Chapter Text
“Lydia,” said Danny, his eyes wide and already sunken in guilt. Twirling a curl of her hair around her finger, she watched him expectantly. He glanced around at the empty hallway, then brushed his palms self-consciously on his pants. “Since we’re really good friends,” he said, “there’s no way I can keep this from you. There’s something I have to tell you.”
“OK,” said Lydia. “What is it?”
He let out a little breathy sigh, as if biding his time. Then, cautiously, he began, “You know how…this summer, I visited Jackson in London.”
She stiffened slightly, but replied, “Yes. I saw the pictures on Facebook. So cute. Although, you know,” she shrugged, a small, superior smile on her face, “Paris is much better.”
“Right,” he replied, glancing at her. “So-”
“Didn’t I ask you to bring me back candy?" she asked slyly. "Why didn’t I get that candy, Danny?”
“Lydia,” said Danny, before she could continue. “I’m trying to tell you something. Something important.”
She blinked at him. “Fine,” she said smoothly. “Then just tell me already. Don’t you have lacrosse tryouts in like ten minutes? And you’re not the only person looking to talk to me after school on the first day. I’m a busy woman-”
Speaking over her, words tumbling out of his mouth in a rushed confession, Danny told her, “I hooked up with Jackson. I totally didn’t mean to, it just sort of happened. I didn’t want you to be mad or hurt or anything so I thought I should just tell you straight-out, before you hear anything else.”
For a moment, she stared at him blankly. And then she raised an eyebrow. “So?” she asked.
Danny watched her. “So?” he echoed, uncertain.
“Why should I care who you hook up with?” she asked him, then added, “Except to give my opinion of how hot they are, I guess. And Jackson’s a jerk but he’s definitely just hot enough for you. I think it’s a good idea.”
He almost gaped. “You’re OK with this?”
“Of course I am,” she replied, as if scolding him. “If this were two years ago, maybe I’d be a little broken up over the fact that you slept with my ex, but,” she looked at him pityingly, “I’ve moved on. I am totally over Jackson.”
“Are you sure?” asked Danny, and she nodded.
“Yes. Absolutely. Jackson and I were nice together, but in the end, he wasn’t good enough for me.” With a shrug, then added, “He just wasn’t enough for me at all.”
Danny let out a breath of relief and nodded at her, running a hand through his short hair. “Good,” he said, “that’s good.”
“Why?” she asked wryly. “Are you two a thing now?”
“No,” replied Danny, shaking his head. “He said he wasn’t interested in a long-distance relationship. Plus I don’t know if I’d want to be in a relationship with him, anyway. I love the guy, but…” he trailed off, and Lydia nodded knowingly.
“He’s a complete jerk,” she said sympathetically. “I totally understand.” She reached out and patted him on the cheek. “You’re a good guy, Danny,” she told him. “It’s such a shame that Ethan and Aiden had to leave. We could’ve been in-laws.” She grinned at him. “Now get out on the field,” she said, taking her hand away. “I heard you’re captain this year.”
“Co-captain,” he corrected her, with a smile. “With Scott. But yeah.”
“Does that mean you get a say in the new picks?” she asked, her smile wide and full of the thrumming sort of pride Danny hadn’t seen in her since she’d been with Jackson.
He thought for a second about how everything had changed since then. He thought about how Lydia wasn’t the same person she’d been in sophomore year, and how everything seemed to have instantly turned complicated, and now was, once again, simple. He thought about what happened between him and Jackson, and the unself-conscious way Jackson was still texting him about it, and he thought about what he knew, now, and how everything made a little more sense this way, despite how totally un-fucking-believable it all was.
“Danny?” asked Lydia, snapping her fingers in front of his face. “Are you still there?”
“Oh,” he said. “Um, yeah, we help Coach with the final cuts.”
“Good,” she purred, smiling at him. “You know, I’m going to be out there today. There’s someone I have to cheer on.”
He grinned at her. “Stiles is already on the team,” he told her. “He’s a benchwarmer, but he’s good for team morale-”
“I’m not talking about Stiles,” said Lydia, rolling her eyes.
“Really?” asked Danny, his interest piqued. “Then who-?”
