BEATEN SNEAKERS TAPPING AGAINST THE FLOOR, ELBOWS TOUCHING, THE SMELL OF PEACH PERFUME—Scott shifting in his seat, the uncut ends of Remington's hair tickling his arm, the constant rhythm of his fingers drumming against the armrest. It was comfortable in a way nothing else in his life seemed to be nowadays.

Scott looked at the girl sitting between them, asking quietly. "Remington, do you know Mr. Lahey? Isaac ever talk to you about him?"

Remington Sinclair grew up with them. They were all friends—Sort of. Scott had a general awkwardness when it came to girls and someone like Remington, who is delicate on a good day, tended to be tight-lipped around him after an incident in junior high. Meanwhile Stiles' own relationship with her is knotty at best. Right from an awful start: they met at the hospital when his mother Claudia was admitted to the hospital for end-of-life care. Remington, who at the time was so sickly every doctor who crossed paths with her shook their heads with a heavy sigh and said she wouldn't make it to be eight years old, seemed to govern the EoLC ward.

Back then, whenever he had stepped outside of his mother's room, a mawkish little girl with sunken cheeks and glass-like blue eyes seemed to follow him. Now in high school, it isn't much different.

She isn't his best friend and Stiles wasn't hers but they might as well be. 

She looked up from her planner—pink and orange, bright enough to hurt his eyes, covered in little stickers of stars and meowing cats. "Isaac's dad?" Remington repeated with a frown.

"Yeah," Scott said a little awkwardly, nodding too eagerly for a casual question.

"I know him," She recalled, lost in the memory. She seemed upset for a moment then shrugged. "He was nice to me as a kid. Used to drive Isaac, Camden and I to the pond on the weekends. Mrs. Lahey would give us watermelons slices."

"Isaac stopped talking about his family after his mom left." Remington finished lightly, despite how somber her words were. "My mom said I shouldn't ask either, because it might upset Isaac."

"Upset him?" Stiles repeated, sharing a look with Scott.

Remington nodded. She seemed okay today, Stiles observed, with her bangs obscuring her dark blue eyes like a sheepdog. A bit of blush on her cheeks, barely noticeable if it hadn't been for the glitter. Looking at her like this, even Scott can admit the girl is beautiful in an demure way.
"After Camden died—his older brother—he stopped inviting me over." She told him. "Then his mom left, and Isaac stopped mentioning his family altogether. You know how he is, Stiles."

The boy shrugged when Scott glanced at him. He vaguely knew of his dislike for Isaac, but Stiles isn't one to talk about serious things without masking the truth with jokes and sardonic half-lies.

Remington brushed a blond curl behind her ear; Scott turned his focus back to her when the smell of peach perfume got stronger, but the girl was looking at the floor where her feet were touching with Stiles's beaten sneakers.

"My mom said it's because he needed time alone to grieve properly," she said absently. "But Isaac said it's because he doesn't want me near his dad. He told me I'll remind his dad of Camden, too."

She didn't say anything more. The implication of her words left everyone unnerved.

Stiles shared a grimace with Scott. Isaac's situation at home isn't exactly a mystery to anyone who paid attention to him. He didn't do much to cover up bruises or split-lips, and the way he limped between classes during the off-season didn't leave a lot of room for excuses like lacrosse practice.

No one knew how to handle the situation and adults seemed too comfortable turning a blind eye, waiting until the day Isaac stepped forward. He hasn't yet and from Remington's distraught expression, he might never.

Stiles didn't know what to say. He didn't even know Isaac had a brother. "I'm sorry about Camden. It sounds like you really cared about him," He said; Scott echoed him.

For a moment, Remington seemed surprised by their words. "Thank you. Nobody, uh, ever said that to me. I was just a friend, after all."

The office door opened then. Jackson Whittemore stalked out of the office, followed by Stiles' dad. The secretary appeared behind him. She looked at them. The glasses magnified her eyes to the size of the entire lens. "Principal Argent is ready to see you-all,"

Remington stood, gathering her sweater from her lap and trailing after the secretary without glancing back. Stiles stood up too, turning to Scott, knowing he had kept track of Jackson's conversation with his dad using enhanced hearing

"So?" He asked, picking up his backpack from the floor.

