Somewhere amidst bloodthirsty werewolves and vengeful hunters, Carson Bradley did the one thing she thought she never would: she fell for her best friend.
(season 1, book 1)
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Three Mint Mojito Gum
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After school, I made my way up into the bleachers.
Scott and Stiles had left to go change into their lacrosse gear. I, on the other hand, was on a mission to find Allison. I found her easily, seeing as she was one of two people seated on the bleachers, besides some random people I didn't know. The other of the two being my strawberry blonde friend. Lydia was obviously here for Jackson. I mean, the girl was nuts over him.
I smiled at the two, who were in deep conversation. "Hey Allison, I see you've met Lydia."
Allison looked up, a grin illuminating her face. "Oh, hey Carson! You two know each other?"
"Carson is my shopping buddy. Only other person here who has good fashion taste. Well, besides you now. Some people here clearly don't know how to dress," Lydia sighed dramatically, inspecting her plum colored nails. "Oh, and she used to date my boyfriend."
I rolled my eyes, sitting on the opposite side of Allison. "Yeah, for like two months in junior high. No biggie. He's not really my type."
"Well, sweetie, you need to find a type. It's kind of pathetic not to have a boyfriend," she said.
Allison raised her eyebrows in shock, while I merely laughed. "You'll get used to that. Lydia is known for not having a filter between her mouth and brain."
"Just speaking the truth," Lydia said.
The boys began filling the field, Scott and Stiles finally making an appearance. They looked over at me and smiled. I shot them a quick thumbs up. Stiles smiled once again, while Scott's attention seemed to be trained on my new brunette companion.
Like a dog with a bone, I thought wryly. He's not going to stop until she notices him.
All of a sudden, Finstock abruptly pulled Scott from his daydream.
"McCall!" he yelled, with his normal annoying demeanor.
"Yeah?" Scott asked, his normal confused look settling on his features.
"You're in goal," he responded, throwing equipment at Scott.
I internally groaned. As far as I knew, all throughout summer, Scott and Stiles hadn't practiced goalie once. Though I could be wrong. I spent all there makeshift practice sessions painting my nails or laughing at their fails.
They exchanged a few more words and Scott looked slightly worried. He lightly slapped Scott's cheek before walking off and yelling things. Scott put his helmet on, walking into the goal.