“Hey, Danny!” called Scott; he was hurrying down the hall, toting his athletics bag over one shoulder. He clapped Danny on the shoulder and said, “Come on, we’re gonna be late!” and then added, “Hi, Lydia,” and headed into the locker room.
Coach Finstock pulled both Danny and Scott into his office, handing them clipboards. “OK,” he began seriously, “this is how it’s gonna go. I am far too busy to spend a whole evening looking at dumb teenagers embarrass themselves before lacrosse season even begins.”
“Coach,” said Danny, slightly suspiciously, “lacrosse season is in spring. Club team is year-round.”
“OK, smartass,” replied Finstock, “just for that, you get to make the spreadsheet.”
“I’m fine with that,” replied Danny patiently. “I like making spreadsheets.”
“You like-?” He gave Danny a look of profound disgust, then continued, “The point is, I’m bailing. I want a spreadsheet with everybody’s name and stats, and a typed evaluation of their skills.”
“Double-spaced?” asked Scott, and Finstock sighed loudly and let out an anguished groan, shooing them out of his office.
As the boys in the locker room finished changing, nervous excitement coloring the chatter of the room – Scott could smell their nerves, and every time he passed by one of the underclassmen who reeked of it, he’d offer an encouraging word, clapping them on the back shortly. Danny watched him, watched the way the other boy’s nose twitched ever so slightly. “Scott,” he began, his voice hushed. “That reminds me – I need to talk to you about something.”
“What?” asked Scott, glancing around. “Sure, yeah. After tryouts, OK?”
“Oh, yeah,” said Danny. “Right.” Scott turned around, the two of them standing before the beat-up whiteboard at the front of the room, and then he put two fingers in his mouth and whistled loudly. The room quietened down, and a bunch of young, fresh faces looked their way. “Hi, everybody,” called Danny, tucking his clipboard under one arm. “Nothing complicated today, we’re just going to do some basic stuff, warm-ups first, then simple drills.”
“Don’t freak out,” added Scott helpfully. “Remember, nobody gets cut.” When Danny glanced over at him, Scott clarified, “I just mean, last year the frosh-soph team had thirty-five players. So-”
“So try your hardest,” said Danny, before Scott could say any more. “And it’ll be a great year. Be on the field in ten.”
He and Scott headed out of the locker room. “Think we’ll find any new recruits for the Varsity team?” asked Scott, and Danny shrugged.
“Not really. But there’s probably a really good chance to build a kickass JV team, so let’s focus mostly on-” he broke off, looking out to the bleachers. “Hey, Scott,” he said, “is that Stiles?”
Scott asked, “What?” and then looked across the field, to the very few people already sitting out there. Danny saw his nose twitch again, as if sniffing the air, and wanted, desperately, to ask him, but he didn’t get the chance; Scott jogged forward, calling, “Stiles!”
The other boy looked up, and waved. He sat on one side of Lydia, Allison on the other side. Scott reached the base of the bleachers and Stiles said, “Hey, buddy.”
“What are you doing?” asked Scott. “Why aren’t you getting ready? We need the team to scrimmage with the new kids.”
Stiles glanced at Lydia, then got up, almost tripping across the benches as he stumbled down to stand unsteadily beside his friend. “Scott,” he said, looking at his friend almost cautiously, “I quit the team.”
Scott stared at him. “What?” he asked. “I thought you were kidding!”
“I told you,” replied Stiles. “It’s senior year, all I ever did was sit in lacrosse was sit on the bench. It’s my last chance to branch out, try new things.”
“Yeah, but,” said Scott, “water polo isn’t even a real sport-”
“What?” asked Stiles, his voice high, looking disappointed. “Yes it is!” He glanced up at Danny self-consciously; Danny pretended to be fascinated by something on his clipboard, and did not look up. “And keep your voice down, oh my God. I don’t want anybody knowing yet.”
“Why not?” asked Scott. “Because it’s not a real sport?”
“Because I need time to become comfortable with the idea of everybody seeing me in a Speedo! Jesus, Scott! Not everyone can be as confident with their superhot body as you are, OK?”
“Dude,” said Scott seriously, as if shocked by this suggestion, “I’ve seen you in a Speedo, you have nothing to worry about.”
