“Jacob Black, please report to the headmaster’s office immediately,” a dull, lifeless voice resonated throughout the halls of ­­­­­­­Braxwell Preparatory- the voice of Sue, the receptionist. It might not have sounded like it, but I knew she was most likely pissed at having to reach the two feet across her desk to the microphone. I’d been in there so many times that there was no doubt in my mind she had been watching funny cat videos on YouTube before having to page me.

“Jacob, you’d better go,” one of the more kind teachers in this institution, Mrs. Clearwater, instructed me.

“Sure, sure,” I replied with a wave of my hand, and stood up.

“What’d you do this time, Jake?” Quil yelled from across the room as I walked towards the door.

“Shut it, sugar,” I muttered, slamming the door before he could ask me anymore. Becoming a werewolf was making Quil annoyingly overconfident. He hadn’t seen me fight yet; that would stop his remarks in an instant.

The hell with walking, I thought as I strolled down the corridor to the office, I don’t make noise anyways, no one will catch me.

And with that, I started running… Not because I was eager to get to the headmaster – truth be told, I had no idea what I’d done, if anything – but because I simply liked to run. It made me feel – and it sounds extremely cheesy, I know – free. It felt like I wasn’t even in this cursed school; like I was in my wolf form, free in the forest.

I was running so fast that it took me a moment to register the soft footfalls behind me. When I finally did, it was only because I could smell who it was.

“Cullen,” I growled without looking back.

“Good afternoon, pup,” he greeted me with his usual retarded polite disposition as he caught up beside me. “Are we a little excited to see our headmaster?”

Yeah, ’cause he just turns me right on, I thought sarcastically, hoping it would shock him.

Instead he answered mockingly, “I wasn’t aware of your…odd physical attraction towards him, Jacob.”

“Oh shut up, leech, you know I was joking,” his annoying tendency to rarely get angry at me – outwardly at least – was really starting to get on my nerves, and I quickened my pace in hopes of leaving him behind.