I HADN'T REACHED OUT   to my friends the next day. In fact, I'd been here almost a week now and still they had no idea that I was within walking distance to them. I'd spent my days helping Grandma run the diner and my nights immersed in make-believe books where the heroines life was way more tragic than mine. Oddly, it helped. I didn't want to face reality, but with school starting in a matter of days, I knew the awkward reunion I'd been avoiding was just around the corner.

It was late, and the diner was quiet. I'm not sure why my Grandmother chose to keep it open until midnight; after 8 o'clock it's rare to see more than one person. But she keeps on insisting that she'll keep it open for anyone who may need a safe space or a listening ear. I think it's an invitation for the wrong kind of people, personally. But if it's worked for her this long then so be it - she's far too stubborn to be swayed anyway. I suppose that's where I get it from.

"You should head home, Cassia. It's getting late and I don't want your Grandma worrying. I've got it from here."

I turn as I hear the elder male speak, the rag in my hand still working in circles against the sugar-encrusted table. Do people really miss their cup that often? "Hmm? Uh, yeah.. yeah, I'll head home in a bit, Joseph. I'm just finishing up."

He was a kind man from what I'd seen: tall, hair slightly greying at the sides, and eyes so blue it looked like the clearest ocean was reflected in them. I imagine back in his younger days he was probably quite the catch. Even now I often see a slight blush in the cheeks of middle-aged women whenever he serves them. Sometimes even men. Joseph had worked for my grandmother for almost 20 years, and was clearly someone she trusted dearly. And because of that, I trusted him too.

I made my way behind the counter, fingers tugging on the strings of my apron that I'd knotted a little too tightly. Eventually I got it undone and slipped it over my head, folding it rather sloppily before setting it aside.

Time to head home.

Or so I thought.

Time seemed to slow down when I turned back around only to see two familiar faces walking towards me, both of them too busy talking to one another to notice me standing there, mouth slightly open.

Ok, so I hadn't quite expected it to go like this... but there was no escaping now.

Stiles was the first to notice, after a double take that is. I noted the look of confusion, that's quickly replaced with excitement. "Cassia?! Oh my god, what are you doing here? When did you get here? Wait— why didn't you call?"

The questions are coming at me a million miles a minute. I don't quite know what to say, how to act. There's a part of me that wants to reach over, pull them both into a hug and tell them how good it is to see them.

But things have changed. Sadly.

Scott finally catches up, his smile familiar and almost comforting. "Cassia, hi! It's good to see you. But yeah, why- why haven't you called?"

They share a puzzled look as I gather my thoughts. Why haven't I called? Why hadn't they called me — one single time — in the last six months? I shouldn't be angry, I know; life doesn't always work that way, people get busy. But I can't help it. My life was falling apart and still, I tried to keep that line open. They meant too much to me for me to just go on with my life without giving them a second though.

Did that mean I didn't mean quite as much to them? Ouch. That thought hurt. But maybe it was true. And maybe I just had to stop caring so much.

I don't dare allow the sadness I feel to show on my face. This isn't a pity party, but that doesn't mean I won't call them out on their bullshit.

"Okay, so first off ... hi." I inch closer, one hand on the counter as my fingers tap lightly against the surface. A nervous habit.

"I've been here for a few days, I'm moving in with my grandma until graduation. Or, well, that's the plan for now anyway. And I didn't call because I didn't think you would answer."

Stiles looks insulted. And Scott rubs the back of his own neck nervously.

"Wait, what? We totally would have answered, wouldn't we, Scott?" The back of Stiles' hand lightly taps the others chest, motioning for him to agree.

"Yeah, totally. We totally would have answered." Scott doesn't sound so sure in his reply, in fact he sounds rather disappointed in himself. I simply stare, eyebrow raised.

They could at least just be honest.

"Mhm..." I mumbled, eyes rolling. "Sure."

"We wou-" Stiles is cut off before he can finish, sincerity in the look that Scott McCall gives me. "No, she's right, Stiles. We haven't been the greatest friends."

A hand falls on top of mine, a gentle squeeze given. Deep brown eyes stare into mine as I look directly at Scott for the first time tonight. Something is different about him, something I can't quite put my finger on. Maybe it's just effects of puberty, after all he was just a fourteen year old boy the last time I saw him. "We're sorry, Cas. I know it's hard to believe, but Beacon Hills has been a bit of a crazy place lately."

"Yeah, you can say that again." Stiles interjects, throwing two hands up in the air for emphasis.

For the first time, the right side of my mouth curls upwards, the smallest hint of a smile teasing my coconut balm-coated lips.

"Crazy how?" I ask, intrigued.

They share a look again. Secretive. And I once again feel like I'm on the outside of some secret club, when once upon a time I was the third member.

"It's a long story." Scott let's out a breath and shakes his head, a light laugh of disbelief. I get the feeling it's a story he's not going to tell me. At least not anytime soon.

I retreat backwards slowly and nod my head in acceptance that this is how it's going to be now. "Ok. Well, it was good catching up, boys. I'm gonna head back home, Joseph can take your order." I point toward my grandmothers most loved employee and turn to leave, when I grimace at the sound of Stiles' chair scraping backwards as he stands up suddenly.

"Hey, Cas, wait— come on... don't be like that. Please. We missed you." He sounds hurt, and my chest aches at the thought that I'm the cause. Am I being a total bitch, or am I justified? It's hard to tell.

I'm probably being a total bitch.

I'm about to tell them I've missed them too, but the sound of the bell ringing once again distracts from the conversation.

Everything suddenly goes quiet, and when I glance over my shoulder I see him taking slow and steady strides towards the boys. He's tall, muscular- and at the risk of sounding like a total cliche- mysterious. They know him, I can tell. Scott doesn't seem happy to see him in the slightest. Neither does Stiles.

"Scott. We need to talk." He's straight to the point, arms folded across his chest. He cocks his head towards the door, motioning for them to step outside. "Now."

There's a lump in my throat when he gives me the quickest of glances, with a look that makes me feel like my mere presence is an annoyance to him. And with that short, fleeting look, every inch of my body is telling me that this is someone I should stay far away from.

For me, that's a dangerous feeling.

"Who is that?" I question, watching as Scott follows behind. They seem to be having a heated discussion outside. The guy seems rather intimidating, honestly. I hope Scott isn't in any trouble.

"That? Uh... that's Derek. Just Derek." As he vaguely replies to my question, I glance over to see Stiles reaching for a menu, keeping his gaze down. He's avoiding making eye contact, and I can't help but to wonder why. What kind of trouble could Scott McCall a possibly be in? He was the nicest person I'd ever known.

"Just Derek..." His name is mumbled under my breath mockingly, so low I'm almost certain even Stiles doesn't hear it. Yet, almost instantly the stranger outside casts another glance my way. And this time it last almost a half a second longer. It's seems like a warning.

And maybe it is.

Derek walks off into the night and Scott is running back into the diner, his hand instantly reaching out and grabbing onto Stiles' jacket. He tugs.

"We have to go."

Stiles is on his feet now, and they're both making their way toward the door. It's all so rushed, I don't even have a moment to process it, or question why they'd suddenly be in such a hurry.

Scott wears his best sympathetic smile. "I'm sorry, Cassia. We'll catch up properly soon, I promise. There's just something we've got to do."

And just like that, they're gone. Wandering off toward the woods in the same direction as Derek.

Derek.

He's annoyingly all I think about on my way home. Who is he? And what does he want with my friends?

I know it's a question I should avoid finding the answer too, after all there has to be a reason why Scott and Stiles are being so hushed about. But I never was good at listening to the warning signs.

This wasn't going to end well.