Spellbound

During the walk to school, Isaac stops in a convenience store and picks up a package of strawberry-frosted Pop-Tarts and a small carton of orange juice. It’s worlds away from what Melissa left in the microwave over the weekend and Isaac knows it’s neither a healthy nor balanced breakfast, but he only has a few dollars left and settles for whatever he can afford. The young kid behind the cash register takes his two dollars and sixty-eight cents and doesn’t spend a second longer looking at him than would be considered normal and Isaac’s shoulders relax, which Isaac thinks is strange because he didn’t know he’d tensed up. But it’s nice to be looked at as a customer rather than the tall, weird kid whose brother died in the war and whose father kicked the shit out of him all the time.

He’s able to finish both Pop-Tarts and most of his orange juice before he’s forced to chuck it in the garbage can outside school. There’s still three minutes before he has to be in his first class so he stalls by his locker, wondering where Scott and the rest of his pack are and subconsciously looking for Sheridan. He doesn’t sense her like he normally does.

In English, the class discusses Conrad’s Heart of Darkness and Isaac’s heart flutters every time someone mentions the Nellie. It’s too close to Nell, a name he’s spent too much time going over and over in his mind, and when the bell rings some forty minutes later, it’s the only part of the lecture Isaac remembers.

Scott’s waiting by the doorway. His face lights up when Isaac steps through, and Isaac remembers Lydia’s words: “Scott isn’t gonna let anything happen to you. Scott’s not going to let you die.” He wonders why. He and Scott barely know each other and now Isaac’s living in his house and eating his mother’s food and depending on him to not let him die.

“Hey, man,” Scott says. It’s always ‘hey, man’ and nothing else. “I was thinking we could go to Derek’s after school. Maybe he knows—”

Isaac’s stomach drops to the ground. “No,” he snaps. It’s firm and confident and completely unlike Isaac in his normal state. It’s a tone typically reserved for threatening Stiles.

“Oh…okay. Or we can totally not go to Derek’s. That’s cool, too.”

Isaac doesn’t bother to apologize, to try and stop Scott’s bumbling words, and instead makes his way to his next class. He has never been that good at maths and sciences and there’s a moment of panic until he remembers he doesn’t have his father to answer to anymore. No one cares if his grades are bad. No one will be there when — more like if, Isaac thinks to himself — he graduates and no one will be throwing him a backyard barbecue to celebrate his finishing high school.

The two werewolves have pre-calculus together and spend the period pretending to take notes. They have a quiz on Friday and neither is prepared, but Scott reassures himself by saying he’ll ask Stiles or Lydia for help. Isaac plans on winging it. It’s not like the grade will matter.

Midway through the period, Isaac’s thoughts drift to Erica and Boyd and his indifference is noticed by everyone. Their teacher, Mr. Stephenson, pauses his demonstration. “Mr. Lahey,” he says, though it sounds more like a threat than a normal bit of dialogue, “why don’t you come up and finish my example?”

Isaac simply shakes his head. “Nah.”

“Excuse me?” Mr. Stephenson says, eyebrows launching into space.

“I’m not finishing your stupid example,” Isaac elaborates. Thinking about Erica and Boyd always puts him in a bad mood.

Isaac’s classmates watch in shock as Mr. Stephenson dismisses him to the office for disciplinary action. Isaac is silent as he collects his things and leaves the room, and once he’s halfway down the hallway he hears his classmates’ hushed whispers. His behavior has been questionable since his father died, they’re saying. He’s become more aggressive.

Although he shouldn’t be surprised the secretary doesn’t know who he is, he’s still slightly cross when he has to repeat his first and last name so she can pull up his file. You know who I am, he wants to say. I’m the one who police thought murdered his father. I was a fugitive for weeks; how can you not recognize me? But he doesn’t say these things and clenches his jaw instead. His eyes are daggers as he’s told to take a seat, that someone will call him shortly.

The slow burn in the pit of his stomach is gnawing at him again. It always is, like Deaton said, but it was bearable over the weekend. He found ways to suppress it, like focusing all his attention on the pain he’s endured, or spending hours locked in a freezer, but it’s always temporary. Eventually it comes back, worse than ever, and all he can do is take it.

But it’s stronger this time — stronger than it has ever been — and Isaac knows why as soon as he picks up the scent of her perfume. It’s so powerful it almost knocks him to the floor, knees tucked to his chest. All he can register is the pain, how everything feels like it’s on fire, and he wants to scream. Someone help me. Someone make this stop.

Isaac knows pain. He knows how it feels to receive a black eye or get cut so badly he’d need stitches. He knows lacrosse injuries, the feeling of the back of his father’s hand across his face. He knows emotional pain — the pain of loss, of inadequacy, of loneliness. To Isaac, pain is nothing more than a part of life, and this gives him the slightest confidence that he can do this. He’s prepared.

Sheridan asks the secretary for a late pass. She doesn’t give a reason and isn’t asked for one. Isaac tries to keep his eyes to himself, but he finds it exceedingly difficult when he knows the person he’s meant to be with for the rest of his life is standing ten feet away from him. The pain in his gut is intolerable and he lets out a moan of pain, gaining everyone’s attention.

“Are you okay?” the secretary asks.

Sheridan looks over, her eyes instantly recognizing him. “Hey, you were at my pa—” She coughs, swallowing the party she almost let slip through. “You were at my friend’s place over the weekend, weren’t you?”

Ignoring the secretary, Isaac nods. “Yeah,” he says. He immediately feels foolish. What a stupid thing to say.

“I thought I recognized you,” she says, a smile lighting up her face. “I didn’t know you went here. You’re so tall I thought you were older.” Her eyes narrow, as if he’s just said something she can’t quite believe. “You do go here, right? You’re not, like, an undercover cop or something sent in to spy on us high school kids?”

Behind the desk, the secretary is watching their exchange with an unamused expression. She finishes filling out Sheridan’s late slip and makes a show of clicking her pen as loudly as possible. “Here you go. Get to class, Miss Nell.”

Sheridan is looking at Isaac when she rolls her eyes playfully. “I’ll see you around then?”

“Yeah,” Isaac says. “Yeah, I hope so.”