AutumnXd
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CHAPTER 11
🕑 Added 2025-05-28 17:01:55 +0000 UTCThe front door of the McCall house slammed shut, the sound echoing slightly in the comfortable living room. Scott and Alex trudged in, both looking a little worse for wear after the lacrosse "practice." Scott was mostly just tired and mentally drained. Alex, however, was definitely favoring his left leg, a slight limp accompanying his usually smooth stride.
Melissa looked up from the kitchen counter where she was chopping vegetables, her brow furrowed with concern. "Rough day, boys?"
Scott managed a weak smile. "Mine was great, Mom. Made some good plays." He conveniently omitted the part where he was pretty sure his werewolf senses were the only reason he wasn't a permanent fixture on the bench. "Alex, on the other hand," he said, glancing at his twin, "I think he had a real blast on his first day. Literally."
Alex dropped his expensive backpack onto the sofa with a sigh, then lowered himself gingerly into an armchair, wincing slightly. Melissa’s eyes immediately zeroed in on his careful movements. "Alex, what happened? Why are you walking like that?"
Alex waved a dismissive hand, trying for nonchalance. "Like what, Mom? I'm fine. Perfectly fine. Just, you know, the exhilarating rigors of high school athletics. Builds character. And apparently, a few bruises." He offered a charming, if slightly pained, grin. "Nothing a hot shower and the anticipation of my hot date tonight won't fix." He winked, though it looked a little strained.
Melissa’s expression sharpened. "A date? Who did this to you, Alex? Who made you limp?"
Alex chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. "Oh, you really want to know, Mom? Because trust me, whoever it was, he's currently experiencing at least twice the discomfort I am. Probably questioning all his life choices that led him to cross paths with me on a lacrosse field."
Scott, seeing the storm clouds gathering in his mother’s eyes, quickly interjected, "It was just a rough practice, Mom! Jackson Whittemore. You know how he gets. They were just… being competitive."
Melissa looked from Scott to Alex, her gaze lingering on her limping son. "Jackson Whittemore," she said, her voice tight. After a moment, seeing Alex’s unrepentant smirk and Scott’s attempt to downplay it, she sighed, shaking her head. "Never mind. I don't even want to know the details. As long as no one ended up in the ER." She then turned her attention to Scott, a new, brighter glint in her eye. "So, you're the one with the date tonight? Who's the lucky girl?"
Scott’s smile faltered, his face flushing. "What? How did this suddenly become about me? And no, it's not… I mean, it is a date, kind of, but it's a party. We're going to a party."
"A party date!" Melissa beamed. "That's wonderful, honey! I want to see this girl. What's her name?"
"Mom!" Scott groaned, his flush deepening. "We haven't even been on the actual date yet! It's just… tonight!"
"Okay, okay," Melissa conceded, though her eyes were sparkling with amusement. "But I want to meet her later. Properly."
Alex, who had been watching this back-and-forth with a thoroughly entertained smirk, let out a small chuckle. Scott shot him a glare. "You did this on purpose, didn't you? Deflecting!" He grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl. "I, uh, gotta call Stiles. About… homework. Yeah. Homework." He practically fled the room, apple in hand. "Be back before we have to go!"
Alex watched him go, then leaned his head back against the armchair, a thoughtful expression replacing his smirk. He’d rest for a bit, then the real work would begin: Operation Make Scotty Presentable for a Date.
Later that evening, Scott trudged back into the house, looking troubled. He’d had a tense conversation with Stiles in the Jeep, mostly Stiles freaking out about Scott going to a party on the night of a full moon, and Scott insisting he could handle it, that he had to handle it, for Allison. The werewolf secret was a heavy weight, and the thought of what could happen tonight if he lost control was terrifying. But the thought of Allison, her smile, the way she looked at him… that was a powerful motivator. He needed this. He needed to feel normal, just for one night.
He headed upstairs, the argument with Stiles still echoing in his mind. He needed to shower, to change, to try and pull himself together.
Scott emerged from the steamy bathroom a few minutes later, a towel wrapped around his waist, his hair damp. He walked into his bedroom, expecting to find the clothes he’d laid out on his bed – his best (which wasn't saying much) jeans and a relatively new band t-shirt. Instead, the bed was bare.
