Black Water ↠ Stiles Stilinski [Teen Wolf, Vol. One]

Nothing

Disclaimer: 'Teen Wolf' isn't mine. Shocking, right? But it's true. If there are any similarities in content or dialogue, it has probably originated with the show.

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Chapter Three - Nothing

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"You know it's a good thing that tin can you call a car broke down. I was beginning to worry that you were going to get tetanus. Or Hepatitises A through M."

Exhaling sharply, Charlie propped her feet up on the dashboard of Lydia's Beetle. With her car out of commission and Aunt Mel having to open up her shop in the morning, Lydia had seemed like the best possible mechanism of transportation from her apartment to school. For a while she had contemplated walking, but after the rant Donald went on about the 'murder woods', the option had rather lost its appeal. Also, it involved walking for at least an hour.  Which required her to wake up an hour earlier. Which was completely unacceptable. So Lydia it was.

Traveling with Lydia came with a few drawbacks. Charlie had anticipated the makeup and wardrobe check before she was reluctantly allowed entrance to the car. It took another high-waisted leather skirt—this one red—and semi-well-executed winged eyeliner to gain admittance. What she didn't account for was Lydia's boundless energy and Type A personality which, when paired with Charlie's general hatred for all things before 10:00 a.m., let to an extreme desire to throw herself out of the moving car and into the sweet embrace of death.

"Hey, hey, hey," Lydia chided, reaching over and smacking Charlie's legs, "it's bad enough that you wear those combat boots. Don't get them on my car."

Letting her heels drag against against the upholstery, Charlie removed her feet from the dash. "It's not like I wore them through the trenches. They're from a sample sale Mel went to in L.A., not the Battle of the Somme." Charlie let out a wide yawn, wiping the sleep out of her eyes, wishing that Lydia had let her hit the snooze button one more time. "Anyways," she continued, "they're designer and you said anything designer was fine."

"Labels and good taste are not one and the same," Lydia replied snippily.

"Oh, come on," Charlie groaned. "They're designer boots. They're cute. I thought you'd be happy about the fact that I'm wearing Zoombinis."

"Oh my God!" Lydia almost shrieked, pounding her hand on the steering wheel. "Zanottis. They're called Zanottis! And they are sacred."

"You subscribe to a seriously weird religion," Charlie drawled sarcastically. "Do you build shrines and perform animal sacrifices? Is that what your poolhouse is for? Am I going to show up one day and find Prada missing?"

"There are about a thousand girls who would gladly kill their adorable furry dogs to get their hands on those shoes," Lydia said through an exaggerated eye roll. "I mean, do you even know how much those things cost?"

"No, I do not," Charlie replied evenly. "Nor do I intend to find out. Every time I find out how much those clothes cost these days I get a mental image of starving people in areas of natural disaster and that's always a bit of a downer. The markup on these things is completely absurd."

Lydia's mouth hung open in disbelief and she shook her head. "You are unbelievable. Sometimes I wonder why I choose to associate with you."

"Proximity," Charlie shrugged. "And my sparkling personality."

Lydia's lower lip stuck out in a determined pout and she cranked up the music, driving in silence. Charlie just sat there, twiddling her thumbs and waiting. It was only a matter of time before the redhead began to talk again. She had yet to dish on the first day intrigue, and Charlie could see the wheels turning in her head. Hell, they were spinning so fast she was surprised the entire apparatus didn't break down and send pieces whirling off into oblivion.