Chapter 12: Suspicious Minds
The school hallway, a cacophony of locker slams, muffled laughter, and the distant drone of the morning announcements, was Scott McCall's sanctuary and his anathema. It was where he could pretend to be normal, a boy with a new girlfriend and a newfound talent for lacrosse. But normalcy was a brittle veneer, and Jackson Whittemore was a master at finding the cracks. He was leaning against a locker, a preppy, perfectly coiffed vulture waiting for his prey.
Scott's heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat that had nothing to do with Allison and everything to do with the predatory glint in Jackson's eyes.
"McCall," Jackson said, his voice a low, taunting purr. "You seem… different lately. Faster. Stronger." He stepped closer, his eyes narrowing. "You're off your game, McCall. Something's going on, and I'm going to figure it out."
Scott swallowed hard. He couldn't lie. Not to Jackson, whose ego was as big as his suspicion. He was a terrible liar, his tells as obvious as a flashing neon sign.
"I… I've been training. With… with Derek," Scott stammered, the name a painful, desperate confession.
Jackson's face was a mask of smug satisfaction. "Derek Hale. The mysterious loner who just happens to be a werewolf. How very convenient." He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a theatrical whisper. "But I'm not talking about your training. I'm talking about how you smell different, McCall. And I'm going to find out why."
Just as Scott was about to crumple under the pressure, a familiar voice cut through the tension, a dry, sarcastic drawl that was as welcome as a cold drink on a hot day.
"Jackson, please. You're scaring the freshmen." It was Adam, who had materialized seemingly out of thin air, a casual smirk on his face. "Leave Scott alone. He's just hitting his stride. You know what they say. Practice makes perfect. Even for a spaz like McCall."
The slight, almost imperceptible shift in the hallway dynamic was a testament to Adam's newfound skill at subtly defusing situations. The conversation shifted from an interrogation to a three-way standoff, and Jackson's attention, always a fragile, flighty thing, was momentarily diverted.
"What's it to you, Adam?" Jackson spat, his attention now on the new, more interesting target. "What, are you his personal bodyguard now? Did he give you some of his 'magic' training?"
Adam's smirk didn't waver. "No, Jackson. Just offering a little free advice. You know, since you're so desperate for it. Besides, Scott's not the only one who has changed. The new kid in town seems to have a few secrets too, doesn't he?" Adam's internal monologue was a frantic, multi-layered calculation. Need to keep him off Scott. Need to shift the focus. Need to make him think I'm the one with the secret, not Scott. A classic magician's trick. The red herring.
[SYSTEM: Dialogue Analysis: Success. Deception Matrix: 85%. Threat Level: Moderate. Target: Jackson Whittemore. Note: Target's analytical skills are exceptionally high. Warning: Target's suspicion has been redirected, not eliminated.]
Adam's voice was a low, conspiratorial whisper, meant for Jackson alone. "Look, Jackson. I get it. You're curious. Everyone is. But trust me, you don't want to know. Some things are better left a mystery."
Jackson's eyes, a piercing, icy blue, scanned Adam's face. He saw the subtle flicker of something in Adam's eyes, something he couldn't place. A preternatural calmness. An almost unsettling self-possession. Jackson was a master of reading people, of finding their weaknesses and exploiting them. And Adam, for all his sarcastic posturing, was a closed book. And that, more than anything, made him suspicious.
The bell rang, a shrill, piercing sound that broke the tension like a thrown stone. Scott, grateful for the escape, bolted for class. Adam offered a last, triumphant smirk at Jackson, who was left standing there, fuming, his mind whirring with new questions.
Jackson stormed down the hallway, his frustration a raw, bitter taste in his mouth. He found Lydia Martin at her locker, her face a serene, unreadable mask.
"Lydia," he growled. "Did you see that? What is wrong with Scott? And that new guy, Adam, he's… different."
Lydia looked at him, her lips pursed in a thin, enigmatic line. "Everyone's different, Jackson. It's called puberty."
Jackson ignored her sarcasm. "No. It's not just Scott. It's… there's something off about Adam, too. I can't put my finger on it. It's like he's… watching everything. Like he's waiting for something to happen." He was a predator, sensing a rival in his territory. Adam's casual intervention had done more than just save Scott; it had turned Jackson's attention squarely on him. And Jackson didn't let things go. He never had.
The realization hit Adam later that day, as he sat alone in the library, a textbook open on his lap, his mind a million miles away. His well-timed lie, his carefully crafted deception, had worked, but it had created a new enemy. An intelligent, resourceful, and very observant enemy. A cold, creeping feeling of dread settled over him. He had changed the timeline, and in doing so, he had created a new, unforeseen variable. He wasn't just dealing with werewolves and hunters now. He was on the radar of Jackson Whittemore, and Jackson was a problem. A big, big problem.
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