The Home for Boys

Prologue

6 years old, my dad retires from his position of alpha in our pack. 8 years old, I can play jazz and rock drums, harmonica, do archery, and shoot guns, also my granddad dies. 10 years old, I shift for the first time. 11 and ½, both my parents die and I move in with my grandma in her home for boys. 12 I have to wake everyone up. 13 I have to cook, and grandma is in the hospital with leukemia.  16 and 2/3 I own the home for boys. This is my life’s timeline.

Chapter 1

My parents worked at a restaurant as entertainment, my dad was also a waiter. He became alpha of his pack later on, and made his beta the alpha when he retired. The pack and our family stayed close still. Because both of my parents loved music I learned some instruments of my own. My dad told me that he always carries around a guitar pick and the stick that you hit a triangle with because he loves those instruments the most and that I need to carry around part of an instrument I love. I started carrying around drumsticks and a harmonica. Both my parents thought I needed to learn some way to defend myself, so I learned how to shoot guns. I got interested in archery so I learned that too. At 10 years old I shifted. I was one of those people who shifted at a semi-young age. The day my parents died, I was there with them. My grandma was borrowing one of our cars, our other one was in the shop.  She dropped us off at the bus stop, because she was going the opposite way of us. We were going to a military museum to see one of the pack’s males graduate there. On the bus, my mom had the window seat and I had the aisle seat. My dad stood beside us holding on to the bar that hangs off the ceiling. There was no room for him to sit beside us so yeah. We were at a stop, in a line of cars, but then the bus quickly accelerated and started driving when it turned green, a drunk driver went through their red light at full speed into the side of the bus. The bus tipped over onto the metal thing in the median, I was confused for a minute after that but then I realized; my father was laying across us, blood flowing out of his ears and a huge purple black bruise on the side of his head. I reached across my mom putting my hand on her chest, nothing. I put my hand on my father’s back, nothing. So I reached for my mom’s purse pulling it out and crawling out  of my seat also grabbing my dad’s guitar pick and triangle hitting stick throwing it in the purse. I heard people outside but first I yelled (after some coughing) “Hello! Can anyone hear me? If you’re alive make some sort of sound or movement!” I heard coughing near the back and saw some leg twitches. “I’m going outside of the bus. I’ll get you all some help.” I crawled out seeing that the door was still closed even though the glass was shattered. I checked the driver for a sign of life and got nothing. I sighed and crawled out the shattered door. People rushed up to me seeing if I was okay and they tried to take the purse away from me but I wouldn’t let them. After awhile they finally believed me when I said it was my mom’s and they let me have it. Then I told them that I was fine and to stop worrying about me because there was still people on the bus that needed help. Policemen, doctors, and nurses were trying to talk to me. I told the police what happened and was force to get checked by the doctors before they left with the serious people. I was taken to the police office where my grandma picked me up from. We hadn’t talked much, but I was thankful I had her at the moment. I found out there was 22 people on the bus and 6 lived including me. The rest of them died or were currently close to it. The drunk driver had gotten a concussion and some cuts but other than that was fine. Once he healed he was sent to jail. I packed my things, and that is when I moved into the Home for Boys (an all boys orphanage). Apparently it was my granddads dream and my grandma took over when he died just to keep it going and remind her of him.  My grandma said I needed to be more responsible so I was in charge of waking everyone up once I was 12. At 13 I became in charge of cooking and Grandma was sent to and held at the hospital because of leukemia. At 16 and 2/3 (with some hassle and connections) I became owner of the Home for Boys. Whenever a new guy came in I helped them out. Some were sad, moody, or a jerk when they first came; but I always got love and respect from them in the end. All the guys became family and when they got new families to live with I made them promise to come visit us. Throughout all of this I still went to school everyday and made decent grades. Not all the boys were werewolves like me though, so I made sure the ones who were went on runs and the others didn’t get suspicious. I helped the younger boys through shifts when the time came, and when possible I gave the guys advice. Plus I made sure that any girl who was with them was good enough for them. There was also at one time 2 vampires and 1 warlock. That was pretty cool. Anyways, I was like their dad mom and sister in one. Even though some of them were older than me. This is my life and how it came to be the way it is, this is the story of its craziness.