Clairsentience ➳ Derek Hale/Teen Wolf [2]

5. big bad alpha

Disclaimer: I do NOT own any parts of Teen Wolf or its plot or characters. I do not own Derek Hale. However I do own Skylar McCall and some of the things that come along with her plot (Like Harv & Kelly's, etc.).

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     "Skylar!" Stiles whispers behind me in chemistry later that day. I try to ignore him, but a moment later a small ball of paper hits the back of my head. Mr. Harris isn't looking so I turn around, glaring at Scott and Stiles, who have managed to sit next to each other today.

"I said we'd talk after class," I tell the both of them.

"C'mon, Sky," Scott murmurs. "You have to tell us. Why would Derek choose Isaac?"

"Peter told me that if the bite doesn't turn you, it will kill you. Maybe teenagers have a better chance of surviving," Stiles suggests. He meets my eye. "Am I right?"

"Look, honestly, I don't know," I say finally, turning back around in my seat and attempting to continue taking notes. Despite not having my abilities currently, the stress I'm under is causing me to be unable to tune out their conversation.

"Does being a teenager mean your dad can't hold him?" Scott asks.

"Well, not unless they have solid evidence. Or a witness. Hey—" I turn and watch Stiles turn his attention to Danny, who's seated a few tables behind us. "Hey, Danny! Where's Jackson?"

Why does he want to talk to Jackson?

"In the principal's office," Danny whispers back. "Talking to your dad."

"What? Why?"

They have my full attention now, unfortunately.

"Maybe 'cause he lives across the street from Isaac?" Danny quirks an eyebrow. Stiles turns back to us.

"We gotta get to the principal's office," he decides.

"How?" Scott asks.

I silently thank Stiles for the inspiration he so graciously gave me a few minutes ago as I ball up a piece of notebook paper. I hope for the best, aiming it right at Mr. Harris' head. I hadn't expected to be so accurate without the help of any supernatural coordination skills, but it ends up hitting him square at the back of his head. A few laughs erupt around the room from my classmates, the teacher spinning around with a death glare.

"Who in the hell did that?" he asks lowly. I point two thumbs behind me at either boy, and dumbstruck, they point their own at me.

Five minutes later, the three of us are sat outside the principal's office, waiting for our turn. Scott listens in on the conversation. Stiles and I try, our ears pressed conspicuously against the window, although we can't really hear anything clearly.