is thrown, just like that. Stiles throws himself back but recovers quickly and silently.

"You'll have to try harder than tha-" The boy in the front tackles him to the floor and Stiles flails backwards, weak and slightly afraid.

"Stop it! Get off of him!" I try to push my way through the crowd but it's worthless. A stampede of students and a teacher stumbles towards us.

"Mr. Lenthley! Get off of Stilinski immediately!" He shoves me away and helps Stiles to his feet. Popped blood vessels start to show on his face and he dabs his bloody lip on his flannel.

"That didn't work as well as I had anticipated." I grab my lip gloss from the boy's pocket and snatch my keys from the floor. Momentarily, I think about thanking Stiles. But maybe I shouldn't. I can't break the code.

1. Don't talk to Stiles Stilinski.