At this, Danny glanced up; Stiles saw him do so, and buried his face in his hands. “Whatever,” he said, looking up. “Not like it’ll be much different. I’ll still be here, sitting on the sidelines. Doing the same thing I’ve been doing for the past three years.”
Scott replied to that, and he and Stiles continued, but Danny was distracted by someone clearing their throat loudly behind him. He turned around to see a girl standing there, her long hair tied back in a high ponytail, wearing gym shorts and a sports tank top. “Hi,” he said, looking at her. “Are you here to watch the lacrosse tryouts?”
“No,” she answered simply. “I’m here for lacrosse tryouts.”
He looked at her blankly for a second, then glanced down at his clipboard. “Sorry,” he said, “but I don’t think we have a girls team, actually.”
Without shifting her gaze, she replied, “I know.”
Danny blinked, and then he said, “Oh! Oh. OK.” He paused, then said, “Hold on.” Turning to the boy beside him, interrupting Stiles, he asked, “Hey, Scott? Are girls allowed to try out? I don’t see why not, right?”
“Cora?” asked Stiles, sounding shocked. The girl smiled back at him, although her expression was tight and dry. “What are you doing here?”
“I go here,” she replied. “And I want to play lacrosse.”
“Is Derek OK with that?” asked Scott, and she looked at him, distaste in the purse of her lips.
“Is Derek OK with me doing what I want?” she echoed. “I don’t know, are you OK with me punching you in the throat?”
“All right,” said Danny, raising his hands slightly, in a gesture of peace. “You can try out. It’s fine. I don’t think there are any rules against it.”
“And even if there were,” added Stiles, “we’d break them for you.”
She didn’t seem pleased, and then Scott glanced back at his friend as Danny let out an inward sigh. Stiles continued to be an utter failure at flirting.
Realizing this, he said, “OK. Well. I’m gonna. Go back to my seat now.” He left.
Scott picked up an extra lacrosse stick from a pile beside the bench, and Danny held up his clipboard, asking, “What’s your name again?”
“Cora Hale,” she replied, taking the stick from Scott.
“What year are you?”
“Junior.”
“Junior?” repeated Scott. “But you’re our age.”
“Scott,” said Danny pointedly, honestly not surprised that Scott would be so blunt.
With a soft glare at Scott, Cora replied, “I’ve been…out of town for a while.”
“Have you ever played lacrosse, Cora?” asked Danny.
“No,” she replied. “But I hear it involves hitting people, and I'm pretty good at that.”
“One more thing,” he said, looking up to scrutinize her face, the sharp angles of her brow and nose and jaw. Boys started to filter out of the locker room, making their way across the field. She looked at him expectantly, and Danny asked, “Are you Derek Hale’s sister?”
Even Scott looked around at this question. Without hesitating, she answered, “Yeah, I am,” and her gaze burned into Danny’s, daring him to ask more. Before he could, though, the boys reached them, hovering in a crowd around Scott and Danny, waiting for direction. Those who were on the team last year were the last to trickle out of the locker rooms, hanging behind the rest. Standing before them all, Danny began to talk them through what tryouts were going to look like. And then they began.
Cora easily led the new kids at every turn. She was unbelievably fast – faster, Scott thought, even than himself – and there was a wild sort of ferocity in her eye when she swung the stick. When they paired up for some drills, Scott called, “Isaac! You go with Cora.”
This was to prevent serious bodily injury to a human, but after a few moments, Scott almost began to regret it; Isaac and Cora were moving impossibly quickly, with such precision and agility that it looked unreal. Most of the other new kids eventually stopped, gaping at the two of them, locked in movements so fluid they were almost a dance. After a moment, Danny snapped out of it, and then he blew his whistle loud, heading out to them. “OK, OK,” he called. “That’s good. Isaac, go help the rest of them. Cora, hit the showers.”
“What?” she asked, her voice slicing through the early autumn air. “I out-performed every dumbass on this field-”
“I know,” said Danny, cutting her off. “Their hyper-masculine male egos are fragile enough as is. If you kept going much longer, I’m pretty sure some of them might start punching each other just to feel manly again.” He kind of smiled at her, then said, “You made the team. Varsity. Keep this up, and you might even be co-captain someday.”
