Avery

I let the front door close behind me and set my lacrosse bag and stick on the ground, "And why they ever let that Blair girl play is beyond me," my mom says as she storms ahead of me into the kitchen, I hear her purse slam down on the kitchen table, "the girl couldn't score if we gave her a soccer goal to shoot at, and you can park a semi in those things!" I slowly lower myself to the ground, sending pain shooting up my thighs, I untie my cleats that I hadn't bothered to take off after the post-game team talk. I stand back up and kick the cleats on to the mat that covers the wooden floor. I limp into the living room and fall back on the couch.

"And those referees! They were terrible!" I take in a shaky breath, my lungs still burn, everything still burns. The slamming of pots on the stove and the clanking of plates rings from the kitchen. My hair sticks to my head, cool sweat keeping it in place, I don't even want to think about how disgusting I look.

I look down to see my legs are a bright red, along with splotches of brown from the dirt and mud of the field. The tops of my thighs burn from constantly having to sprint from one end of the field to the other. But I guess that's what's wrong with being a midfielder in lacrosse, running all game long, no matter what. "Oh, Avery," my mom lets out a sigh of disgust, I look over to see her in the doorway to the kitchen, "get off the couch," her voice is grating and nagging, just like always, "go get cleaned up and ready for dinner."

I've always gotten a fair bit of attention for my looks, but I know I'm nowhere as beautiful as my mother. With long and wavy auburn hair, a subtle glow to her pale skin, large, stunning blue eyes, along with a tall, toned frame; my mom's physique has always been that of a dancer. And I guess that's fitting since she used to be an amazing ballerina.

My mom's always pushed me to take up ballet myself, trying to mold me into a dancer as graceful and elegant as she was. I remember when I was eight, stealing the video tapes of her performances in shows like The Nutcracker that she kept in a cabinet near the T.V. and watching in awe as she seemed to float across the stage with ease. I used to dream of being just like her.

She even started her own ballerina studio, which she still forces me to attend, in hopes that I might fall in love with it as she had. But over the years, my mother has become more like an instructor than a mom.

When I don't make a move to get off the couch, my mom folds her arms across her chest and leans against the door frame, a sour look on her face, "It's not the end of the world, darling." I turn my head towards the ceiling and close my eyes as she continues trying to comfort me, "You still have next year."

I wince at that, "We couldn't do it my freshman year, couldn't beat them sophomore year, and now here we are again, junior year," my heart aches at the thought that we'd given it our all, and it still wasn't enough, "it won't be any different next year."

Every year the girl's lacrosse team at Beacon Hills makes it to the regional championship and every year we lose to Walkerton high school. Meanwhile every year the boys win states. I had hopes that this would be the year; that we'd finally beat them. But once again, I was wrong.

The score at halftime was 7-7, and we could've done it, but by the halfway mark in the second half, we were too tired. We ended up losing 14-10.

"You don't know that," my mom says in an unusually soft voice, "you don't know who's coming in next year, maybe the freshmen will change things." She turns back to the kitchen, "You'll always have dance." She says with a ring in her voice as she strides back into the kitchen. Her frustration seems to melt away with her last sentence.

I lay there on the couch for a few more minutes before I find the heart to drag myself to the stairs. Every step makes my thighs burn all the more and by the time I reach the top, I feel as if they're on fire. I all but limp into my room, flipping on the light as I enter and carelessly tossing my jersey onto the floor as I drag myself towards my bathroom across the room.

My room is small, but it has a bathroom inside it which is a godsend for nights like this. I peel off my shorts, spandex, sports bra, and mid-calf socks as I make my way toward the bathroom, not caring that my drapes are slightly open.

I flip the light on in my bathroom and immediately head for the shower. I turn the knob toward the blessed 'H' engraved on the metal, and water begins sputtering out of the shower head, until it reaches a steady flow. I turn back to close my bathroom door, and then turn my sink faucet on to help the warm water get to the shower faster.

I look up into the mirror and practically wince; my hair is frizzy from California's heat, my cheeks are the same color red as my legs, and a large mud smear covers my forehead. I close my eyes and breathe in the steam that floats up from the water pooling in the sink. I reach back and pull the hair tie from my braid that reaches past my shoulder blades.

