Stiles tried desperately not to focus on the fact that his best friend had clearly lost his whole mind as they ran to get to class on time. For one thing, the summer had been quiet until last night and that had been enough drama to last them a lifetime. Second, he was determined to get his Jeep back before tomorrow, and Scott pulling him into whatever this was would be bad on all fronts.

He gave a little nod to Coach Finstock as they screeched into class just as the final bell rang out. He was out of breath, but Scott was cool as a cucumber behind him. Only irritating him further. They had both run here, meaning Scott was right. At least about this. He didn't seem to need an inhaler anymore.

But that didn't mean he was right about all of it. He had to be exaggerating some things.

Surely.

Hopefully.

"How lovely of you two to join us," Coach Finstock said as they took two of the only three empty seats left. "I was hoping for a better start to the year since you're on the team, but I'll take what I can get." Coach shook his head once. "But if you can't keep your grades up..."

He let the sentiment hang in the air like they had no idea where he was going with it, but they knew. They all knew. Good grades, or at least adequate ones, were mandatory if they hoped to stay on the team. And being on the team at all was better than being put on academic probation.

Actually, anything was better than that.

Stiles made sure to nod again, showing his acknowledgment of the requirement as he bent over to grab the things he'd need for class. Of course, as was his luck, when he did so, the entire contents of his backpack spilled out onto the floor in glorious fashion.

"Shi... crap," he corrected quickly.

He didn't waste time looking up to Coach to see his reaction because he already knew what it would be. Irritation, probably a little exasperation, and unabashed annoyance at Stiles' existence. That's how it usually was anyway. With most people.

Stiles was someone you tolerated in small doses. Unless you were Scott. In which case you had an absurd and possibly inhuman amount of patience.

"For the love of all that is holy, Stilinski," Coach said, settling into a rant, "can we start one class period, just one, without you causing some kind of cosmic chaos that will inevitably reverberate through the rest of my day like someone banged a gong and it's still rattling my teeth three hours later?"

Stiles couldn't help cracking a smile as the class laughed lightly at his expense. Even though he knew how much he was to take on a good day, with Coach it was an endearing thing for him to pick on you like that. If he didn't care, he never said a word. And being ignored by Coach wasn't where you wanted to be. As mean as he sounded, Stiles knew never to take it personal.

And he was kinda funny.

As he shoveled everything haphazardly back in his backpack, he noticed Scott's hand was hovering in his peripheral vision, but he never bothered to actually help. Which he found odd.

When Stiles made it back to his seat, he looked over and noticed Scott was staring off into space. Or so he thought, anyway.

He followed Scott's line of sight and noticed a black SUV at the front of the school with a girl who had to be around their age getting out of it. A new girl. A girl they hadn't grown up around and hadn't yet rejected Stiles forty million times. Like Lydia.

Let her be hot. Let her be hot. Let her be hot, he chanted internally.

The window was cracked slightly and Stiles could hear that they were talking, but couldn't understand a word of it. Especially with Coach now calling roll. But Scott seemed glued to the scene. Almost like he could hear the entire thing.

Stiles turned back to the window and worked on tuning out Coach, resolving to ask Scott as soon as class was over if he had heard anything that time too.

As much as he didn't want to believe, because that led them both down a strange and dangerous path, he wanted to know where the limits were and how to test them. He wanted answers just as much as Scott, because it certainly didn't add up. But Stiles wasn't sure what the answer was either, or how much of it Scott might listen to. He had a bad tendency of ignoring Stiles' advice until he literally couldn't anymore.

Granted, most of his plans weren't the best, but Stiles was right more often than he was wrong. And he knew that had to count for something. At least with him there Scott was likely to make some sort of decision, even if it was the wrong one. Because without Stiles, Scott was lost. And they both knew it.

Stiles wasn't sure whether to be upset or impressed as the new girl waltzed into class a minute later and he realized his thoughts had run off on their own again. The spaces between his normal, cohesive thoughts were getting longer, but they seemed to be veering back into something resembling a narrative. His tangents had started making sense again. He could connect the dots between his spaz-tastic process more and more.

Maybe his medication was working.

"Who are you?" Coach Finstock blurted out as she hovered in the doorway.

"Uh, Allison. Allison Argent. Just moved," she explained.

"Yeah, yeah," Coach responded, waving his hand dismissively. "I don't need your life story. I won't count you late today, but we start on time here." Allison nodded. "Take a seat," he instructed.

