my personal devil in prada // lydia martin

A disturbingly familiar encounter involving shovels and corpses.

The weekend had been very uneventful; I'd spent the majority of the time doing homework because something tells me with Scott's little predicament – for lack of better word – that my chances of being a normal teenager are going to be few and far between so I figured it's best to enjoy them while I still can.

Jody had also called to check in. It was mainly questions like 'How is school?' 'You making friends?' and the absolute kicker, 'Nothing paranormal happening, right?'. Yeah, I may have totally lied my ass off answering that last question. Will I regret keeping the truth from her when she inevitably finds out and kicks my ass? Definitely. But that's a future-Charlie problem.

The current-Charlie is now facing the problem of staying awake through chemistry with the total fuckwad that is Mr. Harris so I can get to practice on time. Because if I fall asleep he'll spend the whole time berating me, and I'll be late. And then Coach will berate me, and I'll be straight-up not having a good time.

Thankfully, the bell rings and I almost cry at the relief of being able to bolt out of the hellish room. Quickly grabbing my kit I go into the girls' locker room, which is – once again – totally empty. Yes, privacy is nice but not when it feels creepy.

After getting changed, I sneak into the boys' locker room to talk to Scott to see how the apologising to Allison thing went. I assume it went terribly, since even I – an impulsive liar trained to lie about the supernatural since birth – couldn't come up with a decent excuse for the whole 'sorry I ditched you at the party on Friday, I just turned into a werewolf and ran half-naked through the forest when I got shot by hunters with a crossbow. So, how's tomorrow for a rain-check?'

It seems I was just in time as Scott trudges into the locker room the exact same time as me, face drooping with an utterly forlorn expression.

"Did it not go well with Allison?" I asked. Scott emitted a groan in response as he cast down his bag.

"Hey, Scott. You alright?" He still didn't respond and just started to rip off his padding followed by his shirt. He leaned against the lockers and looked absolutely spaced out. Poor guy – probably just lost his only high school girlfriend. Maybe his only girlfriend ever.

Stiles passes by us, "How did it go?"

"Hell if I know." I shrug.

"Did you apologise to Allison?" he tries.

"Yeah," Scott replies vacantly. Well, at least he's actually responding now. That's helpful. Trying my luck, I ask,

"Is she giving you a second chance or–"

"Yeah." Then why did he look like he just caught his mom screwing the pool boy?

"Yeah! All right. So everything's good." Stiles fist-pumped.

"No."

"No?"

"Remember the hunters? Her dad is one of them," Scott answers, fear in his voice. And then it hits me. Right in the fucking face because I was so fucking stupid before. Allison Argent. Argent. Argent as in the prestigious hunting family. The barbaric clan who would most likely kill Scott, and then me and Stiles just for being around him. Oh, we are so unbelievably fucked. Fucked and dead.

"Her dad?" Stiles echoes.

"Shot me..." Scott continues.

"Allison's father?"

"... with a crossbow."

"Allison's father-" Stiles repeated for the umpteenth time.

"Yes! Her father!" Scott exclaimed.