Stiles stared at the paper announcing the date of the winter formal, rubbing at the back of his neck. Breezing past with Isaac, Scott stopped to look at it too, eyebrows lifting slightly. “You think Malia will want to go?”

“Oh, yeah,” Stiles replied, still rubbing at the back of his neck. “Just, you know, last year was … ” He shrugged, leaving the words hanging.

“Yeah,” Scott repeated. They stood there, staring at the page and lost in their own thoughts, until Jackson stuck his head through the locker room door and shouted at them.