Aspen Juniper Veata has only ever known Beacon Hills to be a quiet and dainty town. Herself, along with her best friends Scott McCall and Stiles Stilinski, had gone unnoticed by their peers in high school for as long as they could remember. Aspen ha...
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"Veata!"
Aspen and Lydia stopped at the classroom's front door as Finstock stood in front of them, hands planted on his hips. His eyes were crazed as usual, and his overly high octave voice was chippier than usual.
"A word if you will?" he asked, eyeing Lydia and violently nodding to her desk, not so subtly telling her to take a seat. The redhead got the message and simply rolled her eyes. She patted Aspen's shoulder affectionately as a sign of good luck. She strutted to the back seat, Charlie sitting in the chair next to her and sending her a lazy wave. The blonde looked dead beat, and Aspen made a note to check up on her. Even Stiles overtly was stealing glances, and Charlie simply flicked him off to leave her alone.
Aspen followed Finstock to his desk as he took a seat and folded his hands slowly in front of him. "Well, Veata," he cleared his throat, and Aspen looked around, hoping this conversation wouldn't be too embarrassing. But she knew it was inevitable. "It has come to my attention that you've been skipping a few classes, including cross country. What's with that? You're my fastest runner, and you're already skipping out on me. Do I gotta replace you with Greenberg? I rather cut off my left testicle!"
Asen nearly choked, and her face turned red. "W-what--"
"The right, Never! Believe it or not, I have a favorite, and it's not the left. So I would cut it. Surgically, of course, not myself. It's too painful, and I don't care for cross country that much. But come on, I can't have you lagging on me, Veata! Do you want me to lose a testicle or have Greenburg become your replacement?"
Aspen's lips opened and closed like a fish with wide eyes, practically feeling everyone's eyes on the back of their head. She heard some snickers but was quickly shut up by Lydia, Charlie, and Stiles. She couldn't tell which since they all used a colorful set of words.
"Is that a trick question?" Aspen mumbled. She never truly knew with Coach Finstock.
The man fluttered his eyes shut and shrugged. "Who truly knows. I can't control my future. It's in your hands now. Not my testicles! That would be wildly inappropriate." Finstcok shuddered and wrung his hands for safe measure. As if the measure was needed. It just grossed Aspen out more.
"Well, I--" Aspen swallowed thickly, "I hurt my hand some days back, and my house life has been stressful."
"I teach classes full of hormonal teenagers, and my coworker is Mr. Harris. How stressful can your life really be."
"Touche," Aspen shrugged with a jut of her lip. She had to give him that one.
"Fact: Hands aren't necessary for running. Bad excuse. Unless you're a scary acrobat, which I don't wanna know. Hate the circus."
