“They’re saying guard shifts with Quinn are all the rage right now. When’s my turn?”
We’re at lunch—the whole caravan of high school Pewter Packers, which is me, Dean, Marie, Liz, Landon, Davis, and Blue. You should recognize all but Blue as having joined us on our Miami excursion; I think Dean likes to keep company with wolves his own age as much as possible. Blue is younger than us—a scrawny freshman who hasn’t yet grown into his big, wolfish frame. He’s got sandy-brown hair just a bit lighter than Dean’s and bright, hazel eyes that remind me a little too much of Finn. Really, the kid reminds me altogether too much of Finn. I try to ignore it as I focus on what Liz just asked.
“I’m not sure,” I tell Liz, glancing at the large calendar on the back wall of the cafeteria. It’s Thursday, a
