He’s not sitting alone for too long before Summer comes out, arms huddled tight to her body and flanked by Zenobia and Beth. They’re carrying her things, and she’s barefoot. Another one of those wordless conversations ensues, mostly /over/ Summer’s head, though she doesn’t notice. She’s too caught up in herself, almost frantically trying to find anything to focus on besides what’s going on in her own head and failing. Zenobia leaves Summer’s boots and carries everything else off to a red van, while Beth gently guides Summer to sit on the surb near Stiles.
“I didn’t think it was still this bad,” Summer sobs. “I thought I was okay — I mean, I was, until he … he said those things — what did I do wrong? I don’t even know what I did.” Beth doesn’t really try to stop her talking, just sits with an arm around her and occasionally makes shushing noises, obviously intended to be soothing. Her expression says this scene is something they’ve gone through before.
When Zenobia comes back, she stops in front of Stiles, regarding him with a slightly jaundiced gaze. “What happened?” she asks. It’s not entirely accusatory, but it’s clear the other two girls are basically forming up to protect their friend.
Stiles is in the middle of tying the laces on his second shoe when the girls come out to sit and-or hover around him. He looks over to Summer with a sympathetic expression, but it’s a little crowded in his eyes, awkward like he doesn’t really know how to offer any sympathy or condolences without making things worse. He mostly just makes a sort of uncomfortable sound in his chest and concentrates on his Converse.
That is, until Zenobia is addressing him. His eyebrows shoot towards his hairline, and he squints at her like he’s trying to figure out if she’s trying to start something. There’s still blood trickling out of his nose, blood all over his shirt, he’s a total mess. “Uh, obviously, that lunatic came out of freaking nowhere and hit me in the face, and I’m pretty sure he broke my nose, which will never be the same, and I wasn’t just gonna stand there and let him wail on me, which I guess the bowling alley people didn’t approve of and maybe I’ve got kind of a reputation, and my Dad’s going to kill me.” Fingers releasing his shoe, Stiles reaches up, muttering surlily, to prod at the tender bridge of his nose. It’s starting to purple.
Silently, she holds out a handful of napkins, one eyebrow raised. Beth just sighs and hugs Summer a little closer. The redhead’s sobs are starting to slow, and she smears at her face, rubbing away tearstreaks. “I don’t know what I did wrong,” she mumbles again.
Zenobia shakes her head. “You didn’t. He’s an egotistical jerk, Summer; we’ve been saying that for weeks. He’s going to do anything he can to get to you, and apparently that includes attacking peple you’re with now. Let’s just,” she sighs, “go and get that ice cream, and we’ll go home and watch Fellowship of the Ring. It’ll make you feel better.”
Summer casts a still-tearful glance at Stiles. “I’m sorry,” she says, “I didn’t know this would happen, I promise.” Beth lets her go and stands up, brushing at her jeans, and Summer turns to face Stiles a bit more directly. She reaches out, brushing her fingers against his hand, and takes some of the pain away. “I guess you should probably go get that checked out … I’m /so/ sorry. Should I, um, I could explain to your dad about what happened, that it wasn’t your fault, it was me … “