Sammy found himself in school the next Tuesday. He got off the bus and shifted the used backpack that Gerry had given him, loaded up with brand-new school supplies and a lunch from Night Sky. She still seemed unhappy about this, but she still supported him and told Liam to watch out for him. Which would be hard to do, as they went their separate ways for class.

His first class of the day was English. He managed to learn a thing or two, but he didn't feel too confident when handing in his work. Next up, Algebra which nearly caused a panic attack. Fortunately, once he actually cracked open the book and recognized the equations, the crisis was averted. Art was… well, that turned out to be the most challenging of the morning classes, surprisingly. Everyone was given a blob of clay and "free creative expression" by the teacher who smelled like booze and kept his distance from the open windows. And what did someone who had spent their whole life bottling themselves up express, exactly? Sammy panicked and molded a sphere and stuck three fingers in, calling it a bowling ball. It was just the first thing that came to mind, not that the teacher really seemed to pay attention to everyones' results.

He was already looking forward to his break. Madison had shown him "Mean Girls" as her way of preparing him for High School. Awful movie, but it gave him some ideas. He burned through so much energy and worry at home just trying not to be disliked, that he already decided he wasn't going to concern himself with popularity in high school. He wasn't going to let himself care if he was popular or hated here. These humans were not part of his pack, and after he graduated he would likely never see them again. Their opinions didn't matter. He didn't need friends as much as he needed his family. He just needed to pass his classes and play football well enough to catch some talent scout's eye some day. So the best way to win this game would be not to play it at all. He found his way to the library, cracked open [i]Adventures of Huckleberry Finn[/i]. He'd always wanted to give Mark Twain a try, but was never sure which one came first, this or Tom Sawyer.

Computer classes drew him out of his hiding spot after break. Those turned out to be useful, and he was halfway through photoshopping a composite image together when the lunch bell rang.

Well, he had managed to make it through a couple minefields this morning, time to see if he could sail through a hurricane unscathed. He retrieved his lunchbag from his locker, took a deep breath, and stepped inside to the smell of a thousand greases, both human and inhuman. Fortunately, it took a lot--a lot--to ruin a hungry werewolf's appetite. By now, the tortillas wrapped around his burrito beef should be achieving ideal saturation of meat juices--just enough to make the tortillas soft and moist, but not crossing soggy point of no return. The thought made his mouth water as he skirted around the hordes to an empty table in the far corner.

He had just managed to fit his mouth around one corner for an ambitious bite when one of the boys Sammy recognized from practice suddenly appeared.

"Sam, right? Jake Welling. Coach told us to make you feel welcome. Come on, come sit with us."

Sammy chewed his bite frantically and swallowed it, before the other boy was left waiting too long. "Uh… okay."

He soon found himself wedged in the middle of a CW drama, but with more acne; five large boys he recognized from the other evening, three of them with conventionally-attractive girlfriends beside them. Liam sat at the far side of the table, posture rigid, smelling of annoyance. What was his [i]problem[/i]?

"Everyone, this is Sam Phoenix. This is my girl, Kristie," said the boy who'd brought him over. "That's Doug and Janet, Michael and Colleen, Artie and Taz, and of course you know Geronimo."

Sammy glanced towards Liam, momentarily knocked off-kilter to hear a pack name spoken aloud in human company. He must have encouraged them to use it as a nickname, since the broad-shouldered boy already growing a scraggly beard clearly could not have "Taz" written on his birth certificate. But then, given his new surname, Samson Phoenix had no room to criticize Liam.

"I think we've seen each other around," he said, then turned his attention to one of the girls. "Colleen, right? You look familiar…"

She nodded. "I think I've seen you before at my dad's church."

"Oh! You're Pastor Qwan's daughter!" When she smiled, he felt a surge of momentary panic, frantically trying to figure out what to say next.

"Uh... tell your dad I really liked his sermon the other week, on the Good Samaritan," he added. He got a ride into town on Sunday mornings when he could, but Nicholas and Ruth were very sporadic in their attendance.

"So, Sam," Liam spoke up. With feigned interest, he asked, "How's your first day of school in... how long's it been?"

