Sometime between last night and early this morning, Amy and I made it home safely and crawled into our beds. By the time I woke up, it was already past noon. Judging by the icky, algae smell sticking to me, I must’ve dove into the river at some point, then decided to take it home.

“Your sister’s still in bed,” Sam said when I walked into the kitchen. She had something frying on a skillet that was aromatically fatty, rich, and so good. “Bacon and eggs. I know it’s a little late for breakfast, but proteins and lipids are crucial to recovering.”

“Thanks, Sam.” I plopped down while she poured a glass of orange juice for me. Before the plate had a second to cool, I shoveled it all into my mouth without chewing. “I’ve got a killer headache.”

“You want acetaminophen or ibuprofen?”

“Sure?”

She rattled a bottle of Advil and tossed it to me. “How about plans for the rest of the day?”

“Thinking about going to the mall after I shower.”

“Sounds fun. Don’t forget to brush your teeth. I can smell your dinner from last night ten feet away.”

After getting ready (brushing and flossing very thoroughly), I caught the 6 Line down the block to the Canyon Gate center. There were two malls in town, but the other was over a half-hour ride away, and half as big. As for actual plans, I didn’t have much in mind besides stopping by the game store or the pretzel stand. The bus let me and half a dozen other people off at the front entrance.

As I walked in, eyes glued to my phone screen, I bumped into someone barely past the doors.

“Hey, new guy.”

I frowned. Correction: someone bumped into me.

“Hey… Pierson. Didn’t see you there.”

“I see that.” He smiled. “What a coincidence. You get my note? I was worried your phone wasn’t working. Looks like it’s working fine.”

“Actually… I’ve been having some issues with my data since I moved here,” I lied. My gaze darted around our surroundings, searching for any of Pierson’s pack mates waiting in the wings. Nobody stood out. “Was, uh, actually on my way to the phone store to get it checked out. Coincidences, right?”

“You being honest?” A dark look crossed Pierson’s face, and he leaned toward me to speak in a low voice. “You know, an alpha can smell a lie.”

Just like that, my guard snapped up, and I couldn’t tell if his tone of voice was a warning, a threat, or a bluff.

“You’re pulling my leg,” I said.

“Yeah, I’m pulling your leg,” he laughed. Just like that, the tension cleared. “Phone store’s the other way, newbie. Here, I’ll take you there.”

“Oh, no, I don’t want to interrupt you,” I sheepishly declined. “You’ve got better things to do on a weekend, right?”

“I’m all done here. Got my birthday shopping done,” he dismissed.

“Well, happy birthday, then.”

“Not me, silly.” Pierson laughed again as he invasively walked beside me, herding me in the right direction with just his physical presence. That’s the thing about alphas—even when they weren’t yours, their peer pressure manifested like heat against your back. “It’s my little siblings’. You have any?”

“Just one. A sister.”

“Just one? Lucky. I have four, one older, the rest younger. And, all girls, too.”

Oof. “I wouldn’t want to be the last one up in the morning to shower. Must be hectic.”

“We manage with a bit of chaos. Let’s just say my parents planned on having three kids. The third one ended up being triplets. Makes birthday shopping something.” He held up the bags he was holding. From the amount, I could guess it was the triplets’ special day coming up.

“Hey, how about you?” he charmingly asked. “How’s your family life?”

I shrugged. “Nothing special. Live with my older sister Amy and her mom, Sam. Amy’s graduated and works.”

“Mom and dad?”

“It’s a private matter,” I replied with a frown.

To my surprise, he didn’t dig further. “You like East Garden so far?”

“Just a little different than the one I used to go to,” I downplayed.

“Where’re you from?”

“Small town two states over. Barely has a name—Sulphur Springs.”

The conversation went dry from there, mostly because I had less interest in getting to know Pierson than he had in getting to know me. As friendly as he sounded, I suspected he was softening me up for some ulterior motive. The awkward pause in talking didn’t seem to bother Pierson at all, though. He stayed beside me, close enough that passerby’s probably thought we were friends.

We eventually came to a stop in front of the phone store. He turned to face me, my hands in my pocket while his arms were loosely crossed.

“Alrighty, then,” he said. “Get that phone fixed. I look forward to seeing you at lunch sometime next week. I promise, you’ll find my table more interesting than Pointdexter corner.”

“They aren’t that bad.”

Pierson sharply snorted. “Not bad yet.”

