001

{THE BROKEN MIRROR}

Betty wished she had not gone to the school cafeteria to eat, just like every morning.

She had spent the first ten minutes of the lunch period standing in the hallway, staring at the double doors and thinking about her chances.

There were a thousand hidden spots around Brentwood Academy where a foster stray could hide—like the empty bleachers behind the gym, the wild gardens by the old greenhouse, or a dusty corner of the library where the smell of old books would cover her scent.

But hiding was a temporary fix.

Sheryl and her pack were smart.

They had good senses, developed from years of being the best at the top food chains, and they could track Betty no matter where she hid.

They enjoyed chasing her down. It wasn't enough to hurt her in private; they needed the bright lights of the cafeteria.

They needed the audience.

They wanted to make the embarrassment stronger, a warning to anyone else thinking about being different.

And Betty was too weak, too helpless, and too bone-tired to change the situation. She had simply given up on trying to avoid the inescapable.

She walked into a lion's den, sat at a worn-out table, and waited to be made a clown for everyone at school to enjoy.

Just like she is now.

"Don't even think about standing up, stray," Tessy hissed, her fingers digging like iron talons into Betty's shoulders, pinning her to the chair.

Jamie leaned on the table, blocking Betty in.

Betty nervously lifted a fork to her mouth, her hand shaking so much that the salad leaves moved. Just as she was about to eat, a loud thud shook the table.

Laughter came out right away, like a sound effect.

Sheryl didn't just hit the table; she dropped her big, expensive bag right on Betty's open notebook.

The force knocked over Betty's fruit juice, spilling the dark red liquid all over her lap and soaking her sweater.

Betty let out a tired sigh and tried to clean up the mess, but it didn't help. A dark, oily stain had already messed up the fabric, making her look even more miserable and messy than before.

Her stomach was growling with hunger that hurt, but her tongue felt heavy, like it was made of lead. She didn't want to eat anymore. She felt like she had lost her pride.

"Oh my God, I think we just found a perfect color for her, what do you think, Sheryl?"Jamie asked, her voice full of a fake, girly laugh.

Betty didn't need to look up to see that Sheryl was right in front of the table. She could sense the strong energy coming from her—the clear, powerful aura of an Alpha's daughter.

Sheryl was the only child of Alpha Pious, one of the three ruling Alphas who had built Brentwood into a booming, golden utopia under the brutal ruling of the Lycan King.

Because of her father's bloodline, Sheryl had set herself up as the queen of the school.

She was rich-girl pretty, with straight black hair that fell like a curtain of silk and rare, piercing purple eyes that looked down on everyone as if they were insects.

"Still not her color," Sheryl spat, her voice turning into a low, threatening sound. "That stain looks better than hers. As a matter of fact, she is a stain on this entire school. A foster-rat who doesn't know her place."

The crowd laughed and made fun of her. At Brentwood Academy, the students always agreed with Sheryl.

To disagree meant facing the same fate as Betty.

"I bet you could make a stain look stylish, Sheryl!" a male voice called out from a nearby table.

"How do you even cope with having to deal with a worthless freak every day?"Another girl shouted.

The words hit Betty like hot stones, and she just looked down, trying to hide in her big sweater.

Sheryl was smiling happily, feeling proud as the others praised her. She wanted a comeback from Betty. She wanted Betty to cry, scream, or plead. But Betty stayed quiet.

"You can tell us your mind Betty, do you hate me?"Sheryl got mad, quickly picked up Betty's backpack from the floor, and threw it onto the table. "I remember when you first arrived. You used to complain a lot. You tried to challenge me. You really thought you were my equal."

Sheryl laughed loudly in a teasing way, and the sound bounced off the tall cafeteria ceiling.

"Why did you suddenly stop? Did you finally learn your lesson? Did you finally understand that a stray like you will never be equal to a wolf of my standing? Huh? Answer me, you freak!"

Betty stayed quiet like a statue. She knew if she spoke, her voice would break. But by not saying anything, she made Sheryl seem silly, talking to herself.

Sheryl's smile faded, and her purple eyes turned serious.

