LACROSSE STICK STRAPPED TO his backpack, Scott pedaled into the parking lot of Beacon Hills High School amongst the swarm of students. Skateboarders jumped steps, potheads took barely concealed tokes, girls and guys held hands, guys and guys held hands—yes, it was California.

As Scott pulled his bike to one of the racks to lock it up, a pristine BMW with a license plate that read: JCKSN37, blazed into the lot and stopped in the space next to the racks. Scott, still kneeling, got bumped in the back when the driver's side door opened.

Jackson Whittemore, exceptionally good-looking and usually oblivious to anyone not within his social or financial circle, stepped out to notice that Scott hit his car by being near it. "Dude. Watch the paint job." He was completely unaware of hitting Scott as he grabbed his own lacrosse equipment.

"Jackson!"

Hearing his favorite word, Jackson looked up and headed over to meet his friends. All good looking jocks with big smiles and expensive cars, pretty girls coming up to say hello. Watching with that longing look of an outsider trying to figure out a way in, Scott stepped away from the bike racks, slinging his backpack over his shoulder.

"All right, let's see this thing..."

The school bell rang outside the brick building swarming with students. While others headed for the entrance, Scott took off his backpack and pulled his shirt up a few inches to show Stiles the bandage on his lower back. "It was too dark to see much but I'm pretty sure it was a wolf."

"A wolf bit you? No, not a chance."

Scott slung his backpack over his shoulder again and headed toward the double door entrance of the school with Stiles. "I heard a wolf howling."

"No, you didn't."

"What do you mean 'No, I didn't?' How do you know what I heard?"

"California doesn't have wolves. Not for the last sixty years."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. There are no wolves in California."

"Well, if you don't believe me about the wolf, then you're definitely not going to believe me when I tell you I saw the body."

"You what? Are you kidding me?"

"I wish. I'm going to have nightmares about it for a month."

"That's freaking awesome. This is seriously the best thing that's happened to this town since...since the birth of Lydia Martin who's walking toward us right now."

A drop-dead gorgeous junior named Lydia strolled the walkway like it was a fashion show runway in Milan.

"Hey Lydia, how are you? You look—" As she walked right past, Stiles lamented, "...like you're going to ignore me." Scott laughed. "You're the cause of this, you know. Dragging me down to your nerd depths. I'm a nerd by association. I've been Scarlet-nerded by you."

Blending into the crowd, they headed into first period English class. Scott took the desk next to Stiles as their teacher, Mr. Curtis walked in.

"As you all know, there was indeed a body found in the woods last night," he announced to the room. "I'm sure your eager little minds are coming up with various macabre scenarios as to how it happened but I've been told that the police have a suspect in custody." Scott looked to Stiles who shrugged, news to him as well. "Which means your undivided attention can be given to the syllabus outlining the semester on your desks. Read it now. And by read I don't mean skim."

The students began reading, and then seemingly out of nowhere—a cell phone rang. Scott glanced up, as the other students quietly read the syllabus. He appeared to be the only one noticing the ringing. Gazing about, he couldn't seem to find the source until his eyes fell on the windows of the classroom...

Outside, across the quad, he saw Allison Argent, sixteen and radiating with an innocent beauty. When she put a cell phone to her ear, it became obvious that, despite the closed windows and the distance, this was the ringing he was somehow able to hear. More astonishingly, he could hear both Allison and her caller, their voices echoing with a tinny effect... 

"Mom, three calls on my first day is a little overdoing it."

"Just making sure you're there okay and you've got everything you need."

But Allison dug through her bag, becoming alarmed: "Everything except a pen. Oh my God, I didn't actually forget a pen."

"Don't panic. I'm sure you can borrow one from another student."

"Okay, okay, I gotta go. Love ya."

Unable to take his eyes off the extraordinary girl, Scott watched the school's principal join her on the steps: "Sorry to keep you waiting." The principal guided her across the quad, their conversation becoming clearer to Scott with every step. "So you were saying San Francisco isn't where you grew up?"

"No, but we stayed for more than a year which is unusual in my family. We kind of bounce around a lot because of my Dad's work."

Even when Allison and the principal disappeared from view, Scott heard the clatter of the building door opening, and the clicking of their heels on the tile floor of the hall.

"Well, hopefully, Beacon Hills is your last stop for a while." The door opened, causing the rest of the class to look up. "Class, this is our new student Allison Argent. Please do your best to make her feel welcome."

