competition, allison argent

002. second chance at first line

Navy blue blazer in his hand, Cody stands at his locker sifting through his textbooks for his French one.

"Hey!" He hears a voice call, causing him to turn his head.

He sees Allison making her way toward him, a big grin on her face as if they didn't see each other a couple days ago.

"Forget something?" Cody asks with a smirk, holding up the blazer she left in his car.

Allison's lips part in disbelief, "Oh my God, thank you so much! I wasn't sure if I'd left it in your car, or if I'd left it somewhere else..."

Cody chuckles, shaking his head, "Yeah, no problem." His eyes linger on Allison a second too long as he hands her the jacket. Feeling another pair of eyes on him, he looks past her, locking eyes with Scott who's glaring at him. He lets out a snort before Allison turns to see what he's looking at. "Well doesn't he keep you on a tight leash."

Allison laughs, gently pushing his shoulder. Cody feels a rush come over him because he knows Scott is watching. "Are you hanging out with us after the game tonight? Lydia, Jackson, me, Scott. You should come, it'll be fun." She offers hopefully.

"Well only if it'll be fun." He teases, causing a smile to form on the brunette's lips.

"I'll see you there." She says in excitement before she walks away.

🥍

Coach Finstock tosses the ball to the first player, a kid named Greenberg. But Jackson is on him in seconds, smashing his stick down on the poor kid's gloves, sending the ball flying out of the pocket.

"Nicely done, Jackson. Greenberg, that was a pathetic display of amateur ability. Do a lap." Finstock comments in disgust.

As Greenberg takes off into a run, the next player charges. A moment later he lands on the ground with a sickening thud. Scott, gazing off with far too many thoughts swirling in his head, doesn't notice the other players backing up behind him.

"McCall, let's go!" Finstock yells.

He snaps to attention, realizing he's at the head of the line. Coach tosses the ball. Scott goes for the shot. But Jackson comes at him with a volley of slap checks.

"Watch the slashing, Jackson!"

As the ball is knocked out of his grasp, Scott winces in pain. He cradles his forearm where Jackson's stick came down especially hard between glove and elbow pad.

"Still want to be first line, McCall?" Jackson taunts as Scott lays on the ground. Gritting his teeth in anger, Scott looks up to reveal his brown eyes are rapidly brightening to yellow.

Coach laughs as he walks over to Scott who's hobbled over. "McCall, my grandmother can move faster than that and she's dead! Can you move faster than the lifeless corpse of my dead grandmother, McCall?"

"Yes, Coach." Scott mumbles.

"Then do it again!"

The whistle blows and Scott shoots forward again as Coach tosses the ball to him. Stiles steps away from the rest of the team, noticing the change in Scott. His speed, the extraordinary agility with which he moves. An oblivious Jackson goes for a cross check, heading for Scott with his stick horizontal even as the smaller boy hurtles toward him with ferocious speed. They collide like two goats locking horns. Both go down, hollering as he hits the ground.

Cody's eyes widen as he runs over to Jackson, the boy clutching his shoulder in pain. The sickening sound of bone dislodging from socket sends a cringe through Coach. While everyone else runs over to check on Jackson, Stiles hurries to Scott's side. The two of them exchange words before they run off of the field. As Stiles drags him off the field and toward the lockers, neither of them notice someone watching from the sidelines...
Derek Hale.