Stiles watched as she picked the only one left. The one right behind Scott, and without thinking Scott reached into his backpack and took out a pen. He handed it to her and Stiles noticed the way her eyebrows momentarily adjusted to her confusion before she righted herself, wiping all emotion off her face.

"Thanks," she whispered.

He had heard her. Scott knew she didn't have anything to write with, and he was shooting his shot. But the look of contentment on Scott's face was different, and Stiles wasn't sure he liked where this was going.

He didn't want Scott to get hurt.

He tore off a piece of the paper at the top of the stack he was going to use for notes and scribbled a message to Scott before shoving it across the aisle at him.

Scott smirked as he shook his head and then dropped it in his own backpack when he read it. He didn't believe Stiles, he could tell, but it was true. This girl was so far out of his league that Scott wasn't even allowed in the stadium.

And it wasn't that Stiles thought he deserved her instead, because he wasn't even playing the same sport, but this Allison character would chew Scott up and spit him out. And Stiles wouldn't be able to handle watching that.

Since Coach skipped right over the syllabus and went straight to the lesson, Stiles was forced to actually pay attention. He diligently took notes, knowing that Scott was too focused on other things to be worried about future studying right now. And, thankfully, class flew by.

But as he stood up and rushed to the door, ready for their next class, Stiles noticed he was alone. He looked around for a second and then saw Scott was still in his seat, taking his sweet ass time getting up.

"Fuck," Stiles muttered.

Scott, his wonderfully naive idiot, was going to try to talk to this girl. And Stiles could tell Scott's grand plan for senior year was about to be derailed.

First, he'd get rejected by Allison. Then he'd end up on third line with Stiles. And eventually they'd make it home and Scott would realize he had no idea what he was supposed to work on for school and the whole thing would come crashing down.

He shook his head and started toward Scott, determined to save him from himself, when he saw a twitch in his hand and noticed he was waving him off. Stiles rolled his eyes, but didn't stop. Then the twitch got more pronounced. Scott was definitely waving him off.

Stiles faltered a bit before turning on his heel and heading back for the door.

Well, at least if Scott was going to embarrass himself, Stiles was going to have a front row seat. No doubt Scott would want a play-by-play later anyway.

So Stiles leaned against the wall right outside the classroom and watched as everyone else filtered out. He pulled out a book and flipped to a random chapter, not wanting to look as creepy and stalker-y as he felt right now.

He didn't need anyone calling his dad on him. He'd never get his stuff back.

"You're Allison, right?" Stiles heard Scott say inside the room. "I'm Scott. Scott McCall."

Bond. James Bond. Stiles rolled his eyes at Scott's horrible game.

"Hi, Scott McCall," Allison answered, giggling lightly. "I believe this is yours. Thanks, uh, for letting me use it."

"Keep it," Scott insisted. "You're probably gonna need it the rest of the day."

She laughed again. "Probably... thanks."

Stiles heard their voices getting louder and louder as they got closer to him, and all he could do was pray he blended into the background well enough to follow them and listen to the conversation.

When they appeared, Scott had his hands in his pockets and Allison had her books clutched to her chest. Both their cheeks were tinged slightly red, like they might be embarrassed to be talking to one another. And on any other couple, it would be adorable, but Stiles had a bad feeling.

"It's funny," Allison said after a quiet moment of walking together. "I realized a pen was the one thing I forgot today as I was coming in. It's like you knew."

Stiles couldn't help but perk up at the mention of that. He stashed it away in his mental notes for later when he was researching, like he promised he would do for Scott. Not that he probably cared about that right now.

"You had a look," Scott commented.

"Smooth," Allison teased. "Very smooth."

Once again, Stiles rolled his eyes. Not smooth. Scott McCall didn't even know the meaning of that word. His best friend was a lot of things, but smooth had never been one of them.

"Smoother than expected?"

"Perhaps," Allison admitted slyly.

Well, maybe Scott had been given superpowers after all. A conversation like this would've normally sent him running for the hills. And here he was, just chatting this girl up like it was no big deal.

"Damn," Allison muttered, "did I kill the smoothness?"

Scott ran a hand through his hair, getting nervous. Stiles could tell, and oddly it made him feel better to see remnants of the Scott he knew in there. Even if he was mixed with whatever was happening now.

"Nah, I think that's all I had in me, honestly."

Allison laughed louder and Stiles couldn't help but smirk.

Okay, that was a good one.

