SIDELINES

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"YOU FOUND PICTURES of yourself in his camera?" Emery asks, resting her chin on her knuckles as she lays stomach first on Allison's bed while the huntress sits at her desk.

Early this morning around nine o'clock, Allison called Emery and asked her to come over because she had some disturbing information. Apparently, after the rave, Allison drove Matt back to his home and stumbled upon some photographs of her taken by Matt while she was unaware of his presence. In other words, Matt has been stalking Allison.

Allison nods, clearly uncomfortable by the thought. "Yeah, i—it was weird. He had photos of me everywhere. School, lacrosse games— even in my room."

The witch shoots up in an instant, mouth agape as she stammers. "I'm sorry, what?"

Her disclosure has Emery absolutely and completely gobsmacked. She's had an odd feeling about Matt since she met him at the lacrosse game, but she hadn't really expected this level of disturbing from him. Maybe she expected some sort of deviance or perverted behaviors, but stalking? That never crossed her mind until now.

"Yeah, I know." Allison shakes her head like she's trying to erase the knowledge. "It freaked me out, too. Trust me."

The pair falls into a brief silence, with Emery picking at her nails as Allison writes in her planner. Emery recalls the scene she'd witnessed at the rave, where Scott shouted at Allison for telling her family about Jackson being the kanima. Where she'd had to comfort Allison because of Scott's hurtful words.

"Hey, have you talked to Scott?" Emery questions timidly. "Since, you know..."

"Uh, no. I haven't," Allison replies shortly. She purses her lips together, shrugging a nonchalant shoulder. "There's just a lot going on."

Before either can say anything else to the other, Lydia strides into Allison's bedroom with her hands full of shopping bags from Macy's, a cheerful smile spread across her lips as she approaches them. "Clear your schedules— this could take a while."

Emery grins at the strawberry blonde, rolling off the bed and landing on her feet. She plants a kiss to Lydia's cheek, "Happy birthday, Lyds."

"Thank you, Em," Lydia beams, turning to take out the clothing within the bags. "Don't worry, I bought something for you to wear tonight."

Allison stands from her desk and looks at the amount of bags and dresses that Lydia drapes across the mattress. "How many outfits do you plan on wearing tonight?"

"It's my birthday party." Lydia holds up a multi-shaded grey dress to her body, "I'm thinking host dress, evening dress, then... after-hours casual."

"I noticed that you didn't send out any invites, Allison mentions, and she starts to fiddle with her hands awkwardly.

Lydia seems to be avoiding the brunette's gaze. "It's the biggest party of the year, Allison. Everyone knows."

"I was wondering if maybe this year things, you know, might be different."

"Why would anything be different?"

"Just cause things have been off lately," Allison chuckles. "Things and people. Like Jackson."

His name makes Lydia pause her movements, eyes traveling to meet Allison's in an unnerving manner. "Why do you care about Jackson?"

Allison makes a face, quickly dismissing her friend's question. Then she asks, "Do you know if he's coming tonight?"

"Everyone's coming," Lydia repeats in a sharp tone. Emery and Allison glance at each other oddly, unsure of what to think of the girl's defensiveness. Lydia grabs a nude-colored frock, breaking the uncomfortable tension. "This one's American Rag. Mm, I love it. For me, not you"—she leans down to pick up a pink floral dress, holding it out for Allison to take—"this one's material girl. It's for you."

A knock on the wall causes the three girls to turn around and see Allison's mother standing by the doorway. Emery hesitates before showing a slight smile at the woman, who returns the gesture. Despite her close relationship with their daughter, Emery has managed to keep her supernatural existence unknown to the Argents, and she intends to keep it that way. She'd like to make it through the rest of high school without a target on her back.

"Mrs. Argent!" Lydia exclaims happily, presenting the woman with a strapless blue clothing. "What do you think of this one?"

"Oh, it's lovely," she tells the girl. Lydia spins back to the bed and sorts through her purchases again. Victoria turns to her daughter, skin pale and covered in sweat. "Allison, uh, can I grab you for a moment to talk? Just the two of us?"

Allison hesitates, subtly pointing to her two friends beside her. "Um, can we do it later?"

"Actually, to be honest, sooner would be—would be... better." Emery notices how she runs her fingers along the area between her shoulder and collarbone, a forced smile displayed on her features.

Lydia peers over to say, "Party's at ten."

"Um, will you be around before then?" Victoria asks her daughter in a hopeful voice.

"I think so."

"You think so?"

Allison finally looks at her mother with an aggravated expression, "I don't know."

Emery's gaze flickers between the two, lips parting in slight sympathy for the woman as she reluctantly nods and begins to walk out of the room. Allison and Lydia soon find themselves in a discussion about styling Allison's outfit for the party, while Emery cannot help but watch Victoria leave with a wistful look in her eyes.