"Oh? You won't talk? It's fine, little stray. Let me just help you pack your things."

Sheryl didn't just dump juice on Betty's head. She took the open bottle of dark fruit juice and poured it right into Betty's open backpack.

She smiled mischievously as the liquid soaked into her textbooks, assignments, and the old sketchpad that Betty kept hidden.

"Here," Sheryl threw the empty bottle onto the table with a loud noise. "Now what is outside looks like what is inside. All junk."

The laughter was loud and harsh.

Betty felt a tear sting her eye. She needed to leave. She jumped up from her chair, her knees hitting the table. She grabbed her wet backpack and tried to run for the door, but when she got to the end of the aisle, a long leg stuck out, stopping her.

She tripped and almost fell flat on the floor. She looked up, her blue eyes wide and asking for help behind her glasses.

It was Dave Miller.

He sat there with his arms crossed over his wide chest, his tall 6'0 frame taking up more space than it should. He was good-looking in a dark, serious way that made most girls fall for him, but to Betty, he was a nightmare.

Next to him was Ruby, her short black hair neat and tidy, looking completely bored. These were her family"—the Betas who took her in but did not really notice her.

Dave didn't move his leg.

He just stared at her, his black eyes burning with a strange, dark heat. He looked at the juice dripping from her hair, the stain on her sweater, and the way her glasses were sliding down her nose.

He didn't seem sorry. He seemed... intense. Like he was angry at her for being weak, or angry at himself for witnessing it.

"Watch where you're going, stray," he hissed, his voice low and personal, meant only for her. "You're getting juice on my shoes."

The rejection from the one person who should have helped her was too much. Betty climbed over his legs, almost tripping again, and ran away.

"That's right, freak! Run and hide!" Sheryl's voice followed her like a shadow.

Betty was almost blind as she rushed through the hallways. Her glasses were dirty with juice and tears, and the looks from other students felt like hits.

Her heart was racing so much it hurt. When she finally got to the restroom, she was crying into her hands.

She was happy to see the room was empty. She leaned against the cold wall and sat on the floor, putting her head between her knees. The only sound was her crying and sniffing as she tried to hide from everything.

She stayed in that position for what seemed like hours, but it was really only a few minutes.

She felt weak, and her eyes were red and puffy with no tears left. Slowly, she stood up from the floor and looked at herself in the mirror. She almost cringed at how bad she looked.

Her beautiful, wild curls—usually the one thing she liked about herself—now hung down her head in messy, wet, dark strands, looking like a dirty mop.

Her sweater was a mess—stained, wet, and faded. Her blue eyes looked tired, puffy, and lifeless behind her glasses. One of the frames had a tiny crack from when she almost tripped over Dave's leg.

She was a total wreck.

Crying, she bent her head over the sink and turned on the water. As the cold water washed the sticky juice from her hair, the deep sadness she felt turned into the emptiness she was more familiar with.

After all, she had dealt with worse things than being embarrassed at school. Her dad—the man she hardly remembered—had left her with nothing, and the foster system had made things even harder for her.

She washed her hair and dried it with some rough paper towels. She dug into her wet backpack, looking for something that wasn't soaked.

Luckily, her emergency hoodie at the bottom was mostly dry.

She slowly took off her dirty shirt, trying not to think about the red bruise on her arm from when a pack member had pushed her against a locker a few days ago. At least it was getting better.

The pain from the bruise was nothing compared to the hurt in her chest.

She tossed the ruined shirt in the trash and put on the hoodie. It was way too big, a grey blanket that covered her 5'5" body, her curves, and the breasts she felt embarrassed about.

She pulled the hood down, hiding her messy golden hair.

Betty felt a bit better about how she looked as she checked her reflection. Her face was mostly in the shadows of her hood, but her eyes looked sad and empty.

She thought her life felt pointless, like she was just a lost stray in a world full of wolves.

In this school, most people were strong, full-blooded wolves. That made her the weakest one. She felt like an outsider, a foster kid who didn't belong. She was seen as a shame to the Miller family, someone no one wanted to be around.

It made her really sad. So sick. So alone.

That made her Betty—the reject.