Beacon ⌲ Stiles Stilinski [1] EDITING

six

I pushed the food on my plate around, nervously, as I stole glances at the faces surrounding me.

My mom was to my left, stiff as a board, mirroring my dad at the end of the table. Scott looked absolutely petrified that he had somehow gotten roped into staying for dinner, and I noticed he was barely looking anyone in the eye, keeping his gaze trained on his water glass.

The only one who seemed relaxed at the table was Kate, who was the one who invited the poor guy to stay in the first place.

"Would you like anything to drink besides water, Scott?" my mom asked with an attempt at a nice tone. Or at least I think she was trying to be nice, the whole thing came out more menacing than hospitable.

Scott began stuttering awkwardly, "Uh no, I-I'm good, thanks."

"Could get you some beer," Dad suggested making me roll my eyes. What a typical protective Dad thing to do.

Allison sent me a pleading look.

"He said he was fine, Dad," I offered, but was shot down immediately.

"With just water, maybe. What do you say, Scott? Want me to grab you a cold one?"

"Um, no thanks," Scott said hesitantly.

"Shot of tequila?"

"Dad," Allison warned sharply. "Really?"

"You don't drink?" Dad asked Scott, making him squirm in his seat. I assumed this was because I was sure he had tried some of that disgusting party mix at Lydia's, and possibly more at parties in years past.

"I'm not old enough to." He stated, confidently.

Mom pursed her lips and looked at him slyly. "That doesn't seem to stop many teenagers."

"No, but it should."

Kate chuckled, and loaded her fork with potatoes. "Good answer," she mused. "A total lie, but well played, Scott. You may yet survive the night."

I hid my grin by shoving a green bean into my mouth.

"Do you smoke pot?" My dad started, and I coughed on my food. One of his daughters brings home a guy, and he suddenly assigns himself the role of family detective.

"Okay," Kate placed a hand up at my dad's smug frown, "Changing the channel to something a little less conservative. So...Scott, Allison tells us you're on the lacrosse team."

Scott visually deflated with relief, letting out a breath and allowing himself to smile and nod.

"I'm sorry I don't know anything about that. How do you play?"

"Well you know hockey? It's a lot like that except played on grass instead of ice."

I heard my dad snort. "Hockey on grass is called field hockey."

"So it's like field hockey," Allison jabbed, with a strained grin. "Except the sticks have nets."

"Can you slap-check like hockey?" Kate asked Scott, who seemed to be distracted with something under the table.

"Um-yeah," he managed. "But it's only the gloves and the sticks."

"Sounds violent. I like it," Kate smirked. "Do any of your friends play it with you?"

My grip around my fork tightened, as I hesitantly waited for where my aunt was going with this.

"Yeah, um-my friend, Stiles, is on the team with me."

Kate swirled her glass nonchalantly, "Stiles. Is this the funny guy?"

"What?" Scott asked with confusion as my eyes widened. Quickly, I kicked Kate's leg with all the power I could muster, with the hopes of shutting her up.