All Chapters of Beneath the Silver Moon : Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

The unofficial, unwritten first rule of surviving a new school, as outlined in Evie's personal and cynical handbook, is to project an air of unassailable confidence, to literally walk in like you own the place. But, by my meticulously calculated internal metrics, this feat is an absolute, staggering impossibility when your arms are straining under the weight of three different composition notebooks, a backpack that contains enough textbooks and supplies to easily outweigh a small farm animal, and an emergency travel coffee mug that is, tragically, already half-drained and rapidly cooling.I was operating at a critical caffeine deficit and simultaneously looked like a sherpa attempting to navigate a social avalanche.The sheer volume of hallway traffic was worse, more overwhelming, and more aggressively swift than my imagination had prepared me for. Students did not simply mill about; they swarmed with the single-minded, frantic intensity of ants who have just collectively discovered a

Silver Ridge High, I quickly realized, possessed an almost magical, deeply irritating ability to transform the utterly ordinary routine of mandatory education into a draining, high-stakes battlefield.The hallways were perpetually jammed, a surging tide of hormonal teenagers, each small, distinct group marking their designated social territory with the fierce, protective instinct of wild animals defending their established turf.The air was thick with competitive energy, silent challenges, and the aggressive posturing of adolescent hierarchy. And somewhere, trapped and completely exposed within this noisy, overwhelming chaos, I was mandated to somehow successfully blend in.Good luck with that, I thought grimly, pulling my shoulders back and pushing through a cluster of oblivious jocks. Blending in was about as likely as me suddenly sprouting functional wings.My first period was the agonizingly dull crucible of history. The classroom was dim, the air stale, and Mr. Gallagher was curr

I've developed a, well-tested theory about small towns. They are fundamentally not small at all. They possess an intense, magnifying complexity, operating less like normal cities and more like intricate, self-contained snow globes.From the outside, the entire scene looks meticulously picturesque, perfectly arranged, and benignly charming. But the second you actively choose to shake it, the second an outside element, like me, enters the carefully controlled environment, the entire world erupts into a violent, chaotic storm. Suddenly, the swirling glitter catches the light, and everyone sees exactly what you are hiding.Right now, standing on the edge of social obscurity, I feel undeniably like I am the central, inconvenient, attention-grabbing glitter storm in someone else's tiny, painstakingly curated, perfect little world.Today's torture is gym class. Naturally.Because what conceivable setting could offer a more effective, comprehensive venue for a loud, public humiliation in fron

I have a quiet, deeply personal confession to make to the ceiling of my rental apartment: attempting to maintain even the flimsiest facade of normality after experiencing a near-fatal almost-shift directly in front of a mysterious, impossibly attractive, and infuriatingly silent Alpha is an emotionally and physically exhausting endeavor.And when I use the term “almost shifting,” I mean that my wolf didn’t just whine or stir, she practically screamed a long, high-pitched, furious sound deep inside my chest, like I had successfully, repeatedly promised her a lifetime supply of fresh, rare meat and had then demonstrably failed to deliver on every single promise.The level of disappointment was astronomical.School today is less a learning environment and more a thick, unsettling blur of whispers and acute sidelong glances. I can’t be entirely certain if the pervasive air of curiosity is due to the faint, almost imperceptible unintentional glow of my aura, the residue of yesterday's near

Walking back into the fluorescent, echoing halls of Silver Ridge High today felt less like returning to school and more like deliberately stepping onto a stage I hadn’t auditioned for; a stage, however, upon which every single other student had apparently already rehearsed their roles and knew my lines better than I did.My wolf growled low and incessantly in the back of my mind, a relentless, restless, and intensely impatient sound, almost as if she possessed a terrifying, absolute premonition of the precise social and political chaos that was inevitably approaching.I could feel it. The shift in the town’s very atmosphere, before my hand even pushed open the heavy front doors. It was a dense, almost palpable mixture of sharp whispers, persistent stares, and the unmistakable, low buzz of heightened pack instincts sensing a profound and potentially threatening novelty.My full, powerful shift last night in the woods had not, it turned out, been a subtle, quiet affair. The energy resid