Category: High School Life Page 4 of 6

Gabriel’s room smelled faintly of old wood and guitar polish, a mix I was starting to associate with him. I was leaning back in his desk chair, stretching my legs out, when the door cracked open. Nathan stuck his head in, took one look at me, and froze like a deer that had just realized the shadow in the bushes had teeth. He didn’t say a word—just pulled the door shut again in one fluid retreat.

That was it. Gabriel and I both burst out laughing. Mine was low and rough; his was brighter, spilling over like he couldn’t help it.

 “God, you’ve got him trained,” Gabriel said, shaking his head.

I shrugged. “Guess he just knows when to leave a room.”

The laughter lingered for a beat, then Gabriel’s expression shifted. That sharp, curious light in his eyes returned—blue like mine, but without the dark wolf-ring circling the iris.

 “I need to ask you something,” he said.

 “Shoot,” I replied, still half-smirking.

He leaned forward on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees. “What was that today? In the hallway. I’ve never seen anyone move that fast. You weren’t even looking at him.”

I looked away, staring at the scuffed floorboards. “You don’t want to know.”

 “Yes, I do,” he said, voice firm now. “You’ve been stepping in for me since the first week I met you. And today… you didn’t just stop that guy. You knew exactly what was coming. That’s not normal.”

I hesitated. I’d spent years keeping this locked down, avoiding even a whiff of the truth. But his voice—steady, unafraid—cut through the part of me that wanted to dodge.

 “Gabriel…” I sighed, leaning forward so my forearms rested on my thighs. “When I was younger, my parents decided I wasn’t… normal. They didn’t mean quirky or weird—they meant dangerous. Or broken. Take your pick. They sent me to a place. A ‘hospital.’” I made the word sound like something rotten in my mouth.

His brows drew together. “Like… therapy?”

 “Therapy doesn’t strap you to a bed or lock you in a room for days at a time,” I said, my tone sharpening despite myself. “It doesn’t pump you full of drugs that make you forget your own name. It doesn’t tell you you’re a monster until you start to believe it.”

The room went very still.

I looked at him, and for a moment, I saw the question in his eyes—whether I was exaggerating. But the answer must’ve been written all over my face, because he didn’t ask.

 “They called it treatment,” I continued, softer now. “My parents called it necessary. I called it hell. And when I finally got out, I made sure they’d never have a reason to put me back in. Which meant hiding… all of it.”

 “All of what?” Gabriel pressed, but his voice had lost its edge—it was gentler now.

I shook my head. “Not yet. You think you want the full story, but once you hear it, you can’t unhear it.”

He studied me for a long moment, then leaned back slightly. “You’re wrong about one thing,” he said. “I do want the full story. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Something in my chest loosened, just a fraction. I almost smiled.

 “Careful what you wish for,” I murmured.

The day was dragging, the kind of heavy, gray Tuesday where everyone seemed just a little more irritable. Lunch had just ended, and the hallway was a wall-to-wall mess of bodies moving between periods. Gabriel was a few paces ahead of me, weaving through the crowd. I could tell by his posture — shoulders just a little too stiff, jaw clenched — that something was eating at him.

Then I saw why. One of the regular bullies, a wiry kid with a permanent sneer, cut across the flow of traffic to shoulder into him. Hard.

Normally, Gabriel would have kept moving, let it slide. But this time, he froze.

I caught the shift immediately — the way his head tilted slightly, like a predator tracking prey. His spine straightened, and I saw the tension flood his frame. And then… his hands.

The tips of his fingers had gone rigid, nails pushing longer and sharper in the space of a breath. Not enough for a clueless human to clock it right away — but enough for me to know exactly where this was going.

The bully smirked. “Watch where you’re—”

I was there before he could finish. One hand on Gabriel’s shoulder, a firm squeeze, my voice cutting in low and easy. “Hey. Come help me carry something to class.”