Just as Emery opens her mouth to offer to stay with Lydia while Allison speaks with her mother, Lydia whirls to face her with a dark red mini dress gathered in her hands. The straps are thin, and lace material has been sewn into the fabric at the neckline and hemline. "For you, pretty girl."

"Oh my God," the witch takes the dress from Lydia and smiles widely at her. "Thank you, but you really didn't have to."

"Oh, please," Lydia scoffs lightheartedly, waving a dismissive hand. "It's my birthday. I can, and will, spend as much money on you as I want. So, are you bringing Elijah tonight?"

Emery creases her brows. "You mean Isaac?" The strawberry blonde hums lazily, and Emery chuckles. "No, he's not coming. He's busy with some other stuff."

For his second full moon, Isaac has told Emery that Derek would be chaining him, Erica, and Boyd up in the abandoned railway station at dusk. Scott and Stiles discovered the hideout after they were forced to take Erica to Derek in order to save her from the kanima's venom.

The two boys described the station as old and rustic, Stiles mentioning how there was an odd stench when you stepped inside the carts. Now Emery knows what Isaac meant by rusty when she'd asked about how living with Derek was.

"With what? It's not like he has much to do," Lydia remarks. "I've never seen him talk to anybody but you. Well, aside from those other two loners he hangs out with now but that's only a recent development."

"Okay, first of all, those "loners" are named Erica and Boyd," Emery corrects her. Then she comes up a somewhat believable lie. "Secondly, he's catching up on some of the notes I gave him from when he missed school."

"Did Harris agree to let him take the test?" Allison questions, still examining the floral print of her dress and pairing it with pieces of jewelry from her vanity.

Emery nods, smiling to herself. "He couldn't really say no after I brought up how if Isaac fails, it'll just be taken out of his paycheck."

"You always have such a way with words," Lydia sighs softly, her words being spoken in a blissful voice as Emery rolls her eyes playfully.

____________

Emery approaches Scott and Stiles with Allison walking next to her. They both wear their new dresses gifted to them by Lydia, Allison having paired it with a black blazer while the witch has a see-through shoulder wrap thrown over her collarbone and arms.

The four teenagers stand in the backyard to Lydia's house. A decent sized swimming pool takes up a majority of the area, and Lydia has wrapped fairy lights around the pillars to brighten up the outdoor space. Several bouquets of lavender, magenta, and baby blue colored balloons are placed around the vicinity for further decoration.

"Uh, Jackson's not here," Allison informs as she and Scott exchange an awkward glance.

Stiles points out, "Yeah. No one's here."

"Maybe it's just early," Scott suggests.

"Or maybe nobody's coming because Lydia's turned into the town wack job," Stiles reminds them bitterly. The girl stands at the other side of the pool, holding a full tray of glasses that contain pink fruit punch. He frowns at the sight.

Allison sighs deeply. "Well, we have to do something, because we've completely ignored her for the past two weeks."

Emery nods in agreement. They've all dismissed Lydia's cries for help, and sometimes even made her feel insane for her own problems and trauma after what she'd experienced at winter formal. Lydia deserves a good birthday party.

"She's completely ignored Stiles for the past ten years," Scott argues in response.

Stiles quickly defends himself. "I prefer to think of it as me not having been on her radar yet."

Scott ignores him, shrugging carelessly. "We don't owe her a party."

"You owe her at least a little sympathy," Emery retorts.

Allison brushes off the witch's comment and continues to press the matter. "What about the chance to get back to normal?"

"Normal?"

"Well, she wouldn't be the town wack job if it wasn't for us," Allison reminds them sharply, causing Stiles to sigh and Scott to cast another glance in Lydia's direction.

Then they both pull out their phones from their jacket pockets. "I guess I could use my co-caption status to get the lacrosse team here," Scott says.

"Yeah," Stiles agrees. "I also know some people who could get this thing going. Like, really going."

Allison furrows her eyebrows. "Who?"

"I met them the other night. Let's just say they know how to party."

Stiles hadn't lied. Almost fifteen minutes later, a group of drag queens he and Scott met at the gay club show up and begin socializing with the other people that decided to join. The lacrosse team came, per Scott's request, and now Lydia is walking around with a smile and offering glasses of punch to her guests.

Emery accepted a glass from Lydia and once again wished her a happy birthday, which was well-received. She sips the drink as she listens to Scott and Stiles converse about Allison, who stands by the punch table on the other end of the backyard.

"Are you gonna apologize to Allison or what?" Stiles asks bluntly, leaning his shoulder against a pillar while Scott sits on a two-seater with Emery.

