SEE, this is how it’s done.
I walked into the restroom, stepping up to a urinal beside a guy with long black hair and a sexy face. I didn’t even bother with the façade of having to pee, instead being my usual self (completely and totally creepy) and peering over to see what he was doing.
Oh my God, his—
He looked up at me suddenly, frowning, his eyes black bottomless pits of darkness. “Dude, are you looking at my dick?”
I raised an eyebrow, much like my dad would do. “Yeah, you got a problem with that?” Now was decision time—he’d either call me a fag and storm out or just plain punch me in the face.
He shook his head as if he couldn’t believe what I’d just said. “Dude, that is so”—a grin broke out on his face, a cute little twinkle in his eye—“hot.”
Ha! See there, best friends for life.
Now that’s how it’s done.
WITHIN five minutes, I think I knew everything there was to know about my new bestie.
His name was Caleb Jacobs, he was sixteen, had lived here in England for almost his entire life (the lucky bastard; I’d been shipped all the way here from Texas), his favorite colors were purple and black, and he was there to get smarts.
“Don’t we have assembly today?” Caleb asked, grabbing my hand and tugging me out of the restroom into the corridor.
“Hell if I know,” I said, using my free hand to twirl that one stupid strand of curly hair that wouldn’t straighten around my finger. Stupid hair. Just had to be defiant.
“Let’s go ask.” Caleb tugged me down the hallway, and I obediently followed. Not like I had anything better to do. “I think the main office is this way….”
I completely ignored the distasteful looks I received from the guys we passed in the halls. You can tell I’m gay at first glance; it’s not like I try to hide it. I wear rainbow something every day. You don’t even want to know how much rainbow junk I’ve got. Today just happens to be arm warmers. You know the ones that go over your hands like fingerless gloves but go all the way up your arms? Yep, those. I’m proud of who I am. Why would I try to hide it?
I stood silent as Caleb talked to the (sexy) guy behind the desk. He looked kinda young, maybe in his twenties?
“Hi, I’m Vick. How can I help you guys?” He smiled warmly at the pair of us, and it wasn’t one of those manufactured plastic smiles either. It was genuine.
“Hey, uh, do we have assembly today?” Caleb asked, pressing the palm of his free hand flat onto the desk. The tips of his hair barely brushed his shoulders. Mine was a little bit longer than that, but a lot shorter when I just left it curly. (Which I never did, by the way.)
“We sure do,” Vick said cheerily. “Oh wait!” he said when Caleb turned to leave. “Did you two just meet, or…?” he asked curiously.
“Just met,” I said when Caleb just stared at him blankly.
“Oh, well, you guys seem really close. I’ll pull some strings to see if I can get you guys to room together. What’re your names?” He pulled out a notepad and a pen, scribbling down our names as we said them. “All righty then! Come back if you need anything. And I mean anything.” He winked at us, and Caleb blushed bright red.
“O-oh no we’re no—”
“Don’t worry.” I grinned. “I stocked up on that shiz before I came here.”
Vick laughed, pressing a finger to his temple, then pointing it at me. “Smart man. Go on. Assembly starts in a few minutes. I’ll talk to you guys later.”
I looked over Vick’s face for a moment, pale-green eyes and short, slightly spiked hair. I briefly wondered what he was before Caleb forcibly tugged me out of the office and onward toward the auditorium.
“Heh. He thought we were lovers.” I snickered when Caleb blushed again. He’d already told me he was straight, but it was fun to make fun of him a little.
Vicari Private School of England—For Boys.
They just had to tag that “For Boys” on the end. Couldn’t have girls trying to squeeze their little asses in here. Nope. Sure couldn’t.
What they forgot to add was that this school was very selective. Only picked the best. I guess this is a good time to mention that this school is for mythical creatures and such. If you didn’t know the code word(s), you didn’t get in. Hell, I myself didn’t know it.
Anyway, since I’ve yet to share, my name is Charlie Foster. I’m sixteen years old, born the first of May, originally from Pearland (a used-to-be suburb on the outskirts of Houston), Texas. I like Goldfish (not Cheez-Its, ’cause they’re all salty and gross), my hair is a golden-platinum-type blond color—usually curly, but I straighten it every chance I get—and my eyes are this really weird bluish-purple color. My pupils are all slantylike, most of the time anyway, if you discount when I get excited and they go all wide and round. On a scale of one to ten, I rate myself a seven (ten being the highest). I’m not short, if you compare me to a tallishy person. I’m more of a medium height. Oh, and yes, I’m a shape-shifter.
Before you think it, no. I can’t shift into anything I want at any given time. That, my friend, takes skill, and I’m not in the mood. I can barely shift into a cat when I get ready. My dad’s a shape-shifter, and my mom’s all humany. So I’m only half. My daddy’s a werewolf—half, anyway—and my Uncle Luke is his Mate. They all live back in Texas with the bright sun and sexily tanned guys, while I’m here in England all on my lonesome.
Oh, I’m sorry, did I confuse you? Well, here’s a little backstory for those of you who’re confused as fuck.
My dad—Max. He’s my biological dad, but I didn’t figure that out until I was almost four. He was always there, though, in his cat form, disguised as my daddy’s pet. Apparently, he’d been my daddy’s pet long before he slept with my mom. He—Max—was fourteen when he slept with Erin, my mom, and she had been twenty. He had lied to her and told her he was eighteen, and she didn’t know about his shifty status until years after I was born. When she’d figured out he was fourteen after she’d told him she was prego, she’d wanted nothing to do with him. Max was hurt; he was in love with her, so he stuck around anyway (not like he’d had a choice, since he was my daddy’s pet) and watched over me that way.
Max still loves Erin now, but it isn’t the same because she’s married to suck-ass Trevor, and Max has traveled to the dark side… where he likes to fuck boys instead of girls.
My daddy—Mac. He’s really my uncle, but when I was little, I called him Daddy for some reason, and it just kinda stuck. Uncle Luke is his Mate. (No, Mac and Luke aren’t related. I just call him that.) But he’s Alpha of this pack—it’s supposed to be one of the most elite or whatever. The first on that list of packs being the one owned or supervised by Mac’s dad. His name is Killian or whatever. Hasn’t aged a day since he hit twenty. The sexy mofo.
But anyway, that should clear up any confusion you may have had. If it didn’t, sucks for you, ’cause that’s all I know.
Oh yeah, I forgot to ask. “Hey, Caleb, what are you again?”
He glanced over at me where I was seated beside him. We were in the auditorium now, listening to all the teachers and staff (who all happened to be young-looking, hot, sexy men. I could get used to this… but not this. Stupid stiffie.) carrying on about the school program.
“Vampire,” Caleb said, searching my face for a reaction.
Too bad for him, I was good at hiding emotions. I bit back the surprise, instead grinning widely.
“Oh, cool. You wanna suck me?”
Caleb blushed, and I cackled loudly. Everyone turned to look at us.
Heh. Stupid creatures and their superhearing.
