January 20th 2011 - Thursday

The beginning of the week had been uneventful, a calm that was almost unsettling, leaving Charlotte in a state of anxious anticipation. To pass the time, she immersed herself in the archives of the Beacon Hills Chronicle at the city library, scanning both old and new editions with a growing sense of determination. Her instincts told her that the recent events were only the tip of an iceberg, their roots buried deep in the past.

Her focus sharpened on articles from six years ago, recounting the tragic Hale house fire. She remembered how she had dispatched Louise to Beacon Hills to manage the aftermath, to support the two orphaned werewolves—the sole survivors of the blaze who were away from the house at the time. Her cousin had organized the funerals and arranged for the siblings to move to New York, hoping to distance them from their haunting memories. Despite these efforts, both had returned, and Laura had been brutally murdered.

Charlotte had called Louise, seeking any forgotten details about the incident. Luise's response was brief but pointed: Peter Hale. Derek's uncle had survived the fire, but was left in a state that could hardly be called living. Intrigued and concerned, Charlie visited the Long Term Care Unit to verify the facts.

Despite being denied entry to his room, she could glimpse him through the glass—a figure, emaciated and slumped in a wheelchair, staring blankly out the window. Peter Hale, once a strikingly handsome and confident man, was now reduced to a lifeless shell. The sight of him, juxtaposed with her memories of his sarcastic wit, filled her with a profound sadness. No one deserved such a fate.

A stern nurse with dyed-red hair shattered her reverie at the door and brusquely escorted her out, reminding her that only family members were permitted in that section. Charlotte had half a mind to fabricate a story, but the nurse's no-nonsense demeanor left her no room for argument.

Back in the library, she continued her research, seeking any clue that might explain Laura's return to Beacon Hills. The girl on the phone had hinted that another survivor might exist, but Charlotte doubted it was Peter. In his condition, he was incapable of orchestrating anything. Yet, she found no recent news that could lure werewolves or hint at their presence. Similarly, the Hunters seemed to have arrived concurrently with her, providing no leads.

The week passed in relative quiet until Thursday's class brought an unexpected crisis. As Charlotte recounted the exploits of General Carter, one of her favorite students—a tall, pale, and quiet blonde named Erica—collapsed in a violent seizure. Thankfully, Sharon had forewarned her about Erica's epilepsy, so the witch immediately recognized the symptoms.

Her students, however, were unprepared, crowding around Erica with panicked suggestions to put something between her teeth. Charlotte's voice cut through the chaos with commanding authority. "Stand back! Greenberg, call an ambulance. Stilinski, run to the office and tell them what happened." She knelt by Erica, turning her on her side and supporting her head to prevent injury. "Erica, you're safe. Everything's fine. Just relax," she murmured, more to comfort herself than the unconscious girl.

The paramedics arrived and whisked Erica away, leaving Charlotte to realize her mistake—half the class had recorded the incident on their phones. She hadn't even thought to instruct them to delete the footage before one of them uploaded it online.

Furious, she stormed into the staff room, demanding an immediate meeting about bullying with the educators and principal. An epileptic seizure was already traumatic enough without becoming fodder for ridicule. She couldn't let Erica, who was already burdened by her condition, be laughed at.

After classes, she visited the hospital to speak with Erica's parents. Mr. and Mrs. Reyes were grateful for her quick action, but seemed oblivious to the social media storm brewing. They didn't grasp how devastating such footage could be to a teenager's reputation.

Charlotte spent some time at Erica's bedside, trying to lift the girl's spirits, but Erica was inconsolable, tears streaming down her cheeks. She already knew what the online world had seen, and the weight of that knowledge was crushing her.

🌙

January 21st 2011 - Friday

Charlotte sauntered into the staff room, craving that first jolt of caffeine before her day officially started. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee was her beacon, but a human obstacle halted her. She collided with Scott McCall's backpack, a lacrosse stick swaying precariously from it. Scott was deep in conversation with Coach Finstock.

"What do you mean, you can't play the game tomorrow night?" Coach Finstock's voice was filled with a mix of confusion and playful suspicion.

"I mean, I can't play the game tomorrow night," Scott repeated, oblivious to Charlotte's collision as he emphasized the 'can't' with a tone that suggested he was explaining it to a particularly slow child.

"You can't wait to play the game tomorrow night?" Coach Finstock corrected, crossing his arms and leaning against the table. Charlotte had just settled into a chair, hoping to enjoy a quiet moment before her first lesson. She had taken out a book, trying to look engrossed in its pages. Too late, she realized it was upside down and hastily flipped through it.

"No, I can't play the game tomorrow night," Scott enunciated each word with exaggerated clarity.

"I'm not following," Coach squinted, a look of deep suspicion settling over his features.

Scott sighed, clearly exasperated. "I'm having some personal issues."

Coach Finstock leaned in, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Like what? Is it a girl?"

Charlotte could barely contain her laughter. Coach Finstock's knack for digging into his students' personal lives was legendary, if not entirely appropriate.

"No," Scott's frustration was palpable.

"Is it a guy? You know our goalie Danny is gay," Coach stated matter-of-factly, as if that solved everything.

"I know, Coach. But that's not it." Scott was looking thoroughly confused.

"You don't think Danny's a good-looking guy?" Coach pressed on, relentless.

"No, Danny's good-looking. But I like girls. And that's not it anyway..." Scott stammered, his face reddening with the effort to keep his cool.

"Is it drugs? Are you doing meth?" Coach asked, his face serious. "My brother was hooked on meth. You should've seen what it did to his teeth. All rotten and cracked." He mimed a ghastly smile, his fingers drawing jagged lines around his mouth. "It was disgusting. He was a mess."

Scott, looking alarmed, asked, "What happened to him?"

