Lydia's Shy (completed)

1. Books

Her file was an odd one that Sheriff Stilinski found particularly interesting. The girls name was Lydia Martin; age sixteen, five-foot-three, strawberry blonde hair, and emerald eyes that held all the secrets of her past. She was silent, extremely shy and obviously uncomfortable sitting in one of the plastic chairs across from desk. Every time an officer would pass by, she would nervously glance at them and shift in her place before returning her gaze to the floor.

"Lydia." He speaks her name and she looks up at him through long lashes, her knuckles turning white from gripping the edge of her seat. "Do you like to read?" He asks, recalling the small note scribbled at the bottom of one of her papers. She gives a small nod.

Her parents had died two Octobers ago, a car crash they said could've happened as the result of the engine being tampered with but upon further examination, realized was merely because her father had one drink too many. They were the only family she'd ever had. Lydia soon fell into depression, struggling to find a way to live without having to undergo the care of the government. She worked three jobs day in and day out, jumping around from place to place though more often than not paying for a hotel room. She kept all of her belongings in a single duffel bag that she carried with her everywhere; two of her favorite books, extra clothing, a spare pair of shoes and lots of loose change. She barely made ends meet.

The sheriff watched with care in his eyes as her fingers trailed over the spines of the antique books lining a single wall in the small thrift shop. He counted and recounted, seventeen of them that she'd never read. And he bought them all.

The final bell rang down the empty halls of Beacon Hills high school and Stiles Stilinski appreciably shoves all of his things into his backpack. He throws a polite smile his teachers way, telling her to have a good weekend before practically sprinting down the hall to his locker where his best friend, Scott McCall, wait.

"Malia Tate is going to ask you to the movies next Friday!" The dark haired boy informs Stiles which causes him to frantically look around. Malia Tate was known by everybody, especially Stiles. He'd had a crush on her starting freshman year when she moved in from a city a couple miles away. She was kind and never really got on anyone's bad side but she hardly ever noticed people like Scott and Stiles.

He shakily opens his locker as Scott continues to ramble on about how he'd overheard so-and-so say something else to what's-her-face and how she texted that-one-guy and a bunch of other meaningless crap that couldn't help distract Stiles from the thought of Malia asking him out. As soon as he closes the metal door to the locker, he yelped out of surprise because there she was, long tan legs and a white as snow smile.

"Hey you're in my Econ class, Stiles, right?" Was all she had said but his mouth moved up and down as he searched for a proper response. She seemed to notice, continuing to speak as not to create silence. "Right...so, um, I was wondering if maybe you'd wanna see a movie with me sometime. Maybe, like, next Friday?"

Scott has to push him a little for the boy to snap out of his thoughts. "Yeah! Yeah, y-you text me?" He manages. Malia laughs with a nod before saying her goodbye and walking off. The boys push and shove each other excitedly before jogging out of the school towards the parking lot.

Lydia peers into the white-walled room with slight curiosity, her eyes flickering from the shelves above the bed that were blank and screaming to be piled high with the books that now weighed down her bag. There was a desk and a dresser as well, no decorations on the wall besides a picture frame with the store bought family photo still inside. Mr.Stilinski brushes past the girl with a polite smile as he sets her things down on the white comforter.

"Bathrooms down the hall, Stiles' bedroom is next door and if the front door opens and you hear constant rambling, it's probably just him. He may have his best friend, Scott, with him and if you need anything, call. Okay?" Stilinski explains quickly and she gives a single nod. She seemed so small and trapped in a shell that was bulletproof but the man was trying his best anyway. Just as he was about to pass by her again to go into work, her voice stops him.