Chapter 9: Trying not to get lost in 'Acting'
The sun was already high in the sky by the time I made it to the edge of the school grounds. It was one of those crisp mornings that still managed to feel warm, with the kind of blue sky that made everything seem slightly more cinematic.
I was on my bike, wearing a helmet, my lacrosse stick slotted in its mount on the back. There was a small breeze in the air as I pulled into the lot where the students usually parked their bikes.
Just as I was hopping off and starting to lock mine up, a sleek black Porsche rolled up beside me. I didn't even get the chance to take a full step back before the driver's side door flung open and smacked into my handlebars.
The driver stepped out casually, as if it hadn't even happened.
"Dude, watch the paint job," he said, adjusting his sunglasses.
I stared at him.
Jackson.
Of course.
Before I could say anything, one of his friends called over to him and he turned away without another word, walking toward the group without a hint of apology. The arrogance practically rolled off him.
I exhaled slowly. What could I do? Guys like Jackson had been coasting through life with the help of rich parents and better-than-you attitudes since middle school.
I turned back to my bike, checked it over, and made sure nothing was scratched before heading toward the building.
As I approached the front steps, I spotted Stiles making his way across the quad, backpack swinging loosely over one shoulder.
"Hey, look at this thing, dude," I said as I met up with him. I tugged up the sleeve of my jacket, showing the bandage on my abdomen.
"What happened there?" he asked, squinting.
"I'm pretty sure a wolf bit me," I said.
Stiles blinked. "A wolf? No chance."
"I heard howling," I added, shifting my bag on my shoulder.
"No, you didn't."
"What do you mean I didn't? I know what I heard, Stiles."
He shook his head with confidence. "California hasn't had wolves in like six years."
"Really?"
"Yes. Really. No wolves."
I paused for a moment, and that's when it hit me again. I was doing it. I'd slipped into the rhythm of the role so smoothly that I had momentarily forgotten where I ended and Scott McCall began.
It happened too often in the past few days...
Stiles tilted his head. "What's the matter?"
"No, no, nothing," I replied, shaking it off. "I was just thinking… you definitely wouldn't believe me if I told you I found the body."
Stiles' eyes widened. He nearly dropped his bag.
"Are you kidding me?" he asked, voice already climbing with excitement.
"I'm gonna have nightmares for a month," I said, trying not to sound too affected.
"Dude, that is freaking awesome! That is seriously gonna be the best thing that's happened in this town since—"
And that's when she walked by.
Lydia Martin.
Her hair perfect, stride confident, and phone in hand. She passed without looking at either of us.
"—since Lydia Martin," I muttered under my breath, not hiding the sarcasm in my voice. I glanced at Stiles. Internally, I sighed. When was my best friend going to get over this obsession?
He didn't miss a beat.
"Hey, Lydia, you look—"
She didn't even glance in his direction.
"…great," he finished lamely as she disappeared around the corner.
"You're the cause of this, you know," he said, looking at me like it was somehow my fault.
"What?" I asked, amused.
"Dragging me down into your nerd depths. I'm a nerd by association."
I rolled my eyes.
"Exactly. Scarlet nerd, marked for life," he said as we made our way up the steps toward the building.
Even if half of me was still adjusting to the layers between Jace and Scott, walking next to Stiles in this moment felt completely natural.
…
Stiles and I sat near the back of the classroom, sunlight filtering through the blinds, casting slanted lines across our desks. Dust hovered in the light, suspended in still air. At the front, the teacher stood by the whiteboard, his tone even, explaining something that barely registered.
"A bird's body was found in the woods near the preserve," he said, as if it were just another detail from the morning news. I felt Stiles shifting in his seat beside me. He leaned slightly, gave me a knowing wink. I offered a faint smile in return, but my attention was elsewhere.
As Jace, I was bracing myself for what I knew was about to happen.
I recognized this moment. I had seen it more times than I could count. Allison Argent was about to be introduced to the class.
But this wasn't my first encounter with her—not by a long shot. Over the past few days, I'd already filmed scenes with Crystal.
Episodes set further down the timeline. That's how production worked: scenes were shot out of order depending on logistics.
So while this was Scott McCall's beginning with Allison, it wasn't mine. I already knew how he felt.
I had felt it deeply.
Now, about to relive the moment where it all began, I could already sense the pull. Because the emotions that came from playing Scott didn't stay contained to the script.
