Stiles Stilinski

'Anyway, I keep picturing all these little kids playing some game in this big field of rye and all. Thousands of little kids, and nobody's around - nobody big, I mean - except me. And I'm standing on the edge of some crazy cliff. What I have to do, I have to catch everybody if they start to go over the cliff - I mean if they're running and they don't look where they're going I have to come out from somewhere and catch them. That's all I do all day. I'd just be the catcher in the rye and all. I know it's crazy, but that's the only thing I'd really like to--'

Okay, that's it. He can't do this, he can't read this freaking book, every time he tries he just wants to punch this stupid kid in the face, and then his eyes start glazing over and he realizes he's been reading for half a chapter and hasn't retained any of it, and then he has to reread, and its just all too much. "Uggggh," Stiles groans loudly, pulling the open book down over his face as he sprawls on his bed. "I can't do this any more, freaking summer reading is driving me nuts, and this stupid book--" The last sentence is punctuated by him hurling the paperback across the room. And of course, brilliant Stilinski aim has the book flying unerringly right for his window, where a familiar dark head is just poking through the open window, uninvited.

"Crap--"

Sorry, Derek. It's unintentional, he swears.