epilogue | the new girl

                     TWO WEEKS LATER, I found myself on the steps of the Stilinski residence with a casserole dish in my hands. It was evening time, and the sun was dipping below the horizon, but my family was speaking as if the day had just begun. They were loud and rowdy. Behind me, Presley helped Sarah out of the car. She was still weak from her injuries, but getting stronger each day, giggling and sending joking jabs to Presley whenever she could. Mom was standing on my left, hand poised over the doorbell.

She looked over at me, calming from her previous excitement and quickly smirking. "You dressed nicely."

I smiled like I didn't know what she was talking about. In truth, I'd worn a dress of Lydia's. She'd given it to me a week ago after digging through her extensive closet and claiming she had no use for the flowery frock.

-

The day had been hot and humid - a vast difference to the usual Beacon Hills climate. I'd been called over to the Martin household for a 'girl's day', as Lydia put it over the phone. It was mostly just us two, but Allison had stopped by to get her toenails painted and hair braided. Almost like the last month had never happened, the three of us laughed and gossiped like normal teenage girls would. The most popular subject that day was summer vacation.

"My dad and I are visiting France, I think." Allison glanced at us from her perch on Lydia's bed. "He said we needed some time out of Beacon Hills. To relax."

Slyly, Lydia and I glanced at each other. Over the last few weeks, we'd done much more than relax. I'd attended two funerals, and multiple memorials for the kanima's murdered victims. Among those lost was Allison's mother - the severe redhead Victoria Argent. We'd never gotten along too well, and that was because we'd been on opposite teams the entire time I'd known her. I'd been at the funeral to support Allison, and hadn't stayed for long after the wake.

"Well," Lydia breathed, tossing her long red hair over her shoulder and looking around the room before flicking her eyes in my direction. "What are you doing?"

I fanned my face with my hand and sipped at a bottle of water. "I'm visiting my father in New York. Presley's coming too."

Lydia pouted at me. "Boo. I'm stuck here all summer while you two get to explore the world and meet new people." She tossed a bracelet at me, then moved over to her vanity to reapply her lipstick. "New cities, new clothes, new boys..."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," I interrupted, placing the bracelet on the bed comforter. "New boys? Lydia, what happened with Jackson?"

She sighed and spun on her heel. "Nothing special."

Before I could ask for more of an explanation, Allison sent me a sharp look. Apparently, I wasn't supposed to ask about Jackson. Part of me was miffed. I'd spent the last four months running around trying to save his life, and I wasn't allowed to ask how he was? Lydia hummed under her breath and absentmindedly ran her hands through her hair. Suddenly, I understood. Maybe this was all for Lydia's benefit in the end. I decided to keep my mouth shut.

Lydia moved on easily. "Speaking of boys," she plopped down on my bed and patted the seat next to her and Allison until I sat down. "Can we talk about you two?"

Allison sighed. "Do we have to?"

My eyes flicked over to her. "What's wrong? Trouble with you and Scott?"

"We broke up," she said solemnly. "I just - I need time."

Either uninterested or craving something more dramatic, Lydia looked at me. "And you?"

I couldn't stop the laugh that fell from my mouth. "Me? You think I've had time to find a boyfriend?" Lydia smirked and I erupted in a surprised screech. "What's that smile for? Stop it!"

Even Allison giggled as I struggled to form a sentence. In the last four months, I'd fought, scratched, screamed, and searched for answers, but the one thing I hated most about the experience was the birth of that smile. That damn smirk. It haunted me, taunting me into behaving irrationally and without much thought.

"You mean there's nothing going on between you and Stiles?" Allison asked me.

I reared back and screeched again, ignoring the thrumming of my heart in my chest. Neither of them were like Scott or Isaac, so no one would be able to smell the lie on my lips. "No! There is nothing going on between me and Stiles! I don't even like him!"

-

I shrugged my shoulders at Mom, eyes not meeting hers directly. "Dinner at the Sheriff's house. Kind of a big deal, yeah?"