Scott grimaced. "The sheriff was asking Jackson because he lives across from Isaac's. He said Isaac's dad used to beat the crap out of him."

"They're searching for a motive." Stiles explained to him.

Something must've happened to Isaac's dad and he was taken in as the primary suspect. Stiles mirrored Scott's expression: if Isaac was recently turned into a werewolf then the possibilities of him losing control and hurting—murdering—were high.

The door opened again. "Boys?" It was the new principal, Gerard Argent; also known as their other problem. A group of supernatural hunters without a code declaring war.

Stiles' expression pitched just at the thought; at least his main two issues were separate for now, but knowing Derek Hale, not for long. 

"Come on in." The principal continued. Stiles followed Scott into the office where Remington already sat with a perfect posture. Scott occupied the chair down next to her, leaving him to hover unsurely behind the two.

Gerard lowered stiffly on the executive chair. He looked at his desk, picking up a file holder. "Scott McCall." He crooked out, skimming through the records. Stiles wasn't sure if he was actually reading it or not, but he commented, "Academically not the most accomplished, but I see you have become quite the star athlete."

Scott nodded, twilling his thumbs. Stiles could relate to his nerves—it felt like his heart stopped beating when Gerard picked his file next.

"Mr. Stilinski. Oh, perfect grades but little to no extracurriculars. Maybe you should try lacrosse," Gerard said, uninterest coating the dangerous tone of the hunter. Clearly, he is only here for Scott.

Remington cleared her throat before speaking; "Actually, Principal Argent, Stiles is on the lacrosse team. He's also a volunteer with the local hospital's aid program."

When the girl turned to him, Stiles gave Remington a warning look—her shoulders dropped and her expression dimmed, but Stiles couldn't feel bad: any other time, to any other person, he would've appreciated it, but Gerard Argent is a vicious person.

It was one of those unspoken rules in Beacon Hills, one every single resident seemed to follow: Remington can't get involved in things that could hurt her. Stiles has been trying his hardest to follow it without exception.

"Josephine Sinclair." Gerard picked up Remington's file.

She smiled crookedly, half-hearted at best. "I prefer Remington, sir."

Gerard nodded, wordlessly reading her records. The file holder was noticeably thicker than both Scott and Stile's folders; He knew somewhere in those papers, his name is involved as Remington's student aid.

"Strong girl." He nodded his head with approval, closing Remington's file. Stiles shifted uncomfortably; jaw locked, he resisted the want to step in front of the girl and cover her from those analytic pedophile eyes. 

Gerard looked at the three of them, pausing for the amusement of it all. "Hold on, McCall." He muttered, acting like he just realized. "You're the Scott that was dating my granddaughter."

Scott shook his head frantically. "We were dating but not anymore. Not dating, not seeing anything—of each other or doing anything with each other, at all."

Stiles winced. Gerard leaned back, scrutinizing the werewolf. "Relax, Scott." He raised a hand to his mouth. "You look like you're about to crack a cyanide pill with your teeth."

"Just a hard breakup," Scott mumbled.

Remington's expression was sympathetic. "It's okay, Scott." She reassured him, adopting such a terribly soft voice Stiles knew right away what she was doing. "You're allowed to be sad without the need to excuse yourself. My mom tells me that whenever I watch Dumbo and cry."

Scott bobbed his head, fooled. "Uh, thanks, Remington."

Stiles resisted the urge to roll his eyes; another one, he thought.

Gerard leaned back on his chair. "Now listen, guys." He began. "Yes, I am the principal, but I really don't want you to think of me as the enemy." Remington nodded attentively; Stiles bit the side of his cheek. "However, this being my first day, I do need to support my teachers. So, unfortunately, someone is going to have to take the fall and stay behind for detention."

"That's the reason why I'm here, Principal Argent; Stiles can't serve detention today," Remington told him firmly.

