“See!” she says triumphantly, although a little tiny part of her, bruised and aching and welted with scars, winces, far down inside. Of course he wouldn’t forgive her. They’re friends, and no friendship can survive that sort of thing, which is why she’s never, ever let him know.
And why she freaked out so very hard when she thought she might be projecting by accident.
“So there’s nothing else I could’ve made you feel that you’d know was outside,” she points out, and flops forward onto her backpack again.
“What? It’s not my fault I love my fries!” he shouts in reply, not caring if he’s too loud. He laughs a little under his breath, shaking his head absently. Regardless, if someone made him horny he would be in the worst position, especially because he’s got that emotion often enough anyway.
“I guess…that makes sense,” he says in reply, looking over at her with interested eyes.
She turns her head and grins at him, face webbed over with a lacing of red hair.
“Summer!” Winter walks up, tidy and fashionable and beautiful as always, and frowning at her twin. “I thought you agreed to go to the nurse if something happened in class.”
Summer blows out a sigh, and says, muffled, “I never agreed to that, y’all just assumed because I didn’t argue.”
Winter rolls her eyes, the same shade of green as her twin’s. “Do you need a lift home, Stiles?” she asks. “Because I’m ready to go, and if you guys don’t come now you’ll have to wait until the club bus takes everyone else home.”