It's summer, and I have recently come to know and love Teen Wolf. Especially Stiles. He is my spirit animal, and needs more love.

It wasn't moving that was the worst part, Fern decided, as she stacked box after box against the wall in her new bedroom. It was definitely packing and unpacking.

Packing had been painful, but in a different way. Cramming all sixteen years of her life into a series of cardboard boxes was a daunting task. On top of that, parting with childhood relics, or getting caught up in the nostalgia of kindergarten time capsules, science fair projects, or goofy photos of friends, tucked into painted, bedazzled macaroni frames was easy, and dozens of needles pricked her chest when she'd remember why she was unearthing these memories in the first place.

Moving sucked. Packing sucked.

But unpacking?

Unpacking was torture.

There were no shelves to put her glass-blown dragon from Renfest, no indication where she should put her posters and pictures, or where she should hang the cord of floral patterned paper lanterns. Not when the only piece of furniture was the lone, skeletal bed frame.

And there was so much to unpack. Did she really have that much stuff? It didn't seem like it when everything was tucked away in its own place.

Still, Fern powered through her boxes. May as well get it out of the way, since she wouldn't have the energy the next day. Because yay, she got to start school right away.

Her bedroom was pretty cool, she decided, as she pushed her nightstand against the wall, and settled her iHome on it, hitting shuffle.

The house was nicer and newer than any of the houses in her old town, even the new developments. There had been two upstairs bedrooms, and an office and a spare room on the main level, with one finished, and one unfinished room in the basement. Which had it's own kitchen setup- awesome.

The closet tiny, and didn't have doors (where she'd piled most of her clothes, to be hung and shelved later), and the floor was bare, cold concrete. Ceiling rafters peaked out, and a lone, naked bulb hung in the center of the room. It was perfect for shutting the world out, which she fully intended to do for the duration of her stay.

The Mountain Goats lulled her into a peaceful trance as she made up her bed, singing about scotch, and a girl named Cathy. By the time she'd gotten her bed completely set up, the moon was high and Fern was ready to crash.

Skree, skree, skree skree-

Ugh, for the love all things good, make the unholy screeching stop-

skree, skree, skree, skree, skree...

Fern wrestled her sleep-addled brain to focus. What was that? What did it want? More importantly, how could she make it stop?

Wait, wait. That was...that was her alarm, wasn't it? Because...because oh crap, she had school today, and how long had her alarm been going off for?

Fern launched herself strain up in bed, whipping her head around to survey the time- A quarter to seven. Whew. School started at half past seven. She could work with that. No need for panicking.

She kicked free of her comforter, shut her alarm off (with maybe a little more force than strictly necessary), and ditched her pajamas on the cool, inviting floor in favor of shimmying into a pair of skinny jeans and fuschia, ribbed tank top. Over the tank top went a soft, white, scoop-neck shirt with a black-outlined cartoon owl on the front.

She pulled on her glasses, stuffed her feet into her shoes, tore a brush through her dark, forever curly, short hair, and fled upstairs, only pausing to sling her school bag over her shoulder.

By the time she'd gotten off the bus (ugh, never again) it was only fifteen minutes until classes started. Not much wiggle room to find the office and figure out where the first classroom was.

And what about a locker? Did she have one? Where was it? God, where was anything? Did she have everything she needed? Fern just had a bunch of notebooks and pens. Oh god, did she forget her phone, dear God, please have not forgotten her phone-

Whump.

While Fern had been digging through her bag, desperately trying to find her the device in question, she'd run right into a solid wall of person.

Embarrassment tinged her freckled cheeks a burning red as she looked up. A sharp, masculine face, topped with gelled, blond hair glared back.

"Watch it," The Wall snapped.

"Sorry..." Fern mumbled as the boy shoved his way past, and sighed. She knew it wasn't personal, that's just how high school was, but it did nothing to quell the cold, thick dread in her core.

Without much further incident, she made it to the main office (so that's where it was), and cleared her throat softly.

A woman with short, striking red hair looked up from the desk, and whoa, those eyebrows were downright frightening-

"Excuse me, I'm Fern Mitchell, I'm a new student- " she started, her voice dying off when the secretary raised her hand to silence her.

"Yes, I have your schedule here. Welcome to Beacon Hills High School." She pressed sheet of paper into Fern's hands, and shooed her out the door, without so much as directing her to her locker.

Lady had bigger fish to fry, apparently. After all, sharpening pencils was so very important.

Fern tried not to let it get to her, with anxiety already roiling in her stomach, and set to work searching out her first class- economics. Fun.

After bumping through the crowds until the bell rang, Fern in the middle of the hallway, very lost. An upper classman had taken pity on her earlier, and tried to direct her to the room, but had disappeared, and Fern had gotten turned around again.

