CHAPTER VII: 'TIS BUT A SCRATCH, PRT. II

THE MINUTE WE FINISHED APPROACHING the porch to my house, I turned to Paul, the look on my face best described as seriously serious. I propped a hand on my hip, jutted it out, and pursed my lips in the formation of a stern frown.

If I wanted to fit the persona I was going for, I needed to go all out for it.

"Listen here, mister," I started, head and body tilting as I got grouchier and grouchier; "Ima say it, and only say it once; you're not allowed to speak. I'm going to be grounded until dinosaurs walk the Earth again. You know what that means? Huh?" I decided screw it and went from menacing-grandma to frustrated-child, my arms going flying up in despair. "No more lasagna nights at Kallie's!"

Paul laughed. After my heartfelt monologue, he had the audacity to laugh. Though, maybe this meant my monologue was less a tedious speech, and more a laughably serious rant; seemed like all my sides of a conversation ended in someone laughing. Looking amused, and like he was trying his best to contain further spurts of laughter, the asshole shook his head—and said smilingly, "You could always have lasagna with your dad and Jared. Doesn't he cook as a hobby?"

"The day I eat at the same table as Jared is never. You couldn't pay me all the money in the world to endure that living tragedy," I spat, not realizing just who was walking up to the porch that very moment.

"Uh—I take offense to that." Speak of the fucking devil, and he appears! What kind of sick irony was this? When I twisted my head over my shoulder to glower at the known interrupter of mine and Paul's chat, I felt a sudden chill go down my body. That's weird. What's with the ice? There was no wind. "What's got your panties in a twist?"

"I literally despise your existence. Everything about you makes me want to hurl," I said, in such a matter-of-fact tone that I was sure the words fermented in his bones. "What's new? I just love having a dickhead for a brother. Reminds me of a better time. When I was, you know, not born yet."

Jared blinked. He was dressed down—as he usually was, when he didn't have to be at school—and the only thing giving him the slightest bit of decency was his shorts. Even then, he looked like the reject of an Abercrombie modeling poster. No shoes, no shirt—no service, I should have said. Should have made it clear I didn't want to talk to him. However, I completely ruined that sentiment by thinking it was a good idea to rant at him. Fuck, maybe I was the reject. He pointed at the bandages aligning my hairline. "What happened to your head?"

From my side, Paul growled. I couldn't tell whether it was because he didn't like being reminded that I almost died, or because he was annoyed with the direction this talk was going. Maybe he didn't like that we'd been interrupted by my brother. The latter option was just my crush talking, though. "Bella Swan and Jacob Black happened," he told Jared.

Jared's eyebrows drew together. He looked intrigued. "Wait—leech lover? And the chief's son?"

What the ever-living fuck is a leech lover? Does she like being sucked on? Is that her kink? OH MY GOD HAS SHE FUCKED JARED – WHAT THE HELL IS KIM GOING TO SAY OMG – "Jared, oh my god. Don't tell me… Hell on Wheels spread her legs for you…"

There was a long, awkward period of silence. In which, both Paul and Jared stared at me dubiously—Jared's face repulsed, and Paul's full of dawning amusement. It was around this time that Paul began to howl with laughter, and Jared put a hand over his face, groaning loudly.

"No—fuck no. I would never—you really think I would do that to Kim?" Jared gave a shudder. "Jesus Christ."

"Then how do you know—" It occurred to me, then, that maybe I was reading into things. Maybe it was an inside joke? Maybe Jacob made an offhand comment at school, and the boys overheard? There was a chance… that leech-lover meant something totally different than my own, race-heavy thoughts. I flushed with embarrassment, acknowledging the high level of stupidity I was radiating, and muttered, "I mean, uh—never mind."

Even though I was ready to backtrack, and pretend I never implied Jared to have screwed Bella, Paul wasn't quite ready to toss the conversational direction away. When I glanced at him, he was just beginning to grin— "Tell us all about it, man. Did you draw blood? I heard she likes biters."

Jared… there was no words for the amount of disgust in his face. "Oh, fuck off," he said. He sounded completely fed up with Paul's antics. And though I was embarrassed for jumping to conclusions, I couldn't fight a smile at how uncomfortable Jared looked. "I'm just—see you inside." He pushed past Paul, knocking against his shoulder in an angry, fuck-you-for-being-an-asshole way, and unfortunately for their friendship, Paul didn't look the least bit guilty.

