Eye of the Hurricane ▸ Scott McCall (2)

xi. THE FIRST SHOT

xi. THE FIRST SHOT

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        "Ou, allez vous."

        "Ou, allez vous," Foster mumbles half heartily, her eyes slowly drooping shut as her cheek rests against her hand.

        If there was one word to describe Foster, it is most definitely tired. After spending her whole entire night running around Beacon Hills in order to discover that this town has taken death to an all new level, Foster is one terribly sleep deprived teenage girl. 

        In all honesty, she wishes that she could be sleep deprived for normal things such as staying up late doing homework, not hanging out in a morgue and finding dead bodies by the community pool. She's not going to lie, seeing a boy's throat ripped out was not the highlight of her night. She was for certain that the image was going to be scared into her brain forever.

        "Je vais chez moi."

        The moment her french teacher, Morrell, speaks this, Foster's elbow begins to slowly slide off of the table, the blonde burying her head into her arms before shutting her eyes. She shifts around a bit, trying to get comfortable. It's not like French was an important class and besides, her teachers was one jacked up psycho. Apparently she's the one who created a mountain ash seal around Boyd, Cora, Scott, and Derek in order to create the werewolf Colosseum. If that doesn't ring any warning bells then Foster's has absolutely no idea what does.

        It didn't take long for the girl to fall into a heavy sleep. She was so tired that it only took a matter of seconds to be knocked out for good. In all honesty, the bell could ring and she wouldn't even hear it at this point.

        "Mademoiselle?" Morrell's voice sounds, Foster letting out a soft grumble before snuggling back into her arms. "Mademoiselle Foster?"

        "Five more minutes," Foster mumbles incoherently, waving her hand dismissively at Morrell.

        "Foster!" 

        Foster's head snaps up, the tall, lanky blue eyed boy from the beginning of her sophomore year standing in front of her. In fact, it was the creep who was practically petting her face while she waited to talk to Ms. Morrell.

        Foster's eyes were wide with fear, the girl jumping which causes her classmates all around to let out soft chuckles. Soon enough, the image of him glitches and it was Marin Morrell standing in front of her once again.

        "Tu es fatigue?" Morrell questions the girl, Foster positioning herself uncomfortably due to the stares on her.

        "Um - sorry," Foster mumbles, the bell soon ringing throughout the classroom.

        Foster gathers her items, grabbing her bag and looping it onto her shoulder.

        "A word, please, Foster," Morrell states, Foster slowly recoiling back into her chair as Morrell slides into the one placed in front of her.

        She turns her body so she's facing the teenage girl seated behind her, smiling softly. Foster, on the other hand, has a hard glare set in on her face. This is the woman who could have easily killed Scott last night. Foster was forever grateful that he managed to escape. She had absolutely no idea what she'd do if something happened to him.

        "You're starting to concern me, Foster," Morrell comments, Foster scoffing at her words. "Maybe we should start chatting in the guidance office again."