XXIII. | connections

                    SPRING BREAK BEGAN smoothly. Stiles and I scoured the records from Beacon Hills High, trying to find the connection between the murders and the kanima. Originally, it was believed that every person killed had been in Harris's class. The theory of connection had been debunked the night of the rave, though, because a behind the scenes organizer of the party had been murdered, and she'd never attended Harris's class during her high school years.

It was Wednesday night, and we still hadn't figured anything out. I was perched on the kitchen counter at my house, scarfing down a piece of pizza. I had on Lydia's dress - a low-cut black number that I matched with a pair of deep red heels. My makeup was done naturally since I expected the party to be upbeat and warm, and my hair was down around my shoulders. Presley was at Danny's house, trying to convince him to come. Apparently most of the teenagers in Beacon Hills planned to avoid the party due to Lydia's odd nature in and out of school. They thought she was crazy, and no one wanted to go to a crazy girl's party.

Mom and Sarah were both already in their pajamas for the night, sipping on glasses of white wine. My mother always said that a day wasn't complete without a glass of wine, and she stuck to her word. Sarah, on the other hand, looked queasy as she downed the glass of alcohol.

They were talking about something while I sat and watched. Internally, I ran through the murders in the town again. Every connection I could think of was either untrue, or impossible to prove. I needed something irrefutable - something concrete and damning enough to convict someone of the murders. If I found that person, then I would know who controlled the kanima as well. This could all be over. All I needed was proof.

"So, who's going to the party tonight?" Mom asked as she sipped on her drink.

I shrugged halfheartedly. "Just some people from school."

"Like Stiles Stilinski?" She asked, this time a lot less casually.

My eyes flicked to Sarah, who now had her eyes trained on the granite of the countertop. She hadn't told Mom about the kiss she'd witnessed between Stiles and myself, but she was having a hard time keeping the secret. Nevertheless, Mom had already pinned him as the boy to look out for, since every chance she got she asked about him.

"Yes," I said. "But so is Scott McCall."

Mom also knew Scott because of her work friend Melissa McCall. Melissa McCall was Scott's mother. They spent most of their shifts gossiping about us and our friend group. So far, they assumed we'd either robbed a bank or found proof of alien life, just because we'd been acting so off recently. Similarly to me, Scott had pulled the father card, saying his weird behavior was caused by his absent dad. I'd rolled my eyes at how original it sounded.

"That's good," she told me. "I like him too."

"Is the whole team going?" Sarah asked now, looking at me expectantly. I blinked at her in response. "You know," she said, "The lacrosse team?"

"Oh," I said. "I don't know. You know they're not all friends, right?"

She shrugged and sipped her wine. "Well, yeah, but they still know each other. Still have some kind of connection."

The sound that came out of my mouth was almost unholy. I gasped, dropping my pizza slice on the floor and opening my eyes far too wide. "Say that again," I commanded Sarah.

"What?" She asked. "They all have that kind of connection?"

"The team," I whispered.

Suddenly, I was moving, jumping off of the counter and landing on my heeled feet. I jogged into the living room and found Mom's purse, where I dug through until I found her car keys. "Can I borrow these?" I practically yelled. She was silent as I flew around the downstairs, collecting my bag and phone. I stood at the front door when I was done, panting like a dog. "Can I use your car?" I asked again, this time a little more frantic.

She was taken aback. "I-I guess," she stumbled.

I was already out the door, throwing a quick goodbye over my shoulder. I threw myself into the front seat of her sedan and fumbled with the keys until I was able to pull out of the driveway, moving slowly at first, but then speeding off down the street when the house was out of sight.

The laugh that came out of my mouth as I sped through Beacon Hills was shrill and full of joy. I ran three red lights before I found the street I was looking for and sped down until I found the familiar house. The tires screeched as I came to a stop, but I didn't care, because I jumped out onto the pavement and sprinted into the small family home, ignoring the oddity of the unlocked front door and taking the stairs two at a time.

"Stiles," I screamed as I ran down the hallway. "It's a team! Check the - "

My voice died in my throat when I made the turn into Stiles's bedroom. He was sitting at his desk, yearbook from 2006 propped open on his table and pen in his hand. Next to him stood his father, the very man I was trying to help with my discovery. They were staring at me with wide, surprised eyes. I probably looked crazy, but I tried my best to straighten out my wayward hair and smudged makeup.

"Check the sports teams," I said, trying to collect my breath. "Swimming."

His father stared at me while Stiles flipped through the yearbook. He landed on a page before looking up at us. "Issac Lahey's father," he said. "He was the coach. And all the names are here."

"How did you...?" Sheriff Stilinski asked me before shaking his head and turning to look at the yearbook. A breathy laugh fell out of his mouth. "Nice job."

I was still panting. "Thanks," I breathed in response.

-

The party had begun but only a few people arrived. I stood with Lydia by the punch and talked to her while Stiles explained our findings to Scott and Allison, and helped keep her mind off of the small guest numbers. "Beautiful house," I commented, glancing around. And it was. An old brick home covered in ivy, with a completely remodeled interior. We stood on the deck out in the backyard, and the full moon above us glinted off of the pool and into my eyes.

"Hm..." she hummed, straightening out her party dress. "You too."

I furrowed my eyebrows. She wasn't listening to me. Across the pool, I caught Allison's eye. She too was wearing a new dress from Lydia. I glanced around the empty pool deck then widened my eyes, trying to convey my internal thoughts. We needed to get people here. Lydia had been through too much, and even if she knew a little bit about the situation we were in, she didn't fully understand. She needed some kind of normalcy, which meant we needed drunk teenagers here. Now.

Allison nodded her head, then spoke to Stiles and Scott until they pulled out their phones.

