My grandma would always x out people in her yearbook and write “Deceased” when one of her high school classmates died. We often found it morbid. Grandma wanted to be the last one living. She wanted to win.
That’s not a yearbook.
That’s a hit list.
Derek’s eyes narrowed at Stiles across the piles of food sitting between them, but he tampered his anger until Mr. McCall was out of earshot. He growled and grabbed a hold of Stiles’s hand, dragging him into Scott’s room, slamming the door shut by pushing Stiles’s up against it. He held Stiles to the door, his fingers digging into the teen’s cheek and hair, his teeth bared.
"What the hell, Stiles?"
Stiles grunted, flailing against the door, and he glanced behind him at Derek. “Uh, Derek, I can explain-“
He growled, fisting his hand tighter in Stiles’s hair. “You lied to me!”