Fix You {Liam Dunbar #1}

{3} THE START

The next morning, Isabelle unwillingly headed to school, thirty minutes earlier than usual, thanks to Lydia, who forced her to get up. She hardly got any sleep the night before, because every time she closed her eyes she saw the Berserkers...that her back-from-the-dead-aunt-slash-were-jaguar controlled. And she really wasn't in the mood to ponder over that mess, so she decided it'd be easier to keep her eyes open as long as possible.

Isabelle started to walk towards the school, planning on hitting up the library for a good nap, but Stiles texted her, asking her to stop by the lacrosse field. She growled in irritation, but headed over anyway. She knew they were nervous about their first day back at practice, so maybe they were just looking for a pep talk.

If that was the case, they should've called Kira.

She got closer to the field and spotted them in front of the bleachers, talking quietly.

"What do you want?" she asked when she reached them. She smirked a little as Stiles jumped, nearly ramming his head on the railing- scaring that kid was her favorite activity.
Scott looked at Stiles with his usual level of concern for his stupidity, but eventually refocused his attention back to Isabelle.

Stiles took a second to compose himself, then asked the question Isabelle was least expecting: "Have you heard from your dad lately?"

"Why?" she asked immediately. She realized she sounded defensive. "I mean, no, I haven't..." she pushed her hair behind her ear nervously and looked towards the ground. "We don't really talk much."

Stiles shot her a sympathetic frown, and Scott looked away, uncomfortable. He was always slightly on edge when he was around her, she'd noticed. Probably because she reminded him of Allison, and he had never really forgiven himself for what happened that night. Isabelle knew he had nothing to feel sorry about, he wasn't the one who messed up. He had been deep in the tunnels getting Lydia...Isabelle had been three feet from Allison's side and hadn't had her back.

She shook her head quickly, knocking those thoughts out of her head.

"He hasn't really gotten back to us," Stiles said awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.

Isabelle frowned, not knowing what he was getting at, then it suddenly hit her. "You told my father that his sister came back from the dead over a text message?"

Scott widened his eyes, trying to defend himself. "I-uh, I didn't have the money to call France."

She shook her head at him and turned towards the field, seeing the rest of the lacrosse team warming up. "You know, this is why you both suck at lacrosse. Everyone else is practicing, but you're over here talking to me about how stupid you both are."

Stiles twisted his lips into a scowl. "You don't have to be so hurtful."

Isabelle sent them a small smile, then pointed towards the field. "Go!"

They grinned at her, and Stiles ruffled her hair as he ran by, so she smacked him in the arm. She could hear him shriek as he left. Isabelle was still laughing when she felt something hit her foot—a lacrosse ball. A flash of anger hit her as she considered the one person who would intentionally hit her...Greenberg. Isabelle picked up the ball at her feet and looked over the field.

If it was Greenberg, she might just lose it and beat him with a lacrosse stick.

Luckily, the weirdo was no where in sight. Instead, there was blonde boy was jogging over to her with a small grin on his face. "Hey, sorry about that," he said when he reached her.
Isabelle shrugged, tossing the ball towards him. He easily caught it, barely taking his blue eyes off her as he did so.