Stiles, confused, nodded quickly. "I have to take her to the hospital after school for a routine check-up." He said, eyeing her for a second. "I'm excused by the school district."

"Is that so? Then I suppose Scott here will do it." Stiles wondered if Gerard smokes often—he rasps more than he speaks.

Stiles and Scott shared a glance. Remington snapped her eyes upward. "I wouldn't recommend it, Principal Argent." She said, voice falling into that meek tone Stiles hated because it sounded so genuine. The awful tone that gave the impression that it's Remington's time to die off and the only way to keep her alive is to gift her the world. Worst of all, it made you want to do it.

It worked flawlessly so far, Stiles knew—he was often the victim of it, after all—but he doubted it would do much on a heartless person like Gerard. 

"Even if it is Scott's rightful punishment," Remington hesitated, adding to her façade of the dying princess with those emotion-filled eyes. "Scott and Allison's break up is a popular topic; even the teachers are aware of the situation, Mr. Argent. As a teacher, wouldn't you lose respect for a superior who allows teenage drama to influence his actions?"

Gerard leaned forward on his desk; he locked eyes with Remington. "Are you telling me to let him go unpunished too?"

"No." Remington smiled crookedly. "I'm advising against it for your own reputation, just for today. They can both serve their punishments tomorrow! Twice over, even, for skipping the original date! Don't let your position as a respectable principal get ruined by only giving Scott detention. It'll look like bias, directly targeting a student."

Gerard kept looking at her, eyes hard and intense. After a moment, he leaned back and chuckle. "Smart, too."

"Thank you, Mr. Argent. I am just concern over your new position," Remington bowed her head.

Stiles felt his body chill, just a little bit.

"Well, you three may get going." Gerard gestured to the door. Remington said a polite acknowledgement, smoothing out her skirt as she stood up. Stiles held the door open for her; she walked out without looking back. Scott hurried out after her, and Stiles slammed the door shut with satisfaction and a small amount of anger.

The three of them walked out of the main office in silence.

When Stiles had enough, he grabbed Remington's wrist. "Whatever you just did," he said. "Don't do it again, okay, Remington? Stay away from him."

Remington's eyebrow furrowed. She removed his hand from her wrist. "I just wanted to help you." She mumbled crossly. "I just—"

"I know that!" Stiles interrupted her. "But you wanting to help usually ends with a hospital visit. If you are not going to listen to me, then listen to Eva."

"I'm getting better, Stiles," Remington said heatedly, exasperation flushing her face red; she's always been quick to cry. Stiles still can't tell when the tears are part of her mental games and when they are genuine. "I can help you. I can help Scott. I can help everyone—We both know I can. Why don't you let me help you?"

"Because we don't need your help, Remington." Stiles wished he could regret those words, but he didn't. They may be hurt but needed to be spoken.

"You are a dick, Stiles," She whispered, gaze lowering dejectedly.

Stiles felt uncomfortable; Scott was looking at them, eyes wondering off to the side when it became clear their conversation could be considered intimate. "I need you safe." Stiles continued, trying to keep his voice from lowering. He wasn't going to have a moment with Remington, absolutely not.  "So, listen to me: stay away from Gerard, and Allison. Stay away from Scott, stay away from Isaac—Stay away from me, especially now with the hunters everywhere. They will hurt you if they think you're involved, Teddy. Until we solve everything. Okay?"

Remington's chin trembled and her eyes were blazing cold, but she nodded obediently.

"Okay." She agreed, wiping a stray tear with her sleeve. She didn't look at Scott or at Stiles again—she squared her shoulders and turned around to leave, planner clenched tightly.

Stiles sighed, patting Scott's shoulders once and started walking after her. "I should've waited until I dropped her home. The car ride is going to be awkward now,"

"Don't you think you're being a little mean?" Scott asked.

Stiles didn't look back, waving his hand at him. "If being a little mean keeps her safe then I'm fine with it, buddy. See you!"

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ! ! !

Please comment and vote! Until next time!