"Well, lucky for you, it's kind of endearing," Allison offered.

Scott's cheeks got redder at the compliment about the time that Stiles realized he had completely skipped his locker and forgotten his books for his next class. God, he was in so much trouble. He couldn't forget everything else in favor of a girlfriend, even if that was on his list.

"So, uh, what's fun around here?" Allison asked.

"In Beacon Hills? Not much," Scott answered truthfully. "We've got, uh, bowling. I guess. And most people come to watch the school's lacrosse team, but that's about it."

"Lacrosse?" Allison inquired. "I think I've heard of it. But I know I've never seen it in action before." She paused and looked him up and down. "Are you on the team?"

"Yeah, uh, they're assigning positions today, actually," Scott stammered. "People are allowed to watch. You could come, if you want."

"That sounds... fun," Allison relented. "Are you the best on the team, Scott McCall?"

Scott laughed heartily at that one, and Stiles had to stop himself from joining in. Even with this newfound confidence, he would never get over his lacrosse inadequacies.

"Definitely not," Scott assented. "That would be our captain, Jackson Whittemore. I'm sure he'll be in one of your classes today. He's a senior too."

Stiles could see the wheels in his head turning at the thought of Jackson and Allison in a class together. He knew that feeling well. It was the same one he got with Lydia and Jackson. Stiles hated it, but that had more to do with his underlying––and apparently undying––love for one Lydia Martin.

He was hopeless, though. Apparently Scott had a shot here after all.

"But I think all he does is practice," Scott continued. "I'm pretty sure he plays in his sleep. I'm just hoping to make first line this year."

"First line?"

"It's the people who get to really play, I guess is the easiest way to describe it. If you're lower than that, you usually sit on the bench mostly. Unless someone gets hurt."

Like me and you, Scott.

Allison nodded along, though Stiles was sure she didn't care. "Well, I hope you make it. And I'll definitely be there to cheer you on today."

Stiles had never been happier to not be in a conversation before, because with the way he felt his eyes widen, he knew it would've hurt Scott's chances with this girl.

"Yeah?"

"Of course," Allison said, nodding again.

"Great. Cool. Umm," he stopped suddenly, causing Stiles to almost run into his back. "This is, uh, me."

When Allison paused a little further up, Stiles tried to make himself scarce. Most of the other students had found their way to their classrooms, but he didn't want to miss anything. Not that either of these two idiots could see him right now.

"I think I'm further down," Allison said, pulling out a schedule. "Is that right?"

She walked back and unfolded a piece of paper and stuck it under his nose. Then they both leaned in together, their faces almost touching.

"Yeah, uh. Just down, um, there."

Scott swallowed hard and Stiles almost snorted his laughter. These two couldn't be more stereotypical if they tried. This scene definitely belonged in a romantic comedy somewhere, but all it made Stiles want to do was dry heave. In fact, it was a wonder he was managing to keep it to himself right now.

Allison bit her lip to complete the full effect. "Thanks. I'll see you later, then?"

"Yeah, uh, if you want, you can sit with me and my friend Stiles at lunch. Sometimes Jackson and a few other people join us."

"Sounds good," Allison beamed.

She turned to walk away and Scott blew out a breath. He looked more conflicted than made sense to Stiles as he rejoined him and threw an arm around his shoulder.

"We have a scrimmage on Friday," Stiles whispered in Scott's ear as they both watched her walk away.

"Allison!" Scott hollered up the hall, jogging to get to her and brushing Stiles off. "We have our first scrimmage on Friday. It's just half the team against the other half. But would you, uh, wanna go out afterward?"

Stiles had to pick up his jaw off the floor as he heard the words leave Scott's mouth. No way did this guy just ask a girl on a date. No fucking way.

That's it. It was official. Someone had abducted Scott.

"To celebrate your victory?" Allison guessed, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.

"Hopefully," he said, laughing. "Or you can cheer me up, if I lose."

"Ah, see. You didn't run out of smoothness, Scott McCall," Allison remarked. "I'd love to go out with you."

And just like that, Stiles wanted to dry heave again. He shook his head and ducked into the classroom ahead of Scott. Whatever he was going to miss now wasn't going to matter. Probably just some disgusting displays of mutual pining or something.

Either way, they needed to discuss it as soon as possible. Scott was in over his head. Scott was in trouble. Scott was... different. And Stiles had no idea if it was a good or bad thing anymore. But he intended to find out as soon as possible.