"Hey, have you studied for the history test?" Stiles asked as he and Scott stepped out of the jeep in front of the school, slamming the door shut behind him.

"What?" Scott said blankly, looking around the parking lot for Allison.

"What do you mean 'what'? Dude, you know you're failing two classes already," Stiles said incredulously. "That test tomorrow is worth, like a third of the grade for the semester."

"Oh," Scott said. "Yeah. I guess I'll just study tonight. I was gonna meet up with Allison anyway, so maybe we'll go over her notes or something."

"Yeah, you're not going to study with Allison."

Scott smiled guiltily. "No, probably not. Oh, hey, there she is. I'll meet up with you later, alright?" and Scott saunters off without another word.

"Okay, yeah, that's cool" Stiles called after his best friend's disappearing back. "I'll see you later!" Stiles sighed and hiked his backpack up on his shoulders. "Hey, Lydia," he said, seeing the redhead stalking towards him. "What's-" Lydia brushed past him, eyes fixed on Jackson, who was leaning against the door of his Porsche. "up. Nothing. I'll just go to class then," he said to no one, looking longingly after Lydia. "Yup, no one cares."

"Where were you last night?" Lydia demanded, putting her hands on her hips, eyes blazing. Though she and Jackson were no longer dating, they maintained a physical relationship. Or so Lydia had thought. "You said you would be at my house by midnight. I stayed up for nothing! Now I have these awful bags under my eyes." She flicked her hair out of her face, as if to give her ex-boyfriend a better view of her eyes.

Jackson dramatically rolled his eyes and shrugged. "Something more important came up."

Lydia gave an offended scoff. "Excuse me, did you say 'more important,' or was I hallucinating from the toxic fumes of your cologne? Just to let you know, there are hundreds of boys who would kill to spend a night with me. What you're getting is a privilege."

"We're not together anymore. Get over it," Jackson smirked, stepping around his ex and heading up the steps into the school building.

Lydia huffed and stormed after him, fully ready to lash out the arrogant prick again.

Scott scooted through the door just as the bell was ringing and sighed in relief. He wasn't technically late for once. "Mr. McCall," Mr. Burkle said from his position at the board. "Nice of you to join us. Why don't you take a seat?"

"Yes sir. Sorry." He slid into his customary seat behind Stiles.

"So," Stiles said, without looking away from the front of the room, where Mr. Burkle had begun drawing simple graphs on the blackboard, trying to explain functions and how to graph them. "How's Allison?"

"She's good. We, uh, we didn't talk much," Scott grinned.

"No, of course you didn't," Stiles murmured, turning his head fractionally to look at his friend out of the corner of his eye. "You do know that her grandfather's the principal here, right? The one who wants to wipe out all the werewolves in Beacon Hills with a burning passion? The one who knows about your hairy little secret, right?"

"Yeah," Scott said. "So?"

"So, I'm just saying it may be a good idea to not make out with her at school where her psycho granddad can see you, you know? You don't need to give him another reason to want to chop you in half like a freakin' samurai."

"I think I'm okay. We have an understanding. Besides, everybody's so worked up about finding out who that lizard thing is. No one's going to notice if me and Allison are late to class every once in a while."

"Do you guys want to step out into the hall to continue this conversation? Or should I just send you down to the principal's office to let you finish your little chat with Mr. Argent?" Mr. Burkle interrupted. The boys looked up to see their classmates staring back at them, sniggering.

"Um, no sir," Scott answered somewhat nervously. "We're done."

"Oh, good," said Mr. Burkle, smiling. "Then you won't mind coming up to the board and graphing this function for us, will you?"

"No sir, not at all," Scott said, shooting Stiles a worried look. "Dude, what the hell is a function?" he asked under his breath.

"I don't know, I was talking to you."

"Awesome," Scott muttered.

"Any time you're ready, Mr. McCall," Mr. Burkle prompted.

Scott managed to goof off at the board, drawing several made up graphs, moving decimal points, and solving for x at least 7 different times in varying degrees of incorrectness, for about ten minutes before Mr. Burkle gave up on him and let him sit back down.

"Miss Martin, perhaps you'd like to show Mr. McCall where he went wrong."

Lydia looked up from her desk, where she had been filing her already perfect nails. "No problem."