Scott barely breathed as Allison headed for the one empty desk left in the room. Right behind him.

She put her notebook down, then glanced up to see Scott turned toward her—holding out a pen. With a relieved but curious smile, she took it from him. "Thanks."

Scott gave her a nod. Turning around, his gaze focused on Stiles's desk where his friend's sunglasses sat. In the mirrored lenses he could see Allison reflected behind him and he couldn't take his eyes off her. 

Scott was at his locker when he noticed Allison just down the corridor. They connected eyes, and somehow just this look from her seemed to return his hearing back to normal. She started to smile, recognizing the cute guy who gave her the pen earlier. But then Lydia Martin swooped in front of her: "That jacket is absolutely killer. Where did you get it?" she asked.

"My Mom was a buyer for a boutique back in San Francisco."

"You're coming with me." Taking Allison by the arm, she guided her to a clique gathering at the end of the hall where Jackson, Lydia's boyfriend, tried to wrap his arm around her. She shrugged him off to continue talking to Allison.

Rebecca Harlowe, better known as Harley, came from an adjacent hall to find Scott dialing in the combo on his own locker. He kept stealing glances back, however. "Can someone tell me how New Girl is here all of five minutes and she's already hanging with Lydia's crowd?" she wondered.

"Because she's hot. Beautiful people herd together." Stiles stepped up to open his own locker next to Scott's.

"Is that why Lydia isn't herding with you?" she asked him.

"Lydia's a long term project, okay? And trust me, I've got all the patience in the world for a high yield investment like her."

"Well, I don't think New Girl's that pretty. Scott, you think she's pretty? Scott?"

He didn't even blink, attention consumed by Allison. "I'd take that as a yes," Stiles confirmed. Head cocked slightly, Scott tuned in the conversation from the other end of the corridor, voices coming into focus...

"A party?" he heard Allison asking.

"Friday night. You should come," Jackson replied, eyeing her.

"I can't. It's Family Night this Friday. But thanks for asking."

"You sure? Everyone's going after the scrimmage."

"You mean like football?"

"Football is a joke at Beacon. The sport here is Lacrosse. We won the state championship the last three years—"

"Because of a certain team captain," Lydia mentioned, regarding Jackson.

"Every season starts with a scrimmage to decide the new first line. You ever watch Lacrosse?"

"I'm actually not sure how it's played other than—well, violently," Allison admitted.

"Maybe you should just come see for yourself. We have practice in a few minutes. You don't have to be anywhere, do you?"

"Well, no, I was just going—"

"Perfect. You're coming," Lydia decided. 

A whistle blew, and the lacrosse team's assistant coach gathered the team on the field, Stiles and Scott lagging behind. "But if you play I'll have no one to talk to on the bench," Stiles was saying. "You really gonna do that to your best friend?" 

"I can't sit out again. My whole life is sitting on the sidelines. This season, I make first line." 

Heading for the field, Scott paused to notice Lydia climbing the bleachers. And stepping right behind her...Allison.

"McCall! You're in the goal."

He turned to Coach Bobby Finstick, a man with little comprehension of the difficulties of teenage life. He tossed Scott a bundle of goalie equipment. "But I've never played goal."

"I know. Scoring some shots will give the boys a confidence boost," Coach told him. "It's a first day back thing. Get them energized, jazzed up."

"What about me?" he asked. 

"Try not to take any in the face."

Stepping into the net, he glanced to the bleachers where Allison watched with Lydia, eyes focusing on them...

"Him? I'm not sure who he is. Why?"

"He's in my English class."

Scott looked up, shocked to hear Allison asking about him. But with his hearing momentarily turned up, he flinched at the whistle blow, sound ringing through his skull. One of the bigger players charged forward as the assistant coach passed the ball to him. Catching it, he whipped his stick forward, hurling the ball towards the goal. 

Still reeling from the whistle, Scott looked up too late to see the ball soaring towards him, and it bounced right off his helmet and into the net. The team laughed wickedly. Even the Coach snickered.

Cheeks burning under his mask, Scott stealed himself for the next player. When the whistle blew again, he was ready. The assistant coach passed the ball to the player who caught it and fired it right at the goal. Scott moved startlingly fast, almost an instantaneous reaction. Then he noticed the players staring at him with a mixture of disappointment and surprise...

He had the ball. He caught it. When the next player took the shot, he caught the ball again. And then again. And again. Nothing could get past him. 