"He got veneers. They look perfect now," Coach replied nonchalantly, as if that was the obvious outcome. "Is that it? You're worried about getting hurt?"

"No, I'm just having some issues with... aggression," Scott admitted, the weight of the word hanging in the air.

"Well, that's exactly why you play lacrosse," Coach tapped a finger on Scott's chest. "Problem solved."

Charlotte wanted to back Scott up, but Coach bulldozed over any attempts at intervention.

"Listen, McCall. Part of playing first line is taking on the responsibility of being the first line in the game. If you can't shoulder that responsibility, then you're back on the bench until you're ready."

Scott looked stunned. "If I don't play the game, you're going to take me off the first line?"

"Play the game, McCall," the coach cut off all objections, shooing the student out of the staff room.

"Don't talk back. He's one of my best players, and aggression is a big part of the sport," he announced, turning to Charlotte as she opened her mouth to speak. His eyes, slightly arched with intensity, fixed on her as he poured himself a coffee, effectively silencing any comment she might have had.

Charlotte shrugged, hearing the bell ring. She needed to get to her classroom before the students. As she walked down the corridor, a chill ran down her spine, the hair on her neck standing up. She felt eyes on her, but a quick glance revealed only Allison Argent at a distant locker. Allison nodded a greeting and darted towards her French class.

Charlotte took another wary look around, shook off the feeling, and continued to her classroom, her thoughts circling back to Scott. What would he do if he couldn't convince the coach to let him sit out the game? The uncertainty gnawed at her as she headed to face her first lesson of the day.

🌙

The classroom buzzed with the quiet tension of concentration. They had just been discussing Civil War issues, with the teacher quizzing Lydia Martin and Scott under the table. Both were assigned the task of writing down the names of commanders and the strengths of both sides of the conflict. Lydia was efficiently completing the Confederate section of the chart, her chalk gliding smoothly across the blackboard, while Scott fumbled through the Union details, his brow furrowed in frustration.

Then Lydia broke the academic silence with a pointed question. "Why is there a rumor going around that you're not playing tomorrow?" she asked, her voice steady and clear, unaffected by her multitasking. In stark contrast, Scott gnashed his teeth and rolled his eyes at the interruption.

"Because I'm sort of... not," Scott replied, the defeat clear in his tone.

Lydia wasn't having any of it. "I think you sort of ARE," she emphasized, her eyes narrowing at him with an angry stare. "Especially when you brutally injure my boyfriend by ramming into him."

"He brutally injured himself ramming into me," Scott retorted, incredulity coloring his voice as he met Lydia's glare.

"Jackson's going to play Saturday," Lydia declared, her tone defiant. "But he won't be at peak. I prefer my boyfriend at peak performance." She gave Scott a withering glance, her eyebrow arching significantly. The teacher nearly choked on her coffee, the youth's audacity far beyond her competence.

"Okay..." the teacher began, attempting to regain control.

"See, I date the captain of a winning lacrosse team," Lydia continued, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "If they start off the season losing, I date the captain of a losing lacrosse team. I don't date losers. You understand how that works?"

"Losing one game isn't going to kill anyone," Scott's voice rose, a menacing edge to his words. At this, the teacher, Charlie, scraped her chair loudly, attempting to drown out his words and capture the class's attention."In fact, it might save someone," Scott added ominously.

"Fine. Don't play. We'll probably win anyway. We'll go out after, like we're planning. I'll introduce Allison to all the other hot players on the team. And while she gets the attention she deserves, Scott McCall can stay home surfing the net for porn," Lydia shot back, her words sharp as a blade. She put down her chalk and took her seat, leaving Scott and the teacher stunned into silence.

Charlotte scanned the blackboard, her gaze stern as it landed on Scott. "You're not even close to solving this task, Scott... Sit down." She couldn't grant him any more time; his mind was clearly elsewhere.

"Tell me about it," Scott muttered under his breath as he slunk back to his seat.

The lesson ended, and Charlotte made her way to the staff room for yet another coffee. However, she paused mid-step at the sight of police officers conversing with the headmaster. Eavesdropping, she learned they planned to impose a curfew for underage civilians. She smiled at the sensible decision, though she believed it should be a year-round policy given the town's nocturnal dangers.

Her smile vanished when she noticed two particular students also eavesdropping—Stiles and Scott. Their expressions were anything but reassuring. As she moved to confront them, Stiles vanished, leaving Scott talking to Allison. Hoping her instincts were wrong, she decided not to disturb them.

"So Lydia's introducing you to everyone?" Scott asked Allison, his eyes trailing after the departing teenagers.

"Yeah, she's been unbelievably nice. Usually, the popular girls are totally evil when I move to a new place. But she's making it really easy for me," Allison replied, blissfully unaware of Lydia's ulterior motives.

"I wonder why..." Scott mused.

"Maybe she gets how much being the New Girl can suck," Allison speculated.

Scott's gaze fell on the jacket in Allison's hands—the same one Derek had used to lure him into the woods. "Where did you get that?" he asked, suspicion lacing his voice.

"My jacket? It was in my locker. I think Lydia brought it back from the party. She has my combination," Allison explained.

"Did she say she brought it back? Did someone give her the jacket?" Scott's questions came rapidly.

"Like who?" Allison asked, confused by his intensity.

"Like Derek."

"Your friend?" Allison clarified.

"He's not my friend. How much did you talk to him when he drove you home?"

"Not much at all," she replied, feeling increasingly uncertain.

"What did you say?" Scott pressed.

"Mrs. Benoit..." she began, but then changed her mind. "Sorry, but I have to get to my next class. Can we talk later?" she said, turning to leave, leaving Scott standing there, his mind racing with unanswered questions.