My brown hair slowly unfurls from the braid's mold, though the sweat keeps the hair on my scalp in place in an awkward poof. I take in another deep breath; my lungs are already feeling better. Now if only my legs would stop burning…..

I've always thought I've had an awkward body, the proportion of my legs to my torso just doesn't seem fitting. My mom's always said that my legs are something any ballerina would be envious of, but to me they just seem strange.

I take one last glance at my tall, sweaty, dirt-covered frame before I sigh, turn off the faucet and step into the shower. I watch as the mud and dirt is swept away by the hot water and soap. I quickly shampoo and condition my hair, leaving the scent of peaches in my hair. I turn the water off, and grab my towel from the rack and step out of the shower.

I wrap my towel tightly around my torso and grab a smaller towel off the counter for my hair. I dry my hair as best I can and then begin the task of combing it out. Knots end up making combing an arm workout on my already worn out muscles.

My eyes are dark blue, nowhere near the bright, attention seizing icy color of my mother's. I finish combing my hair and flip the light off.

I walk back into my room and grab an over-sized Beacon Hills sweatshirt and throw it on so I won't have to wear a bra. I pull on some old black sweat pants and make my way back downstairs. I find my mom sitting at the kitchen table, eating a plate of spaghetti and sipping on a glass of red wine.

I look to see an identical plate across the table from her, "There you are, darling." I walk to the fridge and grab a water bottle from the top shelf. I sit down and I eat dinner quickly, neither one of us says much, that's how it always is after a lacrosse game, my mom resents lacrosse, she thinks it's only a distraction from ballet.

"Thanks, mom." I say quietly as I grab my plate and set it in the sink. I walk to my lacrosse bag and rummage through it until I find my phone. I check it for messages, but find nothing. I sigh and pace back to the kitchen. "I'm just gonna go to bed," I say in a flat voice.

My mom just gives me a cold look, "Why don't you just quit lacrosse already?" I roll my eyes.

"Mom, I'm already committed to play in college." My mom just stares back at me with her icy blue eyes.

"It's only a verbal commitment, you can still change your mind, Avery." I sigh, we've been over this countless times.

"Mom, I want to play." My head begins to ache.

"Why? So you can feel like shit every time you lose a big game? There's no losing in the ballet." She emphasizes the last word with a sweet voice. I shake my head.

"Mom, I can't do this right now, I'm going to bed." I say as I make my way to the stairs.

"You sound just like your father," I hear her mumble and give a sour chuckle. I pause for a moment at the bottom of the stairs, listening to see if she'll say anything more.

But only silence fills the house, just like always. I slowly make my way back up the stairs and into my bedroom.

The lavender of the walls hurts my head, which aches even more now. I throw myself onto my messy bed, my face down in the pillows. After a minute, my phone starts to vibrate. I turn over and bring my phone up to see the screen.

Incoming call: Jake Reily

I smile, and hit the answer button. "Hey," I say, my mood brightened almost instantly.

"Hey, babe, how'd the game go?" Jake and I are unofficially going out, more 'talking' than anything else - nothing big has really happened between us yet.

I sigh and close my eyes. "We lost," I say flatly, "how about yours?" Jake plays defense on the boy's lacrosse team, they also played their regional championship tonight at Redfield high.

"Sorry to hear that, Ave," he pauses, "we won," I can hear the smile on his face. This win would make them regional champs, again, and on their way to states, where they'll win, again.

"That's great," my voice is flat, and I can't find any heart to make it sound anything but flat. I can hear the sound of the boy's lacrosse team screaming in the background, no doubt celebrating their victory.

"You sound down," he says that like it's surprising, "you alright? Do you want me to come over for a little while?" I look at the clock, 10:38.

"Umm, it's a little late."

"C'mon, Ave," I can hear the smile in his voice, "I can cheer you up." There's an innuendo in there somewhere, I'm sure, but I'm too tired to care.

"No, I'm sorry Jake, but my mom would kill me…" I hear him sigh on the other end of the line.