"Looking for something?"
Scott jumped, spinning around to see Alex lounging in the desk chair, looking infuriatingly cool and put-together, an assortment of clothes draped over his arm. "Were you really planning on wearing… those?" Alex asked, gesturing vaguely towards where Scott’s clothes should have been, his tone dripping with mock horror. "For a date? With a girl you clearly have a massive, debilitating crush on? Scotty, Scotty, Scotty. We need to talk."
Scott stared at him. "What… what did you do with my clothes?"
Alex stood up, shaking his head with a sigh. "Consider it an intervention, little brother. Your resident style guru, image consultant, and all-around expert on impressing the female species is here to save you from yourself. And from that tragic t-shirt collection." He held up a hanger draped with a crisp, dark indigo button-down shirt. "Tonight, you graduate from 'awkwardly endearing' to 'effortlessly cool.' Or at least, a reasonable facsimile thereof."
What followed was a whirlwind of activity that Scott could only describe as the "Alex McCall Makeover Experience." Alex, with the focused intensity of a couturier preparing a model for the runway, proceeded to overhaul Scott’s entire look. The slightly-too-baggy jeans were replaced with a pair of Alex’s own perfectly fitted, dark-wash designer jeans ("Don't worry, we're practically the same size. And these have seen far more interesting parties than yours ever will," Alex had quipped). The button-down shirt was paired with a sleek, black leather jacket that looked like it cost more than Scott’s entire wardrobe combined. "Shoes," Alex declared, pointing to Scott’s worn-out sneakers. "An abomination. Try these." He produced a pair of stylish, dark brown leather boots that looked both rugged and sophisticated. He even tackled Scott’s hair, expertly running some expensive-smelling product through it, transforming his usual slightly messy look into something artfully tousled and undeniably more attractive. A spritz of a subtle, masculine cologne ("Not too much, Scotty. You want to intrigue her, not asphyxiate her.") and a final touch – Alex unclasped his own understated but clearly expensive watch and fastened it onto Scott’s wrist.
Alex stepped back, surveying his handiwork with a critical eye. He circled Scott slowly, then nodded, a satisfied smirk on his face. "Okay. Not bad. Not bad at all." He stood beside Scott, both of them looking into the full-length mirror. "Now that looks like my brother." He clapped Scott on the shoulder. "And let me tell you a little secret, Scotty," he leaned in, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. "That girl? She's gonna go full throttle for this look. Trust me. I’m a professional."
Scott stared at his reflection, genuinely surprised. He actually looked… good. Really good. He felt a surge of confidence he hadn’t expected. He grinned at Alex. "Thanks, man. Seriously."
"Anytime, little brother," Alex said, winking. "Now, let's go. Your adoring public, and more importantly, your date, awaits."
They headed downstairs, where Stiles was waiting in the living room. He, too, looked like he’d undergone a minor transformation. He was wearing a newer, less wrinkled plaid shirt, and his hair actually looked like it had seen a comb. Stiles looked up as they entered, his eyes widening as he took in Scott’s new look. "Whoa! Scotty! Is that you? Did Alex accidentally hit you with a 'de-nerdify' ray?" He then gestured to his own outfit. "He wouldn't let me wear my favorite 'Conspiracy Con '09' t-shirt. Said we had to 'maintain a certain level of sartorial cohesion as a unit.' I think he’s been watching too many spy movies."
Scott just smiled, feeling a lightness he hadn't felt all day. "Come on, guys, let's go. Let me grab Mom's car keys."
Alex stepped forward, casually putting a hand on Scott’s shoulder. "Ah, about that, Scotty." He dangled a familiar set of keys in front of Scott’s face – the keys to his matte black BMW M3. "You're going on a date. Even though we upgraded Mom's car from that… noble wreck she used to drive to a perfectly respectable (and much safer) BMW sedan, tonight calls for something with a little more… oomph." He pressed his own car keys into Scott’s hand. "Just for tonight. Try not to scratch it. Or get any… questionable stains… on the leather."
Scott’s jaw dropped. "Are you serious? Your car?" He looked at the keys, then back at Alex, a huge grin spreading across his face. "Dude! Awesome!"
