Lure // Jordan Parrish

Twenty-Three // The Psychic Thing

Twenty-Three //

        The wind whipped around Ellah's dead still stance, the hairs on the back of her neck standing up.

        A grinning freshman in green twirled the lacrosse stick in hand, shooting a wink in Ellah's direction.

        Ellah stepped forward, nearly getting run over by a string of Devenford Prep students. "No," she softly said as she forced her way through them.

        Her heart raced, but as she looked out on the field, he'd vanished.

        "Tommy?"

        "Ellah, what's - ah, shit be right back." Stiles, although concerned for Ellah's sake, slipped away from the scientist, unaware of what she was seeing.

        With parted lips, Ellah blinked furiously. She slowly stepped back, jumping as she bumped into a body. Spinning around, Scott caught her by the shoulders.

       "Everything okay?" questioned the wolf in maroon. "Stiles told me you were coming."

        Ellah looked around her, distracted in every sense of the word. "I - I should leave -"

        "Woah, Carson, you just got here." Scott let go of her, narrowing his eyebrows. "What's going on? I can smell your fear from a mile away."

        "I think my brother's on the opposing team."

        Scott's mouth formed an 'o' shape, slightly unsettled. "Seriously? Where?"

        "He was just on the field," Ellah quickly replied. "A crowd blocked me for only a second, then he was gone."

        "-Dad, you're supposed to be here. Where the hell are you?" Stiles struggled up behind Scott and Ellah, lugging his gear.

       Scott turned back to Ellah, Stiles taking a seat next to Kira on the benches.

        "What number was he wearing?" Scott questioned as he tried to keep her attention on him.

        "Fourteen. Number fourteen." Ellah sharply looked around, unnerved.

        "Look, just sit in the bleachers," advised Scott. "I'll keep an eye out for him."

        Ellah bit her bottom lip, finally agreeing as each team began to round up. She backed off, taking a seat in the first row of metal bleachers.

       "Let's go!" yelled Coach Finstock. He scrunched his face as Scott got in his space instead of going out. "Hey, McCall, I said get your ass on the field."

        "But, Coach," Scott looked to Liam, "his leg's still healing. I don't think he should play."

       "He said he's fine," Finstock countered.

       "As Captain, I'm suggesting Liam sit out the game."

       Finstock laughed, unable to help himself. "And as, uh, the President of the United States, I'm vetoing that suggestion."

       Scott had to force himself not to roll his eyes, needing to keep Liam off the field. "What if he gets hurt?"

       "Hey, Liam!" Brett Talbot yelled from down field, clutching a lacrosse ball with a smirk. "Think fast!" He launched the ball from his netting, the force insane.

       Without moving an inch, his hand shot up and caught the lax ball.

       Ellah's eyebrows shot up, holding an expression much like those of Stiles and Kira.