"…..Alright, I guess I'll see you tomorrow, then?"

"Yeah, see ya then." I press the end button and then walk to turn out the light. I flip the switch and then crawl into bed, my muscles beginning to throb again. I close my eyes and ignore the pain, hoping it'll be fine tomorrow.

My phone's alarm screams at me to wake up, but I reach over and slide the snooze button across the screen and fall back to sleep for five more minutes.

The alarm sounds again and this time I pull myself out of bed and begin the hunt for clothes to wear. I'm still sore all over, but it's not as bad as it was last night. I search my drawers and closet for an outfit and in the end I decide on a pair of dark skinny jeans, a simple pair of brown sandals, and an ivory lace top.

I quickly do my mascara, I add lip gloss just for an extra touch. I run my hands through my long, brown hair, giving my wavy hair some volume. Overall, I look pretty good today. I grab my backpack and keys and head out.

My mom doesn't wake up for a while since her job as a ballet instructor doesn't start until the afternoon. What's more, the ballet studio is in our basement, so she runs the classes from home.

I push the unlock button on the remote and the plain black Chevy sedan lights up. My mom had bought this used car for my seventeenth birthday about a year ago, it isn't fancy but it works for me.

I drive to school and zip in to my parking spot with ease. I swing my car door open and step out into the warm sunlight. Students clutter the campus, some sitting on the hoods of their cars talking, some walking into the building, skateboarders and bicyclists weave through the crowd easily.

I take a deep breath, the morning air is already thick with heat, the fourth and final quarter of my junior year is almost over, and summer is nearly here. All that's left is to take final exams, which start today. I hardly ever study for exams, I find I always do terrible on them if I spend my time stressing and studying.

I look over the campus and smile as I catch sight of my best friend Tori and Jake talking in the middle of the school's lawn. Tori looks my way and gives me a wave to come over. I lean into my car to grab my backpack in the passenger seat. I toss one strap over my shoulder and close the car door, locking it as I turn away with the remote control.

I make my way across the parking lot and step unto the crowded sidewalk when a frantic voice calls out from my left, "SCOTT! SCO-" something slams into me and next thing I know, I'm on the ground with something heavy on top of me.

I open my eyes to see a pair of wide, wild light brown eyes staring back at me, a familiar pair of brown eyes. Stiles Stilinski is laying on top of me, his hot breath brushes over my neck as he pants from whatever he was doing before he ended up on top of me. "Oh, Avery," he says in surprise, I just lay there waiting for him to get up.

"Hi," he says after a moment.

"Umm, Stiles?" I say quietly, the sound of laughing comes from all around us. "Get off." My voice is a harsh whisper, I can feel my cheeks turning red with embarrassment.

All of a sudden, Stiles is hauled up and off of me, and Tori leans down to help me up. Jake holds Stiles by the collar of his jacket, "What the hell are you doing, Stilinski?" He hisses. I take Tori's hand and she pulls me up. I brush the front of my lace shirt off.

"Oh no, Ave," Tori says as she looks at my back.

"What? What is it?" I say, my eyes going wide with worry. How much worse can this get, really? It seems like everyone is watching us, my face burns and I can only imagine the shade of crimson.

"There's dirt all down your back." Tori says in a shocked tone. I gasp and try to see the dirt stains as another figure joins our scene.

"Hey, let him go," Scott McCall says as he touches Jake's shoulder, since Scott is co-captain of the lacrosse team, Jake releases Stiles with little more than a grunt and a shove. Tori begins madly sweeping her hand across my back in an attempt to brush the dirt from my back.

Meanwhile Scott bends down and grabs a few papers that had fallen out of my backpack, he slips them back into my bag and stands up to hand it to me. "I'm really sorry," he says, his dark brown eyes are sincere, I give a small but polite smile as Tori stops brushing my shirt and comes to stand by my side.

"It's fine," I say, letting out a sigh of displeasure.

"I tried my best," Tori says as she brushes a strand of her short blonde hair out of her eyes, "but it won't come out." She gives what looks like a pout.

