one

one

“Hangman is great. It teaches you that saying the wrong things could end someone’s life.” – source unknown.

The house is always quiet when I wake up in the morning. My parents start work early, so the house is empty by the time I wake up. I don’t mind. I’m used to it. My parents work hard and do their best to put food on the table.

I walk over to the kitchen cupboards and look for the cereal boxes waiting there. I have the choice of froot loops, weet-bix and cornflakes. I sigh; I feel like I need the sugar hit and grab the froot loops over the healthier options.

Pouring milk over my cereal, I take it to the dining room table and eat. I guess you could call me fortunate. Fortunate that I don’t live in the pack house and don’t have to help the kitchen staff make breakfast for the pack members that live there. Not that they would let me touch their food with my dirty omega hands anyway. I look at my fingers at that thought. My nails are short, but there is no dirt underneath them. I’m pretty clean, I like to think.

Yeah, I don’t live in or close to the pack house. I don’t have the luxury of fine things like most wolves in my pack have. But I’m okay with that. Sort of. I sometimes feel that I’m left out and not the same as the other wolves. Not just or only because my parents and I are omegas but because my parents are what is considered ‘poor.’ Even by werewolf standards. My clothes are usually bought from second-hand stores, and I only have one pair of shoes. They’re not even fashionable shoes. They’re cheap knock-offs that were on special at Kmart. And they’re worn thin. But… I won’t get a new pair until these shoes begin talking, so they’re my going-out, school and sports shoes all in one.

I place my finished bowl in the sink, with some water in the bottom. Our house is small, near the outskirts of pack territory, and prone to cockroaches. Not that our home is dirty. It’s just old.

I pull my socks out of their drawer and put them on, followed by my shoes. With that, I grab my school bag, throw an apple in it for lunch, and head out the door.

I walk to school. It’s about a twenty-five-minute walk from home, two kilometres up hilly terrain, and a two-kilometre walk back. I could take the bus. But that would require a yearly fee, which my parents are happy to pay…. the thought of taking the bus and all the memories of taking the bus with my schoolmates make me want to walk.

Plus, I like nature. Don’t laugh. I know I live in the burbs, around humans and other weres, but there is still nature. A pasture area is two rows of houses behind ours, with horse paddocks and everything. Just because I live in the burbs doesn’t mean I don’t live near nature. Oh yeah, because we live so close to nature, we also get mice. Yay. And possums. They’re scary as fuck at night, but hey.

Our school has a six-foot high fence out the front and backs the forest. It caters to humans and werewolves in our area, and I’ve been going to the torture hole since I was twelve. There are so many things wrong with this high school. It’s fed from about a dozen primary schools in and around our suburb of Clevedon. Because of that, the school has its own bus stop out the front for all the kids that bus in. There is no student carpark, being a school on the edge of the burbs, and students park along the adjoining streets near the school.

As I approach the school grounds, I walk past cars with students leaning against them, chatting. They move out of my way as I come, not because I’m Miss Popular, oh no. They move like away just in case I happen to touch them, or goddess forbids I walk past them, and we happen to breathe the same air. Can’t have that. They’re also like that in the school halls, parting like the sea when I approach.

I bow my head down, looking at my feet as my cheeks flush with shame.

The first lesson is P.E. I walk towards the changing rooms before class to get into my P.E. uniform. The shorts are forest green, with a grey-green polo shirt with the letters WCGS on it- West Clevedon Grammar School. I’m out of the dark change rooms before everyone else, having not changed my shoes, and walk to the tennis courts to see what torture our P.E. teachers have in store for us today.

Werewolves do not have P.E. with the humans at our school. This is because werewolves are supposedly stronger than humans, which would be true if we had our wolves. Which I don’t. We don’t get our wolves until we shift at eighteen, and I have a few weeks before that happens to me. So, I’m basically human.

I stand next to the chain-linked fence as the rest of my class walks in. The popular girls trail around Catherine Snell, who scans the courts until her eyes meet mine. I quickly look down as she laughs. I know she must say something to her friends as they then laugh at whatever she has said. The popular boys then walk in, following Zachary Lachlan. I don’t look in their direction either, opting to look at my feet.

Zach Lachlan is our next Alpha-to-be, and he is sexy hot good looking. It’s a pity he’s such an arsehole. He stands next to his best friends Felix, our next Beta-to-be, and Cameron, our next Gamma. They all walk in like the goddesses’ gift to man, and by the reaction of Catherine and her friends, I guess they are.

One of our P.E. teachers, Mr Holding, blows his whistle, and we all turn our attention towards him.

“Right. You all know the drill. Boys, you’re with me. Girls, you’ll be with Miss Glenys,” he states, waving his hand, indicating to the boys to follow him. The popular girls make pouting noises, and I watch as Catherine gives Zach a quick peck on his cheek before letting go of his hand and walking over to Miss Glenys.

“Okay, girls, five laps around the court,” Glenys instructs, making the girls groan.

“Come on, it’s not like I’m asking you to run laps around the field,” Ms Glenys complains as the girls start their run. I move away from the fence and begin my run around the court as instructed, following the popular girls who whinge and complain as they run.

After we run our laps, Ms Glenys gets us to do some tennis drills, including dribbling with our tennis rackets for as long as we can and throwing drills, where we throw different balls to strengthen our arms. As one group throws balls at the brick wall, the other practices their dribbles.

“Oh, Miss? Can we use balls other than tennis balls today?” I hear Catherine ask the teacher. Her friends giggle, but I can only take a deep breath in.

