Werewolf's Humanity

Good Sport, Part 3

Sammy found himself in school the next Tuesday. He got off the bus and shifted the used backpack that Gerry had given him, loaded up with brand-new school supplies and a lunch from Night Sky. She still seemed unhappy about this, but she still supported him and told Liam to watch out for him. Which would be hard to do, as they went their separate ways for class.

His first class of the day was English. He managed to learn a thing or two, but he didn't feel too confident when handing in his work. Next up, Algebra which nearly caused a panic attack. Fortunately, once he actually cracked open the book and recognized the equations, the crisis was averted. Art was... well, that turned out to be the most challenging of the morning classes, surprisingly. Everyone was given a blob of clay and "free creative expression" by the teacher who smelled like booze and kept his distance from the open windows. And what did someone who had spent their whole life bottling themselves up express, exactly? Sammy panicked and molded a sphere and stuck three fingers in, calling it a bowling ball. It was just the first thing that came to mind, not that the teacher really seemed to pay attention to everyones' results.

He was already looking forward to his break. Madison had shown him "Mean Girls" as her way of preparing him for High School. Awful movie, but it gave him some ideas. He burned through so much energy and worry at home just trying not to be disliked, that he already decided he wasn't going to concern himself with popularity in high school. He wasn't going to let himself care if he was popular or hated here. These humans were not part of his pack, and after he graduated he would likely never see them again. Their opinions didn't matter. He didn't need friends as much as he needed his family. He just needed to pass his classes and play football well enough to catch some talent scout's eye some day. So the best way to win this game would be not to play it at all. He found his way to the library, cracked open Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. He'd always wanted to give Mark Twain a try, but was never sure which one came first, this or Tom Sawyer.

Computer classes drew him out of his hiding spot after break. Those turned out to be useful, and he was halfway through photoshopping a composite image together when the lunch bell rang.

Well, he had managed to make it through a couple minefields this morning, time to see if he could sail through a hurricane unscathed. He retrieved his lunchbag from his locker, took a deep breath, and stepped inside to the smell of a thousand greases, both human and inhuman. Fortunately, it took a lot--a lot--to ruin a hungry werewolf's appetite. By now, the tortillas wrapped around his burrito beef should be achieving ideal saturation of meat juices--just enough to make the tortillas soft and moist, but not crossing soggy point of no return. The thought made his mouth water as he skirted around the hordes to an empty table in the far corner.

He had just managed to fit his mouth around one corner for an ambitious bite when one of the boys Sammy recognized from practice suddenly appeared.

"Sam, right? Jake Welling. Coach told us to make you feel welcome. Come on, come sit with us."

Sammy chewed his bite frantically and swallowed it, before the other boy was left waiting too long. "Uh... okay."

He soon found himself wedged in the middle of a CW drama, but with more acne; five large boys he recognized from the other evening, three of them with conventionally-attractive girlfriends beside them. Liam sat at the far side of the table, posture rigid, smelling of annoyance. What was his problem?

"Everyone, this is Sam Phoenix. This is my girl, Kristie," said the boy who'd brought him over. "That's Doug and Janet, Michael and Colleen, Artie and Taz, and of course you know Geronimo."

Sammy glanced towards Liam, momentarily knocked off-kilter to hear a pack name spoken aloud in human company. He must have encouraged them to use it as a nickname, since the broad-shouldered boy already growing a scraggly beard clearly could not have "Taz" written on his birth certificate. But then, given his new surname, Samson Phoenix had no room to criticize Liam.