Oh well. I turned to Paul, bouncing on the balls of my feet. "Ready to face the herd? It'll be a sure show-stopper when Dad decides rattling me senseless will make the blood disappear."

Paul, already smirking, smiled instead, tossing his arm around my shoulder. Interesting development, I thought, threateningly holding a poker stick at my mushed-and-gushed heart as it decided I should blush in response, but we're not dating, jerk-face! When I went to shrug off his arm, it didn't budge. Only when he began to lead me up the porch steps did I realize… I wasn't even trying to escape the situation.

Dad was already standing at the kitchen entrance, wearing an apron that said, "This is what a really cool DAD looks like." His expression was confused, like an offhand comment from Jared had sent his head running, but it turned to full-blown horror when he saw the gauze around my head. "Oh, my God—Alissa, are you alright? Where does it hurt? Do you have a concussion?"

Where was the studious, awkward, easily-embarrassed father who raised me? What was this crazy, overprotective creature standing in front of me? I smiled sheepishly. "It doesn't hurt anymore," I told him honestly, knowing it might calm him a little bit, if I confirmed that I was not dying anytime soon. "And I don't have a concussion. It just bled a lot—"

"Alissa," Dad said, inching closer. Before I could ward him off, or tell him No, Dad, stop, he was ripping me out of Paul's arms and hugging me to him tightly. Circulation… cut off. Breathing… not happening. Fuck. Dad, what the hell? "I shouldn't have let you go anywhere near Billy Black's devil son… This is all my fault. I'm sorry, Alissa."

I patted him comfortingly, to the best of my ability. "It's alright, Dad. I swear. I'm not dead. It's not your fault, okay?"

Dad sighed. For a moment, I thought he was just going to continue holding me, until his mind could settle its irrational thoughts and he could firmly think, My daughter's okay. But fortunately, he was a lot calmer today than his usual freak-the-hell-out routine; he retracted his arms, and took only a few steps back. For the next minute, he gave me repeated once-overs, checking my body for additional injuries, eyes always going back to that gosh-darn head injury. He sneered, then lowered his gaze. "Billy Black raised a goddamn heathen," he growled, so quiet I barely caught it. "Does he discipline that child of his?"

Paul hovered behind me, like my very own guardian angel. "I could discipline him for you, Mr. Cameron," he said. Even though I couldn't see his face, I knew he was grinning that devilishly-innocent grin of his, the one he used on adults to get out of trouble. "If it's off school grounds, I won't get expelled."

Dad looked very against the idea at first, but the more he stared at Paul, the more intrigued his expression got. "I couldn't ask that of you, Paul," he said.

"Are you seriously considering having someone beat up a kid?" I asked, dumbfounded, not expecting my dad, of all people, to be thinking along those lines. "Dad… Billy would literally grow functioning legs, and hand your ass to you, if he found out about that."

Dad sniffed. "You could have been killed, Alissa, if what your brother was saying is true," he said. From his tone, I gathered that he couldn't believe that I wasn't undergoing the same feelings of bitterness and anger. "After your mother died, I was a wreck. I couldn't function. If the same happened to you—" He fell silent, a pained look on his face.

I wasn't used to my father being angry. After all, his anger was like dynamite—it brewed in silence, then ignited, then snapped. I had never laid witness to him in his occasional spurts of rage; I was only there for the frustration, the fear, the disparagement. I could only overhear from firsthand witnesses what it was like, and even they were scarce. If Dad was angry, he usually confined his outbursts to the safety of a four-walled room, the door locked and pedestrian-void.

This was strange. While he wasn't enacting his inner turmoil—not throwing things or throwing punches, like Paul had a knack for doing—you could see the strain in his wrinkles, the way he was choking down words and gripping his fists tight. What was even more peculiar was the lack of overreaction towards my injury. Instead of exaggerating the extent, all that had registered in his mind was that Jacob Black had a part in this mishandling.

Maybe it was an excuse for Dad to go to war with Billy Black, but whatever the case, it was clear as day that this was the final straw for Dad's thin neutrality toward his lifelong nemesis's son. What came next for Dad and Billy's battle plans was unclear, but I knew Dad would be including Jacob for his next few pranks.

"Listen, Dad, Jacob's a scumbag—yes, this is true—but beating him up isn't the answer," I said. It was an ironic statement. For the better part of sixteen years, I had proved myself to be the chaotic one of the family; Dad was the cynical one, and Jared was always the peacekeeper. Now roles were reversing, and I didn't really like it as much as it relieved me. One could only go for so long being stressed before it became tiresome. "I vote that we let him go about his life."