"Why should I apologize?"

Stiles blinks, staring at Scott like the answer should be obvious. "Because you're the guy. It's what we do."

"But I didn't do anything wrong," Scott states.

"Okay..." Stiles turns to Emery, who raises a brow at him in question. Then he starts, "Em, when you and Isaac get into a disagreement or argument, who apologizes first?"

Emery shrugs lightly. "Usually Isaac. We hardly ever argue, but if we do, he'll say sorry even if he doesn't know what he's saying sorry for. Then we just move on with our day."

"See? You should definitely apologize," Stiles repeats to Scott, thanking Emery for her input. "Any time a guy thinks he hasn't done anything wrong, it means he's definitely done something wrong."

The werewolf doesn't seem to acknowledge his friends' advice. "I'm not apologizing."

As Emery rolls her eyes at his stubbornness and takes another sip of punch, Stiles purses his lips in irritation. "Is that the full moon talking, buddy?"

"Probably," Scott replies with a slight nod. "Why do you care, anyway?"

"Because, Scott, something's gotta go right here. I mean, we're getting our asses royally kicked, if you haven't noticed. People are dying; I got my dad fired; you're gonna be held back in school; Emery's got voodoo magic; I'm in love with a nut job— and if on top of all that, I gotta watch you lose Allison to a stalker like Matt, I'm gonna stab myself in the face!"

Emery mouths a Wow to herself and briefly widens her eyes at Stiles' dramatics. However, when Scott rises from his seat and gapes at something across the yard, Emery straightens and twists her body to follow his gaze. She almost spills her drink. "Oh, shit."

"Don't stab yourself in the face," Scott says.

"Why not?"

"Because Jackson's here."

Their eyes meet Jackson's from the distance between them, and he looks back at them with an unreadable expression behind his features. Emery has a strange and eerie feeling about his presence, and it isn't just because he's Jackson. There's something else that's missing— she just hasn't figured it out yet.

____________

Two hours later, Emery wanders through Lydia's house and has come to the conclusion that most of the other attendees have reached the stimulated level of drunk. Practically every person she passes are pressed up against each other, lips connected and bodies entwined.

Emery cringes when she peers out a window and sees several people sniffing trees and plants in the backyard, even eating the grass. What the hell did Lydia put in the punch? She looks down at the drink in her hand and carefully places it on the nearest table in the hallway, deciding she's had enough alcohol for the night.

She eventually turns into an undisturbed corner of the house. The music that pounds downstairs fades into nothing but silence, and Emery pauses her steps and creases her brows in confusion. Her surroundings are dim and unclear as she cautiously moves in a circle, trying to make sense of why it's so oddly quiet.

"Emery..."

A raspy, hushed voice whispers in her ear, and her body goes rigid almost immediately. Emery's shoulder are tense, while her heart has started to hammer against her rib cage as panic fills her chest. She whirls around to find nothing but the darkness looking back at her. Then she searches in every direction for the source of the haunting voice.

"Who's there?" she calls out.

"Emery," it says again.

This time she realizes that nobody is whispering into her ear. There's nobody else in the room with her— she's alone. The voice is coming from her own mind. In her own head.

"Look outside. Look at what you've done."

Despite her instincts telling her to do the opposite, Emery fearfully makes her way towards the window. A ragged shriek escapes her lips. The guests in the backyard are being consumed by a dark vapor. The same violet vapor that begins to engulf Emery's entire body as she listens to their agonizing screams ring through the air until they slowly die out along with everybody else.

Now Emery is scared. Her eyes are filled with sheer terror as she tries to steady her breathing, but her lungs refuse to oblige to her wishes. She continues to heave in a panicked manner, turning away from the window. Her hands fold over her ears as she shuts her eyes, desperately trying to block out the relentless words of the voice within her head.

"You killed them," it hisses. "All of them are dead because of you. Because of your so called gift."

"What are you talking about?" Emery asks, her mouth trembling. "I didn't kill anyone."

"It's your fault. You couldn't control it, and you killed them—"

"No, I didn't!" she cries, "I didn't do anything."

"Yes, you did."

"No, no, no..." Emery whispers to herself over and over again. The mist around her fingers and arms keeps swarming her, and she's unable to absorb it back into her skin. "Stop, please—"

"You did this. You killed them—"

A sob wracks Emery's chest, and her spine slides down the wall as she collapses to the floor. The voice seems to multiply, because suddenly there's a million other voices overlapping with the first one and engraving themselves into Emery's thoughts. Each word is more tormenting than the last.

"Stop it, stop it." Emery's frame begins to rock back and forth. They keep mocking her. Taunting her. Growing louder by every passing second. It's driving her to the point of insanity.

