Diego
It hasn't even been a full day and I've already made an enemy. The school president resents me—for absolutely no reason.
Well, I'm no pushover. If he tries to bully me or torment me in any way, he'll regret it.
I haven't even met him yet, but I overheard him say, "His roommates will give him a tour. I don't have time to walk around babies like him."Like him? What the hell does that mean?
He said it in this bored, assertive baritone, loud enough that I heard it through the principal's office door just as I was about to knock and ask about switching rooms—I don't like to share. But instead, I walked away.
And of course, he didn't give me a tour. All the other newcomers arrived the day before yesterday. I showed up late yesterday afternoon.
My roommates gave me a tour instead.And to be honest, I expected them to be snobbish—like some of the learners I passed in the hallway, giving me cold, judgmental stares.
But they weren't.
They didn't bother me.
In fact, they were friendly, cheerful, welcoming—and incredibly handsome.
Jules Ross is blond, with long, straight hair pressed to his shoulders, pierced ears, and warm brown eyes.Lucas Hall is a brunette with a clean, short haircut and sharp grey eyes.
Both have fair skin and athletic, agile builds. They're an inch shorter than me and practically identical in body type.
This school is everything my parents dreamed of—the kind of prestigious place they wished they had gone to.But not me.
I don't hate it here, but I miss my comfort. I miss my life back at Montè Arbor High, my fancy, familiar school. Most of all, I miss my best friend, Caleb Jung.
God, I miss him so much.They separated us.
And now... I'm stuck here. For the rest of the term.
Sigh.
The entire hall suddenly stands. My roommates—let's just call them my friends now—tap my shoulders from both sides, reminding me to stand up too.
Today is the Welcoming Ceremony.
The stage lights flash on, revealing a podium, a row of chairs on the left, and a single chair on the right. The sudden light from above stuns us briefly.
We watch as the teachers file in and stand near the chairs, waiting. I guess they're waiting for the principal.
I met him yesterday. He carries himself like a true Alpha—tall, commanding. His voice is an odd mix: high-pitched but deep in tone, and his expression is always stern. But still, I sensed something humble in him, just a glimmer, when he spoke to me.
He walks in now, dressed in a black suit, crisp white shirt, and black tie. Upright posture. Controlled steps. Completely composed.
He steps behind the podium.
And then—
My eyes squint, widen, and settle in a heartbeat. My pulse spikes, then slows.
A student, built like a linebacker, strides confidently onto the stage. He's huge. His presence steals the air from the room.
He sits in the single chair on the right.That must be the school president, I think, nodding slightly to myself.
Arms folded across my chest, I sink back into my seat as the principal begins speaking.
He welcomes the staff, the returning students, and the newcomers—like me. Then he dives into the rules:
No cellphones in class.
Everyone participates in school activities.
Light punishment? Cleaning the entire school grounds for a week.
Extreme punishment? Expulsion or being reported to the police.
No fighting.
And there's a mandatory two-hour library study time each day.
He turns left and introduces each teacher—one by one. I end up yawning halfway through.
Jules elbows me.I shake myself awake.
Finally, the principal turns right."This is Bruce Russell, your school president. Please give him a round of applause."
Everyone claps.
Except me.
But Jules and Lucas elbow me again until I do. I give two weak claps and stop.
Gosh, he's not a god.
I roll my eyes in boredom—until that same baritone voice flows from the mic, snapping my attention.
"As your school president," he says, "I want you to know that my door is always open. If you have questions or concerns, come to me. Thank you."
He smiles, then sits.
Phony.
Thirty minutes later, the hall clears out. We're assigned to our classes.
Thankfully, I'm in the same class as my friends—History—though we're not seated near each other.
We're placed alphabetically by surname. That means I'm on the first row, third desk.Jules is way in the back, second desk from the wall. Lucas is somewhere in the middle.
Once again, I've been separated from the people I care about.First Caleb.Now Jules and Lucas.
This is going to be a long, miserable term.
At least the president guy doesn't seem to be in my class. I guess we have different subjects. Good. I don't want to see his face.
Not that he's done anything to me yet… but something about his words told me he will.
Our teacher walks in—papers in hand, hair a mess, glasses slipping off his nose.
He clears his throat."I'm Mr. Thompson, your history teacher. I expect full participation from everyone."
He's clearly an Omega. A bold one. Confident enough to stand his ground in a room full of potential Alpha egos.
That's another thing I can't stand about Alphas—The arrogance. The way they oppress others without trying.
The period drags on forever. I keep glancing at the clock above Mr. Thompson's head.
He hands out an article about the history of Alphas and Omegas. Says we'll have a mini-test first thing tomorrow morning.
The article isn't even remotely interesting.
I try to read. I really do.I rest my elbow on the desk, let my head lean against my palm, and skim the words.
When the bell rings, it feels like salvation.
"See you tomorrow," Mr. Thompson says, waving as he exits. Even his hair waves.
God, finally.
How many more periods do we have?
I turn to look at my friends. They're full of energy, chatting with excitement, even across the distance.
And me?
I just miss Caleb.If he were here, we'd be sitting side by side, talking the whole time.
The next few teachers come in, introduce themselves, and leave. Time starts moving again.
Then it's lunch.
While I'm packing my books, two Omegas sprint over to my desk, yelling like maniacs.
Jules and Lucas.So hyperactive, it's exhausting.
I roll my eyes and sling my backpack over my shoulder.
"What's your favorite food? Fruits? Are you a vegetarian?" Jules asks, grinning like a kid.
I squint upward in thought. "No allergies. I think I eat everything."
"Perfect!" Lucas says. "They've got burgers, fries, rolls, sausages, salads—you name it."
I think of Caleb again. How we're both what people call proper.
Now I'm stuck with these two. Not that I'm complaining…
Maybe they'll help me survive this place.Maybe I won't think about Montè Arbor all the time.
But Caleb?I'm definitely FaceTiming him after class.
The canteen is packed, but the lines move fast since it's divided by grades.
"What do you think about the Alphas here?" Jules asks, fiddling with his butterfly-covered diamond necklace.
Lucas jumps in. "Yes, tell us!"
I stare at them. They're grinning again. How do they have so much energy?
Their faces make me chuckle, just a little.
But I stop myself.I feel guilty for smiling.
I'm supposed to be miserable.I am miserable.
Caleb's probably feeling the same.
"No one," I mutter.
Finally, I get to eat. I pile bread and fries on my tray, toss in one apple to look healthy, and head to an empty table with the guys.
They keep talking as we eat, but I barely listen. My stomach is in charge now.
I sip my juice and glance between them. Their mouths are moving, but I hear nothing.
"What do you think, Diego?" Lucas asks mid-fry.
I heard none of it.
But I'm saved.
Or… not.
A mountain of a person slams his massive hands on our table and glares at me like I murdered his puppy.
I pull the straw from my lips and stare back, right into those hazel eyes, daring him to blink first.
I rest my elbows on the table, leaning in slightly.He doesn't blink.Neither do I.
He doesn't speak.Neither do I.
His full lips twitch, like he wants to sneer, but can't quite manage it.
I study him. The way his broad shoulders stretch the seams of his blazer. The way his chest rises like an angry tide beneath his pullover. His claws rake the steel tabletop, leaving scratch marks.
My eyes flick to his left eye—partly clouded with vitiligo. It twitches when I raise my drink.
So he doesn't like me.
But I lean back in my chair, sip my juice again, and stare right back at him.
He doesn't scare me.
Let him twitch.
I scoff.