No Life Kid 4

One hand came up to adjust his glasses as the heavy door swung shut behind him, the sound a solid thunk that resounded loud in the misty quiet. The space from the front door of the Weatherell to the driveway was cleared in a single too-long step, skate shoes kissing the gravel as Zander Cray raised an eyebrow.

Saturday… Lenses painted the world in blue as he looked out over the well-maintained yard with an unnecessary yawn. Fuckin’ finally. Even soaked in azure, the world was as overcast as ever, looking more slate than anything else as the sky over Forks did the usual and gave the sun a day off. 

Perfectly British day… That’s what Walter called it.

He had less nice words for it, a lifetime in Miami giving him a different taste than the usual washed-out photograph look of the Pacific Northwest. Ehhh… But then again, he wasn’t that picky and, at the very least, Forks sun didn’t give him that annoying magnifying glass tingle that the sunside Miami Beach managed.

The ground rumbled beneath his feet, a distraction enough to pull the young Cray right out from his thoughts. Walter… A smile spread wide as the Beamer purred on its pullup; a low satisfied growl that sounded as expensive as the car looked. Punctual as an atomic clock, old man.

The second the black vehicle whipped around with precision and poise that spoke of practice, Zander popped open the back seat and slid himself in. Nostrils flared automatically, the smell of Walter filling the space; old-world cologne clashing with the rich leather smell of still-new luxury.

“Morning, Master Cray.” 

White gloved hands on two and ten, the butler didn’t even turn his head as he offered Zander a simple nod. 

“Walter.” Zander’s fingers tapped out a simple rhythm against the leather of the armrest. “How’s the early morning tree-climbing?”

The butler’s eye twitched, Zander catching it in the rearview. “Invigorating as ever, sir. Shall we collect Miss Stanley?”

“Let’s.”

The ride into and through Forks was shorter than it should have been, the streets empty of even the concept of traffic in the small town of barely more than three-thousand. By the time they wheeled around to the Stanley’s neighborhood, nothing much past a solid ten minutes had passed by from driveway to driveway.

Zander raised an eyebrow as they came to a stop just outside, the sight of Jessica’s house a very… normal thing. It wasn’t particularly small, for Forks at least. Which isn’t saying much, he allowed himself a little hum, considering Forks doesn’t really build big. 

A tidy and aggressively well-cared for house, it showed from the freshly re-tiled roof at the top all the way down to the little garden gnome giving him the side-eye from a patch of damp petunias. Whoever Ms. Stanley was, she certainly believed in a nice and managed home.

Miss Stanley, on the other hand, didn’t really seem to care about any of that as she burst out her front door before Walter fully put the car in park, already moving in that frantic, over-caffeinated way of hers.

The car door opened, and his lungs got hit with that vanilla-citrus-electric-sugar spike that was pure uncut Jessica in a way that already had his gums aching for a sweet release. 

And she was going to be by his side.

In an enclosed space.

Oh… I did not think this through.

“Oh my god, Zander!”

Her words came out in a high-pitched hiss, Jessica sliding onto the leather as her hands felt it up like she was picking out a fresh melon. From the look of her face and the tone of her voice, it was clear she’d never seen the inside of a car this nice. “This is… w-wow.”

Her eyes snapped forward as she realized they weren’t alone in the car, Zander obviously not the one driving. “Hi-hi, you must be Walter!”

Said Walter just inclined his head, composed and professional as ever. “Miss Stanley.”

The title had Jessica blushing all of a sudden, a bunch of babble spilling out as she covered her mouth at the sound of her name in a professional and proper British accent. Zander just let his grin widen, leaning back as he took her in. 

If anyone said that Jessica Stanley couldn’t put in the work, they were lying liars that deserved a solid punch to the nose because she was already pretty on a school day. She wore a pale yellow sundress — the smell of plastic enough to let Zander know it was fresh off the rack — her blonde hair curled just right, and wearing gloss that glittered as she licked her lips. 

She looked… good. Not imperfectly eternal like one Rosalie Hale, but like, genuinely, human-level good.

“Jess…” She turned his way, curls fluttering enough to force him to hold his breath. “What’s wrong with you?”

Eyes went wide as they stared at him, heart rate picking up in his ears. “Wh-what? With me, did I d-”

“Yeah, c’mon… shining like that?” Zander cut her panic short before she could have a full-blown attack. “You’re gonna make the sun jealous.”

The blush that flooded her cheeks was fast enough to outdo light, the thump-thump-thump of her heart kicking up three gears. Bingo.

“Oh, stop.”

Giggles spilled out of her as she slapped his arm, fingers lingering there as she took the excuse to touch him. “It’s just… it’s just a dress. You look… you look great! Very… Miami.”

Zander fought the urge to glance down at his black jeans, denim jacket, and the black tee underneath; once again, the Canadian look had called to him with nothing else to wear. “Yeah, this is my ‘trying not to freeze to death’ look, but thanks.”

