REJECTED BY THE HOCKEY CAPTAIN NOW HE WANTS ME BACK

I held my tray tight in both hands and kept my eyes glued to the floor.

It convinced me that if I didn't look at anyone, they would not be drawn to look at me, too. That was my strategy, and on most days it worked just well enough to keep me from crying in public.

With a sigh, I took three careful steps toward an empty table in the far corner with my chosen decoy, where it waited near the trash cans. No one ever sat over there, which made it the safest spot in the room, and my feet hurried towards it.

It had to be why I did not see the foot that kicked out from under a nearby table until my sneaker caught the hard edge of the chair leg and I stumbled forward.

The tray I had held with so much care flew out of my grip, and my plate of spaghetti poured onto the hard tile floor, splashing red sauce and cold noodles all over my uniform skirt and gray hoodie.

The result was a loud crash that echoed through the room, and the cafeteria went silent for half a second before the room exploded into laughter.

“Watch where you're rolling, fatty,” someone shouted from the varsity table.

“Look at that. The floor ATE better than she did.” Another voice yelled.

I shut my eyes tight, wishing I could shut out all the noise in the same manner as my face burned with a heat so intense I thought my skin would melt right off. I dropped to my knees in embarrassment, and my hands shook as I tried to scoop the mess back onto the tray, the red sauce staining my fingers.

It was all some dirty, embarrassing ordeal, but I couldn't just leave it there. If a staff member caught me making a mess, I could get a demerit.

One demerit was a problem because three demerits meant losing my scholarship.

Losing my scholarship meant having to go back to my parents, when I would sooner swallow broken glass than return to being with them.

“Leave it, Avery,” a mean voice sneered from above me.

I looked up and saw Chloe West standing over me, her arms crossed over her white designer sweater as she stared me down with a hawkish look terrifying enough to make me decide the floor looked better.

"You're making a scene, as usual," she continued, tossing her pretty blonde hair over her shoulder. "Nobody wants to watch a wolfless freak crawl around on the floor."

"I'm just cleaning my food," I mumbled, keeping my voice as low as possible, while hoping she wouldn't hear enough of my answer to use my own words to tear me open with her usual sarcastic cruelty.

What I dreaded happened, nevertheless.

"You don't need any more food anyway," she said with a cold smirk.

A few girls standing behind her giggled, and I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted copper, which was all I could do to keep myself from attempting a meaner reply. That would only make things worse, as girls like Chloe always had the school's backing.

I finished wiping up the worst of the sauce with a napkin and pushed myself off the floor. My knees throbbed from hitting the hard tiles, but I ignored the pain. I tossed the ruined food into the trash can and walked toward the exit as fast as my legs could carry me.

Laughter followed me all the way down the hallway, and I hurried into the nearest girl's bathroom and locked myself inside a stall. There, I leaned my back against the plastic door and let out the breath I had been holding before looking down at my uniform.

The stain was huge, spread across the front of my sweater and skirt like a giant red bruise.

I pulled some paper towels from the dispenser, soaked them in cold water, and started scrubbing at the fabric, but minutes of scrubbing only transformed the stain into a wet, pink smear.

"Great," I whispered to myself. "Just great."

I let the paper towels fall in disappointment and then looked at my reflection in the mirror above the sink. The reflection staring back at me looked tired, with dark circles under my eyes, full cheeks, and a body that didn't fit into the sleek, athletic standard of the Northern Pack.

At nineteen, I was still wolfless, and that was bad enough.

Teenagers in Ravenhood shifted for the first time when they turned sixteen, and immediately found their wolves, joined pack runs, and learned how to fight.

Three years on, I had nothing.

No wolf spirit, no strength, and no speed.

To my parents, that made me a defective broken product.

They tolerated me until I turned eighteen, hoping every day that my wolf would awaken. When it didn't, they packed my bags, drove me to my aunt's small, run-down house on the edge of the pack territory, and dropped me off.

My aunt was kind, but she was poor and struggled just to pay for basic groceries. Getting this scholarship to Ravenhood Academy was my only chance at having a real future. For myself and the woman who helped raise me.

My thoughts returned to my reflection in the mirror, and I looked down and wiped a stray tear off my cheek with the back of my hand.

I hated crying. It didn't fix anything, and certainly didn't make people stop being cruel, so I smoothed down my wet hoodie, picked up my backpack, and slipped out the back door of the main building.

I needed air, and I needed to be somewhere away from the hallways.

My path led me towards the outdoor sports complex at the edge of the campus, where the air was crisp and chilly, a blatant reminder of the start of the autumn season.

In the distance, the loud clatter of ice skates and hockey sticks echoed from the outdoor rink, and my feet moved toward the bleachers automatically. I went and sat on the top row, pulling my hood up over my head to hide my face and my stained clothes.

Down on the ice, the academy's hockey team was in the middle of a practice session, and he stood right in the centre.

Everyone knew him well.

Lucas Ravengod.