He didn’t move at first, still locked on the bully. For a moment, his lip twitched like he was about to snarl.

I tightened my grip, pushing just a little of my own calming weight into him. “Now.”

Finally, his eyes flicked to mine — and I could see the wolf right there behind them. Hungry. Ready.

We moved down the hall together, my hand still clamped to his shoulder like I was just guiding him along. The chatter behind us faded, and no one seemed to think twice about our exit.

Once we rounded a corner into an empty side hall, I let go. He immediately braced against the lockers, breathing sharp and heavy. The claws receded almost instantly.

“What the hell was that?” he asked, half a whisper, half a growl.

“That,” I said, keeping my voice low, “was you losing the leash in the middle of a hallway full of humans. You can’t do that.”

He looked at me, confusion mixing with leftover adrenaline. “I wasn’t going to—”

“Yes, you were,” I cut in. “And I’m telling you right now, if someone saw what I just saw, your life would be over. You think they’d let you walk out of here? They’d drag you somewhere you couldn’t walk out of at all. I know, Gabriel. I’ve been there.”

That shut him up. The defiance in his eyes softened into something else — something like understanding.

“I’m not saying don’t fight back,” I added, softer now. “I’m saying don’t get caught.”

He nodded slowly, running a hand over his face. “Guess I owe you for that one.”

“You’ll owe me for a lot more before this is over,” I said with a faint smirk, but inside I was still wound tight. If I hadn’t been there, that could have been the end of his freedom — before it even started.

I didn’t tell Gabriel where we were going. After school, we skipped the buses, cut through a few side streets, and took the long road out of town toward the coast. The late-afternoon light was sharp and gold, filtering through the pines until the trees opened up into a stretch of rocky shoreline far from the public beach.

No people. No noise but the crash of waves and the low call of gulls.

“This is… remote,” Gabriel said, glancing around.

“That’s the point,” I replied, stepping over a driftwood log and motioning for him to follow. “Out here, nobody’s going to see what happens if you lose control.”

His brow furrowed. “Lose control of what, exactly?”

“You’ll find out.”

We stopped on a flat stretch of sand scattered with dark stones. I faced him, studying his posture, his breathing, the way his eyes darted around like he could sense something coming.

“Remember how you felt the other day,” I said, “when you stared that guy down at the door and just knew he was going to move?”

“Yeah.”

“That was your wolf starting to stir. We’re going to wake it up a little more.”

His mouth opened like he wanted to argue, but I stepped in close, resting a hand against the center of his chest. “I want you to stop thinking about being human for a second. Think about power. Strength. Survival. The part of you that knows what you are, even if your mind’s been ignoring it.”

He swallowed hard. “And then what?”

“Then,” I said, letting a thread of my own wolf energy bleed into the air between us, “you let it take you.”

It started slow — the change in his breathing, the way his pupils widened, the subtle shifting of his stance like his body was aligning to something primal. His hands curled into fists. I could smell the adrenaline starting to spike.

Then it hit him.

His shoulders rolled back as the muscles along his arms thickened under the fabric of his hoodie. His jaw tightened, teeth bared in something between a snarl and a gasp. I caught the flicker of dark claws starting to edge from his fingertips before sliding back, like the wolf was testing the air.

“Holy…” His voice trailed off as his head tilted back slightly, eyes half-lidded. “God, this feels—” He cut himself off with a sharp inhale, chest rising like every breath was a hit of pure electricity.

I could see it in his face — the rush, the intoxication of raw strength and sharpened senses. His stance was looser now, confident, like the idea of anything hurting him was laughable.

“Don’t fight it,” I said. “Just feel it.”

His gaze snapped to mine, and for a moment there was no hesitation in him — just a raw, hungry thrill. “I feel like I could tear down the world right now.”

“That,” I said, “is your wolf talking.”

It lasted maybe a minute before I eased my hand back and the energy between us thinned. His breathing slowed, his stance softened, but the look on his face was somewhere between dazed and exhilarated.