For a second, she didn’t move. And then something that could have been a smile, but was more like a smug smirk, snuck onto her face. She nodded. “Thought so,” she said, and he had already begun to say, “You’re welco-” when he realized she hadn’t thanked him. Without another word, she stalked away dropping her stick by the bench.
Lydia quickly stood up, heading down the bleachers, and Stiles murmured, “Damn. That was beautiful. Now I kind of want to join the team again, just for her.” He laughed, but it was a sad laugh trying to disguise the fact that he wanted a girlfriend more than he wanted air to breathe, and Allison glanced at him pitifully.
“It’s not like you’d have a chance anyway,” she said, and he immediately looked at her, genuinely hurt. “No, no,” she said quickly. “I don’t mean because…” she trailed off, then glanced back down to the base of the bleachers. “I mean…do you actually not know?”
“Not know what?” asked Stiles, following her gaze. Lydia stood by the bench, beside Cora, who was tightening her ponytail. In her heels, Lydia was almost an inch taller than the other girl. They talked together for a minute or so, and there was a smile on Cora’s face that Stiles had not yet seen. And then Cora pointed towards the locker rooms, and Lydia nodded, and then they both leaned in and their lips brushed gently together, Cora’s fingers trailing down Lydia’s arm. Cora, her lips tinted pink from Lydia’s lipstick, grinned, and then headed back towards the locker rooms.
Lydia headed back up the bleachers, taking her spot in between Allison and Stiles, who gaped at her. She opened a compact and touched up her lipstick, then glanced around at him. “What?” she asked.
“Cora?” asked Stiles. “Out of everyone in this school. You pick Cora?”
The other girl shrugged. “I tutored her over the summer,” he replied. “I basically taught her five years’ worth of math in two months. We clicked.”
“Is that what you were doing this summer?” asked Stiles, in awe. “I thought it was some weird freaky banshee training thing-”
“Banshee training?” repeated Allison dubiously, and Stiles shook his head, and groaned.
“Really, Lydia?” he asked. “The one girl I had my eye on? Outside of you, that is.”
“Stiles,” replied Lydia, looking back at the boys on the field, “you have your eye on everyone, girl or boy. It’s like a primary aspect of your personality.”
“That doesn’t change the fact that I totally kissed her-”
“You did not,” replied Lydia, rolling her eyes. “You gave her CPR.”
“Not even,” said Stiles, shaking his head, annoyed. “I’m not CPR-certified! Basically all I did was rub our mouths together until she started breathing again.”
“Ew,” said Allison, and Lydia shook her head.
“Which is kind of like a kiss.”
“No, it’s not,” said Lydia.
“Yeah, it is,” countered Stiles. “You literally did that same thing to me when we kissed.”
Allison glanced at Lydia, who let out a small sigh. “And now I wish I hadn’t,” she said, “if you hadn’t started breathing, you wouldn’t be around here to be so ridiculously irritating.”
Stiles sat there, arms folded angrily, stewing. Pouting slightly, he muttered, “You can’t die from a panic attack,” but Lydia either didn’t hear him or ignored him.
Dressed in sweats, Cora came back out not long after, and Lydia’s face lit up when she appeared. Lydia made Stiles scoot over to allow Cora to sit between them, and Stiles still wasn’t that good at reading Cora’s highly subtle expressions, but it looked like she was enjoying this.
After tryouts were over, and they sent most of the boys back in, the four of them came down the bleachers to where Scott was collecting all the equipment and Danny was scribbling some notes. “Hey, you,” said Allison, greeting Scott with a kiss, and Stiles rolled his eyes dramatically, glancing at Cora and Lydia, holding hands.
“Oh, great,” he said. “Double date time. Why do I hang out with you nerds, I hate being the fifth wheel.” He glanced around and his gaze suddenly stopped on the other boy, eyes fixed on the clipboard before him. “Hey…” he began, sidling up to him, “Danny-boy…”
“No,” said Danny, without looking up.
“What?” asked Stiles, sounding offended. “But I-”
“No thanks,” replied Danny, looking up at him, with a smile. “Sorry, Stiles.”
“Why not?” called Stiles, as Danny headed to the locker rooms. “But remember that time you offered to sex me?”
“That was to save your life,” replied Danny, glancing back, then turning around again.
“Just tell me,” called Stiles, “is it me? Or are you seeing someone? I – Danny!”
