Coyotes and Wolves, Milo Manheim Original Story

Ready for Combat

POV: Milo

"Senior year!"

I heard some of the others getting all rowdy and screaming that, over and over when I got off the bus at school. Me and my friends were walking through the front doors of Canterbury Hall, our home away from home for the past three years. Everyone pretty much knows each other. We'd all been in the same district since the beginning of time.

But, this was it!

The first day of the last year. Thank God! If I don't get out of this town and out of that house soon, I'm going to lose my fucking mind. I love my friends, I like school and everything, and I play a lot of sports, but my house isn't one that exactly screams, stable.

Some of the random guys in the foyer started holding up their hands to slap me up. Half of them-- I didn't really talk to, but I guess it's because I'm so tall that people see me from a mile away and can't help it. I guess I'm what you'd call popular, probably because I'm good at sports. Some of the girls walking by were staring at me. Eye-fucking, was more like it. I just did what I always do, throw them a smile and a wink, and keep walking. I still don't know what they expect me to do by looking at me like that. Am I supposed to just grab one and make her my girlfriend? I'm not inexperienced by any means, I know what to do with a girl, but it's just the pressure of their damned eye lashes batting at me whenever I walk in. Like they're trying to attract and spray their mate with pheromones or something. It's just weird.

Whoa. Not to sound like a total walking hormone, but...Who's that?

As if walking in from a storm, with imaginary claps of thunder following behind her, she sauntered into the front doors. She was draped in purple and black. A hoodie with doodles on the sleeves, and a stay the fuck away from me look in her eyes. Her black and purple striped hoodie fell from her head, her disheveled raven hair was clearly thick and sleek when put together, if it hadn't been kept to suffocate under a hood.

A careless mistake? Or a shield put up to hide her obvious exotic beauty? I couldn't help but stare and analyze her. She was something different... something new.

Her eyes were brown, but the deepest richest brown. Almost like, cherry wood, chestnut, or mahogany, or a combination of all three. Eyes that were purposely made to look unfriendly by severe black lines of makeup, smudged above and below her feathery lashes.

A purple slouched tee peeking out of the unzipped portion of her hoodie. Ripped fish night stockings, worn under black denim shorts, her feet and ankles hidden by thick black socks, and protected within chunky black combat boots.

And, that's how she seemed. Ready. Ready for combat, at all times.

I think, her eyes alone, had the power to put a person on their knees, and right now mine were starting to buckle.