Silver (2 page)

I didn't know what to make of it. I turned
away, distracted, and a shoulder caught mine and shoved me into the
lockers along the wall.

“
Watch where you’re going,”
a voice growled.

I looked up to see a student my age with jet
black hair and dark eyes flanked by two stocky, younger students.
The scent of werewolf wafted from all three of them. The student
who shoved me took a step closer, then stopped; his nostrils flared
and his eyes narrowed.

“
You better have a good
reason to be here.”

I bristled at his tone. “My reasons are none
of your business.”

His jaw clenched and he swung at me.

The years of practice with my father paid
off; my body flowed through the motions without thought. I ducked
under his fist and punched as I came up, catching him in the
stomach. He doubled over with a gasp, and I slammed an elbow into
his back. He fell to the floor with a grunt of pain.

Arms wrapped around me from behind and
squeezed tight to pin my arms to my sides. The other student
punched me in the stomach with a left, then a right. I broke the
student’s hold and ducked, pulling his right arm over my head and
behind his back. I wrapped my left arm around his throat and pulled
up on his wrist. He yelped and squirmed. I pulled harder.

“
Stop moving if you don’t
want a dislocated shoulder,” I said quietly in his ear. He froze
and his breath rattled in his constricted throat.

The black-haired boy struggled to his feet,
his arms around his stomach. The other student hurried to his side
with a hand out to help, but the boy hit it away.

“
Chet Clemmons, causing
trouble again are we?” The voice behind us carried a hint of
frustration.

I let go of the student I held and turned,
careful to keep my back to the lockers so no one could get behind
me. I ignored the pain in my stomach. I had given worse than I got,
evident by my first assailant’s pale face and pained expression
when he straightened up to talk to the man who addressed him.

“
I’m not the one causing
trouble, he is.” He pointed at me.

Everyone’s attention shifted. I hadn’t
realized until then how many students had stopped to watch the
fight. Most had mixed expressions of excitement and foreboding, but
there were a few who watched me with cold, intent stares. I forced
myself to look away.

The man who spoke was of middle height,
medium build, had thinning brown hair, glasses, and wore a faded
brown suit that looked as though it had been washed too many times.
His eyes took in the students around us with the look of someone
who knew each of them by name and regarded them as his direct
responsibility. He straightened his dark brown checkered tie and
met my eyes with a frank, curious gaze. “I need to see you all in
my office.” When one of the boys started to protest, he turned and
glared at the three of them. “Now.”

“
Yes, sir,” they mumbled
together.

“
And if I’m not mistaken,
it’s time for class,” he said to the onlookers. The bell rang on
cue. Students broke off in groups and made their way down the hall
to their various destinations. I felt several pairs of eyes on my
back as I followed the three students to the office.

The man nodded at the two women behind the
main desk and led us past several doors to one that stood open at
the end of the hall. Glass windows made up two sides of the office
and gave an excellent view of the student lounge that fronted the
library. The last bell rang and two students hurried past throwing
worried glances our way. The man just shook his head and sank onto
a leather upholstered chair behind the l-shaped desk which bore the
nameplate, ‘Principal Anthony Stewart’.

The three boys took the chairs in front of
the desk with the familiarity of students who had been there many
times. The Principal looked up at me. “I guess we’re a chair short.
Do you mind grabbing one in the hall?”

“
I’m okay with standing,” I
told him. To be honest, I felt better near the door than sitting
beside three hostile werewolves. Their glares were enough to start
the brawl all over again.

Principal Stewart studied me for a second,
then turned back to the others. “You boys are already on thin ice.
I warned you last time that one more outburst would result in
suspension.”

They started to protest, but he held up a
hand and cut them short.

He rubbed his eyes behind his glasses with a
weary sigh. “I’m feeling generous today, so take this as your last
warning.” He dropped his hand and looked at each of them in turn,
his expression serious. “One more mistake and you’re out of here.
I’d better not hear of any more trouble from the three of you for
the rest of the year. Understand?”

