Super Wolf

Chapter 3

Dedicated to phoebeGA because I really enjoy her book 'You're the reason' (Its really good!) 

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"Move." 

It really wasn't right, if you asked me. I mean, I killed bad-guy gangsters like I ate cheese sticks. And I ate a damn lot of cheese sticks. Yet, I was subject to the tortures of high school? That's not playing fair, Fate. If it wasn't for me, hundreds of people would be dead right now. Hundreds. And I seriously had to deal with the same sappy couple making out in front of my locker every single day? 

"Move!" I spat louder. I wasn't in the mood for the wet sound of their tongues mashing against eachothers' lips. It was repulsive. 

Luckily for them, they heard me this time, and moved out of the way, but not before the boy sent me a glare. I narrowed my eyes in on him and growled lowly. He looked startled, and I smiled sweetly. 

"Sore throat," I said sarcastically. His eyebrows shot up in what must've been fear, and I almost cackled to myself. 

Being me was so fun. 

I put in my locker combination, feeling an abnormal number of eyes staring at me that day. I was probably just being more hyperaware, but it unnerved me. 

07-14-09. That was my locker combination. Now, I would never forget that combination for a number of reasons: 

Firstly, that date was seriously messed up. The school had given me this locker, unaware that this particular combination just so happened to be the exact date of my sister's death. Messed up, right? And no, I'm not going into it. That's another story entirely. The important thing was that she's dead as dirt. 

Secondly, my favorite number was seven. Now, seven times two was fourteen, and seven plus two was nine. Was that easy, or what? 

And don't even try to tell me its 'weird' to have a favorite number. If you ask me, its weird to have a favorite color. A preferred (I avoid saying favorite, because that implies permanent prefference) color should fluctuate on mood, where as a preferred number could be stagnant. If I was happy, it might be yellow. If I was mad, it would probably be black. But my favorite number was always seven. 

And just so you know, my preferred color was never yellow. 

Thirdly, and most importantly, I had a photographic memory. 

I shoved some books into my locker, slamming it harshly when I felt a body move next to me. I turned slowly to him, taking the time to place the most perfect scowl on my face, and guess who it might be. 

It didn't take long for me to decide: Casey French. 

I made my scowl even deeper, just for his benefit. "If only I had a lower IQ; maybe then I could enjoy your company," I said sourly, pushing past him. Generally, it would take a couple of jabs like that, and eventually he'd sulk off. It seemed that day he was being particularly persistant. 

"You know what's coming up in three weeks, don't you?" he asked, panting slightly from trying to hard to keep up with me. 

"A full moon?" I guessed condescendingly. I memorized lunar patterns... don't judge. With a eidetic memory, I had a lot of useless information, you could say. 

"No... Brinley, its prom. I was wondering-" 

I bit back a growl as I stopped dead-walk, and turned to glare at him. "The only thing keeping me from breaking you in half is the awful possibility of there being two of you." That was blunt enough to get in his thick skull, wasn't it?