The early morning sun, already promising a warm California day, sliced through the blinds of Scott McCall's bedroom, painting stripes across his lacrosse poster. He groaned, burying his face deeper into his pillow, his body aching in ways it never used to before… before that night in the woods. Every muscle felt simultaneously too tight and too loose, like a guitar string about to snap. And the sounds… he could hear Mrs. Henderson's cat three doors down meowing for its breakfast, the distant whir of the newspaper delivery van, the almost imperceptible creak of the house settling. It was too much.
Reluctantly, Scott dragged himself out of bed. The McCall home, while still retaining its cozy, lived-in feel, was undeniably more spacious and comfortable than it once had been. A tasteful extension here, a renovated kitchen there – subtle upgrades Alex had insisted on during one of his brief visits a couple of years back, funded by some app he'd probably designed on a napkin between parties. It meant Melissa had a proper dining area now, instead of them always eating at the kitchen island, and his own room was a decent size, no longer feeling like a glorified closet.
He pulled on a t-shirt and jeans, his movements still a little clumsy, his coordination not quite caught up with the strange new strength thrumming beneath his skin. Downstairs, the aroma of bacon and coffee filled the air. Melissa was in the kitchen, a whirlwind of efficiency, already dressed in her nurse's scrubs, a plate of food in one hand, her gaze fixed on the small flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. The news was on, some entertainment gossip show.
"...and it seems young Alex McCall, the sixteen-year-old tech prodigy and notorious Hollywood bad boy, has done it again!" a perky anchorwoman chirped, her smile dazzlingly artificial. The screen flashed to a paparazzi photo – Alex, looking infuriatingly cool and smug, leaning intimately towards a very famous, very blonde actress in a low-slung sports car. "Sources say McCall and starlet Sienna Glaze were spotted getting cozy after a late-night party, sparking rumors of a new romance for the McCall heir…"
Melissa made a sound that was a cross between a sigh and a growl. She slammed Scott's plate – piled high with eggs, bacon, and toast – onto the table. "Honestly," she muttered, shaking her head as she poured herself a coffee. She glanced sharply at Scott, who was trying to look engrossed in the pattern of the tablecloth. "Tell me, Scott, did you know about this latest… escapade?"
Scott nearly choked on his orange juice. "What? Me? Know what?" he stammered, his eyes darting to the TV where Alex's smirking face seemed to mock him. He felt a strange heat rise in his cheeks. Lying to his mom was getting uncomfortably easy, and uncomfortably necessary, these days.
"About his new 'friend'," Melissa said, her voice laced with sarcasm as she gestured towards the screen with her coffee mug. "Don't play innocent with me, Scott. You two are always texting, video calling. I hear you laughing with him at all hours. You expect me to believe he doesn't brag about his… conquests?"
Scott shifted awkwardly in his chair. "Well, yeah, we talk, but… I mean, it's Alex. He doesn't exactly send out a newsletter about his dating life. It's mostly him telling me about some new gadget or complaining about his dad." Which was true, mostly. Alex rarely delved into the specifics of his romantic entanglements, more often treating them as fleeting anecdotes. "It's… it's not the first time he's been in the papers for something like this, Mom."
"No, but it will be the last for a while," Melissa said, her tone suddenly firm. She clicked off the TV with the remote, the sudden silence amplifying the tension. "I spoke with your father this morning. Or rather, he endured a very long, very loud lecture from me."
Scott's stomach did a nervous flip. "Oh?"
"Oh, indeed," Melissa confirmed, taking a sip of her coffee, her eyes fixed on him. "He's finally agreed. Alex is coming back here. To Beacon Hills."
Scott's glass of water, halfway to his lips, tilted precariously. Water sloshed over the rim, onto his hand, onto the table. He yelped, a sound slightly too high-pitched, and fumbled for a napkin, his heart suddenly hammering against his ribs like a trapped animal. Alex? Here? Now? Panic, cold and sharp, flooded him. How was he supposed to hide the super-hearing, the crazy strength, the fact that he could now smell Stiles's anxiety medication from across a crowded room? Not to mention the looming full moon, just two days after the party he was desperately hoping to go to with Allison Argent, the new girl who made his palms sweat and his words tangle.
"Wh-what do you mean, coming here?" Scott managed, wiping his mouth, his mind racing. "Like, for a visit?" Please be for a visit. A very, very short visit.
"No, Scott," Melissa said, her expression unyielding. "Not for a visit. He's coming here to live. With us. And he's going to go to school with you. Beacon Hills High."
Scott stared at her, speechless. Alex, his globetrotting, billionaire-in-training, Hollywood-dwelling twin brother, at Beacon Hills High? The idea was so ludicrous it was almost funny. Almost. The implications were terrifying. Alex was observant. Too observant. He'd notice something was off with Scott in about five seconds flat.
"But… has he ever even gone to a real school?" Scott blurted out, the words escaping before he could stop them. It was a genuine question born of years of hearing Alex talk about tutors, online courses, and "experiential learning" which usually involved a private jet and a five-star hotel.
Melissa raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean, Scott? Your brother attends one of the most exclusive private academies in the country. Your father pays a fortune for it."
