The moment Professor Sherman opened the file handed to him by the admin lady, his demeanor shifted noticeably. He skimmed through the contents with an intensity that made the atmosphere in the room grow tense. When he suddenly looked up at me, his gaze was piercing, almost unnerving. "Professor Marlen Cooper's personal recommendation, eh? That's... curious." The mention of this Professor Cooper's name seemed to electrify the air. Everyone in the room visibly tensed, their postures straightening.
I found myself agreeing silently. It was curious. I had no clue who Professor Cooper was, yet his name seemed to command a weighty respect. Sitting across from me, the twins nodded in unison at this revelation. Nick, beside me, just grunted, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.
"Well, as good a time as any for a quick review," Professor Sherman announced, making everyone groan. His sharp gaze silenced them instantly.
He moved to the bookcase, retrieved a thick old book, and handed it to me. His eyes lingered on mine longer than necessary, making me even more uncomfortable.
Deep breaths I kept silently repeating to myself. Well, as deep as I could take with this restrictive ass binder on.
"Alright, class. The three main laws?" he prompted.
The class began to recite, "First, werewolves are pack animals, beasts cloaked in human disguises. They're cunning and deceptive. Never trust a werewolf. Second, a werewolf's bite is a fate worse than death. Avoid it at all costs. Third, steer clear of werewolves during the full moon. If you witness a werewolf shifting, your only option is to run. Lastly, silver and Wolfsbane are your best allies against werewolves."
Professor Sherman turned to me. "James, do you have any experience hunting?"
Yeah, as the prey, I thought. A shiver ran through my body, but I managed to quell it.
"No, sir. We don't have this type of academy down south, at least not that I'm aware of," I replied, desperately attempting to keep my voice even and deep.
I couldn't help but notice Cam and his group hadn't taken their eyes off me since I'd entered the room. Their intense stares were unsettling, to say the least.
As the Professor explained the program, the others murmured and snickered in the background. One of Cam's associates made a derogatory remark about a "midget monster hunter," earning a fierce stare from Professor Sherman. He quickly cleared their throat and fell silent.
"During this academic year, we'll focus primarily on strategy. Mostly escape and evasion techniques during encounters with werewolves," the Professor continued. "Our curriculum combines indoor lessons and practical backcountry training."
Strategy? Perfect, my area of expertise. "Can humans actually kill werewolves?" I asked.
"Of course we can," Professor Sherman replied. "But not you all, not yet. Werewolves are dangerous pack creatures, and killing one often provokes retribution from the entire pack. You aren't prepared for that. First, learn to survive, to cover your tracks well. We'll get into dispatching these monsters later on."
I glanced around the room, trying to take in every detail. My attention was drawn to a stunning chess set crafted from wood and stone, proudly displayed upfront. As I absorbed my surroundings, I felt Professor Sherman's grey eyes on me. I squirmed under his scrutiny as my eyes met his again, hoping my nervousness wasn't too apparent.
The Professor chuckled, breaking the tension. "Don't be nervous, son. I understand this is a lot to take in. I'm assigning you a guide for the first six weeks to help you acclimate to the program's pace. I'll get you two together after class."
Turning to Peter, I asked, "What exactly is a guide?"
Peter responded nervously, "Your guide is essentially your mentor. They could be a senior or a peer who excels in the program. Trust me, It's crucial not to defy them. Just remember they're here to guide and train you, no matter what they do."
The Professor's words lingered in my mind as he cleared the chalkboard. "Only about 30% of the 100 boys in this year's class will advance to Junior year. And that 30% includes the first seven to pass the final trials. They are guaranteed a spot."
I settled back into my seat, feeling the weight of the challenge before me. The road ahead was daunting, much like the road to get here in the first place.
I had to get a spot. I didn't have a choice. I couldn't leave. At least not until I learned what I needed to know.
Two students entered, carrying large boxes. Professor Sherman stood up. "Ah, perfect. Take this time to review, gentleman," he announced before following the students to the back room.
Julien slid into the seat next to me. Nick had vacated his spot so subtly that I hadn't even realized he'd moved. To be so big, he was so quiet and evasive. It was oddly interesting and unnerving at the same time.
"Hello again!" Julien greeted me with a warmth that took me by surprise. His friendliness seemed almost out of place in this environment, and I found myself wondering if he was flirting. It was an unexpected dynamic to consider in a place like this. I prepared myself for male camaraderie, but I hadn't even considered the idea of encountering that kind of male bonding here.
Scrambling for something to say, I noticed the name on the back of his jersey as he leaned forward to tease Nick, who was now seated with the twins. "Julien Hightower? I knew a couple of Hightowers back at my old school."
