Diego
Ms. Martin shows me how to hold the bow and arrow at the archery range.
I chose archery for my sport activity. Back at my previous school, I was a wrestler. But lately, I don't feel like I have the energy for a sport that demands so much physical power.
Ms. Martin is always in tracksuits. Slender, lean, fit. Her body moves like someone who never misses a morning run.
The days passed quickly. Somehow, it's already Thursday. It's strange thinking back to Monday, when the school president tried to pull the usual bully routine — the kind you expect from someone who sees weaker students as easy targets. But I think my boldness threw him off. I haven't seen him since.
"Perfect," Ms. Martin says, once she positions me into a relaxed stance with the bow. "Now... can you release the elbow?"
I try not to shake or lose balance. "Mmm," I hum, focusing hard.
I lock my eyes on the red circle not far ahead. It feels farther than it looks. I release.
The arrow falls pathetically to my feet.
Some of the learners nearby giggle, and I laugh too — because honestly, it was funny. I nearly shot myself in the toe.
"When you have time, come practice here alone," she says, patting my shoulder. "But don't be hard on yourself, okay?"
I nod with a small smile. "Okay."
Practice ends.
I know Jules and Lucas will be waiting for me by the doors, fresh from cheering on the basketball team. Rugby season's still on too, so there's always some excitement around.
I find them outside in their cheerleader outfits. They grin when they see me.
We have thirty minutes to shower in the locker room, so we rush in, strip off our clothes, and head into the stalls.
Being naked around them doesn't faze me. We're all Omegas — there's no sexual tension between us, the same way there isn't between Alphas. I actually appreciate how the school separates us like this. Some Alphas have no self-control around Omegas. They think they own us. That we're... theirs.
After this, we've got English, then Life Orientation — one of my favorite classes. Ms. Ramos has a gentle, nasal voice, and she's funny too. Her lessons are comforting.
We finish showering, drop our clothes into the laundry bin, and slip into our uniforms. As we walk through the corridor, Lucas and Jules start talking again about Monday.
They said they'd never seen the school president act like that before. That it was their first time being near him, and also their first time seeing him rattled.
They told me they were proud — proud that I defended myself.
I told Caleb about it over FaceTime too. At first, he looked worried. Then, when I said I stood up for myself, his face lit up.
I miss him. We miss each other.
"When's your birthday?" Jules asks, turning to me with a smile as we climb the stairs.
"In a month," I answer.
"Are you gonna throw a party?" Lucas squeals excitedly.
I shake my head. "No. I don't do parties."
They both pout. "Why not?" they ask in unison.
"Me and Caleb... on our birthdays, we do something small and fun, just the two of us. Parties aren't my thing. But if we're invited to one, we'll go," I explain.
They nod slowly, but I can tell they still don't fully get it. That's okay. Not everyone has to.
When we enter the English classroom, it's almost empty. One minute until Ms. Lee walks in — she's never late.
Our teachers wear uniforms too — white tops, black bottoms, black shoes. Always formal, always neat.
I set my backpack on my desk as Jules and Lucas pass by.
It's been a week, but I'm not that close to them yet. We haven't shared anything personal. They're curious, but respectful. They try not to pry.
The class fills quickly. Just before Ms. Lee arrives, the learners settle down. She enters, carrying her laptop and a small projector.
"Today," she says with a warm smile, "we're watching a romantic movie." She announces the title. "Pay close attention. There'll be individual assignments afterward, and Question 3 will require an essay. Make sure your dialogue isn't vile, alright?"
"Yes," we all answer.
"Good." She nods. "Blind the windows," she instructs those sitting nearby.
They pull the curtains.
The class is buzzing — romantic movies in school always mean Alpha and Omega groping. Unless it's censored. If it is, I'll gladly watch without gagging.
The movie starts.
I rest my arms on the desk, lean forward, and focus. Something tells me to glance back at my friends. I do, and see their eyes sparkling. Too into it. I shake my head.
But then… the movie surprises me. It's actually good — educational. It shows how Alphas and Omegas should treat each other. How power shouldn't be abused. How Alphas shouldn't dominate or control their mates.