They were vivid, layered, and dangerously immersive. I couldn't predict how much of that intensity would leak into my real-world interactions with Crystal.
Half-engaged with the printed syllabus on my desk, I suddenly heard it—a sharp, unexpected ringtone.
It didn't belong in the room. I instinctively flinched, a small jolt that earned a side glance from Stiles.
I scanned the classroom, but nothing obvious gave away the source. Then a voice came through, clear but distant.
"Mom, three calls on my first day is a little overdoing it."
I knew the voice instantly.
Then again: "Everything except a pen. Oh my god, I didn't actually forget a pen on my first day."
Turning slightly in my seat, I looked out the window and saw her—Allison—standing by the front entrance.
She looked a mix of flustered and nervous, her phone still in hand. Her expression was open, almost unguarded, and her presence seemed to slow everything around her.
Beside her stood the school dean, speaking calmly, and they made their way into the school.
"Hopefully, Beacon Hills will be your last stop for a while," he said, then stepped forward to open the classroom door.
"Class, this is our new student, Allison Argent. Please do your best to make her feel welcome."
She walked in with a quiet ease. Her blue scarf was looped neatly at her neck, matched by a brown jacket layered over a grey top, and fitted jeans. There was nothing showy about the outfit, but she carried herself with the kind of confidence that made it all seem deliberate.
And that's when it hit me. Scott's emotions.
A rush of warmth, of interest, of nervous optimism. Emotions that weren't mine, but felt entirely real.
Scott had really fallen for her fast.
As Jace, I let out a quiet sigh.
This was going to take discipline.
Even with all the experience I had separating performance from reality, the system blurred the line.
It wasn't that I couldn't distinguish Crystal from Allison. I could. But letting Scott's perception take over for too long might start coloring how I interacted with Crystal when the cameras weren't rolling. And that was something I couldn't let happen.
Still, as Allison walked down the aisle to take her seat, I found myself watching. Just briefly.
This was the beginning of something significant—for Scott.
And I needed to remember that was where it ended.
"Cut!" the director shouted, his voice carrying over the chatter that followed immediately as the room relaxed.
The once-focused set broke into a low hum of conversation and the sound of crew members moving equipment into place for the next sequence.
The director raised his megaphone and called out, "Jace, your next scene will be tonight. You'll be doing the wolf bite scene."
I gave him a thumbs up, signaling that I was good to go. I had already read the schedule, so it wasn't a surprise.
He continued calling out a few other names, directing some of the supporting cast to the side lot for pickup shots.
They began making their way over, and the rest of us were left to either reset or unwind for a bit.
Turning back, I noticed Crystal still standing nearby. She caught my eye and tilted her head slightly, a playful look in her expression.
"What?" she asked, raising her brows. "Something on my face?"
I shook my head quickly. "No, no, there's nothing."
She didn't seem convinced, but I stepped away from my desk on set and made a move to walk toward the staging area.
Before I could get far, I heard her jog up behind me.
"Wait," she said, catching up. "What happened?"
I glanced over and offered a half-smile. "No, really, it's nothing."
"There's something on my face, isn't there?" she pressed, still teasing.
I exhaled slowly. I had just come out of Scott-mode. The scene had drawn up real emotion, and now I needed a few minutes to settle back into being Jace.
To put some space between what Scott felt and what I felt.
"You have something on your cheek. I think it's your eyebrow," I said.
It was a callback to the first scene we ever did together during auditions. A tiny, inside joke. Something most of the crew wouldn't think twice about, but one that made her laugh almost instantly.
"Oh," she said, faking a dramatic sniffle. "It's probably from all the crying."
She stepped closer and tilted her face toward me, eyebrows raised in exaggerated expectation, as if daring me to follow through.
"I can help you with that," I said, playing along. I lifted my hand slowly and gently brushed my thumb across her cheek.
There was nothing there, of course. It was just part of the bit.
She giggled again, her smile bright and easy.
"Well," she said with a grin that showed off her teeth, "I'll take your word for it if nothing happened."
Then, with a quick wave, she added, "I've got to get to my next shoot. See you soon."
She turned and skipped off toward the next set, a light bounce in her step.
I stood there for a second, watching her go, maybe just a moment too long.
Then I shook my head, turning away from the path she took.
Wow.
Yeah, I definitely needed to keep a better grip on my emotions.
...
Authors note:
You can read some chapters ahead if you want to on my p#treon.com/Fat_Cultivator