“Don’t worry, Stiles,” said Scott, clapping his friend on the shoulder. “You’ll find somebody. Eventually.”
“Cora,” said Stiles, glancing around. “How old is Derek, again?”
“You don’t have a chance with him,” replied Cora casually. “He only dates boys who can take him in a fight.”
“Wow,” said Stiles unhappily. “Who knew? Derek bottoms.” Cora punched him in the arm and he gasped in pain, clutching it. “Ow, holy shit, that’s gonna bruise.”
---
[11:20:13 PM] Danny Mahealani: Good morning bro
[11:20:17 PM] Jackson Whittemore: gm
[11:20:19 PM] Jackson Whittemore: how were tryouts
[11:20:28 PM] Danny Mahealani: Fine. The frosh/soph team is going to be packed full of kids who cant play, but they’ll manage
[11:20:34 PM] Jackson Whittemore: smh. why dont you just fucking cut people
[11:20:40 PM] Danny Mahealani: Bc hopefully they’ll get better, so we can have a really strong varsity team in 3-4 years
[11:20:47 PM] Jackson Whittemore: any new kids worth anything
[11:20:50 PM] Danny Mahealani: One, yeah
[11:20:52 PM] Jackson Whittemore: would i know him
[11:20:55 PM] Danny Mahealani: No, I don’t think so
[11:21:00 PM] Danny Mahealani: It’s Derek Hale’s sister
[11:21:06 PM] Jackson Whittemore: his whole family is dead
[11:21:09 PM] Danny Mahealani: Not this sister, apparently? She came out of nowhere, shes a year under us
[11:21:11 PM] Jackson Whittemore: is she hot
[11:21:13 PM] Danny Mahealani: Yes I guess? She’s killer at lacrosse
[11:21:16 PM] Jackson Whittemore: is she also a werewolf
[11:21:21 PM] Danny Mahealani: Has to be. she definitely knew scott and the others, and she was unbelievable on the field. Faster than scott
[11:21:26 PM] Jackson Whittemore: //how hot is she tho. worth visiting at christmas for?
[11:21:29 PM] Danny Mahealani: Shes already in a relationship
[11:21:34 PM] Jackson Whittemore: lmao
[11:21:39 PM] Jackson Whittemore: was that supposed to mean something to me
[11:21:41 PM] Danny Mahealani: with lydia
[11:21:53 PM] Danny Mahealani: Jackson?
[11:21:58 PM] Jackson Whittemore: didnt you say lydia was dating that twin guy
[11:22:01 PM] Danny Mahealani: Yeah, but they moved away
[11:22:08 PM] Danny Mahealani: Now shes seeing Cora Hale
[11:22:21 PM] Danny Mahealani: Oh come on Jackson are you really mad at her for that? She didn’t get mad when i told her about you and me
[11:22:25 PM] Jackson Whittemore: thats because everyone always knew we were fucking
[11:22:30 PM] Danny Mahealani: Except that we never did????Until this summer????
[11:22:32 PM] Jackson Whittemore: yeah but
[11:22:35 PM] Jackson Whittemore: i had a reputation to maintain danny
[11:22:42 PM] Jackson Whittemore: look whatever i don’t care about who lydias seeing
[11:22:44 PM] Danny Mahealani: I think you do…
[11:22:45 PM] Jackson Whittemore: but this is actually a good thing
[11:22:46 PM] Danny Mahealani: Really.
[11:22:47 PM] Jackson Whittemore: yea
[11:22:50 PM] Jackson Whittemore: is dereks sister varsity?
