I do not own any of The Twilight Saga books or any if it's character. The only thing I do own, is the character Tom Phag and the rest if his friends and family. So, please don't sue me Stephanie. This story contains mature language and future sexual content. Humor is also added. Read on your OWN caution.
SUMMARY:Tom Phag moves to Forks, because his hooker mom was offered a promotion to a new pimp. Life couldn't be anymore boring. Until he meets the mysterious, beautiful Renesmee Cullen. He declares, at first sight, that he is destine to marry her. But she politely denies his offer; telling him that she is already with someone name Jacob. Angry by the rejection, Tom goes to confront Jacob at his house, where he discovers something tragic...both Rosalie and Seth taking turns giving Jacob a BJ. Tom is then place in a challenging situation. Should he tell Renesmee, or blackmail Rosalie into showing him her boastful breast? P.S. Takes place 50 years after Eclipse.
I didn't have time to turn around and walk the opposite way. In a few minutes I would be considered late. Late on my first day. Wouldn't that be an awesome way to start my new school year?
Standing in front of me, was a collection of matching trailer-like houses, built with maroon colored bricks. Next to it, was a small sign, which declared that the building was Forks High School.
If only my senseless mother denied the job promotion, from her ex-boss Big Package, I'd still be in Houston; wearing a V-neck T-shirt with a plaited gray and black shorts. Instead of this dreadful, heavy green winter coat, with brownish yellow faux wool lining the hood, and these thick pair of blue jeans.
I hate the cold. Just like I hated my hooker ass mother. Yes...I said that my mother is a hooker. She was the best hooker in downtown Houston. She had all the rich and important clients. Even made more money a night than most of her expensive clients make a month.
Since my mom had been a hooker way before I was born, I've never felt any disgust into what she does for a living. I look at her job metaphorically. If she has to open her legs to put food and accessories on my body, while I don't have to lift a finger...then keep on doing it.
Selfish, I know. But she never told me who my father was. For all I know, it could have been a client who was too much of a dumbass to remember to put a condom on. I was lucky enough not to be born with something mentally wrong. Ever since the age of seven, I had always been bummed about 'bring your father to school day.' When I decided to finally ask my mother, she never gave me an answer. I then promised myself that I wouldn't obey any of her instructions. I would always be a selfish, rebellious brat, 'till I become old enough to go off on my own.
But my little, bratty plan didn't go as I hoped, because I now resign in a small town name Forks, Washington. It rains on this minuscule town more than any other place in the United States. And it's weird, because all the town's teenagers are wearing regular clothing; as if they pretend it wasn't really raining. While in the school's parking lot, sitting inside my green 2006 ford mustang...I noticed that all the kids were wearing name brands like: Aropostle, Calvin Klien, American Eagle, Dior, Hillfiger, Nautica, and Polo. Looking at my new fellow classmates made me realize that I was horribly dressed. That was why I waited two minutes after the late bell to walk towards the school's small front office.
I slowly trudged unwillingly down a little stone path lined with dark hedges. I took a deep breath before opening the door.
Inside, it was brightly lit, as if the school wanted to portray themselves as a perfect place to drop your kids off for eight hours. But I solemnly knew that this place was going to be hell. The office was small; a little waiting are with yellow padded folding chairs, orange-flecked commercial carpet, certificates and awards cluttering the left wall, and a big clock ticking way too loudly then it really needed to. Plants were placed everywhere in large plastic pots, as if it wasn't green enough outside. The room was cut in half by a long counter, cluttered with wire baskets full of papers and brightly colored flyers taped to it's front. There were three desks behind the counter, one of which that had a computer playing a loud action movie. That particular desk was manned by a skinny, blonde-haired woman, who looked like she could have a night job at Hooters. She was wearing a tight purple blouse that showed off her sculpted stomach and paid for breast.
"Yes. Oh yes. That's the spot Jason Statham," the front dest woman said. She was sitting behind the desk with both of her hands in her lap. Her head was bent backwards on the chair; looking up towards the ceiling. I ignored the moans coming out of her mouth, as I glimpsed a golden plate on the desk with the name Miss Chelsea Gretchen.
"Oh my god! Don't stop Jason! It's going to happen! Your about to make me..." Miss Gretchen's voiced faded into a low whisper of ecstasy. I finally figured out what she was doing. It was actually pretty simple, once I heard an audible vibrating noise coming from under the desk. It seemed like she was about to pass out...when all of a sudden she saw me standing in front of her with a smile on my face.
"Holy shit! What the fuck are you doing here? Aren't you suppose to be in class?" she asked me.
"I'm Tom. Nephew of the mayor," I informed her, and saw the immediate awareness light her eyes. I was expected, a topic of gossip no doubt, in a town with less than 600 people. Being the nephew of the town's mayor makes you an instant celebrity.
"Uhm, of course," she said. She dug through a precariously stacked pile of documents on her desk until she gave up searching. "I can't find your information. Do you have your uncle's last name, or do you carry your father's name?" she asked.
"Unfortunately, I carry my mom's ex-pimp's last name." I told her.
"Excuse me? " she asked with wide puzzled eyes.
"Just...never mind. My name is Phag. Tom Phag."
"Oh. Okay," she said with a little hint of a smile. "Let me check the section that holds the F's."
I quickly stopped her. "No! My name isn't Fag," I shouted. "It's Phag...with a P-H."
"Then let me check the P section." Miss Gretchen searched through the pile of documents one last time, before she found the one she was looking for. "I have your schedule right here, and a map of the school." She brought several sheets to the desk to show me.
She went through my classes for me, lazily highlighting the best route to each on the map, and gave me a green slip to have each teacher sign, which I was to bring back at the end of the day. She then showed me an obvious fake smile and gave me a quick good luck, before turning back to her computer. I smiled back devilishly.
"Is that the movie The Transporter 3," I pointed at the computer screen.
"Why, yes it is," she grunted. "And if you don't mind, I would like to see this scene. This is the where Jason Statham takes off his shirt."
I crossed my arms and leaned forward in the perfect stance to get a better view of the computer screen. Miss Gretchen looked at me with an annoyed glare.
"What are you still doing here?" she yelled. "I gave you everything you needed...what more do you want?"
"Well, I plan on enjoying this movie just like you," I told her.
Miss Gretchen laughed. "That, young man, is not going to happen. You see...I am an adult, so that means I don't have to go to school. And if you don't scurry along in the next twenty seconds, I'm gonna call the principle. Do I make myself clear?"
I looked at her with a shocked expression. What makes this woman thinks she can talk to me like that? She is like, what, three years older than me? I'd be damn to let her get the satisfaction of my demeanor. I was about to give her a loud, sinful objection, when a better idea came to me. With a smile on my face, I turned around and walked towards the outside door. But before I got out of hearing distance, I turned back towards her and said,
"Sorry if I interrupt your passionate moment with Jason. I will be honored to let you go back to playing with that "toy" you have hidden under the desk. Have a great day Miss Gretchen."
And with that, I left her flabbergasted. Score one for me bitch! I guess this day won't be so bad after all.
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