5 First Line

Monday Afternoon January 10th, 2011. Beacon Hills, California.

Mo pushed past the double doors and nearly tripped as the outside air hit him.

Which would have been ironic and embarassing considering his last conversation with Jackson. Self proclaimed lacrosse champion of Beacon Hills.

But it would have been understandable as a familiar alarming scent hit him with the weight and urgency of a truck.

A scent he was first introduced to as a boy. A scent that was the prelude to bone chilling howls, souless blue eyes and enhanced violence.

"Werewolf."

***

"Scott?…. Scott!"

Scott looked up from his half-tied shoes as he sat on the sidelines.

To his left, Stiles— his best friend, tapped him religiously with a gloved hand, "Look at the fresh meat."

"Please don't use that term." Scott's stomach gurgled. With anxiety. He hoped.

The anxiety climbed as he followed Stiles beady eyed gaze across the field to find the tallest teen he'd ever seen walking over.

"Why can't I use that term? It's what we need if we want to make it to the finals this year." Stiles explained with a shrug as he watched the new student walk over. "Isn't that the new kid that came with the hot girl? The town over has a freshman on the team who's dad played lacrosse professionally. What's our chance this guy has pro genes? He looks like Kobe and Usain Bolt's secret love child. I'm not saying that because he's black."

"Yes you are." Scott said.

"Yes I am." Stiles nodded quickly.

Scott looked back at him reflexively. Stiles ran a hand over his buzzed head. "I hear he's got a crazy accent. I wish I was a tall handsome new kid at a school with an accent."

"Stop fantasizing, Stiles. It's not healthy." Scott muttered when the door onto the field from the highschool opened again and Jackson and Lydia came out.

They were visibly scowling at the new kid who walked ahead of them with long legged twitchy grace.

Stiles eyebrows crawled up his lightly freckled face as he noticed, "Oh…my… all my jealousy is gone actually. I'm back in reality. You know… the place where dead women are found in two pieces and my own fri—"

"Stiles…" Scott growled.

Stiles slammed his gloves into the grass as the other players secured their gear and warmed up, "Come on man! Why wont you tell me what happened last night?? I know you saw something. My dad didn't interview you this morning for no reason. You weren't at the hospital last night for no reason."

Scott shook his head— trying to visibly shake off the memory of the sounds. Of the hands… no, paws, on his arms that held him with an unending force.

The roars.

The howl.

"I saw a wolf. Alright?" Scott suddenly said after growing tired of Stiles prying eyes on the back of his neck.

"You— what? Shut-up." Stiles replied quickly.

"What?!" Scott didn't expect the answer.

"You didn't see a wolf."

"I heard the howls."

"Then it was a coyote cosplaying as a wolf." Stiles said.

"Too big for a Coyote." Scott cringed as he remembered the ground shake from its movements.

"You don't get it, Scott." Stiles started as they watched the three enter the field, "Wolves have been extinct in Northern California for like sixty years. You're more likely to see a pet cheetah that escaped from some psycho celebrities freakhouse mansion in Hollywood than a wolf as big as you're saying."

"Then I guess I don't know what I saw." Scott said.

"Is that what you told the cops?"

"Yea." Scott decided to leave out the part where some sort of cat creature that kind of reminded him of a cheetah seemed to be protecting him from the wolf. Or at least it tried. He still got bitten. But he would've been eaten if the thing hadn't arrived. He only saw flashes. It was tall. Amber eyed and covered in patchy fur and marked skin. Most likely mange. Most likely a massive underfed mountain Lion.

But that didn't answer his most important question.

Someone spoke.

"You ruin my night, I ruin yours."

In an accented voice—

Scott looked up as the new student walked past him. The two held each others gaze a while longer than normal. Just like the last two times they passed by eachother, Scott had to fight off a wave of goosebumps.

"Hey, Scott." Jackson snapped at him as he passed behind, "You're drooling."

Scott scowled as he looked away.

"Let's get warmed up." Scott said, "I don't care who shows up I'm making first line this year."

"I like your attitude." Stiles stood up.

Scott moved to follow but failed to get up.

"Dude…." Stiles called back to him.

"I'm…. stuck." Scott looked down at his hand and found it braided down under layers of grass in the form of what looked like cornrows.

He ripped his hand out of the braided grass and stood up.

"Weird…."

*****************************************

Authors Section

Mo wasn't running his mouth this chap so no translations.

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