𝗧𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘 𝗢𝗙 𝗬𝗢𝗨 ── 𝘚.𝘚𝘛𝘐𝘓𝘐𝘕𝘚𝘒𝘐

♡ 𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝗧𝗛𝗥𝗘𝗘 ♡

♡ 𝙩𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙮𝙤𝙪 ♡
𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘦

second chance at first line

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

ALLISON, DALLAS, AND LYDIA all watched lacrosse practice from the bleachers. Their day so far was pretty boring, the Garcia's cheer practice was cancelled to make more room for the lacrosse players, so she had a free period - along with Lydia and Allison - to watch Coach yell at the boys for the hundredth time that day.

"Let's go!" Finstock whistled. "One-on-ones from up top. Jackson, grab a long stick today."

Scott zoned out as he watched the violent game unfold before his eyes. Players slammed into each other and fell against the rough land, letting out grunts of pain and winces as they did so. "McCall!" he hollered to the boy who was at the front of the line. "What are you waiting for? Let's go!"

The whistle echoed through his ears as he steadily paced towards Jackson, who knocked him from his feet within an split second. Dal flickered her eyes to Lydia as she heard a shallow laugh leave her glossed lips.

"Hey, McCall!" the coach strutted over to the fallen boy, chuckles breaking up his words. "My grandma can move faster than that.. and she's dead!"

Stiles noticed his best friend tense up and swallowed anxiously. "You think you can move faster than the lifeless corpse of my dead grandmother?"

"Yes, coach." The werewolf spoke through gritted teeth.

Finstock leaned over to whisper to the boy. "I can't hear you."

Scott noticed the smug look that Jackson held on his face as he backed off. "Yes, coach."

"Then do it again."

Allison frowned worriedly at her sort-of-boyfriend and shared a look with Dallas. "McCall's gonna do it again!" Finstock repeated.

Dallas winced at the testosterone that radiated from the field and let out a breath. "This isn't gonna end well."

Jackson steadied his position in the middle of the field, glaring down at the lycan. The whistle echoed through the dim field and Scott pounced towards the Lacrosse Captain. Scott's shoulder harshly slammed against his as the Whittmore fell on his backside, cradling his shoulder with grunts of pain.

The three girls gasped, watching how McCall fell to his knees not moments later. Stiles uncapped his helmet and ran to aid his best-friend while the other players crowded around Jackson. "Scott?"

Coach Finstock knelt beside Jackson and shooed away the others. Dallas noticed the faint whispering between Scott and Stiles and furrowed her brows. They were hiding something - she was sure of it. Especially when she noticed the two cower away from the field and into the locker room, the familiar of face of Derek Hale watching them.