February 3rd 2005 -- THURSDAY

YELLOW STUDIO NEAR BLUE FOREST PARK

Mike settled in front of the piano.

The keys were made of wood, likely mahogany or rose.

As someone born and raised in Forks where Timber could make someone a local millionaire, Mike could differentiate wood by smell alone.

The anxious teenager read the sheets of music atop the piano – he read it once, then twice, then three times, and some more.

Each time, he grew more anxious.

Each time, he lost a bit more confidence.

Then, an irritating voice echoed in his ears.

“Can you hurry the fuck up!?!”

It was Simon – he could be best described as a Steve-Urkel-esque geek with a pension for spouting all the profanities that came to mind.

Perhaps, there was a bit of Tourette’s syndrome in there somewhere.

Most conspicuous about Simon was the three thin scars that ran along his sharp jawline – a very compelling reason to watch his words given how the scar came to be.

Someone… a group of people, really… had grown tired of his unerring truths during a rather particular football game and took their sweet time out of the halftime show to massage his jaw into three distinct pieces.

Of course, such an incident was three years prior, and though a bit crooked, his jaw had healed since then.

‘Unfortunately…’ Mike thought. ‘But how?’ He continued to ponder, only half-paying attention to the music sheet. ‘How can he still talk with such confidence after having his jaw shattered?’

As if reading Mike’s exasperation, Simon deigned to provide an answer.

“I had three surgeries and I still talk how I want…” The Geek explained, uncaring of the spittle that came with the pronunciation of each word. “—because those three guys who jumped me are now in prison getting their anuses cleaned regularly by large African American genitals.”

Mike winced.

Eric, who had just entered the room, looked back at the door longingly.

Wile also froze, especially since he had tagged along with Mike and Eric on a random impulse.

‘If this impulse costs me my butt cheeks,’ He internally sighed. ‘I probably deserve it for forgetting who Simon is…’

After all, Simon was considered a deviant amongst deviants.

If The Cullens and Xavier were on one end of the school’s popularity spectrum, perhaps even to the extremes, then Simon singularly occupied the other end of the spectrum.

‘We forgot how weird Simon is,’ Eric, Mike, and Wile could only lament their fate.

Mike opened his mouth to speak. “Simon…” He paused.

Simon: “Yes?”

Mike felt the words about to leave his mouth were justified but one look at Simon’s blank, innocent expression told him that it did not matter what was said, Simon would never understand it.

There was a flavor of empathy and consideration that Simon lacked… not quite a savant but infinitely close.

And hence… tolerable?

Mike stared at Simon for a few seconds; then, with no further admonishment, swept his fingers across the piano keys with renewed vigor.

He had captured the feelings for the song.

An upbeat, powerful rhythm that moved the feet echoed.

It was Xavier’s song – his gift to what should be the greatest prom in Fork’s history.

If they were strictly going by the figures, prom should not be that expensive.

But alas, whenever Xavier was involved in something, especially when The Cullens were planning to attend, prom took on an entirely different meaning.

More than just dancing…

More than just losing virginities…

Mike dared to say that some girls would regain their virginities for that night alone just to give it away to Xavier and a couple of the other lucky people.

Of course, Mike planned to stick close enough to Xavier that some of the female wetness would drip his way… and for that reason, he somewhat hoped Xavier had been injured enough by the incident at school to spend the prom in a wheelchair.

A wheelchair made sex difficult after all.

‘Come to think about it…’ Mike had a sudden thought. ‘Why don’t The Cullens just spend some money on the prom, then?’

Unfortunately, he would never find out that his idea held a level of brilliance that the members of The Student Council had not even considered.

After all… The Cullens were a… unique sort.

Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

Uniqueness made tolerable by the simple sentence – they are rich!!!!

Simon adjusted the equalizer knob and fader, searching for the perfect sound imagined in his mind a thousand times over – the perfect sound Xavier had hummed for him at a party some months ago.

The timecode display started to blink…

Simon frowned… something had gone wrong but a quick tap of the phantom power button kicked everything into gear, and a soft twist of the pan knob brought a hint of perfection.

Simon was nothing if not gifted.

Mike played the piano with all his soul and Simon solemnly adjusted the recordings, overlaying Mike’s playing with previous recordings of instruments.

A base adjustment here…

A trumpet rotation over there…

Simon continued his adjustments while snapping his fingers, calling Eric and Wile to his side before directing them to the small mic in the corner of the room.

It took a couple of seconds for them to figure out what Simon was saying; then, they hummed and fiddled with some electronic music while recording.

Simon almost immediately filtered the sound and added it to the masterpiece currently being created.

A new sound erupted.

Sorry for party ROCKING!

Eric and Wile broke into a semi-dance.

A round of shuffling and shoulder rolling followed.

Neither Eric nor Wile were particularly talented at dancing but they were competent enough to impress a few of the girls at first glance… and that too with hours of practice.

Mike wiped the sweat from his forehead when Simon gave him the signal to stop and exit the room.

And of course, he rushed to do so lest he receive another barbed-tongue comment from an emotionally dead Simon.

After all, everything in the recording room belonged to Simon and came with a hefty price tag.

All that proceeded was ordinary.

Simon mixed sounds.

Wile and Eric ordered a pepperoni pizza to dull their boredom.

Mike reviewed the next music sheet – What does the fox say?

All the while, his mind was questioning. ‘What exactly does a fox say?’

The boys killed the morning sessions in such a leisurely way, completely unaware of the two quizzes being issued in their mathematics class.

