Third period was English, one of the few classes Gabriel and I shared besides IT Tech. I was just stepping through the doorway when I spotted him a few paces ahead, sliding into his seat near the middle of the room.
The space between the door and my desk was crowded — students milling around, swapping books, and talking over one another. I was weaving through the gap when movement on my left caught my attention. One of the same guys from homeroom was cutting straight toward me, a smirk already in place. His path angled just enough to guarantee a collision.
He was going for the classic shoulder-check.
I didn’t step aside. Didn’t tense. I just kept walking, eyes forward, until his shoulder met mine with a heavy thump.
The wolf in me didn’t budge. Literally. My feet stayed planted, my balance steady, while he bounced back a half step like he’d just tried to ram a steel post.
His smirk faltered, and before I even thought about it, a low growl rumbled in my chest — quiet, but carrying that unmistakable don’t try that again edge.
His eyes flicked to mine for a fraction of a second, and something in them shifted. He looked away quickly, muttered something that wasn’t quite an insult, and skirted around me to get to his seat.
I walked to my desk like nothing had happened. Gabriel had turned in his chair to watch, his expression unreadable.
“You didn’t even move,” he said quietly.
“Guess I’m hard to knock over,” I replied, keeping my voice light.
He looked at me for another second, then turned back toward the front, but I caught the faint curve of a smirk on his lips.
The teacher’s voice rose above the chatter, starting the lesson, but the moment lingered — the kind of thing I knew Gabriel wasn’t going to forget.