AutumnXd
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CHAPTER 7
🕑 Added 2025-05-21 18:02:49 +0000 UTCThe throaty, aggressive rumble of Alex McCall's modified BMW M3 E92 was an alien sound in the usually mundane symphony of Beacon Hills High School's morning drop-off. It cut through the chatter of students, the slamming of locker doors, and the squeak of sneakers on linoleum, turning heads long before the car itself came into view.
As Alex expertly navigated the crowded school parking lot, the engine's growl a carefully modulated display of power, every student not already inside seemed to stop what they were doing. Conversations died. Phones were lowered. All eyes gravitated towards the matte black beast weaving its way towards the front entrance with an almost predatory grace.
Parked near the main steps, Jackson Whittemore had his arm slung casually around Lydia Martin's shoulders, the picture of high school royalty. He was mid-boast about his lacrosse prowess when the BMW's distinctive sound made him pause, a flicker of annoyance crossing his perfectly sculpted features. "What the hell is that noise?" he muttered, more to himself than to Lydia. "Sounds like someone strapped a jet engine to a lawnmower."
Lydia, however, ever attuned to the subtle shifts in the social atmosphere, tilted her head, her strawberry-blonde hair catching the morning light. Her expression was intrigued. "That," she said, her voice a purr, "sounds expensive."
The BMW glided to a stop directly in front of the school's main entrance, a spot usually unofficially reserved for Jackson's Porsche. The engine idled with a deep, resonant hum that seemed to vibrate the very pavement. For a moment, nothing happened. The tinted windows revealed nothing of the occupants, adding to the mystique.
Then, the driver's side door opened with a solid, expensive-sounding thunk.
Alex McCall unfolded himself from the car, a study in effortless cool. He moved with a lithe, confident grace, his earlier Gen Z ensemble perfectly suited for making an impression. He didn't immediately look at the crowd, instead taking a moment to adjust the collar of his bomber jacket, as if the hundreds of eyes suddenly fixed on him were of no consequence whatsoever. He then leaned back against the car, one hand casually tucked into the pocket of his distressed black jeans, the silver hoops in his ears glinting.
The passenger door opened, and Scott emerged, blinking a little in the sudden spotlight. He tried to emulate Alex's casual vibe, leaning against the car too, but he couldn't quite manage the same level of nonchalant arrogance. He looked more like someone who was trying very hard not to look like he was trying very hard. He ran a hand through his hair, offering a slightly nervous, lopsided grin to the stunned onlookers.
Finally, the back door burst open, and Stiles Stilinski practically tumbled out, a whirlwind of limbs and flailing backpack. He attempted a suave lean against the car, clearly trying to match the McCalls, but his foot slipped on a stray pebble. He windmilled his arms for a dramatic second, a look of sheer panic flashing across his face, before somehow, miraculously, regaining his balance. He straightened up, coughed, and quickly glanced left and right, a blush creeping up his neck, trying to gauge if anyone had witnessed his near-catastrophic loss of cool. He then struck a pose, hands on hips, as if he'd meant to do that all along.
Jackson Whittemore stared, his jaw tight. "Who the hell is that?" he demanded, his voice a low growl, clearly affronted by the audacity of the newcomer and his equally audacious car. "And why is he with McCall and Stilinski?"
Lydia, however, was already several steps ahead, her mind a rapid-fire database of information. Her perfectly glossed lips curved into a knowing smile. "That, Jackson," she said, her voice smooth as silk, "is Alex McCall. As in, the Alex McCall. Heir to McCall Industries." She paused for effect. "They practically control the global electronics market. Every innovative leap in tech for the past decade? Chances are, they were behind it. The microprocessors in your phone, the operating system on your laptop, even the guidance systems in some military drones – all have McCall Industries' fingerprints on them."
Jackson's eyes widened slightly. He pulled out his own expensive smartphone, staring at it as if seeing it for the first time. "McCall Industries? Seriously? This thing?"
Lydia let out a delicate, almost pitying sigh, shaking her head slightly. "Honestly, Jackson, sometimes I wonder if you read anything other than the sports pages. Yes, that thing. Your phone's parent company is a subsidiary of a subsidiary they acquired three years ago. The main question isn't who he is." Her gaze sharpened, a calculating glint in her emerald eyes as she watched Alex, who was now casually removing his aviator sunglasses and hooking them onto the V-neck of his t-shirt. "The main question is, what is a bona fide, internationally recognized, teenage billionaire doing here, in Beacon Hills? And you can bet your perfectly maintained Porsche, Jackson, I am going to find out."
