The Humvee’s diesel rumble turned heads in the lot the way it always did, black and heavy against the rows of tired sedans and hand-me-down SUVs. Gabriel climbed out with his guitar case, I followed, and already half the crowd was parting wide. Word had gotten around about earlier.
That’s when I noticed him.
Shorter than us — maybe 5’11” — with black hair that fell neatly across his forehead and a backpack slung too tight, straps still stiff from the store. His eyes kept darting everywhere like he was trying to memorize the entire school in one breath. New kid. He looked soft-spoken even before he said anything — the kind of person who didn’t push into a room, just sort of stepped carefully into it.
And of course, the bullies smelled it first.
“Well, well,” one of them drawled, swaggering across the asphalt. “Look what wandered in.”
Another cut him off on the other side. “Hey, newbie, got your lunch money ready? Or do we gotta shake it out of you?”
The kid froze mid-step, color draining from his face. His hands fumbled at the strap of his backpack like he couldn’t decide whether to hold onto it or drop it and run. He tried to answer — his lips parted — but no sound came out.
The pack of hyenas closed in.
That’s when Gabriel and I moved.
We didn’t say a word at first, just stepped between them and the new kid, shoulder to shoulder. The laughter cut short like somebody had pulled the plug on it.
“Back off,” I said, voice flat, low.
The ringleader sneered, but it was thinner this time. “What, you two running a babysitting service now?”
Gabriel didn’t answer. He just leveled that stare of his — sharp, blue, ocean-before-a-storm — and the sneer cracked. I added the weight of mine, letting the wolf edge sharpen it just enough.
The silence dragged until even the dumbest of them felt it in their gut. They peeled away, muttering excuses, pretending they had somewhere better to be.
The new kid exhaled hard, clutching his backpack strap like it was a lifeline. “Um… thanks,” he said, voice quiet but sincere. Kind.
“No problem,” Gabriel said, shifting his case.
I studied him for a moment. Scared, polite, soft around the edges. No street sense at all — but something about him tugged at me anyway. Not recognition, not yet. But the wolf inside me stirred restlessly, pacing.
“Mark,” he offered finally, like it was the only thing he could think to say. “Mark Harcourt. My dad’s the new pastor at First Lutheran, over in West Barnstable. We just moved into the parsonage.”
Gabriel gave a short nod. “Gabriel. That’s Thane.”
“Nice to meet you,” Mark said, his smile tentative but warm — the kind of smile that didn’t know how to fake anything.
We split after that. Gabriel and I climbed back into the Humvee, doors shutting heavy, the engine’s growl covering the silence between us. Mark headed toward the office, probably waiting for his folks.
But before I pulled out of the lot, I glanced back. He was standing there on the curb, shoulders hunched like he was trying to take up less space than he had. He didn’t know it yet, but the wolf in me already did.
He wasn’t just another kid.
As we rolled out, Gabriel tilted his head at me. “You’re thinking hard.”
“Yeah,” I said.
“About him?”
I kept my eyes on the road, the Humvee chewing through gears.
“There’s something about him,” I said quietly. “He’s not just different. He’s wolf.”