I sling my backpack over my shoulder again as Stiles walks back over to us. Jake steps out in front of him so he can't get very close, but Stiles doesn't seem to care, "Hey, Avery, I'm-I'm sorry." Stiles has always seemed like the poster child for ADHD, but he's always been a sweet guy, maybe a little odd, but sweet.

"Don't worry about it," I sigh as I look around again to see everyone still staring at us. Tori and Jake quickly move into action, Tori takes me by the arm and leads me to the entrance of the school, giving her best 'nothing's wrong here' smile as Jake walks behind us both, doing his best to hide the dirt stain on my back.

"That Stiles guy is such a freak," Tori says, still somehow managing to keep her glowing smile.

"I'll tell you one thing, if McCall hadn't been there to save his ass-" Jake starts as we walk through the doors and into the school.

"Hey can you guys just walk with me to my locker?" I ask, still feeling like everyone is staring at me. Tori nods her head enthusiastically.

"Of course!" she says in a peppy voice. Tori and I have been friends for as long as I can remember, she's always had my back, I guess that's more in a literal sense right now…

The three of us make it to my locker, with Jake walking closely behind me, effectively hiding my back from view. Once we get there, Tori gives me a sly smile, a wink, and slips away to leave me alone with Jake.

I unlock my locker easily and pull out the spare jacket I always keep in there just in case of a rainy day. I drop my backpack and slip it on, "You know," Jake begins with his usual smooth voice, I turn to stare into his soft grey eyes, "Jackson's having a party this Saturday, and I was hoping you'd go with me as my date." Our relationship is what I'd call 'super-extra-mega complicated'.

We've been flirting non-stop all year, he calls me on the phone, calls me 'babe' and we've made out a couple times, and he's tried to get me to go further with him, but I've just always been hesitant.

Then again, he's proved he's loyal, he's been around all year, and not a lot of boys would do that after they find out they get shut down a couple times.

"Saturday?" I smile, "I'd have to check with my mom, but I'd like that." He gives a charming smile, his short brown hair is styled perfectly and as he leans in to kiss me, I catch the smell of his cologne.

Our lips meet for a quick kiss and as he leans back he gives a smirk while he looks into my eyes, "Pick you up at 9?" I give a small laugh of agreement and he leans in for another quick kiss.

The bell rings and we both go our separate ways to our classrooms for our exams, and ultimately, judgment time.

I walk into my chemistry class and take a seat at one of the heavy black lab tables that are scattered throughout the room. My classmates filter in and slowly find their seats. Scott and Stiles walk in together just like always, with the two of them whispering back and forth, also just like always.

"Hey, Ave," a voice to my right calls, I turn to see Jackson sitting at the table across from me, "read the paper yet?" he gives a wicked grin as he holds up the local newspaper's sports section.

Beacon Hills Girls Lacrosse: Back to Square One

The picture below the headline shows me cradling the ball with a Walkerston player playing defense on me. Jackson turns the paper back around towards him, " 'Maryland -committed Midfielder Avery Chastings played strong, but seemed to tire halfway through the game, allowing Walkerston the room they needed to pull away for the win.'"

I turn away as he chuckles, "Fuck you, Jackson." I hear Scott snort and laugh. Jackson can be a dick sometimes, but he's normally okay around me, I guess not today though.

Scott and Stiles are two of only five sophomores in this class, which is why they stick together so much, I guess. They take the seats at the table in front of me, Stiles turns and gives me a smile as he sits. I just look down to the table as my exam is placed in front of me. I hear Stiles sigh as he too turns back to his exam.

The chemistry exam was actually pretty easy, though I can't help feeling that the fact that I thought it was easy is because I failed it.

I push the thought from my mind as I start my car and back out of my parking spot.

I find myself thinking about Jake and our 'date' this Saturday, though I'm not sure how I'm going to get my mom to agree. She's always been a stickler when it comes to anything with the word 'party' in it. To her, parties mean beer, drugs, and mistakes.

I'll have to ask her at the perfect time, when she's in a really good mood…. Which would be after Saturday morning ballet class, assuming I practice well enough.

I nod my head; that's my plan, I'll ask after practice.