Sammy cocked his head and stared at his foster-brother for a moment. Was Liam trying to embarrass him in front of his friends? Why would he do that? Sammy was no threat to his social standing. Maybe he was just being paranoid. Overthinking it. Like he did with everything else.

"'Bout five years," he answered. "And it's goin' all right, I guess."

"Five years? Kristie repeated. She had been twirling her dirty blonde hair with a pair of fingers, but froze mid-twirl to look at him more closely. "What've you been doing in the meantime?"

Sammy shrank in his seat. What was it about teenage girls? Their curiosity was comparable to the Spanish Inquisition (which they would be studying in History this afternoon--he'd peeked ahead).

He glanced down at his burrito, and then looked around almost-untouched plastic trays heaped with Sloppy Joes and chips and canned carrots. He pondered taking another bite before he answered, but he didn't think these humans could appreciate a starving werewolf's appetite.

He considered making something up, but he was no good at lying. That was a skill that required talking to non-werewolves to hone, and werewolves could smell a lie a mile away. So instead he went with vague honestly. "Mostly bein' homeless."

"Dude," Taz murmured. Everyone human at the table stared at Sammy with a mixture of awe and pity. He wasn't sure which was worse.

"Oh, you poor thing!" cried Colleen.

Kristie tilted her head. "Why?"

Sammy swallowed. It was a good question. But how could he answer without mentioning the whole secret werewolf thing? Again, perhaps vague honesty would serve him again. "Well, I guess... foster life didn't suit me."

After all the boys nodded in seeming agreement, Sammy replayed his response in his head and realized that came off as more nonchalant and "cool" than he had intended.

"Well, I hope Geronimo here's making you feel welcome," Kristie said, shooting Liam a withering gaze.

"Oh, yeah, a' course," Sammy said agreeably. Truthfully, he and Liam hadn't turned out to be as compatible as he had originally hoped. They got along all right, but it was as Night Sky had said: Liam lived his own life.

Kristie's smile brightened, and then she leaned in across the table. "Well, if there's anything we can do to help you fit in, just ask. The girls and I would absolutely love to help you out, right ladies?"

"Right," Colleen agreed, apparently speaking for Janet too.

"In fact, can I get you started with some free pointers?" Kristie asked.

"Uh, sure."

"Well, for starters, don't tuck your shirt in," she said,in a reasonably helpful tone. "No one tucks in flannel. In fact, you could[i] definitely[/i] do with a makeover, especially if you want to find a girlfriend by the end of the semester."

Sammy looked down, scanning his jeans and shirt. Thanks to a recent growth spurt, he had already outgrown most of the clothes Night Sky had initially bought for him. His current shirt was a hand-me-down from a packmate, his pants attested to the hardworking lifestyle Night Sky had promised him, and his steel-toed boots had been a Christmas gift from Patience and Fenton.

"Tell you what," Kristie said, ever chipper. "The girls and I were going shopping after practice. There are a couple stores in town besides Walmart that have some cool stuff. I've always wanted to help give someone a makeover!"

Sammy considered her offer, considered the people he was sitting with. They were all... children. Wrapped in their little bubble of high school and sports, they had absolutely no concept of what the real world was like out there. And he didn't look down on them for it--quite the opposite. He envied them for their innocence. But that world was closed off to him now, and there was no setting foot in it. He would just make himself sick pining for something he could never have.

"Thank you for the offer, but... I still got chores and homework back home I'll need t' do after school."

"But don't you want to get a girlfriend?" Kristie's tone now sounded concerned.

Sammy flashed back to his first and last attempt to talk to a girl and tried not to wince at the memory of his arm snapping in two. This girl, however well-intentioned, was relentless. He glanced over to Liam, who just shrugged. Okay, so no help there.

He took another, smaller bite of his foot, swallowing it down almost whole.

"I jus'... I got a lot t' deal with right now as it is," he said. "Gettin' used to havin' a family again, gettin' caught up in school, learnin' a new job... I think it'll be a long time before I'm even ready to even think about datin'. Thanks for the offer, but... no thanks."

