Page 7 of Dead Girls Don’t Forget

I tied my hair back, closed the locker, picked up my water bottle, and walked toward the door.

The field was bright without warmth, the sun low and white over the bleachers.

Coach Miller was in his early thirties, tall and lean with the kind of posture that said he had been a runner once too. A wolf shifter.

His gaze swept over the group, lingering on me for a fraction of a second before he nodded.

“Warm-up jog. Two laps around the field.”

The wolves took off together. Their pace was fast from the start, harder than a Day 1 warm-up needed to be, and I let my legs find the rhythm without matching them. They wanted me to chase, but I had no interest in chasing.

The wolves kept their distance, running in tight clusters and leaving a gap around me like it had been planned.

Fine by me. I didn’t come here to make friends.

I finished the two laps without effort and walked it out, breath even, while the wolves arrived in a panting cluster a few seconds behind. Coach Miller checked his watch and made a small note on his clipboard.

Then he moved us through drills—strides, form work, light tempo. Day-one stuff. By the time we finished practice, a light sheen of sweat covered my skin, my muscles warm but far from spent. I grabbed my things and headed for the showers, ignoring the low murmurs that followed me out.

Classes started mid-morning and passed quickly. New rooms, new faces, the same looks.

People always stared at what didn’t belong.

Lunch came and went without incident. I ate alone at a corner table with a clear view of the door, oatmeal, fruit, and black coffee, and I did not look at anyone long enough to be asked anything.

By afternoon I was back at the athletics building for strength training.

I had just finished warming up when Coach’s voice cut through the noise of the room.

“Nice of you to join us, Naomi.”

I glanced up.

She stood out immediately. Tall, blonde, put together in that effortless way that wasn’t effortless at all. She sauntered toward Coach Miller like she owned the space.

Coach Miller crossed his arms. “You missed morning practice.”

She didn’t bother pretending to be sorry. “I had a late night. And it’s the first day. Thought you’d cut me some slack.”

He didn’t. “Miss again and you’re off the roster.”

A quick flash of annoyance, gone as fast as it came. She tipped her head, tone dipping into something almost sweet. “Don’t tell me you’re going to hold this against me.”

He didn’t reply.

Her pout vanished the moment she glanced at me. The corners of her mouth curled with obvious dislike.

“So that’s the transfer,” she said, loud enough for half the room to hear.

I met her stare without reacting, then turned back to my barbell and continued my set. Ignoring her was easy. She wasn’t worth the energy.

Naomi didn’t take the hint.

She pivoted toward a group of girls stretching nearby. “I seriously don’t get why we needed someone new. We were doing fine last season.”

One of the wolves mumbled something. Naomi laughed like it was the funniest thing she had ever heard.

“And she’s not even from here. Funny how transfers always seem to find a place when the rest of us actually earned ours.”