Scott winced internally. Slip-up. He knew, from Alex's more candid (and often sarcastic) descriptions, that "attends" was a very loose term. Alex mostly used the school as a mailing address and an occasional alibi. "Right, yeah, that school. Of course. Just… wow. Alex. Here." He tried to sound surprised, maybe even a little pleased. He failed spectacularly.
"He'll be here today, Scott," Melissa continued, oblivious to his internal meltdown, or perhaps choosing to ignore it. "His flight lands this afternoon. And it's final. Maybe some time away from the LA circus will do him some good. And maybe," she added, a hopeful note in her voice, "having his brother around will be good for you too."
Scott doubted that. Very much.
Just then, a familiar, dilapidated horn honked outside – Stiles. Salvation.
"Oh! Uh, that's my ride!" Scott exclaimed, jumping up so quickly his chair nearly toppled over. "Stiles is here! Gotta go! Lacrosse practice! Big game! Bye, Mom!" He grabbed his backpack, nearly tripping over his own feet, and bolted for the door before Melissa could say another word or ask any more probing questions about his sudden clumsiness or the fact that lacrosse season hadn't officially started.
He burst out of the house and practically threw himself into the passenger seat of Stiles's beat-up blue Jeep.
"Dude, what's with the frantic escape? Did your mom finally find your stash of questionable werewolf romance novels?" Stiles quipped, already maneuvering the Jeep away from the curb with his usual erratic flair.
"Worse, Stiles! So much worse!" Scott gasped, still trying to catch his breath, his mind a chaotic whirlwind. "Alex. He's… he's coming back! Today! To live! And go to our school!"
Stiles slammed on the brakes, causing both of them to lurch forward against their seatbelts. The Jeep behind them blared its horn indignantly. "Whoa, whoa, whoa! Rewind! Alex? The Alex? Your cooler-than-a-polar-bear's-toenails, dates-actual-movie-stars, probably-has-a-secret-lair Alex is coming here? To Beacon Hills High? Are you punking me? Because if this is a punk, it's not funny, McCall, it's cruel!"
"I wish I was punking you, man!" Scott groaned, running his hands through his already messy hair. "My mom just told me. He's on a flight this afternoon. Because of that thing on the news, with Sienna Glaze."
Stiles's eyes widened, then a slow grin spread across his face. "Sienna Glaze! Dude, your brother is a legend! A sixteen-year-old legend! How does he do it? Seriously, how? I try that 'effortless charm' thing he told me about on Lydia Martin, you know, the 'treat 'em mean, keep 'em keen, but like, in a mysterious, brooding way' – and she just looks at me like I've grown a second head that's reciting bad poetry!"
Scott managed a weak smile. "Yeah, well, Alex's advice doesn't always translate well to non-Hollywood realities, Stiles."
"You're telling me!" Stiles exclaimed, restarting the Jeep and pulling back into traffic, his earlier shock replaced by a manic energy. "Remember when he told me to 'accidentally' spill a drink on Lydia to initiate conversation? I ended up drenching her new Prada bag with grape soda! Prada, Scott! I think she put a voodoo curse on me. I've had three flat tires since then. Three!" He shook his head in bewildered admiration. "But Alex… he just breathes and supermodels flock to him. Now he's going to be here! In person! I can get live pointers! This is going to be epic! Maybe he can teach me the 'McCall Smolder'!"
Scott's brief amusement vanished, replaced by a fresh wave of anxiety. "Stiles, this isn't epic, it's a catastrophe! How am I going to hide… you know… this?" He gestured vaguely at himself. "From Alex? He notices everything! What if I accidentally crush a doorknob? Or hear him whispering about me from across the school? Or, God forbid, what if I start to wolf out when he's around? He's going to know something's up in, like, five minutes!" The thought of his effortlessly cool, worldly twin brother witnessing him sprout fangs and claws was mortifying.
"Okay, okay, deep breaths, Scotty," Stiles said, though he was practically vibrating with excitement. "We'll figure it out. We always do. We just need a plan. Operation: Keep Alex From Knowing Scott is a Teenage Werewolf. KAFKSITW. Catchy, right?"
"Stiles!"
"Right, bad acronym. Look, maybe it won't be so bad," Stiles offered, though he didn't sound convinced. "Maybe he'll be too busy charming every girl in a five-mile radius to notice you're suddenly a candidate for the X-Men." He paused, then his eyes lit up. "Or! Maybe he's got secrets too! Maybe he's a secret agent! Or a vampire! That would explain the late nights and the pale skin he sometimes has in those paparazzi shots!"
"He's not a vampire, Stiles," Scott said, rubbing his temples. "He's just… Alex. And he's going to make my already impossibly complicated life about a million times more complicated." He thought of Allison, of the upcoming party, of the terrifying, uncontrollable changes happening to his body. And now, Alex. It was all too much.
"Hey," Stiles said, his voice suddenly serious, sensing his friend's genuine distress. "We'll handle it. You, me, the dynamic duo. We'll keep your inner wolf under wraps. And who knows," he added, a mischievous glint returning to his eyes, "maybe having Alex around will have its perks. At the very least, our social standing is about to go through the roof. Or plummet spectacularly. Either way, it won't be boring."
Scott wasn't so sure about the perks, but Stiles was right about one thing. With Alex McCall back in Beacon Hills, life was definitely not going to be boring. It was probably going to be a complete and utter disaster.