Most Omegas go through hell. Depression. Trauma. All caused by their so-called compatible Alphas.
Some don't even let Omegas work or chase their dreams.
It's disgusting.
That's why I don't want a mate. I have dreams. Dreams my parents think are stupid — because they only care about degrees with complicated titles.
Useless.
When the movie ends, we clap three times.
It touched me.
It was a classic.
"I'm handing out your assignments," Ms. Lee says. "Read the instructions carefully. Question 3 needs to be strong. Remember: keep the dialogues clean."
I glance at the paper and already know the answers to Question 1. I scribble them down before I forget.
Ms. Lee leaves with her things.
I tuck the assignment into a file, then slide it back into my backpack.
I'm still thinking about the movie when Ms. Ramos enters with a man beside her. "Today we'll be joined by two other classes," she says. "Let's head to the mini hall."
The class gasps. I do too.
As I stand, brushing down my uniform, Lucas grumbles, "I don't want to be in the same room as the Science class. They're such bullies."
It's true. They call us History kids 'dumbos' — lazy, weak.
And this means… I'll probably see the school president again.
I don't care. I don't even remember his name, though it's right there on his badge. We all wear name tags pinned to our blazers.
Our class enters first. Jules and Lucas pull me to sit between them at the center.
The Commerce class trickles in next. Then the Science class arrives — their voices echo loudly from the corridor.
Goosebumps rise under my uniform. A weird mix of cold and heat rolls through me.
I don't know why I feel this way. My heart's not steady.
The Science kids enter loudly, like they own the place.
Rolling my eyes, I catch sight of him — the school president.
It's been a week. And now he walks in, the last one, after his best friend.
His chiseled face is a portrait — eyes roaming until they stop.
On me.
He stares. Long and hard.
My heart betrays me, racing for no good reason.
We lock eyes.
His brows furrow, his mouth twists into a grimace.
What the—?
I frown back at him, just as Ms. Ramos and the male teacher take the front.
The president walks with wide, arrogant strides to his friend's desk — hands deep in his slacks pockets. Omegas in the room are practically drooling over him.
Disgusting.
"Hi learners," Ms. Ramos starts. "This is Mr. Rodriguez. He arrived today to help with our lesson. From now on, our Life Orientation classes will be combined, and he'll be joining us the rest of the year."
The room claps. I do too.
The president sits to my left, near the wall.
My eyes itch to glance at him. I try to resist, but the urge is growing. Strong. Distracting.
"Today's topic is about heats," Ms. Ramos continues.
Ugh.
Heat.
I think it's controllable. People just need discipline. That's all.
"When an Omega is in heat," she explains, "they can stay in control if a compatible Alpha scent marks them."
Mr. Rodriguez steps forward and rolls up his sleeves.
"You'll find scent glands on the wrists, or upper arms," she says. "If you're in public and need to calm your heat, inhaling your Alpha's pheromones can help."
A student raises their hand. "What if your mate rejects you? How do you stay in control?"
"Good question," she says. "It doesn't have to be your mate. You can scent-mark with any Alpha you're close to — like a father, brother, cousin, or trusted friend. If the bond is strong, it works."
We nod.
Mr. Rodriguez rolls down his sleeves. He's an Alpha. Easy to tell by the smell. Alphas and Omegas have different scents. It's how we know.
"If there's no Alpha around," Ms. Ramos adds, "Omegas can use toys to ease the heat. They work, and have reduced deaths. Some Omegas used to die from pain or suicide during heat."
I think that's weak.
Depending on an Alpha is weakness.
Being an independent Omega? That's strength.
"We encourage Alphas to always support their Omegas," Mr. Rodriguez finishes.
But I'm not listening anymore.
There's a burning sensation on my left. A heat of its own.
I can't resist.
I glance.
His eyes are already on me — cold, sharp, unreadable.
Piercing.
Why does he stare like this?
What did I ever do to him?
His death stare worsens, and Mr. Rodriguez's words become nothing but background noise.