laid restless in your bed, tossing and turning, trying to escape all of
the thoughts rushing through your mind. You turned and grabbed you
phone, the brightness of the screen stinging your eyes. 2:17am it
flashed at you. “Great.” You sighed, twiddling your fingers. You let the
minutes pass as you stared at your ceiling, it felt like hours. “That’s
it.” You grunted as you kicked the sheets off of your pale skin,
grabbed what you needed from your drawers and headed for outside.
You lived in a massive warehouse that belonged to Derek Hale. Isaac,
Cora, Boyd and Erica shared the home as well. Derek had found you months
ago stranded in the middle of the woods in the pouring rain after you
had just ran away from your abusive home containing a drunk step-father.
Derek didn’t even give you a chance to say no, or barely even introduce
yourself before he was gum-deep in your side.
“Whittemore!” Coach Finstock yelled at your twin brother, Jackson. “You’re in goals today, get your butt in there!” He added. You and Jackson were in the same gym class, which was pretty much just Lacrosse practice as Finstock was the Coach of the Beacon Hills Lacrosse Team and spent any time he could perfecting his masterpiece of a squad. You and Jackson had been arguing over who’s turn it was to help your mother with the dishes that night and you punched him in the arm to signal him to, well, get his butt in front of the goals.
“Whittemore, number 2!” He yelled, this time at you. Coach hadn’t bothered to learn your first name all year, just sticking with the whole “number 2” nonsense, which you knew your brother Jackson loved, seeing as he was a whole 3 and a half minutes older than you and hadn’t let you live it down since the day he was able to string sentences together. “Take a shot at your brother.” He demanded.
“Oh Coach, with pleasure.” You replied and turned your head to look at your brother in goals who had a pathetic grin plastered on his face.
“Do it, I dare you. I literally dare you….number 2.” Jackson taunted you, boiling your blood and itching your nerves. You took your place in front of the goals, shoving Stiles out of the way. “Beat it, Stilinski.” You shouted, motioning him out of your way.
“You two are so twins it irks me.” Stiles retorted at your snap.
You dug your heels into the ground as you sprinted off towards your brother, some 20 to 30 meters away. “Come on, dish-bitch.” Jackson yelled at you, referring to your duty after dinner tonight. You threw your Lacrosse stick away, still charging towards Jackson, his face looking slightly surprised and unexpected of your outburst. You reached him before he could do anything and tackled him into the ground. Being brother and sister, twin brother and sister, you were both extremely competitive and often found yourselves wrestling over literally anything that was “worthy” of an argument in your eyes.
“Whittemore….s!” Coach screamed as he stomped over to you, prying you two apart. “This is the fifth time this week you two have done this!” He continued to scream. Stiles was holding you back as Scott held Jackson, both of you still kicking and clawing at each other. You both broke free and smashed back into each other, essentially concussing yourselves into an unconscious state.
You woke up in the nurse station and soon found yourselves waiting outside the principal’s office. “This is your fault, number 2!” Jackson snapped through clenched teeth. “Me?!” You yelled, regretting the use of such high decibels as they reminded you of the ache in your head. Just as the two of you could get back into it again, the principal had called you in. You both got suspended and had to explain to your parents what happened, all five times, during the week.
You had just moved back to Beacon Hills after living with your dad for the three years. Today was the first day back at school, and the first day of Junior year. Your mum had put you in all of the same classes as your twin brother, Scott McCall, and you had Economics with Coach Finstock first up.
You and Scott sat next to each other and your best friend, Stiles, sat in front of you. You three began to talk, not noticing that coach had started to call the roll and that people were actually answering.
“Greenberg……. Argent.. Martin.. Lahey.. Yukimura.. McCall…wait a minute. McCall I’ve got you twice on this class roll, Jesus, imagine having two of you..what a nightmare…” Coach said, but none of you heard him.
“McCall!” He shouted.
“Yeah?” Yourself and Scott said in unison as you looked up.
Coach looked confused. He looked at Scott, then back at you, then back at Scott, then back at you, shocked when noticing your similarities as you raised the same brow at the same time. Coach lifted the class roll back up and searched for your last names once again. He noticed the sticky note at the bottom of the page.
“Coach Finstock, Introducing Ms. (Y/N) McCall into your class. Please make her feel welcome.” The principal had written.
Coach rubbed his face with his hand in sheer disbelief. “Oh dear God, there is two of you.” He sighed. “Welcome Ms. McCall.” He got it over and done with and everyone stared at you.
It was October 30th, mischief night. Usually, most students don’t bother doing anything, they just wait until Halloween itself, but you and your twin brother spent the entire year, every year coming up with a new way to play tricks on Coach Finstock.
This year, however, you both decided that seeing as it was Senior Year, your last of high school, AND Coach’s birthday, why leave the tricks anonymous? You both planned to leave a small card near the trick.
Your twin brother, Stiles Stilinski, walked into his Economics class with a grin on his face as he sat next to his best friend, Scott McCall. His grin widened as he heard Coach Finstock yelling in his office. “Son of a bitch!” He yelled and the class let out a laugh. Stiles had left a gift box on Coach’s desk, filled with seemingly harmless bolts and screws, but as Coach lifted the box to take a closer look, everything in his office, connected by a sting under the box, fell to the ground. “STILINSKI!” He screamed after reading the small card, and Stiles could barely contain his laughter.
Coach stepped out of his office just as you pranced into his class. “What up, Finstock?” You teased in a cool-girl voice. You had gotten a transfer into his Economics class as the other teacher was too confusing for you. You placed your transfer slip on his desk and made your way to your brother. “You will spend the rest of your days in detention if you don’t clean that up after class, Stilinski.” Coach snapped. “Woah, Coach, what happened in there?” You asked, laughing at the consequences of your twin brother’s actions. “And who the hell are you?” Coach sneered. You pointed at the slip on his desk, “sign it” you told him. Coach picked up the slip and read the last name on it. Your impression of a “card” to him. “Stilinski.” He whispered in disgust. “It literally sickens me to my very core that there are two of you on this earth.” He exclaimed. “I better use my lucky pen for this one.” He added. “Oh yes, that one and that one only!” You smirked. As he picked up his pen, your pre-planned attack went into motion. Coach didn’t take notice of the string attached to his pen, and as he tugged it over to the paper, everything in the classroom fell to the floor, just like it had in his office.
“STILINSKI!” He screamed in rage, this time at you. All you and your brother could do was high five and sit back to take the consequences.