Dad scrunched up his nose, like there was something foul and unappetizing in front of him, and shook his head. "If you're adamant on leaving him in one piece, I'll take a complaint to the tribe. Billy is going to discipline his son, one way or another."

I pieced a single thought together in my mind… Dad was not going to stand down. Loosing a sigh, I let my eyes roll to the back of my head. "Dad, go back to your books," I told him, not unkindly. "Jacob'll get what's coming to him, alright?"

Paul cracked his knuckles from behind me, causing me to jump. I had forgotten there was company, too locked in my busying task at calming Dad's anger. Even more shocking, he put a hand on my arm, near my collar bone, heat seeping through the sleeve of my blouse—but I didn't have much to complain about. Quite the contrary, I liked the feeling of him touching me, and I liked the thought of him being my very own personal heater. Was that selfish?

"I'll talk to him at school," Paul vowed, voice just a touch from my ears. The words vibrated from his hand against my arm.

The worry in Dad's face seemed to wither away at the sound of Paul's offering for confrontation. In its place came relief. "Thank you, Paul," he said, gratefulness in his tone; "Make sure you let him know I'll be watching for further… incidents. I don't appreciate anyone bringing my daughter harm."

"I can fight my own battles!" I cried, unable to handle it anymore. I mean—what the fuck? They were talking like they were outlining a war blueprint, making battle plans—all while I was still here, standing and listening. "Listen, alright—I don't have a concussion. The wound just bled a lot. And yeah, Jacob likes to antagonize me, and he calls me names occasionally—but he's a teenage boy. What can you expect?"

Paul barked out a disbelieving laugh. "I'm a teenage boy, but you don't see me doing any of that…" he muttered. When I twisted my head to shoot him a glare, he was smiling, perfectly pleased with himself. Seeing the look on my face, his smile only widened. "He's a dick."

I sighed. "How about we just… save the confrontation—don't give me that look, Paul—and do a prank, or something, instead? I really don't want to get involved, but… a prank is a lot less evil than threatening or pummeling him."

Dad blinked. "I'm meant to be the rational one," he said, looking impressed. I supposed in that twistedly analytical head of his, he found my change in character to be something of praise.

"You are. I'm just tired," I explained, then straightened out my face to be stern, emotionless. "Alright, soldiers. We've gotta come up with a prank so spectacularly spectacular that Jacob will tuck tail and run. Any ideas?"

Silence. Not even a cricket chirping. The only sound was a muffled screaming coming from upstairs—undoubtedly some show Jared was entertaining himself with. Dad's glasses were slipping off the bridge of his nose as he stared blankly in my direction, and Paul just shrugged, when I stared at him.

I sighed. "Ugh. You guys are hopeless."

With a text sent to Kallie asking for her immediate assistance, and a few sheets of notebook paper later, we were ready to get this show on the road.

And certainly, Jacob wouldn't know what hit him.


A/N:

Yo wassup, I'm a disappointment for not posting this yesterday but guess what? I at least posted it… that's gotta count for something right?

Anyway, this chapter is very chaotic, and is sort of a filler, but the upcoming chapters are gonna be SO FUCKING FUN to write. There will be a prank war between the Blacks and the Camerons, best described as unnecessary comic relief and necessary relationship-building, and the supernatural elements are gonna come into play.

SUPERNATURAL SHIT IS COMING UP! Which means, Alissa will be learning of the wolves soon, and will be getting involved in some real crazy shit. I'll probably throw in quite a few AU elements every now and then, just because this story doesn't depend on the Cullens or Bella for plot devices and it's a long while before we get into Eclipse. If you all have ideas, throw them tf at me, and I'l totally write them :)

Okay, now for the important stuff. I need y'all to tell me your thoughts on some shit. I don't really like the idea of Jacob or Quil imprinting on children (I've always found it gross) so, I plan on having them either imprint on OCs or not imprint at all. It's something I'm doing for the good of my conscience. But I'd like you all to tell me whether you approve of that, or want something different? I also want to ask—do you all want to see Alissa forgive Jared and Jacob, and if so, would you want her to develop bonds with them? Obviously, Alissa's going to see a different side to Jared when she discovers his secret, but Jacob's a whole other story; he's done some really shitty, immature things.

See you guys soon! :D