“
Yes, sir,” they said in
sullen unison.

“
Now get to class; the last
thing I need is for your teachers to report you tardy.”

He motioned and they left. Each one shoved
past me with more force than was necessary. I smiled at their
glares with a small rise of fierce satisfaction in my chest. The
scent of werewolf lingered in the air.

“
I don’t think we’ve met,”
the Principal said.

I turned and found him watching me with a
calculating expression. “Jaze Carso,” I replied, holding out my
hand.

He shook with a firm grip. “Principal
Stewart, if you haven’t already surmised.” He tipped his head
toward the name plaque. “Please sit.”

I took the middle seat. The odor from the
cushion told of several other wolves who had sat here among
countless students over the past few months.

Mr. Stewart had a file in front of him. He
nodded at it. “You're the new student. I must say I didn’t expect
you to arrive in such a . . . tumultuous manner. You don’t have any
marks on your record for fighting.” He met my eyes expectantly.

I shrugged and forced a nonchalant tone.
“I’m normally a go with the flow kind of student. I guess I sort of
. . . .“

“
Didn’t like where this
flow was going?” he filled in.

I smiled at his easy manner. “Yeah.”

He sat up in the chair and put his elbows on
the desk. “May I be frank with you, Mr. Carso?”

“
I would appreciate
it.”

“
I would steer clear of Mr.
Clemmons and the other students that hang around with him.” He gave
me a hard look as if to make sure I took him seriously.

I nodded again and wondered how much he
knew. He wasn’t a werewolf, that much was obvious, but he didn’t
act like he had the wool pulled over his eyes, either. He
definitely knew something was going on in his school. I couldn't
decide if that was good or bad.

He gave me a schedule and directed me toward
my class, remarking offhand that with my GPA I shouldn’t have too
much trouble catching up. I doubted it, considering that half the
school year had already passed, but decided not to press the
issue.

The hallway echoed with my footsteps, and
the eyes of the students in the classrooms I passed burned into my
back. Banners that read, “Go Wranglers!” and, “Stomp Those Tigers!”
lined the brick walls in red and gold lettering. Pictures of the
basketball team were encased in glass next to a shelf of trophies,
and my heart ached at the reminder of my old school.

It had been comfortable, like slipping on an
old pair of shoes. I knew where everyone stood, and nobody messed
with me, not because I was intimidating, but because I made it a
point not to be too good at anything despite the extra strength and
endurance my werewolf attributes gave me. I had a solid group of
friends and the support of the pack. Everything had been perfect,
until that night.

I gritted my teeth and pulled opened the
door that matched the number on my schedule. Twenty-five pairs of
eyes, the teacher’s included, turned to me. I showed the teacher my
schedule and took the seat he indicated, front and center of
course, the only empty chair in the classroom. I stifled a sigh and
pulled a blank notebook from my backpack.

Chapter 3

I had repeated the same scenario in three
other classrooms by the time the lunch bell rang. In one, a wide
berth of chairs fronting where the teacher stood was empty despite
the fact that several students lounged against the back wall while
they took notes. Upon taking my seat, I realized that it was the
designated splash zone for a teacher who spoke with a lisp and a
lot of enthusiasm. I tried in vain to shield my notebook from the
splattering and vowed to get there early enough the next day so
that I could get a better seat; otherwise, I would be forced to buy
a parka.

I stood in line in the lunchroom and
pretended to review the day’s food list while I studied the layout
of the room from the corner of my eye. Rows of off-white tables
made up the middle of the room while shorter tables stood on either
side. Students shouted insults and comments to each other across
the room, much to the chagrin of the two scowling teachers that I
assumed had discipline duty for the day. The scent of over-cooked
French fries and salted hamburgers carried over the fainter smell
of sack lunch sandwiches and potato chips.