It was a lie, a small fabrication to spark conversation. It seemed harmless enough.
Julien eyed me curiously, then shrugged. "Very likely kin somewhere down the line. My family's lineage goes back centuries, you know."
I must have looked at him oddly because he suddenly sat up straighter, his arm brushing against mine in the process. He paused, looking at the spot where our skin touched, before he asked, "You have no idea who I am, do you?"
I noticed Cam was visibly agitated by Julien interacting with me like this. His discomfort made me even more curious about both of them and what type of dynamics were truly at play there.
"Honestly, no," I replied.
Julien laughed out loud as he looked around at the other guys, who seemed just as surprised. "If you don't know anything about this world, how did you get in here? And with Coop's blessing, no less?" he asked.
"Coop?" I repeated, surprised to hear the mysterious Professor Cooper referred to so casually. Julien just nodded, waiting for my answer.
I could feel my defenses rising. Clearing my throat to ensure my voice didn't do the same, I explained, "Y'all know I grew up in a small town in the south. Up until recently, werewolves were like unicorns to me. Something from TV and books. I came to this academy for the elite scholarships they offer. They afford me the opportunity to grow beyond my current self, something I found severely lacking where I am from. I'm just taking this class for that growth and any extra credit I can get towards my GPA. So yeah, I'm not sure what you guys are talking about."
They seemed to accept my explanation, laughing it off. One of Cam's associates commented about my height again, but Julien cleared his throat, silencing him with a look. He sat back, resting his arm on the back of my chair. "Well James, lets just say my family is a pretty big deal around here," he said without taking his eyes off of Cam. Yeah, I had to figure out more about the dynamics there.
Class ended, and Professor Sherman beckoned me to follow him. As we exited, I couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. I glanced over my shoulder but saw nothing out of the ordinary. It was unsettling how odd I felt leaving the class with the Professor.
Walking through the crowded halls, I struggled to keep up with his fast pace. His sharp gaze darted towards me occasionally, making me increasingly nervous. I couldn't help but notice his eyes flicking to my throat.
Was he looking for something?
Or perhaps noticing the absence of something? Either one was bad.
The walk to his office felt endless. Nerves, the fast pace we were walking, and this horribly restrictive binder made breathing harder with every step. Finally, we arrived at a door marked with a beautifully carved name tag. The door was ajar, and I could see the shadow of someone inside.
"It looks like your guide has already arrived," Professor Sherman said, pushing the door open further.
Stepping inside, my heart sank as I saw Cameron's icy smile. The last time I had seen that smile was in the bathroom as he observed those other men tormenting Peter.
Cameron stood there, a predatory gleam in his eyes as he stared at me.
"We meet again, James," he said, with a huge evil grin plastered on his face.
As I stood in Professor Sherman's office, my mind raced, trying desperately to regain some level of composure. The haunting images of Cameron in the bathroom surged back. The Professor's voice cut through my thoughts. "You're early, Mr. StClaire. I specifically said 15 minutes," he remarked, his frown deepening with stern disapproval. Standing all nonchalant, Cameron appeared utterly indifferent to the Professor scolding him. His focus was solely on intimidating me, making me almost shiver involuntarily. My stomach churned uneasily at the thought of being under his 'guidance.' Like during that distressing encounter in the shower, he was impeccably dressed. He had on black slacks that were perfectly pressed and crisp. Clinging to his muscular frame, he wore a midnight blue silk button-down shirt neatly tucked in. His hair was styled with precision, not a strand out of place. Among the sea of students who typically roamed the halls in their uniforms or athletic jerseys, Cam stoo
As I sat across from Adrien, the chessboard forming a battleground between us, I couldn't shake my skepticism about his alleged lack of experience. The beads of sweat forming on my forehead were a testament to the unexpectedly intense challenge he posed. His gameplay bore the hallmarks of someone beyond a beginner. Far beyond. Adrien's opening move was my first hint that he was no amateur. I countered by developing my pieces, trying to control the center of the board, but he quickly evaded, moving his bishop into a strong position. It was clear that every move he made was calculated and informed, strategy you'd expect from a seasoned chess player. Each exchange was like a carefully choreographed dance, his moves leading the way. I found myself on the defensive, constantly reacting to his aggressive yet controlled play. The way he trapped my bishop, leaving me no choice but to sacrifice it, was a move of someone who had spent considerable time mastering the intricacies of the game.