[11:22:52 PM] Danny Mahealani: Yes
[11:22:59 PM] Jackson Whittemore: then that means he’ll come to games
[11:23:04 PM] Jackson Whittemore: games which you are also at
[11:23:10 PM] Jackson Whittemore: boom. u get the bite
[11:23:13 PM] Danny Mahealani: I already told you, i don’t want it
[11:23:16 PM] Danny Mahealani: And I still have that mark from where you tried to give it to me
[11:23:18 PM] Jackson Whittemore: idk so apparently i’m not an alpha
[11:23:21 PM] Jackson Whittemore: what the fuck ever. derek is
[11:23:36 PM] Jackson Whittemore: maybe if you were a fucking werewolf u wouldn’t be in the hospital so much
[11:23:40 PM] Danny Mahealani: I am //not/ in the hospital that much
[11:23:47 PM] Jackson Whittemore: says the gluten and lactose intolerant diabetic whos had more surgeries than ive had girlfriends
[11:23:50 PM] Jackson Whittemore: you had a fucking bar in ur chest for like 2 years
[11:23:55 PM] Danny Mahealani: Being a werewolf sounds like it sucks nuts tho
[11:24:00 PM] Jackson Whittemore: and that //doesnt sound appealing to u
[11:24:01 PM] Jackson Whittemore: ?
[11:24:12 PM] Danny Mahealani: I dont know if Derek would even talk to me
[11:24:19 PM] Jackson Whittemore: well heres ur chance
[11:24:34 PM] Jackson Whittemore: i have to get to school
[11:24:37 PM] Danny Mahealani: Ok. Talk to you later
[11:24:40 PM] Jackson Whittemore: bye
----
Needless to say, intentionally getting injured in the third quarter so he could bench himself for the rest of the game and hopefully score a date with a tall, dark, handsome, and surly-looking werewolf was not the weirdest thing that Danny had done in the past two years (that would have to be a tie between puking up mistletoe and blowing his best friend). Still, he felt like he was laying on the dramatics a little thickly when both Scott and Isaac stopped and tried to take his wrist; Danny had totally forgotten to bring it up with Scott, and so they were both still trying to pretend like they weren’t anything supernatural, but the way they kept trying to take a shot of his pain away wasn’t subtle at all. He shooed them both away before they could help, claiming that they needed to be on the field (even though Cora was all but singlehandedly slaying the other team), but Danny kept the show going, hoping it would attract the only werewolf in the stands.
“Greenberg!” shouted Finstock. “Stop staring at your teammate’s ass and start trying to play the damn game! She’s out of your league anyway!”
Just as Danny began to cede that maybe this wasn’t going to work, after all, someone tapped him on the shoulder; he turned around, eyes wide, and his jaw all but dropped.
A split second later, he blinked and glanced away and hoped to God that the man hadn’t noticed the fucking stars in his eyes, or hearts floating in dizzying circles around his head. “Hi,” said Derek Hale, and, holy shit, Danny knew he hadn’t had that beard going on the last time he saw him. “Are you Danny?”
He thought about that scruff rubbing against his face, getting all red and raw and scratched up, and managed to choke out a, “Hello,” and hated himself for being such a teenage boy. “Yes. Yeah, I am Danny.” I am Danny. I am also embarrassing, pubescent, and thinking about your beard all over my ass.
“I’m Derek Hale,” he said, holding out his hand. “Cora’s brother.”
“Yeah,” said Danny, staring up at him. Then he noticed his hand, and he said, “Oh,” and took it. “Yeah, um. She’s amazing. We’re glad to have her on the team.”
Derek nodded, and Danny realized his grip had tightened slightly. There was an odd flowing, revitalizing sensation running through his body, and he suddenly realized his plan had work. He let go of Derek’s hand quickly, wondering if the man could tell that he’d been faking the injury.
“Thanks for giving her a chance,” said Derek, and he sounded, if anything, relieved. “She was worried she might not be allowed to join the boys’ team.”
“Oh,” said Danny, looking out to the field, where Cora pitched the ball, successfully, into the goal; she had insisted on wearing the traditional girl’s uniform of that little skirt instead of regular shorts, and she looked like she could tear a man into pieces. When he glanced back at Derek, Danny saw that he was watching her too, affection bordering on adoration in his eyes. “Yeah,” said Danny. “Absolutely. She’s better than pretty much any of us, so it would’ve been a crime to not let her play, you know?”
Derek nodded. “She’s OK on the team?”
“Yeah, of course,” replied Danny, looking back out to the field. “She’s our star, if I’m honest.”
“I mean – socially. She gets along with them?”
“Well,” said Danny reasonably, turning back to Derek. “On one hand, everybody likes her because she’s a girl, and on the other hand, everyone hates her because she’s better than them. And her tackles hurt like a bitch.” He paused, then added, “And on another hand, she’s your sister.”
