Chapter 4: The Prank on Jackson and the Werewolf's Warning
Jackson Whittemore was a man on a mission. And that mission was me.
After the lacrosse tryouts, his arrogance had been replaced by a simmering, paranoid suspicion. He wasn't just mad; he was convinced something was wrong. He kept giving me these long, intense stares, as if he could see the mimicked werewolf power humming just beneath my skin.
I knew I couldn't let him dig too deep. The last thing I needed was the popular kid with a serious aggression problem becoming the pack's first real enemy. The best way to deal with a bully, I'd always thought, was to outsmart them, to turn their rage into a joke. And that, my friends, is a job for a prankster.
It's time to build a magnificent, beautiful, and utterly confusing lie. The kind of lie that makes a person question their own sanity. A lie designed to make Jackson feel like he's going crazy.
The prank was simple in its execution, but a work of art in its design. I used my resources—the immense wealth of my new family—to create a fake news website. The website was called "The Beacon Hills Enquirer," and it was a parody of local news, filled with ridiculous headlines and clickbait stories.
And every single one of them was about Jackson.
The first article, a seemingly innocuous one, was titled: "Local Lacrosse Star Jackson Whittemore Seen Practicing with a Rubber Chicken." The second one, more serious in tone, was: "Jackson Whittemore Admits to a Secret Love Affair with a School Mascot." The third, a truly bizarre one, was: "Jackson Whittemore's Hair is Reportedly a Secret Government Project to Control Teen Minds."
The website was a masterpiece of misdirection, a beautiful, confusing mess. I used my knowledge of social media algorithms to make sure the stories were popping up in Jackson's social feeds, and I even went so far as to create a few fake profiles to comment on the articles, saying things like, "I always knew there was something weird about that guy," and "The rubber chicken thing is so true, I saw him with it!"
The prank was a resounding success. Jackson's paranoia spiked. He wasn't just mad; he was a walking, talking conspiracy theory. He spent his entire day arguing with people, trying to convince them that he was not, in fact, in a relationship with the school mascot. He was a mess.
But the prank wasn't the only thing that happened that day.
I was walking home, my head full of the day's events, when I felt a presence behind me. It wasn't the kind of presence you feel with your eyes; it was the kind you feel in your soul. It was a predator.
I turned around, and there he was. Derek Hale. His face was a stoic, serious mask, his eyes dark with suspicion.
"You're the new kid," he said, his voice a low growl. "You're the one who's fast."
"Yeah," I said, a little too casually. "That's me. The fast guy. I'm also really good at finding rubber chickens and a very convincing liar. You want to see my work?"
He didn't crack a smile. "You're one of them. What are you?"
My mind raced. I couldn't tell him about the system. The rules were clear. I couldn't reveal my nature. So, I did what I did best. I deflected with sarcasm.
"Oh, you know," I said, leaning against a tree, trying to look as nonchalant as possible. "I'm just a guy who loves a good run. I'm also a big fan of old houses. You know, like the one you live in. Very spooky. Very 'I'm a brooding werewolf with a tragic backstory' vibe."
Derek's eyes narrowed. "What do you know?"
"I know a lot of things, Derek," I said, my voice a low, serious whisper. "I know that you're an werewolf. I know that you're looking for the bite, and I know that you're going to get hurt if you don't start trusting the people around you."
He took a step back, a look of genuine surprise on his face. He wasn't expecting me to know. He was expecting me to be a terrified kid, a pawn in a larger game. He was not expecting a sarcastic, witty rival who knew his every move.
"You're not one of us," he said, a statement, not a question.
"No," I said, a small, genuine smile on my face. "I'm not. But I'm also not your enemy. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go write another article about Jackson's secret love affair with a rubber chicken. You wouldn't believe the click-through rate on that one."
I walked away, leaving a confused, suspicious, but also slightly intrigued Derek Hale in the middle of the woods. My new life was officially in full swing. And I had a feeling it was going to be a lot more complicated than a Rube Goldberg machine.