I spent the rest of the day in various classes and ensuring every corner of the dorm room was immaculate. I couldn't risk giving Alec any reason to rummage through my belongings. I tried to distract myself, but no matter what I did, I grappled with a looming sense of panic. Skating. The very thought made me cringe. My experience with skating was limited at best, restricted to a handful of childhood attempts on roller skates across a wooden floor. The memory of my one and only disastrous incident with inline skates, resulting in my body covered in bruises and a missed day of school, did little to bolster my confidence.But, like with everything else in my life these days, I couldn't just wallow. Determined to face my fears head-on, I decided to scope out the hockey practice.Sneaking into the auditorium, I found a discreet spot in the stands, my heart racing with anticipation and dread. Adrien's words earlier that day echoed in my mind. If I could figure out how to survive the hocke
The morning light filtered through the dorm room curtains as I stirred awake. Across the room, Alec was already up, immersed in a book with a cup of coffee in hand. He glanced up, offering a simple nod as he noticed me waking up. There was something about Alec that struck a balance between being present and giving space. His quiet respect for boundaries made sharing a room with him less daunting than I had initially feared.Living with a boy, a notion that once filled me with apprehension, now seemed surprisingly manageable. In fact, Alec's presence, far from being overwhelming, had quickly become a comforting constant. His meticulous nature, something I had pegged as potentially problematic, was turning out to be a trait I appreciated more each day.I realized I was adopting some of his cleanliness habits. Sharing a space with someone so orderly was positively influencing me – a side effect I hadn't anticipated.As I prepared for the day, I was thankful I remembered to wear a shirt
Coach's eyes were like a laser, sharp and piercing, as he surveyed me from head to toe. Standing on the cold ice, I felt the chill seep deep into my bones, a sensation dwarfed only by the icy scrutiny in Coach's stare. I battled the rising panic, the cold from the ice almost a welcome distraction from my anxiety. Fleeing would be my only choice if I were chosen for the skins team. It would mean abandoning the tryouts and possibly everything I had worked for. At least, amid the pervasive cold, my nervousness seemed more like a reaction to the temperature than outright terror. In his eyes, I must have been no more significant than a fleeting shadow, easily lost among the more formidable figures surrounding me. My presence was as inconsequential as a cobweb, easily swept away and forgotten in the corners of the rink. After what felt like an eternity, his answer came in little more than a grunt. "SHIRTS!" A wave of relief washed over me, sparing me from the bare-chested team. I wouldn't
In the whirlwind of emotions following the revelation that I'd made the team, a mix of elation and suspicion swirled within me. Why was my name there? Incredibly close to the top? It felt like a setup, a piece in a game I had yet to learn to play. Determined to uncover the truth, I mustered the courage to confront the coach directly, hoping to learn his intentions. If I understood his reasons, I could plan my next moves better. Surprisingly, the coach's office door was open. Pushing it, I stepped inside, immediately noticing a cell phone vibrating on the desk. I walked over to the desk in total disbelief, thinking it had to be an alarm that needed to be silenced or something. My heart jumped into my throat when I realized it was actually ringing. It was a direct line to the outside world, a rarity in this place. And what's more, this place seemed to operate on its own rules. It wasn't that cell phones didn't work here; it was they were blocked from working. This showed how deliber
The day before my fifteenth birthday should have been filled with anticipation and excitement, but instead, it was clouded by a turbulent storm of emotions. An intense argument with my mom had erupted seemingly out of nowhere, propelling me out the door and towards Grandpa's house for refuge. The fight had escalated quickly, my emotions boiling over until I found myself shouting, my words echoing with more anger and pain than I intended.I couldn't pinpoint exactly why the fight started. The triggers always seemed trivial retrospectively. However, beneath the surface was a deeper discord, mostly revolving around my mom's disapproval of the path I had chosen for myself. She had never hidden her disdain for my ambitions in chess. In her eyes, being a chess champion was a pursuit far beneath my potential. She believed I could achieve more conventional success. Success that looked impressive in the eyes of our small community and beyond.Her constant critique that I could, and should, as
The doctor arrived briskly, his steps echoing sharply on the tile floor. He began checking my vitals, his manner professional yet oddly distant. Almost like he didn't want to be here or something. I noticed his attention lingering too long on my neck as he worked. Panic flared in my chest. Was he noticing the absence of an Adam's apple? Did he suspect something off about me? Was he questioning my gender? After a tense minute, he finally spoke. "Did something get tangled around your neck when you fell on the ice?" His voice was neutral, but the question felt loaded and oddly probing. When I did not respond, he continued, "There are pretty serious ligature marks around your neck, son." "I was attacked by Cameron and his...friend Thomas. It wasn't just a petty argument. They deliberately tried to hurt me. I also saw his friend Thomas do similar things to others at tryouts. They are totally out of control." The doctor eyed me briefly before saying, "That doesn't explain the marks ar