I picked up my lunch, paid a few dollars to
the bored lady with a hairnet next to an ancient computer, and
carried my tray to a table near the door and a wall, a convenient
location where my back would be protected. The glares of several
students I passed confirmed the necessity of the position.

When I sat down, a skinny student with spiky
brown hair looked up at me from his hamburger of mystery meat and
squishy peas. I gave him a half-smile that I hoped came across as
friendly. The last thing I needed was to be hustled during
lunch.

“
Welcome to our school,” he
said amiably. At my questioning look, he shrugged. “I work in the
attendance office and saw the picture on your file. I’m
Brock.”

“
Jaze,” I said. At his nod,
I shrugged, “But I guess you already knew that.”

“
Yeah, I’m not really
supposed to see that stuff, but I can’t help it if someone leaves
the files lying around.” He gave an affable grin, “You’d be
surprised what you can find out in there. Did you know that Mr.
Corley once gave a student detention for not combing his hair?” At
my lack of comment, he continued, “Well, you’d have to know who Mr.
Corley is to find that funny. He’s bald.”

His good-humor was contagious and I found
myself warming up to him. It turned out that he was in my same
grade, a junior. He told me he had failed his driving test for
failure to yield to a cow, and had to work in the evenings to help
pay for repairs on the Driver’s Education car.

“
Who thinks to look for a
cow in the road in the Metroplex? I was being a responsible driver
looking out for pedestrians and all, not searching the roads for
livestock.” He let out a laugh. “But the driving instructor sure
saw it. He yelled so loud I think the cow might have died of fright
before I even hit it!” He sighed and rolled his eyes. “But hey,
it’s not my fault his brake didn’t work. I shouldn’t have to pay
for faulty school equipment, even if I was going a little
fast!”

While he was talking, a voice from across
the cafeteria caught my attention. Scanning the mass of unfamiliar
faces, I found my neighbor at the long table against the far wall.
My stomach soured when I saw who she leaned against. Chet glared at
me, his dark eyes narrow. I met his gaze for a moment before reason
kicked in and I turned away. This wouldn’t be a good place to start
another fight. I toyed briefly with Principal Stewart’s comment of
possible suspension, but knew better than to press my luck.

I finished my food in near silence,
responding to Brock’s questions with one-word answers until he
turned back to the other students at the table and left me in
peace. At the end of lunch, however, I was forced to ask him where
to find my fifth period history class.

“
You’re in luck; that’s my
classroom, too! I can help you get caught up!” he replied with the
same enthusiasm you would expect to hear from a kid who had just
been told he was going to Disneyland.

I suppressed a groan and shouldered my
backpack. Wary and on edge, I studied the hallways we passed. Chet
and the other werewolves had finished lunch and left early; I
wasn’t convinced they would pass up an opportunity to seek revenge
before school ended.

Fortunately, my last three classes crawled
by without incident. Brock saved me a seat in Economics and took
time to show me where the gym was for Physical Education even
though he had Advanced English that hour. He then met me with an
enthusiastic grin outside the gym doors after school.

“
What’d you think of Coach
Meyers?” he asked. He had a bright orange backpack slung over one
shoulder, and when he turned I saw a ‘kick me’ sign stuck to it
with gum. I pulled it off and handed it to him.

He accepted it with a casualness that said
this wasn’t the first time it had happened. At my questioning look,
he shrugged and tossed the sign in the garbage can by the school
doors. “Hey, at least they notice me,” he said with a wry grin.

Two students shoved out the door past us.
Anger flared in my chest and I turned, but stopped when I
recognized Chet’s cronies. They continued walking, but one looked
back at me and gave a twisted smile. I forced myself to continue
down the hall despite the rage that made me want to phase and teach
them a lesson.

“
Man, they sure don’t like
you,” Brock said.

“
The feeling’s
mutual.”

“
You don’t want to mess
with Chet’s group. They’re trouble.” Brock sounded
worried.