The lunch line smelled like overcooked vegetables and fryer oil, but not in a way that made me want to turn around. Cape Cod Tech’s cafeteria wasn’t fancy, but it was big, loud, and full of movement — a hunting ground of sorts, if you thought about it.
Today’s special was Salisbury steak. Or at least, that’s what the sign claimed. The slabs on the serving tray were dark brown and glistening under the heat lamp, and while I’d had my share of questionable cafeteria food, this actually smelled… decent.
The lunch lady, a short woman with hair the color of cigarette ash and laugh lines deep enough to store secrets, plopped one onto my tray with a scoop of mashed potatoes.
“Any chance,” I said, lowering my voice conspiratorially, “that a starving new kid could talk you into a little extra?”
Her eyes narrowed, but the corner of her mouth twitched. “Oh, I see. Think you’re charming, do you?”
I leaned on the counter just enough to make it look like I had all day. “No, ma’am. I know I’m charming.”
She laughed — actually laughed — and before I knew it, she was sliding not one, but three extra slabs onto my tray.
“Don’t say I never did nothing for you,” she said, waving me along.
I found a table near the back wall, the kind where you could see the whole room but not get boxed in. The wolf liked vantage points. I’d barely taken my first bite when I saw him come in — Gabriel, hood still up, moving with that cautious awareness of someone who’s learned to read a room before stepping too far into it.
He made it three steps before a kid “accidentally” shoulder-checked him hard enough to jolt his tray. Gabriel didn’t spill anything, but the other guy smirked like he’d won a prize. Gabriel’s expression didn’t change, but I caught the faint flare of his nostrils, the kind you get when you’re swallowing down the urge to snap.
He scanned the room, saw me, and after a pause that felt like a choice, he came over.
“Mind if I sit?”
I shrugged toward the empty seat. “Go ahead.”
For a while, we ate in silence, the cafeteria noise filling the gaps. He picked at his food like he was just killing time. I’d already finished one slab and was starting on a second when I decided to break the quiet.
“You know,” I said, “this stuff’s not bad. I was expecting worse.”
He gave a small, almost amused snort. “Guess you’re easier to please than I am.”
I speared another bite, chewed, then slid one of my untouched slabs across the table toward him. “Here. You look like you could use it more than I can.”
He glanced from the meat to me, suspicion flickering in his eyes before giving way to something else — surprise, maybe. “You’re… giving me food?”
“Yeah. Unless you’re vegetarian, in which case I’ll take it back and reconsider everything I thought I knew about you.”
A smile ghosted over his face before he caught it. “No. I’m not vegetarian.” He pulled the tray closer and took a bite. “Huh. You’re right. Not bad.”
We didn’t talk much more, but something eased in his posture. And for the first time since I’d arrived on this island, I felt the faint outline of a pack forming — small, fragile, but real.
The wolf in me approved.