The trio made their way towards the school entrance, a wave of whispers and stares parting before them like the Red Sea. Alex walked with an unhurried, confident stride, a subtle smirk playing on his lips, clearly reveling in the attention. Scott, walking beside him, found himself unconsciously straightening up, a small, almost guilty thrill running through him as he felt the eyes of his classmates on them. For once, he wasn't just Scott McCall, the awkward kid on the bench. He was Scott McCall, brother of… well, Alex. Stiles, on Alex's other side, puffed out his chest, occasionally attempting a cool nod at someone he vaguely knew, his earlier slip-up forgotten in the intoxicating glow of reflected glory.
Girls giggled and pointed, their eyes wide with admiration. Guys stared with a mixture of envy and grudging respect. Teachers paused in their morning rush, looking bewildered. "Is that… who is that?" "He's gorgeous!" "Did you see that car?" "McCall? Like, Scott McCall's brother?" "No way, Scott McCall doesn't have a brother who looks like that."
Scott, basking in the unfamiliar sensation of being the center of (mostly) positive attention, caught sight of Allison Argent standing by her locker down the hall, talking to a friend. Her dark hair fell in soft waves around her shoulders, and she was laughing at something her friend said. His heart did a familiar lurch. The fame, the shine, Alex – it all momentarily faded.
"Uh, hey, I gotta… I gotta go see someone!" Scott blurted out, before abruptly veering off, practically jogging down the hallway towards Allison, leaving Alex and Stiles in his wake.
Alex stopped mid-stride, his cool facade momentarily cracking as he watched Scott's hasty retreat. He turned to Stiles, his voice a low, incredulous whisper. "Are you seeing this? Here I am, bestowing upon him the gift of instant popularity, the golden ticket to high school godhood, and where the hell does he run off to? Did he suddenly develop an allergy to a V.I.P. entrance?"
Stiles, who had been attempting to look stoic and mysterious, shrugged, a wide grin spreading across his face. "Dude, it's Allison Argent. The new girl. Scott's been mooning over her since she arrived. Apparently, she's his kryptonite. Or, you know, his one true love. Whichever is more dramatically appropriate." He then puffed his chest out again. "But hey, more fame for us, right? We can totally handle this level of adoration. I was born for the spotlight. It complements my complexion."
Alex shook his head, a small, exasperated smile playing on his lips. He reached up, smoothly detaching his aviator sunglasses from the collar of his t-shirt where they'd been artfully placed, and slid them back on, obscuring his eyes. "Well, if he doesn't want the shine, what can I do?" he said, his voice regaining its usual confident drawl. "No point letting good adoration go to waste. Come on, Stilinski. Let's go find our first class. And try not to trip over any more adoring fans. Or pebbles."
Scott reached Allison, slightly out of breath. "Hey! Allison! You, uh, you came!"
Allison turned, her smile bright and welcoming. "Of course, I came. It's a school day. Should I not have?" she teased, her eyes sparkling.
Scott flushed. "No! No, that's not what I mean! I just… you know… asking. Just asking." He mentally kicked himself. Smooth.
Allison laughed. "By the way," she said, her gaze flicking towards the entrance where Alex and Stiles were now making their own, slightly more direct, way through the parting crowd. "That was quite an entrance you guys made. Very… Hollywood."
Scott's flush deepened. "Oh, uh, yeah. You liked it? I mean, it's just… Alex being Alex."
"Alex?" Allison asked, her brow furrowing slightly.
"Yeah, he's my brother," Scott explained. "My twin brother, actually."
Allison's eyes widened in surprise. "Your twin? I had no idea. I've never seen him at school before, these past few days I've been here."
"Well, yeah, he doesn't live here, usually," Scott said, rubbing the back of his neck. "He lives in LA. He just got in yesterday. And now he's… going to be coming to school here. It's… well, it's a little complicated."
Allison's expression softened with understanding. "Family thing?"
Scott nodded, relieved she wasn't pressing for details. "Yeah. Kind of."
"It's okay," Allison said gently. "You can tell me when you're comfortable. Or not at all. No pressure."
"No, it's not that complicated, not really," Scott quickly clarified, not wanting her to think it was some dark, terrible secret. "We're good, me and Alex. It's just… a long story. Too long for a crowded hallway before first period. I can tell you later, if you want."
"Okay," Allison said, her smile returning. "Later then." The first bell rang, its shrill sound echoing through the hallway. "We should probably get to class. Isn't it lacrosse practice today after school?"
Scott's face lit up. "Yeah! It is!"
"Cool," Allison said, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "I'll come cheer you on."
Scott's heart did another happy flip. "You will?"
"Definitely," she confirmed, then winked. "Try not to make too dramatic an entrance onto the field."
