Chapter 7
575 Words
Patrol is quiet.
No suspicious scents. No rogues. Just a slow loop around the territory boundaries, the forest waking gradually around me. Birds start calling. The sky goes from black, to navy, to bruised purple.
The silence gives me space to think, and also to not think, which honestly might be better. By the time I head back to shower and change for school, my breathing is steady, my muscles warm, and my head cleared as much as it's going to be.
School ruins that immediately.
School is chaos in a building. Not the good kind, either.
It's overcrowded hallways, shouting, slamming lockers, and the constant low, level hum of people who have no idea how good they've had it. I've spent years learning the building like its enemy territory, memorising routes, timing crowds, knowing when to avoid certain corners.
I know the schedules of every jerk well enough to dodge most of them. Take this stairwell, not that one. Wait at the fountain for thirty seconds before turning right. Cut through the library hallway during second break only.
Thankfully, I'm in Advanced classes, so inside the classroom I don't have to stomach them much. At a desk with a textbook in front of me, I'm just "the girl with good grades," not "the orphaned stray from the border."
I'm technically in my second, last year, but if I keep up this pace, I'll finish school this year. Alpha Darius said the choice is mine: either graduate early or walk with my age group next year.
He never sees how most of the pack treats me. I don't blame him. Alphas are busy putting out bigger fires than high school cruelty.
My plan is simple, get so far ahead that, in a few months, they can't justify keeping me. I've already started applying to medical schools, distance programs for now, and our pack doctor, Dr. Elara, promised I could do my practical hours with her. I've saved enough money that even without a scholarship, I'll be okay.
I open my locker to grab my books for first period, and like clockwork, the chaos arrives.
Cindy and her flock of clones sweep up to the lockers beside mine, all perfume, lip gloss, and noise. This is one collision I can never seem to work my way around.
"Oh, my Goddess, what is that smell?" one of them moans dramatically.
"It's probably her," another giggles. "Must be an orphan thing."
"You're right," Cindy coos loudly. "No one ever taught her how to shower. That's actually so sad."
I roll my eyes, slam my locker shut, and push right through their little circle.
Cindy jerks back like I've splashed acid on her. "Ugh, eww! She got orphan germs on me!"
I keep walking.
I swear they're stuck in permanent kindergarten mode, just with heels and push, up bras.
Apparently, if you bleach your hair enough and stuff a bra full of silicone, people start whispering that you'd make
a good Luna someday.
Funny how nobody ever mentions that basic kindness or functioning brain cells should be part of the package.
I sling my bag over my shoulder, tune out their squeals, and head for class.
In less than a year, if everything goes my way, I won't have to see any of their faces again.
And with any luck, by then I'll have more than just scars and training hours to my name.
I will finally feel whole.
- Writer
