Loner for Luna

Chapter 8

Prue

Some days just smell wrong.

You walk into school, and the air feels thicker, like the universe has already scheduled your chaos for the day. I knew it the moment I stepped through the doors. My wolf had been twitchy all morning, pacing under my skin like she sensed something was coming. And when my wolf gets edgy? Trouble’s not far behind.

I’d barely made it halfway down the corridor when the universe confirmed my suspicions – in the form of a shove strong enough to rattle a human’s spine.

Of course, I wasn’t human. Still, the nerve.

I nearly went face-first into the floor. But I caught myself just in time – my wolf grounding us, locking our legs into place like roots through concrete.

Who the hell pushes a girl? The thought flared through me like a strike of lightning. My jaw tensed.

Could that Alpha prick have sent some of his lackeys to deal with me? I took a long breath, but couldn’t detect any weres behind me. That made it even more suspicious – I hadn’t stirred up any trouble yet to earn myself enemies.

I straightened up and stood strong like a wall with the help of my wolf. Just in case the silly person thought to go for another push. I rolled my shoulder slowly, letting the motion linger just for dramatic effect, and turned around – casual, calculated – to face my attacker.

There he was. Spiked-up hair, glistening with so much gel it looked like it could deflect bullets. A smug grin stretched across his face. Overconfident. Under-intelligent. His aura radiated insecure-jock energy – loud, showy, and desperately overcompensating. The type who confused volume for strength and swagger for charm. I’d met toddlers with more emotional control and stray dogs with more grace. And let me tell you, there’s nothing worse than a guy who thinks being mean somehow equals power. It was giving ‘fragile masculinity’ with a side of discount cologne, hair gel overdose, and the emotional depth of a damp sponge.

I c****d my head and narrowed my eyes, letting the silence settle thick between us.

And here’s the thing I’ve learned from watching way too many movies and reading even more books: silence speaks louder than a high-pitched “What the hell is your problem?!” ever could. Silence makes people squirm. And sure enough, his grin twitched – just a little – but enough to know I’d rattled the edges of his ego.

“My, oh my,” I drawled slowly, tone dripping with false flattery. “I haven’t seen anyone this brave in a long time.”

He puffed his chest slightly, mistaking my mockery for admiration. His smile grew wider. Poor i***t. The worst part? He probably thought this display would win him admiration. A few giggling girls stood near the lockers, watching like it was some twisted rom-com moment. As if being shoved by a guy was some flirty foreplay instead of just pathetic. Newsflash, ladies – violence is not affection. Unless you’re into literal wolves, and even we know better.

“But I bet your GPA matches your push strength: below average.” His smile instantly faltered as chuckles buzzed around us.

“Someone clearly has a death wish,” I added, slipping my hands into the pockets of my black leather jacket. A classic move – nonchalant power. The crowd in the hallway was already beginning to tune in, sensing the storm brewing.

I swear, I don’t go looking for trouble. Trouble just seems to find me like a toddler with a crayon and a white wall.

“Tom, knock it off,” a voice mumbled beside him. His friend – brown hair, bad acne, and even worse judgment.

I raised an eyebrow. “Tom,” I echoed thoughtfully. Then I clicked my tongue and looked between them with feigned curiosity.

“Oh – Tom! Is that your friend Jerry?”

Tom’s brows pinched together in confusion. “Jerry?”

“Yeah. Tom and Jerry? You’ve… heard of television, right? That magical glowing box that plays pictures and stories? Sometimes even cartoons?”

A few students around us snickered. It was a little childish, sure – but sometimes simplicity hits harder than sophistication. And watching a bully get roasted by cartoon references? Always satisfying.

Tom tried to recover. “Do you think you’re funny, Prudence?”

So he knows my name. I mentally scanned through my class schedule, but I couldn’t place him – his face was just too bland to stick in my memory. Well, saying my name will not help you, boy.

“Of course,” I said breezily. “Come on, Tom-Tom! Where are we going next?”

He blinked. “I'm not going anywhere with you!”

My lips twitched. Oh, he made this too easy.

“Oh, sweetie, so you haven’t discovered navigation yet either?” I said, voice full of mock concern. “It’s another one of those magic boxes. Helps people find their way – like a grown-up treasure map. You know... in case walking and thinking at the same time is too much.”

More laughter. He was blinking so hard his eyelids could’ve passed for malfunctioning windshield wipers.

Honestly, I wasn’t even angry anymore. Watching his internal operating system crash in real-time was almost... therapeutic. It’s not often you get to dismantle misogyny and boost your endorphins before third period. Self-care, really. If retail therapy wasn’t on the table, I’d take verbal annihilation any day.

You see, I’ve mastered the art of throwing bullies off their game. Random jokes, historical references, lines from Shakespeare or sitcoms – whatever makes them pause long enough to question if they’re being insulted. And when the fog of confusion lifts, reality hits. They start to question themselves whether they are stupid. And as we all know they are, it's a lovely moment for self-reflection.

I slowly pointed to Tom. “Ah. So you must be Dumb...” Then I pointed to his acne-splotched sidekick. “...and Dumber then.”

Boom. The hallway erupted. A chorus of laughter echoed around us, some people covering their mouths, others not even trying. Tom’s face flushed a furious shade of red, his jaw tightening like he wanted to say something - anything - but couldn’t.

"Now that we’ve established the facts, who wants to explain to me what that shove a moment ago was about?"

Some ooohs flew around the hall.

"Was that meant to embarrass me or something?"

You wanna know another trick when it comes to bullies? Bullies do everything for a laugh, for a nasty joke. But if you mirror their actions – where’s the fun in that? And at the same time – who’s in control now?

"Did you want to hurt me?"

I kept antagonizing as Tom’s expression faltered.

"Of course!"

He tried to keep up the bravado. I raised a brow, smirking.

"Wow. All that effort, and I’m still standing. Ten out of ten… for effort. Zero for results. Must be frustrating when your brain and your biceps are equally underdeveloped."

Loud laughter erupted around me again, making Tom flush red. Again. I loved beating bullies at their own game. But this was not over yet.

“Let's count some facts here, boys. Brains? Nope. Brawn? Still nope. Yikes, triple threat of useless.” I played him like a fiddle, each tug making him angrier, each laugh from the crowd twisting the knife.

“That’s the thing, boys,” I added, tilting my head.

“If you’re going to try bullying a girl, make sure your IQ isn’t dragging behind her boot like toilet paper. You brought ego, not skill – next time, try intelligence. Read a book or two, shall you?”

I kept pulling the same strings, watching Tom unravel while the laughter around us swelled like a victory anthem. And with that, I gave Tom a little smile – equal parts triumph and warning – and turned on my heel, striding away before he could stumble out a reply. The hallway parted for me like I was royalty walking through a battlefield I had already won.

As I disappeared around the corner, the last echoes of laughter still trailing behind me, I allowed myself a small smirk. Not because I was cruel – but because I had survived worse than boys with too much ego and too little brain. And I always, always made sure the next time… they thought twice.

The bell rang just as I was nearly at the classroom door. Oh, I so couldn’t wait to share this with my girls at lunch. I smirked to myself, already picturing their faces, cackling laughter, Kate's dramatic commentary, the gasps. Unless the gossip beat me to them, of course. But hey, nothing hits quite like a retelling from the original source – me.

Grinning, I pushed the door open.

Another day in teenage hell. Honestly, my soul feels way too old for this cr.ap.