Charlotte Benoit's first day at Beacon Hills High could have been considerably less stressful, if not for the previous day's escapades. As she navigated the bustling corridors, she reveled in the anonymity that came with being a teacher rather than a student. However, the warm welcome in the staff room took her by surprise. Headmaster Thomas, a relatively young man with a mane of blonde hair, ensured her arrival was celebrated with a cake baked by a colleague and a special, aromatic coffee prepared by another. Adrian Harris, ever the raconteur, took it upon himself to regale everyone with tales of their shared adventure from the previous day.

Charlotte, with her intricately braided hair adorned with beads and feathers, immediately drew attention. Her biker chic attire—complete with a Harley-style black leather jacket, simple t-shirt, skinny black jeans, and combat boots—contrasted sharply with the typical teacher ensemble. Her commanding presence and youthful appearance, which belied her true age, intrigued the other teachers. Consequently, she found herself at the center of attention for more than one reason.

Charlotte quickly developed a fondness for Sharon Ramsey, a dark-skinned, slightly squat English teacher with a perpetually smiling face. Sharon's perceptiveness and wholehearted dedication to her work, coupled with her detached approach to life, made her an instant favorite. Sharon pointed out a few students who warranted special attention.
Another person who endeared himself to Charlotte was Bobby Finstock, the economics teacher and coach of the school's athletics and lacrosse teams. Despite his scatterbrained demeanor, Bobby was extremely likable and passionate about his work. He spent most of the morning trying to explain the rules of lacrosse to Charlotte, and although he didn't succeed, his efforts lightened her mood and dispelled some of her stress as if by magic.

One individual who piqued Charlotte's curiosity was Marin Morrell, a young, dark-skinned woman who taught French and served as the school psychologist. Also new this term, Marin seemed not yet thirty, and despite the gentle smile on her lips, she avoided contact with other staff members. Charlotte sensed Marin's gaze on her several times, but each time she turned around, Marin was either looking the other way or had her nose buried in a book.

Charlotte's wave of nervousness returned when the bell rang, summoning the students to their first lesson. The teenagers took their seats, their expectant gazes fixed on her. Among the youthful faces, she recognized the freckled one of the sheriff's son she had encountered in the woods the previous evening. He smiled reassuringly, sensing her nervousness, which bolstered her spirits and propelled her into action.

"Welcome to your first history lesson of the year. My name is Charlotte Benoit, and I am your new teacher. To begin with, I ask for your patience and understanding as I'm sure I won't remember all your names straight away," she began, feeling their curious, respectful, and appraising gazes upon her. She knew she didn't look like a typical teacher—above all, she appeared too young, and she didn't try to hide it under stiff clothing.

The students exchanged glances, their expressions a mix of curiosity and skepticism. They were likely wondering how someone who looked barely older than themselves could be a teacher. Her unique appearance captivated some of them, while others seemed to assess her potential as a teacher. Charlotte could sense the underlying challenge in their eyes, a test of her authority and capability.

"This is not a joke. From today, I will be your teacher. I won't lie. I'm not nearly the same age as most of your teachers," she added, eliciting laughter. "However, this does not mean I will demand less from you, nor that you can treat me as your equal. If you show me respect, I will reciprocate. If not... you find that I can easily become your least favorite teacher."

"Fat chance, no one beats Harris," muttered the sheriff's son under his breath, but Charlotte pretended not to hear it.

"When I read out your name, please stand. I want to know your faces and be able to tell who you are. The rest of you, familiarize yourselves with the syllabuses on your desks."

As the students set about their assigned tasks, Charlotte began calling the attendance. She eventually reached the sheriff's son but stumbled over his unusually written, foreign-sounding name.

"Stilinski," she opted to use his surname. The boy perked up, smiling broadly, aware of the difficulty his name caused. "I don't believe either your friends or my colleagues call you by your first name. How should I address you?"

"Stiles, ma'am."

"All right, Stiles, thank you. Now, back to the syllabus."

At that moment, Charlotte noticed Scott McCall, seated next to Stiles, acting strangely. He seemed to listen to something inaudible to others, his eyes eventually fixing on the window overlooking the school driveway. Following his gaze, Charlotte saw the deputy headmaster accompanied by a pretty, dark-haired girl.

A moment later, the deputy headmaster entered the classroom with the girl. She was slim and tall, with a heart-shaped face and large brown eyes that reminded Charlotte of her cousin, Luise. However, unlike Luise's eyes, which were tired from witnessing too much cruelty, this girl's eyes were still innocent and full of trust.

"Class, this is our new student, Allison Argent. Please do your best to make her feel welcome," the deputy headmaster announced, drawing the students' attention. A delicate blush bloomed on Allison's cheeks as she smiled shyly. Though she seemed accustomed to such introductions, she was nonetheless uncomfortable. She headed for the nearest vacant seat, which happened to be behind Scott, who was staring at her.

As Allison was about to sit, Scott handed her one of his pens with a look of determination. She furrowed her brow in surprise, but then smiled warmly, accepting the pen and thanking him.

Charlotte froze when she heard Allison's name. It was familiar and foreboding, explaining Allison's resemblance to Luise. As the teenager sat down, Charlotte shook off her numbness and turned to the class.

"So, let's begin..."

By the end of the class, Charlotte felt a mix of relief and satisfaction. She had held the students' attention and establish a semblance of authority, all while staying true to herself. The day had begun with nerves and uncertainty, but as she walked out of the classroom, she felt a growing confidence in her new role.