I turn onto my street and back up into my driveway.

Two days until Saturday, two exams each tomorrow and Friday. After that, I'm officially a senior.

I smile as I roll my windows back up and turn my car off.

I can do this.

Thursday and Friday sped by in a blur; I'd taken the last of my exams, the boys had once again won States last night, and here I am, Saturday morning, staring at my alarm clock. 9:30 A.M.

I smile, and jump out of bed. My mom's class begins at 10:00 and ends at 11:30. I walk to my dresser and dig through my clothes until I find my light pink tights and matching leotard. I slip my tights on and then pull my leotard up my legs.

I find my small fabric skirt and tie it around my waist. I pull my brown hair back into a perfect bun and then grab my ballet slippers from my closet. I lace the strings up my legs and tie them in a bow on the back of my calves. I hear the sound of laughing from my basement, along with the greetings of my mother's pupils, no doubt.

I make my way downstairs and from there into the basement, or as my mom calls it, 'the studio'. I walk into the brightly lit room, the wooden floor gleams perfectly, a full length mirror lines one wall, a balance bar running along against the mirror.

The other girls notice my entrance and begin greeting me, "Alright! Girls, get into position." My mom stands in the center of the room, dressed in all black; black tights, black leotard, even black ballet slippers. I can't help but think it looks a little dramatic.

We all hurry to the balance bar, and from there, it feels just like I'm going through the motions. Every movement is mundane to me.

My mother has never understood my preference for lacrosse over ballet, but it's so obvious to me. Ballet is about doing the same movement the same way every time. Lacrosse is different; each play is different. Each opponent is different, and the competition gets my adrenaline going.

After practice, the girls make their way out, leaving me alone in the studio with my mom. "You did very well today," she says as she turns to make her way back up the stairs, "though your form was waning towards the end."

I follow her up the stairs closely, "Yeah, I've got to work on that," I say, simply agreeing to get on her good side, "hey I was wondering," we make it up the stairs and my mom turns back to face me, her blue eyes piercing into me, "Jackson's having a party tonight," her stare is cold and harsh, I find myself looking at the ground as I speak, "and I was wondering if I could go."

When she doesn't respond right away, I look up, her face is puzzled, "Jackson, as in the lacrosse boy, Jackson?" I nod my head and she sighs, "No, I'm sorry, Avery, maybe another night." She turns away from me, a lump forms in my throat.

"You always say that," I let slip out as little more than a mumble.

My mom stops dead, and slowly turns around. "What was that?"

But it's too late now, she already heard me, so backing down is not an option. "You always say that," I say louder, "but it never actually happens."

She comes to stand in front of me, "It's for your own good, I've heard some interesting things about that Jackson from the other moms at your lacrosse games, and you won't be going to any party of his. Are we clear?"

I don't say anything, I just turn away and make my way back to my room. I throw myself on my bed, trying my best not to just scream. My phone starts ringing and I reach over and snatch it from my nightstand.

I answer it without looking, "Hello?" I mumble.

"Hey, so are we on for tonight or what?" Jake asks on the other end.

I give my hair another ruffle and check myself out one last time in the mirror. My pale blue close fitting dress hugs my curves, giving me a satisfactory figure. My push up bra is definitely working, too, my boobs look amazing under the sweetheart neckline.

I grab my black jacket and tuck my phone in its pocket along with my car keys. I pull on my pair of nude heels and then turn to my window. I've never done anything like this, but after another disappointing end to the season, and dealing with my overly critical mother, I think I deserve a little break.

I toss my jacket into the bushes below, and then brace myself for the jump. I hop out of the window and land smoothly in the small gap between the bushes. I grab my jacket and then jog to my car.

I throw the door open and quickly start the engine, I peel out of the driveway and down the street. I'm sure my mother heard it, I'm sure she'll kill me, I'm sure I'll be grounded until I go to college, but that problem can wait till tomorrow.

I come to a stoplight and my phone vibrates, I reach over into my jacket's pocket and pull the phone out.

Incoming call: Jake Reily

I smile and answer it, "Hey," I say as the light turns green.