“That was…” He shook his head, grinning despite himself. “Incredible. Like… better than anything.” His voice dipped, almost embarrassed. “And I mean anything.”

“Yeah,” I said with a faint smirk. “That’s the hook. Now you know why control matters — because that high can own you if you’re not ready for it.”

He nodded, still catching his breath. “When do we do it again?”

“Soon,” I promised. “But next time, we push it further.”

And from the way he looked at me then, I knew he wasn’t just ready — he was hungry for it.

The day had been dull up until last period. We were on our way out of the building, heading toward the bus line, when I noticed three guys hanging near the double doors — the same crowd that had been needling Gabriel since the start of the year.

They saw us coming.

“Well, well,” the ringleader said as we got closer, stepping into the middle of the doorway. “If it isn’t the music nerd and his… bodyguard.”

Gabriel didn’t slow down. “Move.”

The guy laughed. “Or what? Your boyfriend here gonna break my arm?”

I took a step forward, but Gabriel’s arm came up slightly — not touching me, just a quick flick of the wrist that said, I’ve got this.

The ringleader smirked. “What, you think you’re tough now just ‘cause the big guy’s been hovering over you? Newsflash, guitar boy — without him, you’re nothing.”

Gabriel’s tone was calm, almost casual. “You really think that?”

“Pretty sure.”

He stepped closer until they were just inches apart. Gabriel’s voice dropped low, but carried enough weight that I could hear every word. “You’re right. I’m not the strongest guy in the room.” He tilted his head slightly toward me. “But I don’t need to be. You’re gonna move, because you don’t want to find out what happens if you don’t.”

The guy’s smirk faltered. He looked past Gabriel — at me — and his Adam’s apple bobbed once.

“Your move,” Gabriel said.

For a second, it could have gone either way. Then the ringleader stepped aside, muttering something about being late for practice. His friends followed, and the doorway cleared.

As we walked through, I kept my voice low. “Not bad.”

He gave a small shrug, but I could see the faint grin he was trying to hide. “I just… knew he’d back off. Like I could see it in his face before it happened.”

“That’s instinct,” I said. “It’s waking up in you.”

He glanced over at me. “Feels good.”

“It should,” I told him. “But this was the easy part. Next time, you might have to prove it.”

Gabriel’s grin widened, and for a moment, he looked every bit the wolf I knew was buried under his skin. “Then I guess you’ll have to show me how.”

“Oh,” I said with a faint smirk. “I was counting on it.”

The next few days were different. Not in any way anyone else could point to, but I could feel it — and so could Gabriel.

We didn’t talk about the claws or the word werewolf where anyone could hear, but it was there in the way he’d glance at me and the corner of his mouth would twitch like we were sharing a joke no one else was in on. It was in the way I caught him studying people — sizing them up — like he was starting to think about things in terms of instinct instead of just habit.

And it was definitely in the way he walked through the halls. Gabriel wasn’t the kind to puff himself up, but the slouch was gone from his shoulders. His eyes met people’s now, steady and unflinching, like he knew something they didn’t.

The bullies noticed, of course.

In homeroom, one of them — the same letterman-jacket clown from the first week — muttered something about “guitar boy” under his breath as we passed. Gabriel didn’t even blink. He stopped, turned his head, and just stared at the guy for a few seconds. Not saying a word. Just looking.

The guy’s smirk twitched. Then he glanced past Gabriel… and saw me.

I didn’t growl, didn’t even change my expression. But my gaze locked on him like I was picking the exact spot I’d sink my teeth into if I decided to make it interesting.

That was all it took. He broke eye contact and found somewhere else to be.

When we sat down, Gabriel leaned over and said quietly, “It’s weird. I don’t even have to say anything now.”

“That’s because they know I will,” I replied, just as quietly. “For now.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, like he was turning that over in his mind. “And later?”

“Later,” I said with a faint smile, “you won’t need me to.”

