inded my own business. If this is what he wants then so be it, it's not like I cared. I'm not

f my first-period class. The halls are filled with students chatting amongst each other, maybe if I spoke an

m 1

ide, to begin with. I didn't see name tags on the desks so I had hope that the teacher didn't assign seats. Last year, most of my teachers did and it was hell. Either I sat next to someone who

ever enough elbow space and I always ended up near the edge of the black desk because I didn't like people touching me or coming near me. It would s

y right hand and gaze at the teacher who i

t was weird that he got that close to me and nearly touched me but my body didn't respond in terror as it should have. I was grateful that

e students were female but then again AP Literature and the English subject was more of a woman's favorite subject, that's a statistic I didn't know and didn't care to k

ar enters the class. I swallow, trying to hide my face

Weston isn't even a werewolf and yet he tormented me as if I was

n if he recognized me but it's been three years. Maybe he won't be able to tell it's me, I ha

squints a bit before realization crosses his dark brown eyes. A smirk slips across his

o