Private school.
Never once in his life did Nikolas DuBois predict that he would end up in this place. But, as his uncle reminded him this very morning, this is where you land yourself if you know the right people.
Screw that.
It never fails that his uncle “knows the right people ” in whatever town they end up in next. Either some “old business partner” or an “old friend” or even an “old flame,” only one thing is constant: they’re all old. All Nikolas can hope is that they don’t show up at the house this time.
As he rolls back from his desk and stares at the blank document glowing too bright on his laptop, he covers his face with his hands and releases an endless sigh that feels something like releasing his soul. Perhaps it will have better luck in its next life. This move has stolen every ounce of inspiration he had back at home. All his muses having abandoned him--or him, them. Whether is was all the goodbyes, the yard sales, the late night phone calls his uncle didn’t bother trying to hide, he can’t be sure.
None of it matters anyway. This is his senior year. All he has to do is get through the next 180 school days and he’s free. Then he can go wherever inspiration strikes. Then he won’t be at his uncle’s mercy anymore.
~*~
The halls here are strange. Despite the sea of new and different faces, everyone looks the same in their uniforms. It’s like wading through an ocean of clones. It goes without saying that the school spirit here reeks. Silver and blue oozes from the walls, seeps up from the carpet, drips from the ceiling, and glints off of every sweater on the chest of every student. Himself included.
Screw this.
To Nick’s chagrin, there are far more students here than he expected. Wasn’t the point of a private school to have less students to deal with? If so, this certainly isn’t a good example. Then again, maybe that’s just catholic school.
Standing in the entryway of the wide hall, he surveys the prison he will be subject to for the next 6 months of his life. A staircase to his right, a hall lined with wooden lockers breaks off into separate smaller hallways, and another staircase at the other end. Less like a school more like a massive house or cathedral. Vaguely he wonders if this is what Oxford looks like on the inside. Maybe one day he’ll find out for himself.
Then again, that’s what Google is for.
A mob of students heads in his direction, coming from the lockers, headed for the stairs. It’s weird not to know who’s who by what they’re wearing: jocks, nerds, popular girls, they all look the same in their uniforms. On the plus side, it shouldn’t be hard to blend in.
Head down, he weaves his way through throngs of students all headed to their perspective classes but as he comes to the corner of C hall, he catches a glimpse of a group of guys caught in a brawl. Nick’s eyes flare at the unexpected scene but he can’t seem to tear his gaze away. Already others have gathered around but he remains at a distance, enthralled by the strength and resilience displayed.
A teacher steps out into the hallway and a select few of the spectators make a point of breaking up the fight, much larger guys who would probably be in letterman jackets in public school. Nick rolls his eyes, waiting for the chaos to clear so he can get to his class. That’s when he sees him, lifted and held back from a boy on the ground who holds his face.
Tousled blond hair all but covers his eyes, button-down half open, sweater lost somewhere in the chaos, half grin on his face… Nick can feel his heart pumping a little faster as the boy licks his split lip and tries to shrug off the larger kid holding him back. Blood trickles down his chin despite his efforts so he swipes at the crimson path with his forearm.
At least, that’s what he sees with his eyes but in his mind, he’s somewhere--other:
--The woods are all but black at this hour but Reuben takes no pause in his steps. In fact, despite the lack visibility--to the human eye, that is--he picks up his pace. It’s in poor taste to be late on the first day. From what he heard, one of the professors in tenure will literally fail a student for such disrespects. At least, that’s what one of his Brood told him, not the most reliable source.
Movement in the corner of his eye causes him to hesitate, just before a howl stretches across the chill night air. His muscles tense, fangs threaten to break through on instinct. Not that it would matter. One vampire is no match for a pack of shifted wolves. Pressing himself against a tree, he wills himself to blend into shadow. Once he feels his cover is complete, he slides from shadow to shadow until he can catch a glimpse of thick, fur coats and glinting teeth.
Two wolves snarl at each other, maintaining their stances until suddenly their jaws thrash violently. All Rueben can think about are the stories his grandfather would tell of the Olde Wars when Pyres and Wolves would clash in the dead of night…
“Enough,” the voice breaks through the trees like a clap of thunder and when it dissipates, all is silent, “Don’t you children have somewhere to be?”
The moment the large man steps into sight, each of the wolves shift back into young men. Instantly, Reuben feels as though he’s broken some sacred law. At The Academy, each creature is not to know the true nature of the other. It maintains the neutrality that the school provides, it’s the reason their abilities are stripped when they walk past the threshold.
Then, just as he’s about to look away, a beautiful blond boy catches his eye, blood dripping down his chin...--
“Mm.”
The noise beside him is disapproving, snapping him out of his rush of inspiration. Nick looks down to see a dark haired girl with pursed lips. Two textbooks held to her chest, hip cocked to the side, uniform perfectly pressed, Nick would’ve thought he’d found Hermione Granger were it not for the cigarettes peaking out of her pocket.
“Barbaric, don’t you think?”
“Oh,” he mumbles, shrugs his shoulders, “At least they know where they stand.”
The girl turns her large brown eyes in his direction, takes him in from hair to heels.
“I’m Jerry,” she holds out her hand, “Who are you?”
“Uh, Nick. Jerry? Interesting name.”
“Only if you want it to be,” she replies, her eyes back on the boys as they’re escorted away from the scene. “Mom’s going to kill you,” she slaps the arm of the blond boy and he turns to them with a smile, icy blue eyes sleepy.
“What else is new?”
Nick can’t help but watch as they pass and walk down the hall. The blond boy’s hand on the shoulder of one of his comrades. Confidence, Nick can’t help but notice it in the boy’s gait. It’s then that he remembers the word that came from Jerry’s mouth: mom.
“Is he your brother?”
Jerry looks at him, bites her lip, smiles, and walks away.
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