Lycan Lineage

Walking through the halls of Lupine High felt like trudging through eternal déjà vu, the same worn-out floor tiles, the slightly stained beige walls (possibly from teenage tears and expired coffee), and that unmistakable smell of sweat mixed with cheap disinfectant. But now, with graduation looming, everything felt... heightened. Like every detail was screaming to be noticed one last time.

Colorful flyers were plastered everywhere, haphazardly taped to walls and bulletin boards, prom announcements, rehearsal schedules, post-graduation party ads. Some were ripped, others scribbled over with inside jokes, little notes, or pen-drawn hearts. Students brushed past each other in the rush between classes, lugging heavy books, half-zipped backpacks, and wrinkled clothes. Laughter, shouting, and hurried footsteps filled the air like a chaotic, living soundtrack.

There was a different kind of energy now, electric, almost nostalgic. Like everyone was trying to stretch out every second, every moment, before our routine shattered for good. Seniors said goodbye with smiles and promises, teachers watched with bittersweet patience, and deep down, we all knew: this world, the way it existed now, was about to end.

I looked around, taking in the joyful melancholy, and said out loud, “It’s like everything’s trying to leave a final impression before it’s all over. Even the flyers seem brighter.”

Cherrie looked at me, squinting.

“It’s the end of an era,” I went on, striking a mock-solemn pose. “Messy, slightly tragic... but ours.”

“There you go, all dreamy and dramatic,” my friend replied. “I swear you’re going to miss high school.”

I scoffed. “No way! I mean... maybe. I don’t know. If I ever get nostalgic, I’ll crack open a can of expired energy drink and sniff my old gym uniform. Instant memory lane.”

“As for me, I can’t wait to leave it all behind. Bring on college, the challenges, the freedom... anything but one more week in this madhouse.”

We were just leaving band rehearsal, strolling out of school. Our instruments were safely locked up in the practice room, ready for tomorrow’s torture, I mean, rehearsal.

The sky was painted in shades of gold and lavender, like an impressionist painting slowly dissolving. The asphalt still radiated heat in shimmering waves, blurring the horizon as the sun dipped behind the football field’s trees. A strange peace hung in the air, like the day itself was holding its breath, a hush before something big or terrible.

My birthday was next week. Finally turning eighteen. I was counting the days like a prisoner marking tallies on a cell wall. Freedom was coming, or at least the illusion of it. All I wanted was to leave this town, this place tucked between the ocean and the mountains. It was charming, sure. But also a little suffocating. Like one of those towns in movies where something

I mean, I loved this place. Really. The mountains looked like golden guardians at dusk. It was all very... Instagrammable. But I wanted skyscrapers, blaring horns, late-night diners. I wanted New York. Or Montreal. A place where no one knew my name. Where I could become someone completely new. Dramatic? Maybe. But I was ready.

“You think they’re going to make us play at the spring festival?” Cherrie pulled me out of my thoughts with the most optimistic question of the day, taming her curly red hair like a pro.

“If Mr. K has any sense of self-preservation, no,” I answered flatly. “We’re still stumbling through that new piece. And not like graceful ballet stumbles, more like full-face-plant chaos.”

“Stumbling? We’re crashing and burning!” Cherrie burst out laughing. “He wants us to learn that psycho composition in a week. That’s not education. That’s musical torture.”

“Well, you did sign up for advanced band,” I reminded her, still grinning, as we walked into the parking lot. The streetlights flicked on above, casting warm halos on the asphalt and attracting swarms of fluttering bugs. “And it’s not that bad. We’ve tackled worse.”

“Easy for you to say, June. The string section always pulls through. It’s my poor trumpet stuck carrying the melody! The pressure’s real.”

“Hey, strings work hard too, okay? We might not get flashy solos, but we hold it all together.” I shot her a playful glare. She stuck out her tongue.

We reached her red convertible, old, sun-faded, but still had serious style. We tossed our backpacks into the backseat, and she hit the button to drop the top. The warm air felt good after being cooped up for hours.

“Did you see Trevor at rehearsal?” Cherrie asked. “He forgot his part. Again.”

“Of course. He was too busy eyeing Rachel.”

“Ugh. Those two... I bet they’re secretly hooking up in the instrument room.”

We laughed. That was something I knew I’d miss: high school gossip.

“So, straight to the plan? Food and a movie?” I asked

“Food, movie, and maybe a little collective emotional breakdown over Mr. K’s insane expectations,” she said as the car sputtered to life.

Cherrie’s phone buzzed. She peeked and rolled her eyes.

“Max. Again. I swear, if he sends one more shirtless pic, I’m blocking him.”

“Don’t block him. He’s hilarious… in a painful kind of way.”

“He’s a walking meme,” she said, giggling. “By the way, did you see Laila today? That new haircut, she looks like she lost a fight with a weed whacker.”

I laughed out loud.

“Poor Laila. She probably just wanted a change.”

“Change is great. But she looks like she fell out of a 2000s music video.”

The conversation flowed easily as we pulled into the fast-food drive-thru. The sky had darkened, deep blue swallowing the last hints of orange. Stars blinked into view.

While we waited in line, my phone buzzed again. A text from Mom:

Chocolate or vanilla? Your birthday cake won’t bake itself, missy.

I smiled and showed it to Cherrie.

“Oh, it’s getting real now! The big day’s almost here! Any top-secret birthday plans?”

“Just surviving sounds good enough,” I replied. “But if things go well, this’ll be my last birthday here. Next year, I want to be in Toronto. Or Montreal. Anywhere far enough not to hear those howls at night.”

Cherrie arched a brow.

“Howls?”

“You’ve never heard them? On cold nights… in the woods. Like something’s calling us.”

“June… you’ve gotta stop watching Canadian mystery documentaries before bed.”

We laughed as we reached the speaker. Cherrie, true to herself, made a hyper-detailed burger order, down to the number of pickles.

“You think they actually listen to all that?” I asked, watching the guy through the window.

“They’d better. I’m not about to eat another sad little cheese slice melted over my soul.”

The kid, braces and all, handed over our food with a shy smile. Cherrie checked every item like a hawk. “Not bad, rookie,” she joked as she nodded at the kid with a mouth full of wires, and we drove off.

With dinner secured, we headed to the park, the old town park, where gravel trails wound between tall trees and thick shadows. A sign at the entrance warned “Closed after dark,” but no one in Lupine took that seriously.

We parked near the pine trees. The place was nearly empty, except for a couple saying goodbye by the water fountain, hugging like the world was ending. I opened the bag of fries and offered some to Cherrie.

“Be honest,” I said. “You think we’ll miss this place one day? The people? The sameness?”

Cherrie stayed quiet for a moment, watching the trees sway in the wind.

“Maybe. A little. We’ll miss the good parts. But there’s so much waiting for us out there, June. Big things.”

I sighed, trying to believe her. I knew she was right. But that night, under that starry sky, with the sound of the wind rustling through the trees, something deep in the forest felt like it was listening.

And I had no idea how much our lives were about to change.