Lydia stopped a couple of steps from the board, looking at Scott's hopeless attempts. "Well, let me clean up this mess first," she said, making a dramatic show of erasing everything Scott had done. She then proceeded to solve the problem without a moment of hesitation. "There," she said, finishing her graph with a flourish. "All done."

"Thank you, Miss Martin," praised Mr. Burkle, raising an eyebrow at Scott, who half-smiled back as Stiles slid down in his seat.

"My pleasure," Lydia simpered, taking her seat and folding her legs neatly beneath her desk.

"Well, that could have gone better," said Stiles several hours later as he and Scott climbed into the beat up jeep. Their last period of the day, English, had been a train wreck start to finish. It began with Scott coming in late for the second time that week after a rather lengthy meeting with Allison at her locker between periods and ended with Stiles trying to explain that his book report over an Ultimate Spiderman comic should still be acceptable because of its deep literary themes and the fact that it was a comic book. Scott had forgotten to do his entirely.

"At least you did yours. I thought it was due next week," Scott complained. "I didn't have any time to read anything last night. I had to close up at work and had to go see Allison before she had to go to bed. I didn't have time to do anything by the time I got home, and even if I did, Derek just randomly showed up in my room to talk about who that lizard person could be."

"Yeah, well, it was assigned a month ago, so.." Stiles reasoned, pulling out of the parking lot into the street. "Does Derek still think it's Lydia?"

"I don't know, maybe. It doesn't seem like he knows much of anything about it one way or another."

"And he thinks you do?"

"I think he might. He's still suspicious of Dr. Deaton, too, though. He wants me to keep an eye on him in case something happens."

"What? Derek can't creep on him himself?" Stiles asked, making a screechingly sharp left turn. "He doesn't seem to have a problem stalking you."

"I guess he's still training Isaac, Boyd, and Erica."

"Maybe he only has time to stalk one person now that he has to try to teach three bloodthirsty werewolves to mind their manners during their monthly cycle," Stiles suggested as Scott rolled his eyes. Stiles pulled into the vet parking lot. "Try not to forget about the history test," he nagged as Scott got out. "Remember, it's-" Scott closed the door and waved as he walked in the vet's office. "a third of your grade. Man, why is everyone doing that today?"

Stiles had just finished up his French homework when the Sheriff knocked once and opened his son's bedroom door. "Hey, you finish your homework?"

"Yeah, I actually literally just finished. What's up?" Stiles asked, standing up from his cluttered desk. His dad was back in his uniform, even though he had been off since six that night and wasn't due to be back at the station until the next morning.

"Nothing that concerns you. I got a call and have to go into the station for a few though. I'll be back before you go to school."

"Why, what happened? Was there another weird attack? An animal attack? A break in? Is somebody dead?" Stiles asked quickly, sitting on the edge of his bed, shoving his shoes back on. "I'm coming with you."

"Stiles, stop it, calm down" Sheriff Stilinski said. "You're not going anywhere, but to bed. It's probably nothing anyway."

"Nothing, I couldn't help with, you mean," Stiles tried, smiling.

The Sheriff looked at his son. "You wanna help me? Stay home. Stay out of trouble for once. Go to bed. I mean it."

"Dad," Stiles moaned.

"No, Stiles. If you're not in bed by the time I leave, you're going to have a very long weekend, working in the yard, got it?"

"Got it."

"I'm not messing around here."

"Yeah, Dad, I know. Stiles stays here. Got it."

"Good," Sheriff Stilinski said, closing the door behind him.

Stiles waited a few seconds, listening to hear if his dad had left. Hearing nothing, he hurriedly finished putting his shoes on and went to grab his jacket off the back of his desk chair when his door opened again.

"Don't. Even. Think about it," Sheriff Stilinski said, raising his eyebrows at his son.

"Nope. Not thinking about it. Not thinking about anything really. No brain activities going on, at all," Stiles said, sitting on his bed and kicking his shoes off again.

"Uh huh," said the Sheriff. "Good night."

Stiles actually stuck to his word and went to bed early. He didn't wake up until heard a creak on the stairs. His dad wasn't due home for hours. Curious, Stiles stuck his head out his bedroom door, squinting out into the dark hallway. "Dad? Is that you?" Any further investigation was stopped dead in its tracks when Stiles' own aluminum baseball bat was brought sharply down against his temple and the world went black.

Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Wolf or any of its characters. The only original character (so far) is Mr. Burkle.

A/N: Hey! Please let me know if I should continue with this or if I should let it go.