"Hey, where are you?"

"On my way." I say with a smile on my face, I can feel the adrenaline in my veins, realizing I'd just seriously snuck out for the first time. That, for me, is a huge deal, which is kind of sad coming from a seventeen year-old girl. This is the most rebellious thing I've done.

Maybe I can fix that tonight.

"I don't understand why I couldn't just come pick you up," Jake says unhappily.

"I needed to make a quick exit, I'll explain later," I say quickly.

"Alright, I'll meet you out front then." I hit the 'end' button and toss the phone into the passenger seat.

I park halfway down the street since there's hardly any space near Jackson's house that isn't taken. I walk up the street and find Jake waiting for me at the end of the driveway. He gives me a quick kiss and takes my hand in his as we walk to the front door.

"So why couldn't I pick you up again?" I give a mischievous grin.

"Because, I had to sneak by mom to get here." He chuckles and gives a smile of his own.

"Oh, watch out we've got a badass over here," he says as he leads me through the door and into the party. The place is packed, everywhere I look there's a couple making out, some friends dancing together, an awkward conversation being had, and in everyone's hand is either a beer can, a red solo cup, or even a bottle of vodka.

"Hey, I'm working on it." I say, trying to pretend like I'm perfectly comfortable in my surroundings.

Jake leads me to the backyard, where a big stereo blasts "Infra-red" by Placebo. The lyrics of the song fill the air.

"One last thing before I shuffle off the Planet,

I will be the one to make you crawl,

So I came down to wish you an unhappy birthday,

Someone call the ambulance, there's gonna be an accident"

He lets my hand go as he bends down to grab two beers from a cooler full of ice. He holds the can out to me, and I take it with a smile.

He opens his and takes a big sip, I just look down at it as if it's a foreign object. "What?" he asks, "You don't drink?"

I shrug and open the can, taking a long sip.

The taste is nasty, but I force a smile on my face as I look up into his grey eyes, "I do for tonight." He gives me a big smile as he leans in to kiss me.

Scott

A sliding sound wakes me up, I look to see a figure crawling through my window and onto my bed. I jump up and off my bed, letting out a loud scream. The figure tries to stand up on my bed but stumbles and falls off onto the floor.

"Scott! Scott! It's me!" Stiles looks up at me and jumps up. He pushes the hood of his grey sweatshirt back and straightens his jeans out.

I breathe a sigh of relief, "What are you doing!?" I yell, looking at my alarm clock, "It's 3 in the morning, Stiles!" I give him a small push back, but he brushes by me to my door.

He opens it and motions for me to follow, "C'mon, Scott you've got to see this." Is all he says as he steps out and practically runs down the stairs into my living room. I follow him quickly.

He paces frantically around my living room, his eyes searching for something. "What? What is it, Stiles?" I say, my voice growing steadily more panicked.

Stiles snatches the T.V. remote from the coffee table and then turns toward me, "My dad hasn't come home yet, so I turned on the police radio I took," his eyes are unusually dull, his lids seem to droop, something's really wrong, "and, well, look," he pushes the power button and the T.V. flips on.

"For those just joining us tonight, there's been a car crash on Woodley road involving a confirmed Beacon Hills high school student," a woman reporter says with a concerned look on her face, in the background is Beacon Hills general hospital, police cars line the parking lot, lighting the darkness with flashes of red and blue, "girls varsity lacrosse star Avery Chastings is believed to have been behind the wheel," Avery's lacrosse picture comes on the screen and my heart drops, "police aren't sure what caused the crash but it appears that Chastings' car swerved off the road and collided with a tree."

I look over to see Stiles biting his nails as he stares at the screen. I open my mouth to speak, but Stiles holds up a finger to stop me, "Chastings is said to be in critical condition, we have no information on whether alcohol or speed were factors in this crash." I grab the remote and turn the T.V. off.

I sit down on the couch, "Is she gonna be okay?" I ask, I've never really known Avery that well, other than the occasional conversation in chemistry about ionic bonds. Stiles shrugs.

"They were saying on the radio earlier that she didn't look so good." I let out a heavy breath.