Presley and Sarah bantered behind us, struggling up the stairs but finally making it. Their presence ended my conversation with Mom, but not before I sent her a sly glare. No matter how much she hinted, and smirked, and pushed, there was still nothing but friendship between me and the Sheriff's boy.

The front door swung inward. "Hey!" Sheriff Stilinski grinned, opening the door wider and inviting us in. As Sarah passed, he patted her on the shoulder. "Ready to get back on duty?"

Sarah laughed and rolled her eyes. "You know, I could use a little desk time, don't you think? Looking over files and such." She was careful to keep it light. Only yesterday had been Stevens's funeral, and even though she remained calm and collected, I knew the real Sarah was dying inside. Still, she made an effort.

"Sure, sure," the Sheriff said. He made his way to the kitchen and took the casserole dish from my hands. "I'm glad we're doing this. Stiles and I can't cook for our lives."

Mom had on her hostess smile - the one with bright teeth and raised eyebrows. "Quinn and I love cooking. This is her recipe, actually."

I played my hand at being bashful. "Nothing too big."

Sheriff Stilinski grinned, handing Sarah and Presley glasses of soda. "Well, I'm sure it's better than takeout." He then handed Mom a glass of white wine, which she gladly accepted. "I have to apologize for my son. I told him to be down here when you all got here, but you know how boys are."

Mom sent Presley a pointed look, then glanced at me. "Oh, I know. Why don't you go get him, Quinn? Then we can get dinner started."

I knew what she was getting at with that stupid grin, but I played along and nodded, excusing myself to run upstairs. Agreeing with her would be easier than fighting back. My dress bounced around my thighs as I wandered down the hallway to Stiles's bedroom. Nothing had changed since the last time I'd been here, so it didn't take too much time before I was knocking on the bedroom door.

Faintly from within, I heard Stiles groan. "What is it, dad?"

Playfully lowering my voice, I answered. "Just telling you to get your ass downstairs."

The door flew open, revealing Stiles wearing a pair of plaid pajama pants and a white undershirt. He widened his eyes when he saw it was me, then looked back at the clock on his bedside table, then looked at me again. "What time is it?" He asked me.

"Like seven?" I pondered. "My family's here for dinner."

His mouth dropped open. "Oh, yeah, right. Uh, come in."

I stepped into the bedroom and Stiles closed the door behind me. He vaguely gestured to the unmade bed in the corner of the room, so I sat down and watched as he dug through his closet for something to wear. He was muttering under his breath about what jeans to choose, but I didn't pay too much attention. I was far too focused on other things. Like the tapping of my fingers on my knees, or my face heating up with nerves, or the image of that stupid dumb smirk my mother was prone to giving me.

To get my mind off of all of these things, I opened my mouth. "Are you ready for finals?" I asked as he wandered into the bathroom to change.

I sat in silence until Stiles came out in a new pair of pants but the same shirt. He shrugged as he looked through his dresser drawers. "I say no, but honestly anything will look easy compared to the shit we've been through the past few days."

I harrumphed in understanding. "Well, we can study for chemistry together when you're not too busy practicing with Scott." His eyes found mine and I smiled. "You two need to work on your lacrosse skills, yeah?"

He chuckled. "Oh, ha ha, make fun of the guy with a black eye."

"Not making fun!" I exclaimed, ignoring the pang in my heart as my eyes found his healing bruise. His cuts had scabbed over, but the purple and blue had all but intensified over the last few weeks. When I continued, I tried to keep the conversation light. "You know, according to the last game, you should be the one helping Scott."

"Uh-huh. Helping the werewolf with supernatural reflexes and stamina?" He held up a checkered shirt and looked at me. "Too much, right?"

I wrinkled my face at the pattern and nodded. "Seriously, though. If you keep doing what you did at that game, you could easily make it up to first line." I ignored the scoff Stiles sent my way. "You know," I ventured, "I never got the chance to tell you, but Lydia was, like, in love with you that night."

That got his attention. He stopped digging through his dresser and glanced back at me. "Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah," I nodded. "She thought you were doing an awesome job. And at the end, when she was smiling at you? Yeah, I know what that smile was."