In the bleachers, Allison and Lydia sat forward. "He seems like he's pretty good," Allison said. 

"Very good." Intrigued, Lydia kept her gaze locked on Scott who now stood with a far more confident posture—until he saw that Jackson was next in line, glaring at him and practically strangling the lacrosse stick with his gloves.

"Oh God..." Scott muttered as the assistant coach tossed the ball up, and Jackson launched forward, catching the ball and spinning around to fire it at the goal. But Scott moved with supernatural precision...

And the ball landed right in the pocket of the goalie stick.

Stiles let out a holler, jumping up on the bench. In the bleachers, Lydia stood and gave a whoop as well causing Jackson to throw a look at her. She returned his glare with a sly smile, a warning to step up his game.

Grinning, Scott gave the goalie stick a whirl, spinning it with a flick of his wrist and sending the ball soaring right into the pocket of the stunned Assistant Coach's stick.

In the woods, Scott retraced his steps from last night with Stiles following behind him: "I don't know what it was. I mean I felt like I had all the time in the world to catch the ball. And that's not the only weird thing. I mean I can hear stuff I shouldn't be able to hear. And I can smell things."

"Smell things? Like what?" Stiles asked. 

"Like the mint mojito gum in your pocket."

"I don't have any..." Stiles pulled out a lint-covered piece of wrapped gum. "All this started with the bite?"

"What if it's an infection? What if my body is flooding with adrenaline before I fall into shock? I knew I should have gone to the ER."

"I've actually heard of this. It's a specific kind of infection."

"Are you serious?"

"All the symptoms add up. I think it's called...Lycanthropy."

"What's that? Is it bad? It sounds bad."

"It is. But only once a month."

"Once a month?"

"On the night of a full moon."

Scott looked at him. And then got it. "You're an ass."

"Hey, you're the one who heard a wolf howling."

"There could be something seriously wrong with me."

"I know! You're a werewolf!" Stiles continued off his look: "Okay, obviously, I'm kidding. But if you see me in shop class melting down all the silver I can find it's because Friday's a full moon."

Scott glanced around. "I swear this was it. The body was here. The deer came running, I dropped my inhaler..."

"Maybe the killer moved the body."

"If he did, I hope he left my inhaler. Those things are like eighty bucks."

Stiles tapped him on the arm, bringing his attention to a figure standing just a few yards away—Derek Hale. Nineteen and unquestionably handsome, he had a rougher look than the cleanly shaven Beacon Hills boys. "What are you doing here?" Derek asked pointedly. Both Scott and Stiles were too stunned to speak at first. "This is private property."

"Sorry, we didn't know," Stiles finally said. But Derek stared at Scott, barely noticing Stiles.

"We were just looking for something. Forget it. Sorry to bother you." 

As they were turning to go, Derek tossed an object to Scott—his inhaler. When he looked up, Derek was already walking away.

"Come on. I have to get to work," he told Stiles.

"Dude, that was Derek Hale. You remember, right? He's only a few years older than us."

"Remember what?"

"His family. They all burned to death in a fire like ten years ago. I remember the cops pulling him out of class to tell him."

"I wonder what he's doing back." Scott eyed the inhaler in his hand, closing his fist over it.

As thunder cracked in the sky above, Scott flipped a CLOSED sign on the door of the Beacon Hills Animal Clinic. With a few spare bandages in his hand, he approached one of the mirrors in the examination room and lifted up his shirt. Fingertips at the edge of the bandage he braced himself—then ripped it off. Sucking in a breath and shutting his eyes, he found himself looking at...

Nothing. The bite had completely healed. There was not a mark on him. He lowered his shirt, slowly turning to his own reflection in the mirror...to a look of shock.

Moments later, Scott backed down the corridor hauling a huge bag of kitty litter. Setting it against the wall he took out a set of keys and unlocked the next door.

He barely had a foot inside the room when one of the cats hissed in terror. The cages filled with cats came alive with activity—the frightened felines suddenly bared their teeth, hissing and clawing frantically at the cage doors. All of them focused on Scott, their backs arched, struck with absolute terror. Stunned, he staggered out of the room, slamming the door shut.

Retreating into the waiting room, Scott could still hear the pandemonium coming from inside when a hammering spun him around...

Standing outside and banging on the glass door with her fist was Allison. Rain-soaked it was nevertheless easy to see that she was crying and in a visible panic.

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