"Don't get used to it," Alex said, smirking. "Now, go get 'em, tiger." He turned to Stiles. "Come on, Stilinski. You and I are taking Mom's car. Someone needs to make sure Scotty doesn't accidentally drive my baby into a ditch out of sheer romantic incompetence."
The rumble of Alex’s BMW was a deep, satisfying purr as Scott, feeling like a king, pulled up in front of Allison’s house. The rain had stopped, leaving the streets glistening under the streetlights. He took a deep breath, his heart hammering. Stiles and Alex pulled up a little way down the street in Melissa’s sedan, discreetly out of sight.
As Scott cut the engine, the front door of Allison’s house opened, and not Allison, but her father, Chris Argent, stepped out onto the porch. He was a tall, imposing figure, his expression unreadable as he looked at the expensive sports car parked at his curb.
Scott froze, his hand on the door handle, suddenly feeling like an idiot. The car window was still closed. His phone buzzed. It was Alex. "Idiot!" Alex’s voice hissed through the speaker. "Don't just sit there goofing in the car like you're casing the joint! Get out! Her father came out before her, which means he wants to measure you up! Standard dad procedure!"
"Measure me up? Why?" Scott whispered frantically into the phone.
"Because you're taking his precious daughter out, you moron! Shut up and get out there! Be polite, be respectful, don't mumble, and for God's sake, try not to look like you're about to wet your pants!" Alex hung up.
Taking another deep breath, Scott got out of the car, trying to project an air of confidence he definitely didn't feel. He walked up the path towards Mr. Argent. "Uh, good evening, Mr. Argent," Scott said, trying to keep his voice steady. "I'm Scott McCall. I'm here to pick up Allison."
Chris Argent looked him up and down, his gaze lingering on the car, then back to Scott. His expression was still neutral, but there was an intensity in his eyes that made Scott feel like he was being X-rayed. "McCall," he said, his voice even. "So, you're the one taking my daughter to this party."
"Yes, sir," Scott said, trying to stand a little straighter. "Lydia Martin's party. We'll be responsible. I'll have her home at a reasonable hour." (He had no idea what a reasonable hour was, but it sounded like the right thing to say).
"See that you do," Mr. Argent said. He then surprised Scott by offering a small, almost imperceptible nod. "Allison talks about you. Says you're… decent." Coming from Chris Argent, Scott figured that was high praise.
Just then, the door opened again, and Allison stepped out. And Scott forgot how to breathe. She looked incredible. She was wearing a simple but elegant dark blue dress that made her eyes sparkle, her dark hair falling in soft waves around her shoulders. She smiled when she saw him, and Scott felt his carefully constructed composure melt away. They just stared at each other for a moment, the rest of the world fading into the background.
Mr. Argent cleared his throat loudly, breaking the spell. Allison blushed slightly, and Scott quickly looked away from her father. "We should probably get going, Dad," Allison said, giving her father a quick hug.
"Alright," Mr. Argent said. His gaze then flicked to Melissa’s sedan parked down the street. "Who's in the second car?"
Scott tensed. "Oh, uh, that's my brother, Alex. And our friend, Stiles. They're heading to the party too."
Allison looked surprised. "Oh, your brother's coming too?"
"Yeah," Scott said. "Lydia invited him this morning in class."
Mr. Argent’s eyebrows rose slightly. "Your brother? Alex McCall? Why didn't they come up? I would have liked to have a word with him."
Allison, hearing this, mentally thanked every deity she could think of that Alex had stayed in the car. She’d done a quick internet search on "Alex McCall" after school, and the results had been… extensive. Paparazzi photos, scandalous headlines, rumors of wild parties and even wilder behavior. She remembered her father occasionally seeing news reports about "that McCall boy" and muttering things like, "Kid’s got a good head on his shoulders for business, but those habits… at his age… no good will come of it." She really didn't want her father and Alex in the same enclosed space right now.
"Oh, um, later, Dad," Allison said quickly, tucking her arm into Scott’s. "We're kind of getting late. And you know Lydia, she gets antsy if people aren't fashionably on time." She practically pulled Scott towards the BMW, eager to make their escape.
