Page 31 of Pack Larsen

Chapter 12

Silver

I am the embodiment of stealth. I am a ninja. I am tiptoeing out of my own house in an attempt to avoid pack Larsen, leaving twenty minutes earlier for school than I need to ensure my mission is successful.

I’d mock myself if I wasn’t worried one of the guys will wake up and catch me in the act.

As soon as I’m free, my backpack slung over my shoulder and skating shoes in hand, I damn near jog to my car, locking myself inside its safety in case I’m caught sneaking out. After depositing my baby-blue backpack on the passenger seat, I awkwardly shove my feet into my shoes that turn into skates with just a kick of a button on the back of each shoe, before slowly but surely reversing down the short drive and pulling away from the house.

Since most of my classes today are in the music room, practicing for a performance that will be considered a practical exam and will be graded, my professor won’t mind if I arrive early. In fact, it’s often encouraged. I just like my sleep too much to give it up. Now that I can sleep on my own hours, I make the most of it, even if it means I’m rushing to classes on most days that end in Y.

Parking my car between two trucks, hiding it from view in case pack Larsen come searching for me in another misguided obligation to apologize for their beta, I lock my car up nice and tight before hustling to the music room.

I can take my first, steady breath since waking up this morning as soon as the heavy-set door shuts behind me, blocking the whole world out the moment it’s just me and the instruments. It won’t last long, I'm sure, but for now, I’m going to take advantage of having the large room all to myself.

Beelining straight for the old grand piano stationed atop a slightly elevated podium, I drop my backpack at the left leg before sitting on the bench, push back the fallboard, and stretch my fingers out with an audible crack before resting the tips of my fingers on the ivory keys.

With a deep, steadying breath, I press the first notes of an instrumental version of one of my favorite songs named Atlantic. As soon as the first key is pressed and the first note reverberates through the room, I sink myself into the song, closing my eyes as I play the song with muscle memory alone. I practice and practice, switching notes up or adding more where they’re needed, perfecting the song as much as I can before more students begin to show.

By the time the first student appears, a tall, willowy, pale angel named Pica, I’m feeling confident about my chosen song. Playing the last note, I smile over at Pica and wave. “Hey. How’s it going?”

The shy beta smiles and waves awkwardly, heading over to the cello tucked away in the corner. “Not bad, you?”

I shrug in answer, and it makes her smile with understanding. Sometimes it doesn’t take words to see a person just needs to sit in a music room, pouring their thoughts and feelings into an instrument.

“You’re here early,” Pica notes with her soft tone, checking over her bow meticulously. “Normally you’re the last through the door.”

I huff a laugh, because she’s not wrong. If I don’t need to be here, then I simply won’t be. There’s nothing I can do here that I can’t do at home. Only now there are five dudes I’m avoiding at home and this place is the next best thing.

“Just having one of those weeks,” I laugh, only to remember that it’s Monday and it’s the very first day of a new week.

Pica, bless her soul, pulls a face like she just came to that same deduction, but she simply smiles and carries on with tuning the cello, the conversation drying up quicker than my coochie when I see a man in socks and sandals. Not that it matters, because moments after Pica’s arrival, more students pour in, indicating that it’s time to get serious and learn some shit.

For the first three hours of my day, I spend it surrounded by like-minded people studying the art of music. I forget about pack Larsen for a while, immersing myself into discussions on classical music, practicing a few songs on the violin, and taking notes during lectures.

By the time class lets out early and lunch time rolls around, my belly is rumbling its disapproval for having skipped the pizza last night and bypassing breakfast in order to escape the tension in the house that was palpable even while pack Larsen slept.

Missing my best friend and praying she isn’t with her thundercloud, platonic soul mate, I whip out my cell phone from the pack pocket of my shorts as soon as I’m free of the classroom, kicking the wheels into place on my shoes. The hallways are hella smooth and always make for good skating, and it soothes the hell out of me, so I take to gliding down the halls and ignoring those that choose to stare at a girl wearing white short shorts, an oversized pink hoodie, and a messy bun to slay all other messy buns. All the while, I’m dialing Juniper’s number the moment I’ve unlocked my cell, pressing it against my ear while I listen to it ring.

“Yo, Pixie. How’s it going?” Juno greets as soon as she answers, a little more chipper than she usually is. It’s a nice change of pace, sure, but there’s something in the brief greeting that has me on edge.

Still, I smile, gracefully skating through throngs of people as I answer, “Oh, you know, just skating around with a growling stomach that is begging me for food. You have classes today, right?”

“Yeah. I just had a free period, so if you’re free and want to eat, we can get lunch together. Just you and me,” she offers, once more sounding a little too sweet. I pull my cell back and check the caller ID, and it sure does display my best friend’s name, but I’m half wondering if she’s been replaced with body snatcher or something. Juniper is never this chipper unless there’s something going on.

“Just me and you? No shadow of yours, no usual stragglers?” I prod, sure I know what’s going on already but wanting my best friend to spell it out for me.

“Just us, Pixie. We can chat, you can vent, we can plot murders if that’s where we’re at,” she offers, and I come screeching to a halt, almost colliding into a tall guy, and alpha if I’m scenting him correctly, the guy’s hand coming out to stop me in time to prevent a crash between us.

Clenching my jaw, I force myself to take a deep breath before I finally ask, “So, how much do you know?”

“All of it,” she answers quickly, and I can just picture her wincing right now.

“Who told you?” I prod, wanting to know which of them discussed what happened the past weekend with my best friend and what they’ve said that has her acting out of sorts.

Clearing her throat, she hesitates before finally answering, “Munro.”

“You’re shitting me?” I blurt, sure I heard wrong.

---