“Of course, Catherine. What type of balls were you thinking?”

“Uh, cricket. I was thinking, because they’re hard, they might be heavier and would work our muscles more?” she asks. Even though I’m currently dribbling my tennis ball with my racket, I’m listening to their conversation. I know I shouldn’t, I should concentrate on the task at hand, but I can’t help it.

“All right. Do you want to go with Eloise and get the tray of balls from the P.E. store?”

“Thank you, Miss,” Eloise says, taking the offered keys and running off with Catherine.

“Well done, Sera,” Miss Glenys says as she watches me dribble. I nod and continue dribbling, keeping my tennis ball moving at a steady pace.

Miss Glenys blows her whistle, and we all stop what we’re doing, grab our equipment and walk towards her.

“All right, girls, swap!” she instructs. I put my racket and ball down where I’m standing and walk over to the basket of tennis balls to practice throwing. I throw the tennis ball several times at the wall, catching it effortlessly before throwing it again. I miss the ball on my third throw, and it bounces in a direction I’m not expecting.

Suddenly a ball whizzes past me, skimming the side of my face slightly on its journey.

“Ow!” I cry out, touching the line on my face where it slightly got me.

“Oops, sorry!” Catherine calls out. I look over at her, and she’s standing next to Eloise, trying to contain her laughter.

“My turn,” Eloise says, throwing her ball. I duck just in time as a maroon-coloured ball flashes towards me.

“No fair! She ducked!” Eloise complains, picking up another ball.

“Ooh, I want a turn,” Madelaine, one of Catherine’s followers, says. Suddenly several balls are being thrown in my direction, one after the other.

“Oomph,” I cry as I try to move out of the way, but getting hit by one of the balls startles me. Another ball finds its mark on my shoulder, and I put my hand on where it landed, only to have another ball hit my fingers, making them sting.

Quickly I kneel down, covering my belly with my knees and my face with my hands. As I go, I get hit on the face, this one landing squarely on the corner of my mouth, knocking my teeth slightly. I instantly taste blood and squeal in pain, tears springing from my eyes. I hear laughter as more balls rain down on me, some feeling harder than others.

“Girls!” Miss Glenys cries out, “Stop!”

I’m shaking in pain and fear. No more shots of pain hit my body as I hear Glenys tell the girls off and then send them away to change.

“Sera?” a soft voice says, coming up to me. I feel a hand touch my shoulder and involuntarily flinch from the contact.

“Shh. It’s me. Stand up; let’s have a look at you,” Miss Glenys says. Slowly I stand up, my hand still on my face where I was struck by a ball.

“Sera, you shouldn’t let those girls do this to you. You need to stand up for yourself,” Glenys scolds, giving me a look of pity. I solemnly nod in understanding. This is my fault they threw balls at me; I should have told them to stop before it got this far. I understand.

“Go get changed. You’re done for the day,” Miss Glenys nods as if agreeing with my internal thoughts.

“Girls!” Glenys addresses those on dribbling drills, “collect the cricket balls and shotputs, then you can change as well.”

I leave the tennis courts to the sound of complaining, tears rolling down my face. Before I walk into the changing rooms, I wipe the tears, hoping Catherine and her pals don’t notice the stains on my cheeks or my puffy red eyes. Quietly I walk over to my bag, taking my uniform out to change into.

“What do we have here?” Eloise asks, coming up to me and grabbing my clothes.

“Hey! Give them back!” I cry, reaching for them, but Eloise smirks and holds my clothes over her head.

“What is it?” Catherine chuckles, taking my uniform off Eloise.

“Hey!” I yell again. Catherine smirks and makes a run for it towards the toilet cubicles. I run after her, the girls around us laughing at this charade.

“Catherine, please!” I beg as I follow her to the toilets.

“Nuh-uh,” she cries, slamming the toilet door between us.

“Catherine!” I yell again. I hear the toilet flush, and the lid is put down. Fuck. The girls behind me laugh, and Catherine walks out with a massive grin.

“Have a great day, Sera,” she smiles, walking back into the changing room.

I walk into the cubicle and open the lid. Thank goddess, she was only partly teasing me. My uniform is wet, yes, but she didn’t flush them like she pretended to. I pull my uniform from the toilet and return to the changing rooms.

Catherine and her friends had left the changing room, leaving me with a few girls who had to clean up the courts after them.

“Thanks a lot, Sera,” Anita, one of the girls, says, pushing me as she walks past.

“Yeah, dumb bitch,” another agrees.

I stand there, tears filling my eyes. How is this possibly my fault? My uniform is wet, and I’m bruised and bleeding, and I did that to myself? Stuff this!

I stomp over to my bag and shove my uniform inside. I can’t wear my uniform now anyway, the blue toilet water has stained my white blouse, and plus it’s wet.

Without looking back, I turn toward the school gates and make a run for it. The sports department is on the other side of the school, and because I’m not that fit, I’m panting by the time I reach the gate. They leave the gates open just in case seniors need to go for any reason or for latecomers. I’m pleased to see no one around as I walk out, staring at the ground in front of me in determination.

“Hey! Are you okay?” a voice asks. I turn and see one of the prettiest girls I’ve ever seen. I trip over my feet as I look at her. I’m not gay, but this girl is beautiful. Big brown eyes with flicks of yellow in them, a button nose and full pink limps. Her hair is long with big curls. She takes another puff of her vape before stepping towards me.

“I’m fine,” I tell her, turning around and running off.

~ Edited with Grammarly.