I shrugged. Didn’t believe him on that one.

“Hey, the grind gets boring when you don’t make your own fun,” Pierson said, echoing sentiments I’d already heard before. “Give it a try. Expand your horizons. If your new friends can’t handle a little bit of jealousy, well. You’re your own man, aren’t you?”

Maybe his advice had some weight—there were people in the school outside of Cheryl and her pack mates. It would be smart to meet a few more folks. Not that that someone was going to be him.

“I’ll consider it, Pierson.”

“Do that.”

With a click of his tongue and a wink, he departed, the multitude of shopping bags on his arms rustling as he walked. Okay, I’ll admit, it wasn’t like I wanted to talk to him, but it was nice having someone to talk to.

🌕 | 🌗 | 🌑

For the rest of the weekend, I tried to pass off my brownies to Amy and Sam. Sam was nice enough to try a bite. Amy saw them, then told me she was on a new diet. With too many leftovers, I offered some to Cheryl first period on Monday.

“No offense, Collin, but I watched you bake those,” she said bluntly. “Hey, where in the book are you?”

“For English? Like, a few chapters,” I answered.

“Just a few?”

“Well, it’s… kind of hard to read.” She gave me a skeptical look, so I justified myself. “Not that I don’t understand, it’s just all old-timey. All the characters constantly argue about who’s the richest and prissiest when they’re all rich and prissy. I can’t tell if the book is serious or sarcastic.”

“Dripping with sarcasm,” Cheryl said. “Jane Austin defines sardonic in the Oxford Dictionary. Once you figure out the book’s a big roast on Victorian culture, it’s easier to read.” She drummed her fingers on her copy of the book. “By the way, I was thinking about doing our project on the portrayal of male and female characters’ attitudes toward matrimony. Or maybe something more of a social class commentary. Maybe we should go with something smaller and more focused, like Liz and Mr. Darcy’s relationship?”

I shrugged. “The lady’s pissed because he called her ugly. Personally, I’m pissed for her, too.”

This earned a chuckle from Cheryl. “You know, I think it’s interesting, how the two are written. The book was published nearly two hundred years ago, but Darcy’s portrayal continues to echo in male characters in our modern day romances. Broody, conveniently rich, misunderstood as evil when he’s secretly good, all the while hiding his true feelings under the guise of fake apathy and passive aggression. If only Elizabeth Bennets didn’t fade away to make room for the female cardboard cutouts in romance novels nowadays.”

Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

I nodded. “Uh-huh.”

“Well, Co, we’ve got until the end of next week to finish the book, and the weekend to start our presentation,” Cheryl continued. “Let’s chill at my place after school today and read. My parents got a new Keurig, and I have some of those reusable coffee pods.”

“I’m more of a hot chocolate guy. Caffeine makes me too jittery,” I confessed.

“How does peppermint sound?”

“Hell yeah. Sold.”

🌕 | 🌗 | 🌑

“Hot take—Mary Poppins is a time lord,” Hoff argued over lunch.

Leslie scoffed. “You’re being controversial for the sake of controversial.”

“But consider it.” Hoff talked with his fork as he outlined his points. “Her bag is bigger on the inside like a Tardis, her umbrella’s like a sonic screwdriver…”

As interesting as the argument was, I tuned out and zoned in on my salad instead. Its composition was bland and simple, composed of about four ingredients: lettuce, dressing, carrots, and red cabbage strips that colorfully enhanced the illusion of edibility.

David nudged me hard. “Hey Collin, you in there?”

“Mmhm?”

“You look deep in thought.”

“Not really. I’m just…” I scanned the lunchroom for an excuse. My eyes came to rest on a familiar, near-empty table with a specific someone sitting alone. “… thinking about trig class. Which I should be studying. Right now.” I got up with my tray.

“There’s only like five minutes of lunch left, dude.”

“Well, one of my classmates is actually here. I’m gonna just check in with them about some triangle-circle-unit-stuff.”

The answer satisfied David enough, and after scanning my tray and finding nothing left of value, he turned back to Hoff and Leslie’s debate. Cheryl was too consumed in her phone to notice me leaving, and considering we had the next period together, I didn’t bother saying goodbye. Selene, however, gave me an inquisitive look.

Hopefully, Pierson really was joking about the whole alphas-smelling-lies thing.

I sorted out my food waste into the compost and recycling bins before tossing the tray into the dish drop-off window. Then, I straightened my shirt, straightened my back, and made my way straight over to him.

