my personal devil in prada // lydia martin

The bane(s) of my existence.

The day after our little escapade into the preserve was occupied by unpacking, rearranging the furniture, and avoiding any thought of school, because I really didn't want to think about that. Preferably ever.

Between my various errands, I'd been texting Scott and Stiles. Turns out, they're both on the lacrosse team, and are both, apparently, very good (though I highly doubt that, considering I had a very biased source, and Scott has, you know, asthma). Either way, I am considering trying out for the team. Guess Jody was right after all; no more being a hermit. To prepare, I'd done some research so I could actually understand the rules of the game and not look like a total idiot. But that was still probably going to happen anyway.

I'd just settled down for the night, in my bed (that was actually new, and didn't belong to an old dead guy at some point! which is an odd thing to enjoy I realise) when my phone vibrated, and I saw a message from Stiles:

i'm coming over. wear something warm.

why???

just do it

okay shia labeouf

I quickly changed into the classic sweatpants and a hoodie, which was warm, as instructed, and perfect for any and all acts of hooliganism. Despite only knowing Scott and Stiles for a day, I just know they get into a lot of shit, and now, that they also included me, so having clothes that allowed for some sense of flexibility (running) would be immensely useful.

Closing the door, I turned at the squeal of tires on asphalt to see that Stiles had arrived. I ran and, sacrificing my grace for speed, half-fell half-climbed into the backseat.

"My oh my, Charlie you have the grace of a ballerina."

"Thanks," I smirked, pulling my leg down from the back of the passenger seat where it had landed in my fall.

"Not to be too interrogatory or anything, but where are we actually going?" I leaned against the back of the front bench, craning my head in attempts to see where we were going. I had absolutely no clue, but I blame that on my poor navigation skills.

"We're going to Scott's house and then the preserve," he said, looking at me the whole time. Out of habit, I almost said 'eyes on the road' before remembering that we live in a tiny-ass town with literally no cars.

"May I ask if there's a particular reason why? Or do you and Scott just perpetually live in the woods?"

He barked out a sarcastic laugh. "Funny. I overheard one of my dad's calls, and they found half a body in the woods, so we're going to find the other half. So, you in? As I am saying this, I realise I probably should have asked you this before we left, but oh well."

Well, I definitely wasn't expecting that.

The whole premise of my coming to Beacon Hills was to strictly and inherently stay out of trouble. Searching after a body didn't exactly fall into that category, so, theoretically, I should steer clear; but Sam and Dean never let me go on the physical side of hunts, and I couldn't help but be filled with a rush of excitement at the prospect of actually doing something. So, fuck yeah I was in.

"Obviously."

***

"What are you doing?" I asked when I saw that Stiles was sneaking around Scott's porch to the back entrance, instead of the front door. You know, like a normal person does.

"I'm gonna scare him," he whisper-shouted. I rolled my eyes - I'm never gonna get tired of this.

I followed suit, squatting by the porch, low enough so I wouldn't be seen, while Stiles clambered onto the overhanging roof. Unsurprisingly, he made quite a bit of noise - enough to alert Scott, if the succession of lights making its way to the back door was anything to go by.