"please, just let me help you"
"why should i? everyone i know either dies or thinks i'm a total freak show"
Georgia Ray is a social outcast. Nobody bothers to spare her a second glance, unless it's to roll their eyes or scoff. Living alone w...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
AT TWO IN THE morning, Georgia Ray was still wide awake as she sat in her now clean room. She was on her bed, surrounded by school papers and cradling a jar of pickles in her lap. Georgia was determined to get caught up on all her homework and was debating begging them all to accept some late work.
Except for Mr Harris, Georgia knew that mean bastard wouldn't take it.
Georgia was currently reading a chapter of "Night" by Elie Wiesel and answering comprehension questions for English. She actually didn't mind the book and found it interesting. Plus, the questions were easy. Georgia regretted not just doing it when assigned. Her feet held the book open while one hand was holding a pencil and the other was feeding herself some pickle chips on a fork.
That was until she heard a knock at her window.
Georgia yelped, nearly flinging pickles across the room. She dropped the fork into the jar and stood up, setting the whole thing down on her desk. Georgia quickly grabbed her taser out from under her pillow, squinting at her window.
"Charlie, if that's you, I will seriously tase your ass," she whispered aggressively to the figure stood outside her trailed. Charlie lived in the same area as her and constantly harassed Georgia.
"It's Stiles," the boy huddled outside called back. Georgia let out a sigh of relief, turning off her taser and setting it aside. She opened the window before pulling the screen part out, allowing Stiles to awkwardly climb through. He barely fit.
"What are you doing here?" Georgia asked quietly, not wanting to wake up Nate. She turned on her fan nearby too in hopes of drowning out their talking.
"You weren't responding to my texts," Stiles explained.
"Nathaniel took my phone," Georgia decided to use Nate's full name and a posh accent.
"Why does it smell like pickles?" Stiles was briefly sidetracked before he saw the jar, "Nevermind—my dad told me about what happened at the school."
Georgia crossed her arms over the old lacrosse jersey she wore, "It was psycho. That poor little mountain lion was murdered by Daddy Argent."
Stiles shook his head, "Yeah, but I meant you pushing my dad out of the way and getting hit by the car."
"It more just booty bumped me," Georgia lifted up the side of her jersey to reveal a large bruise on her hip, the bottom of it disappearing beneath her spandex shorts.
Stiles reached out and stroked his thumb over it, glad that she seemed okay. Noticing the scabs on her hands, he delicately grabbed them to further examine.
"It doesn't look too good," he told her. Georgia shrugged, pulling her hands back.
"I've had way worse—one time Nate literally pushed me down a flight of stairs," Stiles chuckled at her attempt to comfort him. He smiled as he looked down at her, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