Derek’s gaze snapped back to him. “What does that mean?”
“I just mean,” began Danny, “you’re Derek Hale. You’re kind of a celebrity here. And, man,” he grinned, “you gotta have balls of steel to be here at the same time as the Sheriff, considering he arrested you like, five times.”
For a second, Derek watched him, an uncannily laser-like focus in his eyes. There was something primal and animalistic about that gaze, like he was a predator, watching Danny, waiting. And then he glanced around to where the Sheriff sat with Stiles, watching the game; Derek could hear him complaining to his son why he had to be there, if Stiles was no longer on the team.
“Let’s be real,” said Danny, “there’s something kind of cool and mysterious about somebody who might’ve gotten away with murder.”
“No,” said Derek abruptly. “There’s not.”
He turned around and headed back to his seat, beside which Lydia was standing, waving a poster in the air. Danny’s heart sunk into his stomach. That was a stupid comment. He was stupid. And terrible at flirting (although, realistically, not as bad as Stiles, but that gave him very little comfort). “Coach,” he said, “I’m feeling better now. Can I get back in the game?”
They won, fifteen to two. Cora had scored the winning shot, and the one before that, and the one before that. The rest of the team would have been bitter, but they kind of realized that they were all total fuckin’ amateurs in comparison to her, and carried her right up to the door of the girls locker room on their shoulders. She didn’t laugh, but there was a supremely satisfied smile on her face, as if she knew exactly how awesome she was (and, Danny thought, she probably did).
Danny was the last to come out of the locker room, putting things away, turning off the lights. When he came out, Derek was waiting outside of the girls’, leaning against the lockers on the other side, hands tucked into his jacket pocket. “Hi again,” said Danny, smiling at him and hoping werewolves couldn’t smell the sweet, sweet reek of desperation. “Cora taking her time?”
Derek gave a noncommittal shrug. “I think Lydia’s in there with her.”
“Ah,” said Danny, nodding. “I see.” There was a short silence, then Danny added, “You know, Lydia has a car. You probably don’t have to wait around for her.”
At this, Derek did not immediately respond. And then his eyes slid from the door before him back to Danny’s gaze, and he said, “I usually like to make sure she gets home safe.”
“Right,” said Danny, grinning, “because she’s so helpless on her own.”
The look in Derek’s eyes changed slightly, sharpened. Danny’s grin faltered slightly. He suddenly realized he had no way of explaining to Derek that he knew he was a werewolf without it sounding vaguely like blackmail or extortion. And then it occurred to him that it probably was possible to blackmail the guy into dating him, and then he didn’t think that anymore because that would be totally awful and something a dumb teenager with a crush would do, and then he realized oh my God I am the worst dumb teenager with a crush.
Now was not the moment. When Derek asked, “What does that mean?”, Danny didn’t reply, “Because she’s a fucking werewolf and could literally rip my lungs out.”
Instead, he said, “Um, just that, you know. She can take care of herself.”
Derek still looked suspicious.
Hurriedly, readjusting the strap of his athletics bag on his shoulder, Danny added, “Just a heads-up, you might want to lay off the protective-older-brother thing a little bit. We have team parties all the time, and everybody’s going to want her to be there, so you could give her a little slack.”
Derek didn’t answer this, only watched Danny.
“Actually,” Danny continued, “I’m hosting a party at my house on Friday, if you’re interested.”
Finally looking away at Danny, back to the door before him, Derek replied, “I’ll let Cora know.”
“Um,” said Danny, “Cora already said she would come. I was…kind of asking you.”
There was a silence, and Danny let out an inward stream of expletives and self-deprecation as Derek’s piercingly green eyes slid back to him. Briefly, Danny considered throwing his bags to the ground and throwing himself at Derek to communicate the fact that he was hot as hell for Cora’s big brother, but even as he thought that, something tugged in his stomach and blood rose to his face, his skin warm underneath his clothes. He had to glance away from Derek’s gaze, wishing that the man would stop staring at him so intently. Then, almost gently, Derek asked, “Are you inviting me to a high school party?”
“Yes,” replied Danny simply. Desperately. Desperately? Yes. He was terrible. Danny, he thought, you’re terrible. “Kind of. Ha-ha.” He cringed inwardly at the fake laughter.