She was seriously considering hiding in the bathroom for the rest of the day when a gruff, almost (but decidedly not) paternal voice materialized behind her.

"A bit lost, are we?" Fern violently jumped. The voice chuckled. "I apologize, dear, I didn't mean to frighten you."

"Um, yes, I'm a new student, I couldn't find my class, and the bell rang, and- " Fern turned to face a white-haired, slightly bent man. He coughed a bit, but smiled at her. She frowned. Somehow the smile didn't seem friendly.

"Shall I help you find it, then?" He extended a hand, and Fern deposited her schedule into his waiting palm.

"It says I have economics with Finstock..."

Luckily, she only had missed the first ten or so minutes of class, when the principal (Mr. Argent, she later learned), had pushed her into the classroom with another unnerving smile, this time directed at her teacher.

"New student," he explained briefly, before ducking out, leaving her to the proverbial wolves.

Her economics teacher was...off-putting, to say the least. He had a serious case of crazy eyes, and the kind of hair that looked like it might serve as a wild animal's home more than anything else.

He rubbed his hands together, and fixed her with a stare she was sure had been unique to the homeless guy that hung out in front of the video store back home. Maybe they were related?

"Well?" he snapped all of a sudden. Fern jumped. Again. He rolled his eyes (shudder-worthy) when she only stared back at him silently. "Name! I have a class of hopeless, illiterate lacrosse players to teach!" He waved his hands in what could have been a spit-it-out motion, but looked more reminiscent of a seizure.

"Uh, Fern Mitchell." She choked out, unconsciously leaning away from the man. Was it just her, or did he smell like old towels?

"Great. I'm coach Finstock, call me coach, pick a seat, and shut up." Nope, there it was on the board- COACH FINSTOCK. Those were definitely old towels she smelled.

...God, even his handwriting screamed mental instability.

"I'm not on a sports team." Really? That's what she was going with?

"Then don't talk!" he made another spazztic motion towards the chairs in a chorus of poorly masked snickers from her peers.

Okay then, Fern mouthed to herself as she picked a nice, inconspicuous seat near the windows, and sat rigidly, willing the class to divert their attention back to their, uh, coach.

The rest of the day passed similarly, with bizarre teachers and an even more bizarre floor plan. Seriously, it was like someone had just taken a toddler's building block creation, and decided to use it as a key for placing classrooms.

The lunch room had been easy to find, thank the benevolent lord, but said benevolence abruptly ended when Fern had stood by the wall like an idiot, grasping her tray, and desperately surveying the room for vacant tables.

The best she could find was a slightly occupied table, where a kid in a camouflage pullover was situated. She glanced at him as she set her tray down at the opposite side of the table, gauging his reaction. He spared her a brief glance, but otherwise paid her no mind.

She let out a breath of relief when he made no move to chase her off.

The peace was momentary, however, when a high-heeled blonde wrapped in a leather miniskirt and matching jacket sauntered over, flouncing down in front of camouflage-guy with unexpected grace.

"Hello, Boyd," she purred, stretching across the table to make smoldering eyes at him.

"Erica," He greeted her an awkward nod. He twisted open his water bottle with a soft pop, and a moment later a boy with a square jaw and a mop of blonde curls slid in next to Erica.

She draped herself around the newcomer, murmuring seductively. He gave a bark of laughter at whatever it was she had said, and shook her off good-naturedly. At least they weren't making out.

Her lunch period had gone mostly without incident. It was a nice change from the constant panic of oh god where is this class I'm going to be late again shit I almost bumped into that jerk from this morning again is it just me or is he, like, everywhere.

Seriously though, he was everywhere. And he was always in the way.

...She was starting to hate him a little bit.

Fern had dumped her lunch, uneaten, into the trash and made to high-tail it out of the cafeteria when she'd bumped into another person.

Fern swore to watch where she was walking for the rest of eternity if she could just stop bumping into people.

Instead of a pissy glare, though, she was met with big, brown doe-eyes and an apologetic smile.

"Sorry," Fern started, but the girl waved it off.

"Don't worry about it, it was my fault. You're new here, right?" She smiled. Fern nodded. "I'm new this year, too. I started in the fall, at the beginning of the year." Lucky girl. "I'm Allison."

That smile could melt the cold, forsaken streets of her hometown in Michigan. Fern couldn't help but smile back. "Fern," she replied. Allison winced, but tried to hide it, bless her. "And yes, I know that's a terrible name."

"Well, Fern." Allison cocked her head. "Do you have anywhere to sit?"

This is going to be a relatively slow-build story, and I plan on keeping in tune with the plot.

It has been a very long time since I have honestly tried to write something, so please be kind in your criticisms. I also apologize for grammatical errors and typos! I don't currently have a beta.