Stiles pulled on a blue button up shirt and made eye contact with me in the mirror while he buttoned it up. "What was the smile?"

"The 'I'm actually in love with Stiles Stilinski' smile." I stood up from my perch on the bed and made my way over to Stiles so I could straighten out his collar. He turned toward me and let me work as I continued on. "You know your crush isn't that secret, right? I know all of this shit with Jackson and the Argents has really messed things up, but I think you really have a chance with her, okay?"

"Okay..." he trailed off, "But what if I don't want Lydia?"

That caught me off guard. I looked up at him. "Why wouldn't you want Lydia?"

He mulled over his words before speaking. "Because I think I found someone a hell of a lot better than her."

"Yeah?" I asked, stepping back and admiring him for a second.

"Yeah," he agreed. "She's a lot like Lydia, honestly. Popular, pretty, smart. But she's got this grit that Lydia doesn't have. She's tough, and stubborn, and a lot nicer, too."

"Nicer?" I looked up with a furrowed brow. I was trying to ignore the pang in my chest as Stiles described this great new girl to me. I knew my stupid crush would be annoying if he ever got together with Lydia, but the idea of him having two girls to choose from before even looking at me, made me feel rather melancholy.

He nodded. "Tons. Scott likes her too, you know. Thinks we'd make a good team."

I wasn't interested anymore, turning away from Stiles and heading for his desk where he had his math homework laying out. "That's awesome," I said just to sound like I was still paying attention. But something just wasn't adding up to me. In confusion, I looked at Stiles. "But the other night, at the game, you were giving Lydia this smile when we were up in the stands. Like this really big smile. It looked just like the one she was giving you."

Stiles cocked his head to the side. "Wait," he said, "You don't know who the girl is?"

"Uh," I started, rolling my eyes, "No?"

He laughed then, moving closer to me and grabbing onto my arms so I'd look at him. "You're telling me you really don't know who this girl is?" I shook my head. He chuckled again. "I mean, I thought the smile would give it all away, but I guess not."

Annoyed, I sighed. "Stiles, are you going to tell me who this new girl is, or not?"

And then he threw a curveball. I didn't know what I'd been expecting honestly. Had he fallen in love with Allison? I didn't understand where he was trying to lead me at first with his cryptic descriptions, but it didn't take an idiot to understand who this mystery girl was when Stiles leaned down and kissed me.

Like ice cream on a hot day, I melted. Closing my eyes and leaning into the kiss, then peeking through my eyelashes just to make sure this was actually happening. And it was. Oh, boy was it happening. Stiles wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me closer, and I happily obliged, winding my own arms over his shoulders.

Similarly to before, I was once again surprised at how soft Stiles's lips were. Sure, there was the scab of the split lip that scratched against my own, but I couldn't complain. We were kissing. Like, a real, proper kiss that made my heart flutter and my knees go weak. I hummed and smiled, then turned my head and deepened the kiss like a hungry animal.

We stood there, wrapped in each other's embrace, when my cell phone buzzed in my jacket pocket. Like a fire had lit between us, we parted, jumping back and staring at one another with wide, surprised eyes. Remnants of my lipstick were splotched on Stiles's mouth, and I knew I didn't look much better.

Quickly, I glanced at my phone to see a text from Presley.

I'm hungry, it read, Coming down any time soon??

I sent a response telling him to wait for a few seconds, then pocketed the cell again.

"Time for dinner?" Stiles asked me, fidgety and nervous.

There were two things I could do in this situation: pretend that the kiss had never happened and go eat a casserole, or help Stiles wipe the excess lipstick off of his mouth and go eat a casserole. Either way, we were eating dinner. I was hungry.

My instincts made the decision for me. I stepped forward and let a smile grow on my face. Stiles stood perfectly still while I used my thumb to clean up his lips, then watched as I did the same thing in his bathroom mirror. When done, I turned on my heel and regarded Stiles closely. Much closer than I had ever really looked at him.

"I'm the new girl?" I pondered aloud.

A grin split on his face as a furious blush moved up his pale neck. He nodded, then scratched his head anxiously. "Yes," he breathed, "You're the new girl."