When Emery can no longer handle it, she screams, "GET OUT OF MY HEAD!"

The voices finally cease to be heard, yet Emery cannot find the strength to break out of her current position. She doesn't know how long she sits there before somebody is shaking her shoulders roughly, their hands firmly clasped over her frame and yelling her name repeatedly.

They pry her arms away from her ears, despite her resistance and pleas to leave her alone, and continue to say her name until she opens her eyes. Scott kneels down in front of her and looks at her with a worried expression. Emery stares back at him with glossy eyes and a tear-stained face. Her mascara is slightly smudged around her waterline, and her cheeks are flushed a bright red. Suddenly Emery feels vulnerable.

"Are you okay?" Scott asks, his gaze traveling over her body and scanning for any injuries. "Emery?"

"W—What happened?" she says, blinking a few times to clear her vision.

Although he shows obvious confusion, Scott reluctantly decides to disregard his previous question. Emery's glad he doesn't press for details or try to comfort her. "We need to find Lydia. I think she put something in the punch. Can you stand?"

She nods as Scott takes hold of her hands and pulls her up with him. "Where's Stiles?"

"Yeah, we need to find him, too." Scott motions toward the stairwell and they rush down the steps to the first floor of the house.

Scott and Emery push through the crowds of party-goers, briefly pausing to ask some people if they've seen Lydia or Stiles. Unfortunately, most of them either shake their heads no or are too intoxicated to respond without bursting into a fit of giggles.

Eventually they reach the backyard, and Emery sees Stiles slumped over against a pillar by the hot tub. "Over there," she says, tapping Scott on his shoulder and pointing to the boy.

Scott immediately grabs Emery by her wrist and drags her with him as he maneuvers around more people. The witch snatches a bottle of water from one of the tables and unscrews the cap, passing it to Scott when he crouches down in front of Stiles. Emery hunches behind him, the palms of her hands resting on her knees as she gapes at the state of their friend.

The boy has clearly drank way more than Emery, who only had two cups, as he's barely able to keep his eyes open or sit upright without Scott holding his shoulder to keep him steady.

"Stiles, look at me," Scott demands. "Drink the water. Stiles, drink it! Something's happening, and I need you to sober up right now. Come on, Stiles."

Then a girl pops her head out from the other side of the pillar. "What do you think you're doing? You want to sober him up fast, that's not the way to do it."

Scott raises his brows at her. "You can do better?"

The girl makes a face. "I can do best, boy."

She abruptly grabs Stiles by his bicep and places one of her hands at the nape of his neck, dunking him headfirst into the hot tub. Scott gapes in shock at her actions, and Emery lets out an amused laugh when the girl yanks him out of the water.

"How do you feel?" she asks.

Stiles seems to be out of the daze he'd been in a moment ago, spitting out the water that flooded his mouth. "Like I might have to revisit my policy on hitting a girl."

The girl turns to Scott and Emery, "He's sober."

"Nice." Emery holds out her hand above her head for a high-five, which the girl accepts before disappearing into the crowd. Then Emery and Scott each loop an arm under Stiles' armpits and hoist him to his feet.

Soon enough, they decide to split up to search the property for Lydia. Stiles enters the house to check the rooms upstairs, while Scott and Emery continue to make their way through the guests and look downstairs. They find themselves in the backyard again when they are unable to locate the strawberry blonde.

"Hey, I can't find her," Stiles motions to their surroundings urgently. "And, dude, anyone who drank that crap— they're freaking out."

Emery looks around as several people hurling themselves into the pool, causing the water to splash over the sides. She hurriedly steps back when a wave lands a few inches from her feet.

Scott murmurs, "I can see that."

"What the hell do we do?"

"I don't know, but we gotta—"

His words are cut off as Matt's panicked shouts echo across the lawn, and they avert their eyes to see two guys dragging him towards the edge of the pool. He's desperately trying to get out of their grasps.

"I can't swim!" Matt yells. "No, no, no, no. Stop! I can't swi— I can't swim!"

Then he's struggling to stay afloat, his limbs thrashing frantically against the waves that keep him from reaching the surface. Matt's cries are muffled by him drowning, and Emery can feel a sense of concern in her stomach when nobody steps forward to help him. Until Jackson is suddenly hauling him out of the water.

Matt is completely soaked, his clothes dripping with the chlorine water as his shoulders heave up and down. He glares at the other attendees who witnessed the scene. "What're you looking at?"

Emery notices Jackson rushing away to the exit of the backyard, then she watches Matt approach Scott and Stiles with an intimidating expression as he brushes past them. The realization of what Matt said before he was thrown into the pool dawns on her.

He can't swim.