The rest of the day, we carried that energy with us — the silent, unshakable fact that whatever came at us, it was going to have to go through both of us. And when you know you’ve got someone like that in your corner, the world just… changes.

Nathan’s footsteps had barely faded down the hall when Gabriel dropped from the top bunk, landing in front of me with a soft thud. He didn’t look scared — not the way most people would. His expression was steady, almost too steady, like he’d been rehearsing this moment in his head since the first time he saw me do something impossible.

“Alright,” he said quietly. “Tell me.”

I leaned back in the chair, arms crossed. “Tell you what?”

His eyes narrowed. “Don’t play dumb, Thane. I just saw claws. Not the fake kind. Not a trick. Real claws. And I’ve seen everything else — the reflexes, the way people clear out around you, how the wildlife bolts when you’re near. You can’t tell me that’s nothing.”

For a moment, I didn’t answer. My pulse was steady, but the wolf in me was pacing, alert. This was the line — the place where things changed.

“You sure you want to know?” I asked. “Once you do, you can’t unknow it.”

“I’m sure,” he said without hesitation. “I’ve felt something for as long as I can remember. Not like this, but… close. Like something’s there under my skin, waiting. If you know what that is — I need to hear it.”

The room felt smaller somehow, like the air was holding its breath.

“I’m a werewolf,” I said finally. No buildup, no dancing around it. Just the truth.

Gabriel’s face didn’t twist in disbelief or amusement. He just stared at me, blue eyes sharp and searching. “You mean like… full moon, howling, silver bullets?”

I shook my head. “Not like the movies. I can change when I want to. I’ve got control. And yeah, I’ve got the claws, the teeth, the strength. The healing. All of it. It’s not a curse. It’s… what I am.”

He was silent for a few seconds, like he was weighing my words against everything he’d seen. “And that thing I’ve felt all my life…”

I met his gaze. “It means you’ve got it too. You just haven’t woken it up yet.”

Something flickered in his eyes then — not fear, not even surprise. Recognition.

“So you’re saying I’m like you,” he said.

“I’m saying you can be,” I corrected. “If you want to be. And if you’re ready for it.”

He sat down on the edge of the bed, looking at his hands like they might change if he stared hard enough. “You’re gonna have to show me.”

I nodded once. “Yeah. I figured that’s where this was going.”

And in that moment, I knew — whether he realized it or not — that my pack had just doubled in size.

Dinner had been uneventful — good food, polite conversation, and the kind of warm family atmosphere I’d never had much of growing up. Afterward, Gabriel and I ended up back in the bedroom, him stretched out on the top bunk, me leaning back in the desk chair flipping through an old music magazine.

Nathan came in not long after, bouncing a small rubber ball off the wall with a sharp thwack. Over and over. The sound echoed in the small room, just enough to be annoying.

“Can you not?” Gabriel said, looking down over the bunk rail.

Nathan grinned. “What? Am I bothering you?” The ball smacked against the wall again, louder this time.

“Nathan,” Gabriel warned.

“Oh, come on,” Nathan said, eyes flicking to me like he was daring me to get involved. “Your new buddy doesn’t mind. Do you?”

Thwack.

The ball sailed just a little too close to Gabriel’s guitar stand this time. I stood without thinking, the chair rolling back into the desk. “Enough.”

Nathan smirked and, instead of stopping, wound up for an even harder throw — straight toward the guitar.

The wolf moved before my brain did.

My hand shot out and caught the ball in midair with a sharp slap, but that wasn’t the part that froze both of them.

For the barest moment, my fingers weren’t fingers. Dark, curved claws tipped them, glinting under the overhead light. The tendons in my wrist stood out, the skin along my knuckles rippling like something under it was ready to tear through.

Nathan’s face went white.

I closed my hand fully around the ball, the claws retracting as quickly as they’d come. When I opened it again, my fingers looked perfectly normal. I tossed the ball lightly back to him. “Catch.”