∞

Two days later, Angela was still behaving weirdly.

Jessie had taken to making breakfast in the morning, allowing Angela to perform whatever experiments she was so taken with.

Breakfast was simple… much simpler than what Angela would have made, or otherwise, enjoyed.

But this time, she ate with a blank expression.

Occasionally, Angela would pause her eating to scribble some notes critical to her research concerning Xavier, The House, and the strange sensations of De JA vu that now clouded her days.

Jessie pointedly did not mention anything about the scribbling – in fact, she was grateful that Angela was allowing her to take over some of the responsibilities in the mansion.

Yesterday, she even got a feel for bossing people around when the cleaners came over.

Of course, a large part of the problem was the fact that Angela was too kind, allowing the cleaners to put in half the usual effort they would compared to when Xavier was at home.

‘She needs to toughen up…’ Jessie noted, casting a side glance at Angela. ‘Xavier won’t keep her for long if she is a pushover.’

Still, Jessie could also entertain the thought that Xavier liked Angela exactly because she was so far removed from the vicious wisdom of his world.

“I think you burned the eggs,” Angela spat the blackened egg that had touched her tongue without notice.

Jessie frowned. “You should be grateful I gave you the better half,” She pointed at her dish.

Somehow, almost impossibly, Angela noticed how the egg on Jessie’s plate was darker than her own… additionally; she could smell the salt wafting off the inedible darkness.

Angela: “How much salt did you use?”

Jessie: “…………”

The duo resumed eating, this time with no complaints.

They were hoping to drown out the embarrassment with something twice as bitter.

…

At the end of the breakfast, Angela retreated upstairs and into the gym… of course, she claimed that room as her own mostly because of the large mirror that covered an entire wall.

Jessie slipped into her bedroom and selected a baggie jeans, a sleeveless shirt, and a sports bra from her array of clothing on the ground.

Then, she dashed down the stairs to the gate.

Every movement held purpose and a bit of excitement – outside the gate were two voices locked in an eternal debate about cars.

The gate opened.

Jacob: “I am telling you, it is better to change the engine!”

Tyler groaned and argued. “Listen to me. I know the prospective customers. They like everything original, even if it doesn’t work one hundred percent!”

Jessie was exasperated – it was always the same argument in different flavors.

The first time, she was honored to participate in the conversation… the second time, she studied all night and brought valid points to little effect.

And the third time, Jessie understood why Xavier was the only person willing to work with Tyler and Jacob in particular.

The teenagers were as talented as they were stubborn.

‘Tyler, especially…’ Jessie mused, noting the bruises on his face that definitely didn’t come from the accident with Bella a week ago.

Though she didn’t show it, Jessie was sure she was the only person who understood the current Tyler… since, she had once been in the brutal world of self-blame, self-hatred, and public hatred he now found himself.

Jessie’s thoughts spun. ‘It’s going to reach a tipping point soon.’

It always did.

Bella had been injured due to Tyler’s brilliance of putting nitro on a van but Charlie was a reasonable person – he understood the reckless mind of a teenager.

Especially one that stuck so close to Xavier.

Alas, the other students, and their already-racist parents, would not be as forgiving, even with Charlie playing a mediator to keep Tyler out of the system.

‘Juvie or prison?’ was the question Jessie was curious to answer.

With Xavier’s aid, Tyler could avoid the potential fallout of nearly killing someone but when the someone affected was the very trump card he needed to avoid blame, Jessie couldn’t help but sigh in pity for Tyler’s future.

Hence, like clockwork, Tyler came to work on the car every day… despite the beatings he encountered along the way.

As for Jacob…

Judging from the stench lingering on his short body, Jessie could hazard a guess that he had tried to back Tyler up in the fight and found himself upside down in a garbage dump again.

And despite all of this, Jessie found herself smiling – they were her friends.

Different from Xavier who often seemed so out of reach, Jacob and Tyler came with their own fatal flaws and struggles that resonated with her.

Struggle felt superficial with Xavier - that was why Jessie always found herself on a back foot near him.

But Tyler and Jacob brought with them a sense of normalcy and superiority.

“Are you guys coming or—” Jessie left the rest unsaid.

Tyler and Jacob noted the frustration in Jessie’s voice, saw that she had taken a step back to close the gate, and rushed inside without a second thought.

Soon, the trio had slipped their hands around familiar tools, hammering, screwing, and relocating parts of the Citroen C8 MPV that had stumped them the day before.

They had done their respective research.

Jacob: “The engine is still going to be a problem!”

Jessie and Tyler performed their respective inspections.

Jessie and Tyler were not nearly as skilled as Jacob was but their insights often provided a sort of grounded-ness that Jacob’s fanciful ideas lacked.

“The engine is meant to filter both petrol and diesel,” Jessie rubbed her chin. “We can switch it for an engine that works with either/or.”

Tyler scrunched his brow. “That’s going to be a lot of searching.”

Jacob: “—or just repurposing?”

The conversation continued and this time, unlike the previous day, the trio arrived at a conclusion – change the engine for an original but less demanding substitute.

The discussions that followed were more intense and targeted.

The transmission was settled…

The Drivetrain was reworked to accommodate an all-wheel system…

The suspension was a MacPherson strut in the front and a multi-link suspension in the rear…

Disc brakes on all four wheels…

The interior was expanded enough for an extra seat, and the exterior held the original stylishly modern design…

The trio worked tirelessly.