A/N: My first attempt at a story like this, so please, bare with me :)

Chapter 1 : Scent

Evie's P.O.V.

Ok. Let me get this straight. At Wilford Prep, there was a fine line between a nerd, geek, and dork. A nerd was a person who was incredibly smart, wore glasses and/or braces, was considered somewhat ugly, and was picked on by the 'populars'. A dork was a person who was incredibly smart, wore glasses and braces, socially ousted, considered ugly, and was picked on by both the populars and regulars. A geek was a person who was incredibly smart. Period. They had their own group of friends, or chose not to socialize. They were barely on by anyone, since they still looked good, but just didn't wear what the populars approve of. Bottom line is, geeks wore what the regulars wore.

Wilford Preparatory School prides itself for its great academic decathlon team, the Super W. Although Wilford has achieved great academic success over the last couple of years, Wilford also has stupid people. The jocks and cheerleaders. Wilford has a great set of jocks, don't get me wrong. State champions for about a dozen years in a row or so. Best in Massachusetts, the Wilford Bulls. And the cheerleading team has won the cheerleading nationals a couple of times too. But, like the geeks, nerds, and dorks, there was a fine line between the populars and the regulars. The populars were, well, popular. And the regulars were regular. Average people. At Wilford, you status quo was your life. You mix with the other ranks, unless you were a one of the two most popular people in Wilford, but they normally never do. Not if they could help it.

The name's Evangeline Wilson. Evie. No one calls me 'Evangeline', unless they're totally pissed off at me. I was one of the geeks, and for my senior year at Wilford, I had all AP Classes, yet I was only second in the year, and the Principal never discloses other people's class rankings to anyone. I was second, years on end, since the first time I went to Wilford. Wilford is a private school, and the people who couldn't afford or weren't academically excellent enough to get a scholarship here went to P.J. Fenway High, on the other side of Downtown Boston. Quite a joke of a school Fenway is actually. I, unlike the regulars and populars, was on a scholarship there. Although I wasn't socially annihilated, I only had a few friends. It was a personal choice. Seriously.

"Hey, Eves." Jasper greeted me as I sat down in the chair next to him in first period AP Trig. Jasper was a chubby Chinese kid. He's nice, but he took math and science a little bit too seriously.

"Hey, Jaz."

"Did you hear?"

"Here what?" I cocked my head to the side in curiosity.

"Rumor has it, that Oddball there is valedictorian." I twisted myself around, looking at Oddball. For most unfortunate reasons, Oddball's real name is Viktor Odboloski, and everyone calls him Oddball.

"No way?" I asked Jasper in disbelief.

"Just a rumor, Eves. No need to go and battle him in a show-down or something." As he relaxed back into his seat comfortably, the final bell rang, signaling the start to a new day in the second week of the fall semester.

Joey P.O.V.

I sat at the very back of the classroom at my fourth period AP Physics class. The teacher, Mr. Finnegan, was handing back our test papers before we leave. My baseball cap low across my face, a shrink into my seat. All eyes were on Mr. Finnegan, I couldn't risk on any falling on me. Being a jock, I had a reputation I had to keep up, so I lead all my friends to believe that was in remedial everything, and that was the reason why I wasn't in any of their classes. Truth was, I was top of my class. Mr. Finnegan handed out the last paper, and walked back to the front. Everyone was looking straight ahead, so I figured it would be a good time to check out what I got on my exam. And there it was, right next to the name Joseph Triggen, was a solid red A+. My first of this year's Physics class. Thank you very much.

I walked into the cafeteria that day happy. It seemed like all my senses were all up one notch. I walked up to the populars table and was instantly surrounded by the people who worshiped me. I was king of Wilford. My reigning queen was Alexandra Sydney, head cheerleader, unless I get a girlfriend. That's how things worked around here. Alex had been pressuring me since day one to date her, yet I refused. Going around and picking any girl I wanted was something I didn't want to let go of. But lately, I had been having this certain feeling I couldn't understand. Did I mention I'm a werewolf? I didn't? Oh. Well, I am. So this whole weird feeling thing really bugged me. Big time.

"Yo, Joe Bro!" Said Carlos. Carlos' family was originally from Mexico, but he was born and raised in Boston. He was my best friend, but no one knew about my smarts or if me being a werewolf.

"Hey Carlos." I said, high-fiving him and taking a seat. I adjusted my letterman's jacket that had both the football patch and basketball patch, with captain stitched underneath each one. I would have joined all the sports, but my Dad didn't allow me. Said that it might expose the pack.

Lunch went by uneventfully, just a bunch of talking and flirting here and there. Until we had about twenty minutes left. I felt myself twitch uncomfortably, like I was phrasing. I tried to control myself—I usually could—but somehow, I just couldn't. I quickly excused myself, and ran off, at the usual unnatural speed werewolves have. I stopped when I reached the house, which, thankfully, was only a few blocks down. I trapped myself in my room as I started to strip off my clothes—they would've ripped into shreds if I didn't—and I howled in pain. Phrasing was a second nature to me and didn't hurt at all. But this did. Pain scorched my body, and I was thankful that my sister, Hilary, was attending UCLA, and that Mom and Dad were at work. It allowed me to yell as loud as I wanted. Which was very, very loud. The house was sound proofed by Dad when we bought it, so the neighbors couldn't hear noises that sounded like it came from a wolf. Slowly, and painfully, I phrased, and I didn't stop howling until the whole process was complete. It was the first time it was this painful. Even the first time I phrased wasn't this painful.

That night, my Dad sensed that something was wrong with me. As Beta of the senior pack, you really couldn't keep anything from him.

"What's wrong, son?" He asked from across the dinner table. "You didn't get an A+ in all your tests?"

"I got perfect scores as usual, Dad." I said, tossing the food around in my plate. It was very odd actually, doing that. It's just that Werewolves always eat twice as much. Normally.

"Nope, nope. Something's wrong. Tell me." Mom reached out to touch his hand, hoping to calm him down a little. Dad has a temper. It's a Beta thing. I took a breath and told him.

"I involuntarily phrased earlier today. It was unbelievingly painful." His eyes lit up when he looked at me, and so did Mom. I didn't get why.

"Honey, you remember the legends?" Mom asked. I nodded. "Remember the mating one? The one where a wolf gets a certain feeling from their soul mate?" I shook my head, and Mom quickly refreshed my memory. I hadn't been to a bonfire since I was fifteen, when I first phrased. Members of the junior pack weren't permitted to go unless it was the first time they phrased. We get promoted when your senior equivalent reaches the age of sixty. Dad was forty-nine. "When the soul mate of a wolf gets traumatized, or is hurt, a wolf feels the same pain they are in when they, and their mate, is ready to, well, mate."

"You, son, have a mate." Dad added.

"No, no, please. No!" I panicked. I didn't want a mate at all.

"Joseph!" Mom scolded me. "Don't talk about your mate like that!"

"I don't want a mate!"

"Then how will the line continue?" Dad's voice was rising, meaning his temper was too.

"How am I supposed to know?" Dad shot up from his seat, and Mom stood up and put her hand on his shoulder. Dad calmed at her touch, but obviously, it wasn't enough. Just enough for him not to claw my neck off.

"You have to stop sleeping around, son." He said disappointingly.

"No." At that, I turned around and left the dining room to retreat to my den.

When I lay down on my bed, I promised myself something.

"Joey, unless that girl is up to your standards, you will not accept her. I don't care if wolfs mate for life; if she's not to your standards, you will reject her."