He flinched so hard it bounced off his chest and rolled under the bed. Without a word, he backed toward the door, eyes wide and locked on me the whole time. Then he was gone.

The silence in the room was thick.

“You gonna tell me I imagined that?” Gabriel asked finally, his voice low and even.

I met his gaze for a long moment. “If I did, would you believe me?”

“No,” he said without hesitation.

I sat back down in the chair. “Then I guess we’re past pretending.”

He didn’t press further — not yet — but the look in his eyes told me he was done wondering. Now, he wanted answers.

The smell of roasted chicken drifted up the stairs while Gabriel and I were sitting on the floor of his room, going through an old box of band T-shirts he’d collected over the years. Nathan was on the lower bunk, glued to his phone and pretending not to listen.

His grandmother’s voice carried from below, calling us to dinner. Gabriel stood first, then I got to my feet. Nathan looked up just long enough to realize I was standing between him and the door. His eyes flicked away instantly, and he slid off the bed without a word, pressing himself flat to the wall to give me as much space as possible.

Gabriel caught it, the faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Looks like you made a fan,” he murmured.

“Guess I’m just unforgettable,” I said, deadpan, as we filed into the hall.

We headed downstairs together, Nathan trailing behind us with a sudden and very obvious gap in his stride. The warm light from the kitchen spilled into the hall, the sound of plates clinking and his grandfather’s low voice drifting from the dining room.

But as soon as my foot crossed the kitchen threshold, the change hit. Out on the back porch — the one Gabriel had told me was usually packed with squirrels, blue jays, and mourning doves waiting for his grandmother’s handouts — the crowd of animals froze. Then, in a sudden burst of motion, they scattered.

Blue jays shrieked and bolted to the trees. Squirrels leapt off the railings, tails whipping. The doves wheeled into the air like they’d been spooked by a hawk.

His grandmother frowned, glancing out the sliding door. “Now that’s strange. They were just sitting out there a minute ago.”

Gabriel leaned on the counter, keeping his tone casual. “Weird.”

I picked up a stack of plates and started helping set the table. “Guess something scared them off.”

When his grandmother turned back to the oven, Gabriel stepped in just close enough for only me to hear.

“They’re not the only ones,” he murmured.

I shot him a sharp look, but he didn’t flinch. His voice stayed quiet but certain. “Whatever you are, Thane… I’m not afraid of you.”

The wolf in me stirred, not in warning, but in recognition. And for the first time, I wondered if that might be more dangerous than fear ever could be.

We’d been in Gabriel’s room maybe ten minutes after the conversation when the door swung open without a knock. Nathan stood there, phone still in hand, wearing that smirk that said he’d been looking for trouble.

“Hey, Gabe,” he drawled. “Dad wants you to help him in the garage.”

Gabriel didn’t look up from restringing his guitar. “Tell him I’ll be down in a bit.”

Nathan ignored that. He sauntered in, leaning against the bunk bed frame. “So this is the big new friend, huh? Doesn’t say much for a guy who takes up that much space.”

I kept my eyes on him, expression neutral. “You always this charming?”

He snorted. “You should hear what people say about you in the neighborhood.” He glanced at Gabriel, smirking wider. “Bet he doesn’t even know half of it.”

“Knock it off, Nathan,” Gabriel said, his tone sharp.

But Nathan wasn’t done. He reached over and plucked one of Gabriel’s guitar picks right off the desk, twirling it between his fingers. “You still playing that stupid band stuff? Nobody’s ever gonna care. You should just—”

I was standing before he could finish, the chair legs scraping across the floor. Nathan froze mid-sentence as I closed the distance in two slow steps.

I didn’t touch him. I didn’t need to.

I leaned in just enough for him to see the change in my eyes — that subtle sharpening, the predatory focus. My voice stayed calm, almost quiet, but there was no mistaking the edge under it.

“You’re gonna put that back where you found it,” I said, “and you’re going to leave your brother alone.”