"Babe, c'mon," Jake finally spoke up, patting Kristie on the arm. "I know you like to make the new kids feel welcome, but don't smother the poor guy."

She pouted. "Well, all right. Sorry, Sam. But if you ever change your mind or need fashion advice, you know where to find me."

"Okay," he said, and then added a perfunctory, "Thank you." Her heart was in the right place, he thought. But she seemed like one of those people who didn't really understood people could have different priorities in life. He lowered his head to concentrate on the meal he desperately needed, and thankfully the clique left him alone for the rest of lunch time.

***

"Hell of a kid you got there, Nick."

Odysseus glanced up from his book and merely grunted an acknowledgment for the man approaching him.

Will Brennon reached the top bleacher where Odysseus sat and plopped himself down a couple seats' width away. Most humans, even if they were unaware of the exact reason why, kept themselves at least an arm's length away from him. They had no way of consciously knowing a werewolf when they saw one, but something in their gut instinct knew a predator when they saw one.

"We've been drilling tackles this afternoon. Sam's an unstoppable force <i>and</i> an immovable object. He follows orders to a T. He's aware of his surroundings at all times. I'm telling you, he's gonna go far."

Odysseus slapped his book shut and glared at his old schoolmate. "Do me a favor, and don't talk like that around Sam. I don't want you filling his head with false promises."

"False promises? I'm just giving him some goals to aim for!" Will protested. His eyes narrowed. "What's this about, Nick? Is it because your own football career never took off, now you wanna keep Sam working on the ranch just like you?"

Odysseus snorted. "I've always let Sam know he's free to pursue whatever career he desires. As for my own 'career,' there never was one. I played back in school to impress the girls, Will. Once I found other ways of doing that, football never seemed quite that important." He allowed himself a smirk at seeing the coach's shocked expression.

"Okay, so then... what? You don't think Sam has it in him to make it all the way to the big leagues?"

Odysseus didn't answer right away. Instead, he watched the boys drilling on the field. Even from this distance, he could pinpoint which two figures were his. Sam stood head and shoulders above all the others, but beyond the obvious giveaway, he could hear their voices whenever they shouted. And even from the top bleachers, he could distinguish their scents from the humans. Werewolves might live in this world, but it would always belong to the humans. Yes, a werewolf's physiology gave them natural advantages for sports. In human form, they were faster and stronger and recovered quicker, not comic-book-superhumanly so, but just enough to give them an edge. There already were some werewolves in the NFL and MLB. (The Order had declared the NBA off-limits, since their leaping span was more obviously superhuman.) They could never be a part of it so long as they had to hide what they truly were. And the day they came out, they would deal with even greater ostracisation for generations to come. Humans could barely stand their own kind, imagine how they would treat a whole different species. What happened to Sarah and Phoenix had only been a taste of what was to come.

In this day and age when everyone had a camera on them, Odysseus had no doubt that he would live to see the day when thropes were outed and everything would change. The argument inevitably came up every Alpha's summit. Many wanted to reveal themselves on their own terms rather than wait for someone's camera phone to catch a werewolf in the midst of something unsavory. Odysseus understood this reasoning and even considered it the wisest option. But at the same time, the safety of his pack, of his children, was his number one priority. He had already failed Sarah. He wouldn't fail Geronimo or Phoenix, and if it meant keeping them under the shield of the status quo for as long as it could be maintained, then so be it.

Odysseus turned to his old companion. "I have utmost faith Sam will achieve greatness some day. He's already recovered so much from his ordeals. But he's still recovering now. 
You of all people should appreciate the dangers of straining something before it's fully healed."

Will gave him a contemplative look, or at least as contemplative as he seemed capable of managing. Despite his recent behavior, Odysseus liked Will. The man as loyal and cared about the kids under his mentorship. And he had a good eye for tactics, which was how he had managed to stay head coach for going on a decade. But the capacity for deep thought had never been one of his finer points.

"I get it," Will said. "I promise I won't push him into anything he isn't comfortable doing."

"Thank you," Odysseus said. "That's all I ask."