ON HIATUS
If there was one thing known about Haven Salazar, it was that she would do anything for Scott McCall and Stiles Stilinski, including sticking with them when life in Beacon Hills, and as their friend, becomes way too complicated and dangero...
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THE TEENAGERS OF BEACON HILLS WEREN'T JUST FOCUSED ON WINTER FORMAL.
At least, not anymore. Sheriff Stilinski was linking the attacks to the Hale House, Allison was finding out the truth about the Argents, no one really knew where Derek was other than Kate, Scott was trying to handle being a teen wolf, with help of Deaton, and Haven? She was trying to figure out her feelings towards everything.
Blasting "Why Do I Still?" by Nieman in the passenger seat, softly singing along to the music.
"No, I can't reveal, how I really feel, 'cause I'm tired of ruining all we've built. I'd rather play it safe, than find out you don't feel the same way," she mumble sang.
"So, which nerd are you singing about?" Lydia asked.
Haven looked at her with wide eyes, feigning confusion.
"Hm?"
Lydia glanced at her for a second, deadpanning, before looking back at the road.
"C'mon, Haven. I pick you up for school now instead of you riding in that blue Jeep. Which one do you like? I'm hoping it's not Scott since him and Allison are a thing... so... buzzcut boy?"
"You know his name, Lydia," laughed Haven.
"I don't think I do," replied the Strawberry blonde.
"I don't like either of them, Lyds," she shook her head.
"Sure you don't," Lydia agreed, looking forward.
Haven furrowed her eyebrows at her, knowing she didn't believe her.
"FYI, Lyds, I think I might be crushing on someone else."
"Who?"
"He's in my French class."
"Who?" she asked again with a smirk. "Look at you, Haven, finally getting over Scott."
"So... you know I like Scott?"
"I'm surprised Scott doesn't know you like Scott," Lydia replied, pulling into the parking lot.
"Is it that bad?"
She cringed and nodded, pulling her keys out of her car.
"It's that bad. Now, who is it? You better bring him to formal."
"I doubt he'd ask me."
"Down with the patriarchy. Ask him yourself," she said, unbuckling her seatbelt and grabbing her bag.
"Would you ask someone to the dance yourself?"
She contemplated it, then propped her door open. "Of course not."
