Chapter 2

I'm almost past them, the scent of their perfumed malice heavy in the air, when the icy splash hits me square in the back. Cold liquid seeps through my clothes, and I can't suppress the flinch that ripples through my body. A chorus of cackles erupts from behind me as I grip my books tighter to my chest, a feeble shield against their spite.

"Oops," one of them singsongs, her voice dripping with mock apology. "Did we make the little freak wet?"

I press my lips together, tasting the metallic tang of anger on my tongue. It's a struggle, a war within myself not to let the beast out, not to give in to the primal urge to show them just how much of a 'freak' I can be. But I can't—not here, not now. My parents' warnings echo in my head, the weight of responsibility they carry as Betas, the need for discretion in our dual lives.

"Pathetic," I manage to mutter under my breath, though it sounds more like a growl than I intend. With every ounce of control I possess, I pivot on my heel, letting my wet hair swing around and hide the heat in my eyes.

The school entrance looms ahead, a temporary sanctuary from the tormentors at my back. My heart hammers against my ribcage, a wild rhythm attempting to match my hurried steps. This isn't new; this dance of derision has played out more times than I care to count. But familiarity doesn't dull the sting, doesn't ease the frustration that claws beneath my skin.

My locker comes into view, the metal door a silent witness to the countless times I've sought refuge and respite within its narrow confines. My combination flows through my fingers from memory, practiced movements providing a momentary distraction from the humiliation soaking into my clothes. I swap my drenched shirt for the spare I keep stashed away—a routine born out of necessity, yet it does little to cleanse the day's taint.

"Skyler," I whisper to myself, a mantra of resilience, "just another day." And with that, I close the locker door a little harder than necessary, the sound reverberating down the empty hallway, a testament to my enduring spirit.

The locker room is empty, the echo of my footsteps a stark contrast to the cacophony of taunts still ringing in my ears. My hands tremble slightly as I unzip the sodden jacket, the fabric heavy with more than just spilled drinks. It’s off in seconds, discarded like the weight of their scorn, but the damp chill clings to my skin.

"Keep it together," I mutter under my breath, peeling away layers stained with mockery and disdain. The spare clothes—always a size too big, always neutral colors—feel like armor as I hurriedly slip them on. They're a shield, both physical and metaphorical, against the barbs that seem as keen to find flesh as any wolf's fangs.

I stare at my reflection, the girl with silver eyes staring back from behind dark lenses. She's seen worse, endured more. This won't break her. Can't break her. There's steel in those eyes—a strength forged in the fire of relentless adversity.

"Skyler, don't let them see," I urge myself, voice steady despite the quiver in my heart. "They can't touch what's inside."

With one final glance at the mirror, ensuring no trace of vulnerability shows, I step out into the corridor. The fluorescent lights are too bright, too harsh, but my sunglasses keep the glare at bay. I blend into the stream of students, a ghost among the living.

My pace is measured, each step an exercise in control. I avoid the gazes that flicker my way, ignore the hushed whispers that feather the air like arrows seeking their mark. They know who I am, what I am, and they revel in it—the daughter of Betas, the anomaly of nature.

"Skyler," they whisper, though they think I cannot hear. "Freak."

But I do hear. I always hear. And yet, I walk on, head held high, a silent testament to the resilience that has become my closest companion. It's just another day, and I am Skyler—the unyielding, the undaunted. Let them watch, let them wonder. Today, like every day before it, I refuse to be broken.

The chalk's screech on the blackboard tugs me back to the present, wrenching my thoughts from the morass of earlier humiliations. I focus on the teacher's drone about historical politics — a welcome distraction from the undercurrents of judgment pulsing through the classroom. My fingers grip the pen until my knuckles blanch, etching notes with a precision that belies my inner turmoil.

"Skyler, are you with us?" The teacher's voice slices through the lecture, and I can feel dozens of eyes swivel in my direction.

"Always," I reply, my voice a calm veneer over the tempest within. A few snickers ripple through the room, but I channel my attention back to the lesson. Every factoid is an anchor, each new piece of knowledge a shield against the whispers. They think they can chip away at me, but my resolve is iron-cast.

When the bell finally rings, its chime is like a release valve for the pressure building inside me. Shoulders squared, I gather my books and slide out of the classroom, evading the lingering stares.

Outside, the sun sits high in the sky, its beams harsh even with my sunglasses protecting my sensitive silver eyes. I navigate the crowded courtyard, seeking refuge from the cacophony of adolescent chaos. There's a small grove of trees beyond the football field, a haven where no one bothers to look. That's where I find my solace.

Settling beneath the shade of an old oak, I pull the lunch bag from my backpack, fingers brushing the fabric with gratitude. Inside, nestled among ice packs, is a Tupperware container filled with tender, cooked rabbit and freshly picked strawberries. It's a simple meal, yet each bite is infused with the care my mother took in preparing it — a silent message of love and understanding amidst a world that often feels hostile.

I savor the flavors, letting the sweetness of the strawberries contrast with the savory meat, a quiet celebration of the familiar. Here, in this secluded spot, I am just Skyler — not the oddity, not the target — just a girl trying to get through another day. With every mouthful, I draw strength from the knowledge that there's more to me than their taunts, more to my story than the scars they try to leave.