In under fifteen minutes, the party had really come together. I found Danny flirting with someone who looked a little too old to be at a high school party, and looked for Presley until I found him helping Lydia with her hostess duties. I had my own punch in my hand, but I wasn't too keen on drinking it. People were already getting tipsy, and the idea of getting drunk wasn't looking too appealing.

Instead, I went over and spoke to Scott and Stiles.

They were watching Jackson as he prowled the party, drink in his non-scaly hand. "Up to no good?" I asked, watching him as well.

"I can't tell," Scott said to me. He glanced down at my hand, where Lydia's plastic cup of pink punch sat. "Are you drinking?"

I shook my head and held out the drink to him. "Not really. Want it?" He declined, but a pale hand reached out from behind him and snatched the cup away from me. It was Stiles, who was already slightly wobbly on his feet. "On a mission?" I asked him as he downed the drink before wincing at the aftertaste.

He spoke normally even though he was loose on his feet. "To forget my problems and be a normal teenager for the night." His eyes followed Lydia across the pool deck as she made her rounds, now wearing a new dress. He sighed, "Or, as normal as possible."

Before I could comment on the staring, I felt Scott touch my upper arm. I looked down, where he was tracing the faint outline of a bruise on the skin right above my elbow. It was hard to see, but if you looked hard enough, you could make out the shape of a hand. A hand grabbing onto my arm much too tightly.

"Did I...?" Scott's voice trailed off. He looked sad - defeated even.

I shrugged him off and smiled slightly. "No biggie," I said.

The bruise was where Scott had grabbed me the night of the rave, furious that Allison had been there as well. Looking back, it had been a spur of the moment attack. He hadn't meant to hold onto me that hard and he'd been sorry the minute he'd realized what he was doing. I'd let it slide, especially because the stress of the night had made us all irritable.

Above us, the full moon shone. I stood with Stiles and Scott until their conversation died down, then I went and met up with Presley, who never drank but was swaying on his feet. I laughed, grabbing onto his shoulder so he wouldn't fall into the pool, then pulling him away from the punch bowl so he wouldn't get anymore.

"Are you drunk?" I asked him when he was away from the temptation of the pink liquid.

He slurred when he responded, "No."

Around us, the party was starting to get hectic. People laughed and screamed into the night sky. They all held cups of Lydia's punch. Speaking of...

"Where's Lydia?" I asked, eyes skirting around the pool deck. She might have changed into a new outfit, but it was impossible to lose that head of fiery hair. Yet, I couldn't see her at all. My eyes were met with stumbling high schoolers, drunk off of spiked punch. "Jesus," I whispered to myself. "What did she put in that stuff?"

Presley was looking over my shoulder and laughing at something. He shrugged his shoulders when I asked him where Lydia was again. "I don't know. I don't know."

"Okay," I soothed, rubbing his arm, "That's fine. Why don't you go find someone to dance with while I look?"

He was still stumbling when he made his exit, headed for the kitchen where I could see people from the lacrosse team hanging out. Presley and I weren't ones for parties, and we definitely weren't ones for alcohol. I shook my head at the thought and moved so I could search for Lydia. If Presley wanted to get wasted, I wouldn't stop him.

I made my way around the pool deck, eyes scanning the crowds. No one was sober. I turned the corner around a trellis of flowering ivy and came face to face with Stiles. He was standing by a group of students, laughing about something. I moved to grab him, but he turned and looked at me with wide, dazed eyes. The smile on his face was impish and sly - the grin only one controlled by alcohol could make.

"What's up," he mumbled, coming closer to stand next to me.

Rolling my eyes, I pulled the full cup of pink punch out of his hand. He gasped in annoyance but wasn't quick enough to stop me. "How much of this have you had?" I asked him, swirling the liquid around in the cup, looking at it suspiciously.

"Enough," he said to me defiantly. "How much have you had?"

"None." I clipped. I was annoyed with him.

He pouted. "This isn't fun if I'm the only drunk one!"

I didn't respond, but turned on my heel and made my way back to the party. Stiles followed me closely, complaining all the way. I made it to the edge of the pool deck then stopped abruptly, making sure no one was around before turning my sights on Stiles. He was too busy floundering about something to notice my steely glare.

"There is a homicidal lizard on the loose, and he happens to be at this party. Yet, you decide this is the perfect night to get drunk?" I was fuming, whispering under my breath quickly.

Stiles pouted again and closed his eyes. Was he looking for pity? "This is probably the last time this year we'll be able to have any fun," he complained. I couldn't argue that he was wrong. The end of the school year was approaching rapidly. "Is there something so wrong with being normal?"

"No," I said, "But getting drunk off of suspicious punch is reason to behave with some caution." I swirled the drink in my hand once again for emphasis.

In a flash, I saw some of the sober Stiles come back to me. He searched for his words and talked with his hands when he said, "Do you remember when I said you reminded me of Lydia?"

That had been weeks ago. I squinted at him as I faintly remembered the occurance. We'd been at his house, right after the kanima had trapped us in the pool with Derek. I remembered our banter back and forth, then said, "I guess I do - what's your point?"

He rolled his eyes. "My point is that Lydia Martin would be having fun right now if she wasn't so focused on hosting. She'd have a drink and dance with someone and end up having a really good time." I opened my mouth to tell him off, but he interrupted me. "All I'm saying is that everything seems normal right now - calm for just a second. It's not the worst occasion to let yourself go. Just for a few hours."

The silence that surrounded us after his speech was deafening. I weighed the options in my head. I could get drunk, have fun, and worry about the kanima another day, or I could remain the only sober teenager at the party. My answer came in the form of an action. Without thinking too hard, I tipped my head back and downed the cup of punch in my hand, not stopping until it was empty. Stiles widened his eyes at me as the alcohol began moving through my system.

I smiled a rueful grin at him. "Let's party."