“It’s working! It’s so working.” Words tumbled out and over each other, already a fast stream as Walter made their way out of her neighborhood. “Everyone… Like, they’re so so excited you even decided to come. They still thought it was kinda not gonna happen and even Maike was like, ‘No way,’ and I was like, ‘Way, he said yes,’ and Angela’s bringing the good chips, not the store brand…”

The sound of her voice was a pleasant, high-speed buzz as he let her talk, smell and sight stronger than hearing as the rhythmic pulse of her throat kept him focused.

Just above the neckline of the dress, a too-tempting trace of blood and life staring him right in the face. Don’t look. Don’t be a creep. Be cool. He’d fed two weeks back; a real piece-of-shit backwoods trucker who’d left a trail of hitchhiker corpses behind him and certainly wouldn’t be missed.

It was enough blood to keep him going for another two weeks.

He was fine. He wa-

“Like, can you believe it?” Jessica leaned over, getting right in his face with a laugh on her lips.

He was… mostly fine. I’m an idiot.

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

La Push was a different world, reminding Zander how he’d yet to properly roam the environs of the Pacific North West the way he’d done Florida. Should go with Alex and Walter on their morning runs, honestly. 

He clicked his tongue as he stepped out of the car, Jessica on his arm, blue eyes roaming the landscape in front of him. Wilder and wetter than Forks, the beach was a long curve of dark, pebbly sand littered with massive, pale driftwood trees at the edge of it. The air was thick with salt, the smell of the ocean cold and heavy and nothing like the warm clean seafront he knew and loved.

Still, that was a good four thousand miles away.

Everybody else was already there, the whole group clustered around a sputtering bonfire that Mike Newton was failing to nurture.

“Zan-man!” Mike’s voice sounded out over open air, his hand going high. “Jessica! You made it!”

Zan-man… sure, why not? Zander gave him a two-fingered wave, grabbing a bag from Walter’s trunk the man had informed him was there just for today. Walter had insisted on packing “provisions” that Zander was pretty sure was artisanal sandwiches or maybe even a couple of those fancy meat and cheese boards.

Whatever it was, he didn’t doubt that it would be wasted on the intended audience.

“Dude, is that your butler?” Yorkie’s eyes went wide, the Asian kid lowering his camera as he stared at the car. 

“Butler, attendant, manservant, there are terms…” Zander dropped the bag with a sigh, Walter still firmly in the front seat of the parking lot. Wonder if he brought a crossword or something.

The day was a rhythm of its own, a couple hours passing by quick as Zander realized he’d shown up early. No Quileutes, no Bella, no Jacob… 

On the upside, that also meant no melodrama, so he still came out winning.

The same as he did when they played volleyball, Zander unable to help his lazy grace as they bounced around on the beach. For one, he had to actively remember to miss the ball sometimes, to not jump ten feet in the air, and (the trickiest part) to pretend the ball actually hurt when it hit his arms.

“Whoa, Cray, you ever play for real?” Mike’s question came as he struggled to breath, hands on his knees after Zander faked a clumsy-looking spike that still landed where it needed to.

“Nah, man.” Zander ran a hand through his locs as he grinned back at the other boy. “Just got that… you know… that vibe.”

Jessica laughed, way too loud for what wasn’t even a joke. “He’s got the vibe!”

This… this was easy, too easy, and Zander was honestly beginning to understand how the Cullens had gotten away with it for so long. Hell, he’d done much the same with his second life, but he knew he had it a lot easier with having the actual mind of a kid and a body that aged normally and… y’know, actually being fuckin’ human. You laugh at the right jokes, deflect compliments, and just be the cool, mysterious kid and people (kids, especially) projected whatever they wanted onto you.

Still, he couldn’t help the frown forming on his face. Why not move up to Canada like permanently, though? That was a question for the Cullen crypt if there ever was one, considering there was nothing you could get in Forks that Canada couldn’t provide. I feel like that would be so much easier.

Before he could spend another minute pondering that, another truck rumbled up into the parking lot; an old beat-up red thing that looked like it belonged to someone a lot older, burlier and hairier than the person driving it.

Bella.

And she wasn’t alone, a big minivan pulling up right beside her. A half dozen other guys spilled out, all with the brown skin and features of the local tribe. Half of them were oddly big for their age, three of the group looking like they were built out of a much denser material than the Forks crowd.

Hm.

One of them, no older than fifteen but with the shoulders of a college linebacker, bounded over to Bella’s car with a wide grin on his face that made him look every bit his age. “Bella! You came!”

Zander watched the interaction as he sat on a log, Jessica leaning up against him as he sipped down his thermos of “tomato juice”. Jacob Black. 

The family genes were still calm, nothing really kicking them into gear yet. So, instead of an alpha wolf, the other boy still had that bright, eager energy of a golden retriever.

The actual alpha, though… 

Zander let his eyes roam until they landed on the one Quileute boy built like a brick fuckin’ shithouse. Hair short-cropped and tight to the scalp, with a face that looked like it had never known a smile, Zander found himself staring eye-to-eye with the hottest person he’d ever seen in his life.

No homo.

Literally, the heat was almost a physical thing; the werewolf’s body a living radiator even from a good twenty feet away. Yeah, Zander nodded his head slow. This town’s got more than vampires already.