“No,” said Derek, “thank you.”
“Come on,” pressed Danny. “I mean – not for me! I wasn’t…” he trailed off, and the look on Derek’s face – pity? Was that pity?!? Danny seriously considered punching himself in the face, and then had this image of punching himself unconscious and Derek sweeping him up in his arms to get him to a hospital, and then he vaguely wondered why he thought that was romantic instead of dreadfully pathetic – betrayed the fact that he knew exactly why Danny was asking. “Like I said,” he added, “something kind of cool about your whole serial-killer vibe. Totally badass.”
“There’s nothing badass,” said Derek, almost patiently, “about mass murder.”
“Um, no, yeah,” said Danny. “I know that. I wasn’t…implying…”
He trailed off, and the silence was awkward, and Danny wanted to melt into a puddle on the floor and disappear.
“Sorry,” said Derek, although Danny could tell he wasn’t sorry, “but I’m not really interested in partying with a bunch of underage kids.”
“I’m not underage!” said Danny quickly. “I’m eighteen. I just had my birthday. So.” The look on Derek’s face was so profoundly mortifying that Danny quickly added, “Not that I was – not that that’s something that I wanted you to know, or-”
“OK,” said Derek, standing up straight, no longer leaning against the lockers. He took his hands out of his pocket, his keys clinking, and said, “Probably time for me to go.”
“Wait!” said Danny quickly. “I wasn’t coming on to you or anything? Or, if I was, I was doing it pretty badly, so I know you wouldn’t be interested, so-”
“’Bye, Danny,” called Derek, turning around, heading out of the school. “Good job in the game tonight.”
“Goodnight,” said Danny meekly, as Derek disappeared. He stood there for a few moments uselessly.
And then the door to the girls’ locker room banged open and Cora and Lydia spilled out, giggling. Lydia’s usually perfect hair was slightly mussed, and her pink lipstick was smeared. “Oh,” said Lydia brightly, “hi, Danny.”
“Good game tonight,” said Cora, nodding at him. She offered her hand in a very teammate-ish gesture, and Danny took it briefly, nodding miserably.
“Is everything OK?” asked Lydia, holding Cora’s hand.
“What?” asked Danny, looking up. “Yeah, everything’s good. You coming to that party on Friday?”
“Hell yeah,” replied Cora, and the grin on her face was broad and wolfish. “Do you really want Derek to come too?”
Danny blinked at her, taken aback. “How did you-?”
“Are you kidding?” asked Cora. “I could hear your sweaty, horny stuttering from the other room.”
“Cora-” began Lydia, surprised at her bluntness (and yet, it looked like, charmed), but Cora cut her off.
“Good luck,” she said, with some degree of sincerity. More, anyway, than Danny had yet heard from her. “But you should know – he has a thing for older women. So if we're being realistic here,” she shrugged, “you are like the last person he'd ever go for. Outside of, like, Stiles.” She grinned and said, “See you around, Danny,” and then headed away. Lydia shot him an apologetic look, then pulled away from Cora, moving over to touch Danny’s arm sympathetically.
“You can do better,” she said. “Isaac’s still single. I’m just saying.”
“Thank you,” said Danny bitterly, and Lydia smiled at him and then she went back to Cora, heading out of the school. For not the first time, Danny found himself missing Ethan. But then he thought about Derek and Derek’s arms and that ridiculously attractive little scruff of a beard, and also the gentle sweetness in Derek’s eyes as he had watched his sister, and the protective way he’d stood there, waiting for her. And the way he had immediately excused himself as soon as Danny reminded him he was perfectly legal. Subtlety had never been Danny’s fine point.
He shouldered his lacrosse stick, which reminded him that he was co-captain, which reminded him that he was popular, confident, and attractive. The trifecta of hooking up with insecure rich boys, which Danny could tell Derek secretly was.
Danny followed the rest of them out of the school, heading towards his car.
Fuck subtlety. Danny was the eighteen-year-old team captain of the lacrosse team, and a computer genius betting on a full ride to Columbia, and Derek was an attractive twenty-something-year-old who was also a fucking werewolf. That was the best set-up for the teen romcom Danny had ever heard, and if he was going to do this, he’d do it right.
He was going to woo Derek Hale.