As usual, Simon’s table was empty, though the fact didn’t seem to bother him. He took advantage of the open space to spill the contents of his bag on the table, leaving out some books and notebooks. He didn’t notice my approach, preoccupied with a novel held in one hand, and a spoonful of yogurt in the other.

Putting my hands in my pockets, I stood around for a bit waiting for him to notice me. I read the title of his book--The Picture of Dorian Gray. Didn’t look like the sort of book that had a lot of pictures, though.

“Hi there,” I eventually said.

Simon didn’t say anything at first. Either he was ignoring me, or was that caught up in his book. Hoping for the former, I cleared my throat and tapped on the table.

“Hey, uh, Simon?”

He almost jumped, tugging out a pair of earbuds that explained his initial ambivalence. Once he realized who I was, his expression shifted from surprise to an impassive mask that probably hide either apathy or annoyance.

“What?” he sharply asked.

“Anyone sitting here?” I replied.

“No.”

“Do you mind if I…?”

“Sort of.”

“Oh, well…” I shifted my bag on my back. Not a response I expected so swiftly. “Sorry to bother you, then.” I considered adding Jerkwad to the end but thought better of it, turning to leave instead.

“I won’t stop you, though,” he suddenly followed up, changing his tone. “Free country, sit where you want. Why, what’s up?”

“Honestly?”

“Preferably.”

“I see you sitting alone all the time, and I figured I’d come to say hi,” I confessed. “I know if I was you, I wouldn’t mind the company.”

“I doubt, if you were me, you would. But… I appreciate the thought.”

Simon looked at me now with his chin resting on his interlocked fingers, expectantly. Too late to backpedal now—his eyes were locked with mine now, holding me in place. Hesitantly, I sat down.

“Sorry, I’m awkward,” I admitted.

“I get it. It’s a plummeting feeling,” he said. “Isn’t it, being new?”

“Like the ground fell away.” The words slipped out of my mouth before they registered in my brain. “Why, where is this coming from?”

He flipped my words back on me. “Just trying to be good company. Not trying to offend you, just being empathetic.”

“That’s a strange way of putting it.”

“You’re the one who came here to pity me first, weren’t you?”

“No, that’s not—I came to say hi since you were nice and loaned me your book and all. You’re the one being…”

“Being what?”

Being… being…

“Supercilious,” I stammered.

I braced for his response. He looked at me weirdly for a bit, before suddenly breaking out into a laugh. Not a small chuckle—a long, drawn-out one that went until he was fully winded. It left me a little worried. “So it’s true.”

“What? What’s true?”

“You can read,” Simon clarified. “You picked it up from my Jane Austin’s book, didn’t you? It’s a very memorable word, Supercilious, written in a sea of very incisive wit.”

I blushed in embarrassment. “Maybe I learned it from somewhere else. I’m fully capable of cracking open a dictionary every once in a while.”

“Really? I’ve never met someone who reads the dictionary for recreation.”

“Look,” I interrupted. “I made some brownies in Home Ec, and I wanted to know if you’d be interested in any. You don’t have to. I’m trying to say thanks, is all.”

"Oh." Critically, he examined them before taking one off my hand. “They’re a little...”

“I tried.”

“I see that.” He turned it in his palms as if I handed him a malformed hockey puck. The bell rang.

“Well, my locker’s across the school, so I should get a head start and go,” I said. “Enjoy the brownie.”

“I will. Thank you.”

“Fine. I mean, you’re welcome.”

I took off, losing myself in the crowd.

🌕 | 🌗 | 🌑

After school, I went to Cheryl’s. For most of our time so far, I laid flat on Cheryl’s living room floor and paged through my book. Well, Simon’s book. My focus wandered.

“You doing okay there, bud?” Cheryl asked. She was curled up on the couch beneath a chunky knit blanket, book on her lap while cradling a Lilo and Stitch coffee mug in her hands.

“No. I mean, yeah. I’m doing okay. Just… still getting used to the writing.” I flipped back a page. “I keep forgetting what I’m reading right after I read it.”

“What chapter are you on?”

“I don’t remember, I lost track when I went back to look something up.”

“If you tell me what you do remember, I can probably help you get back on track,” Cheryl offered.

I shrugged. “Thanks. There’s other stuff on my mind, too. I talked to Simon during lunch.”

“I saw. How’d it go?”

“Bad.”