Nathan’s smirk faltered. “Or what?”

“Or you’re going to find out why the wildlife doesn’t come near me.”

He blinked, the color draining from his face. Slowly, without breaking eye contact, he set the pick back on the desk. Then he stepped backward toward the door, hands slightly raised in mock surrender — but his eyes stayed wide, calculating.

“Whatever,” he muttered, disappearing into the hall.

The door clicked shut behind him.

Gabriel was watching me carefully. “You didn’t even touch him.”

“Didn’t have to.” I sat back down. “Some people learn faster when they scare themselves.”

He didn’t argue, but I could feel his curiosity sharpen again — like he’d just seen another piece of the puzzle and had no idea where it fit.

The bus ride back to Barnstable was quiet. Gabriel sat beside me, not saying much, just drumming his fingers absently on his guitar case. It wasn’t until we stepped off at his stop that he finally spoke.

“You wanna come over for a bit?” he asked. “It’s… not much, but I’ve got some stuff I wanna talk to you about.”

The way he said it made it sound less like an invitation and more like a challenge. I thought about it for a second, then shrugged. “Sure. Lead the way.”

We cut down a side road, then into a quiet neighborhood lined with tall pines. His house was set back from the street — a two-story Cape Cod style with gray shingles, white trim, and a wide front porch. It looked lived-in, comfortable, with the faint scent of woodsmoke drifting from the chimney.

His grandmother greeted us at the door, warm smile and kind eyes. “Oh, hello there! You must be Thane. Come on in, sweetheart.” She waved us through to the kitchen, where the smell of something baking hung in the air.

As we passed through the dining room, Gabriel’s grandfather gave a small wave from his recliner, a Red Sox game murmuring on the TV.

Out back, beyond the sliding glass doors, I could see the porch — bare, except for a few empty feeders swaying slightly in the breeze.

Gabriel’s grandmother frowned. “That’s odd. The blue jays were out here all morning. Squirrels too.”

“Maybe they’re napping,” Gabriel said lightly, though I caught the faint, curious glance he sent my way.

His dad came in then — tall, bearded, and carrying a bass guitar in one hand like it was an extension of himself. “Hey, son,” he said warmly, ruffling Gabriel’s hair before turning to me. “You must be Thane. I’m Jim. Welcome.”

“Thanks,” I said, shaking his hand. His grip was firm, but not testing — the kind of handshake from a man who’s confident without needing to prove it.

We went upstairs to Gabriel’s room, which he shared with his younger brother Nathan. Nathan was perched on the lower bunk, messing with his phone, his expression already carrying that bored, almost mocking teenage look.

“Who’s this?” Nathan asked without looking up from the screen.

“A friend,” Gabriel said flatly.

Nathan smirked faintly and muttered something under his breath that I didn’t catch. He stayed there for a couple minutes, scrolling and chuckling to himself, before finally standing up and leaving the room without a word.

The moment his footsteps faded down the hall, Gabriel leaned over and shut the door. When he turned back, his eyes were locked on me — steady, unblinking.

“Alright,” he said quietly. “We’re alone. So… what are you?”

I froze for a fraction of a second. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” He sat on the edge of his bed, elbows resting on his knees. “The pencil. The milk carton. The way people move out of your way in the hallway without knowing why. That… thing you do when someone gets too close.”

I leaned back against the wall, folding my arms. “You’ve been thinking about this a lot.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Because none of it’s normal. And I’m not an idiot, Thane.”

Something about the intensity in his voice made me shift in my seat — uncomfortable, which was rare for me. “Maybe I’m just… different.”

“Yeah,” he said again, softer this time. “You are.” He paused. “So am I. I just don’t know why yet.”

For a long moment, we just stared at each other. Then I looked away, breaking the contact. “It’s complicated.”

He sat back slowly, as if accepting that was all he’d get — for now. But I could tell he wasn’t done asking. Not by a long shot.