“Bad bad?”

I sighed. “I got a little mad and said some not nice things."

One of her eyebrows raised inquisitively. "Like...?"

"Called him supercilious,” I muttered into my cup.

Cheryl started choking mid-sip of her drink, resolving the blockage with a hysteric laugh.

“You can’t—ha—be serious!”

I rolled my eyes. “You better not tell anyone.”

“Lips. Sealed. Damnit, I got coffee on my page.” She padded her open book down with the hem of her shirt, drying out the damage. “Sick burn, though. Wish I thought of saying something like that to his face.”

“No, don’t. Please.”

Just then, the cuckoo clock on the wall went off, the brightly painted wooden bird popping in and out of its miniature cabin door a bunch of times. I’d never seen one before outside of Tom and Jerry cartoons. “I was trying to be nice, but things got… frustrating.”

“Sounds about right. Why did you talk to him anyway? I thought you said you were going to talk to a classmate about trig.”

“He’s in my trig class. And I don’t know.” I sighed. “I figured, since he was nice and loaned me his book, I’d be nice back. And…” There were a few more things I wanted to say, but they failed to configure themselves into coherent words.

“He has that effect on a lot of people,” she answered for me. “The way he just draws people in only to spit on them later. Is it his eyes? The curve of his lips? Maybe the enigma that shrouds his identity, or the mercurial roulette of his personality. Who knows.”

The joking sarcasm in her voice ended in a veiled, jaded tone. I rubbed my eyes. A sudden wave of fatigue overcame me—I had hit my limits in both studying and conversing. Cheryl started to look tired, too.

“It’s late,” I said. “I could go for some z’s.”

“Oh, right. The clock went off like six times, huh?”

“Wait, we’ve been here for eight hours?”

“No, silly. Just three. The bird cuckoos for every hour,” she explained. “So six cuckoos means six o’clock.”

“Right.” Cool and all, but checking a phone seemed simpler.

“Wanna do this again Thursday?” she asked.

“Wish I could, but I gotta meet with my therapist. Sam thinks it’s a good idea I see someone regularly while I readjust.”

“Hey, I get it.” Putting down her stuff, she gathered up all our mugs and tidied the couch. “Mental health is important. My dad’s a therapist, too. Hope he’s not yours.”

“Mine’s a lady, so no.” Thank the moon. “Class tomorrow then, Cheryl?”

“For sure. Speaking of my dad, want him to drop you off?”

“Oh, uh, I think I’m good—“

“Don’t worry, he’s not gonna vivisect your mind. Not for free, at least.” She smiled, dissipating my reservation. “I’ll be in the car with you the whole time. Stars forbid I leave you to the sharks.”

“You implying your dad is a stealthy, marine predator?”

“Yeah. If I let a boy stay over until nine, he turns them to chum. Dads, y’know.”

Cheryl’s dad drove a station wagon with faux wood panels, reminding me of the cars they used in 90s movies. I sat in the back, while Cheryl occupied shotgun, chatting cheerfully with her father. Sinking into the fake leather of the seats, I quietly looked out the window and restrained myself from participating—I always felt awkward around other people’s parents.

At one point, her father loudly cleared his throat and looked at me through the rearview mirror.

“So, Collin,” he began, “How long have you been in Garden City?”

“Since early summer,” I answered.

“Anything special bring you here?”

“Just family. They thought I’d do better in school here than in Sulphur Springs.”

“Sulphur Springs, huh?” He whistled. “That town has a total population of a Los Angeles city block spread out across a fifteen-mile sage flat. I’ve passed through there a few times on the way to Yellowstone. Ever been?”

“Once, when I was young. My parents weren’t too big on vacations.”

“Shame. Well, if you ever want to join us sometime, Cheryl’s always free to bring a friend.” When Cheryl’s father nudged her in the side, she gave him the stink eye. He replied with a What? combined with a shrug.

“You can drop me off here,” I piped up. “Just on the corner. My house is just across the road.”

“Alright. Take care and stay safe,” Cheryl’s dad said.

“Thanks, Mr. Maybrook.”

“Just call me Roger, Collin.”

Cheryl groaned. “See you tomorrow, Collin. Escape while you still can.”

“Yeah, see you, too.”

I got out, waving as Cheryl’s dad drove off. Once the car disappeared around the corner, and I was sure they weren’t going to turn around and come back, I started my walk to my apartment, four blocks away.