Page 3 of The Werewolf’s Study Date

“He thinks you’re a wolf on gear.”

“I’ll pee in his cup.”

Behind us, Mikey drops flat on the grass. “Leave me here. Tell my mom I died doing what I hated.”

I turn around, grab Mikey by the forearm, and haul him up before taking his gear bag. “You’re not dying. Walk.”

“Fuck you, Boone.” Mikey stumbles forward anyway.

In the locker room, I drop onto the bench and pull out my phone. An alert pops up from the Peer Academic Support Program. New student assignment.

Creature Bio 201 with Perkowinski. Student name: Maisie Pope.

Her first paper is attached. There’s a giant red forty-six stamped on the first page.

“Jesus,” I mutter.

Tate leans over my shoulder. “What?”

“Back up.” I angle the screen away.

“Who is it?”

“Maisie Pope.”

I open the file and start reading. The structure is solid. Her arguments make sense. She knows the basics, but the second she hits lineage traits and pack bonding, she crashes. Perkowinski grades heritage theory like everyone in the room grew up living in a den. Humans don’t have that context.

“She just needs someone to explain the background,” I say.

Tate stares at me. “You’ve known her name for twelve seconds and you’re already defending her?”

“I’m reading her paper.”

“You’ve got your project face on.”

“I don’t have a project face. Fuck off.”

After my shower, I stop by the academic center to print her paper. I read through it a second time at a table, marking up the margins with a pen so she can see exactly where Perkowinski started taking off points.

Reed walks by, glances down, and yells toward the hallway, “Kinkaid printed a girl’s homework!”

“Shut the fuck up, Reed,” I say.

Mikey wanders over, looking fully recovered. “Is she hot?”

“I don’t know what she looks like,” I say, stacking the pages. “I’m tutoring her tonight.”

Tate rounds the corner, grinning. “He’s read it twice, highlighted it, and written handwritten notes in the margins. For a girl he hasn’t even met.”

“It’s preparation.”

“It’s called developing feelings for a PDF.”

The room erupts. I grab my stuff, shove past Tate, and head out the door before I punch him.

The east wing of the library is quiet. An enchanted return cart glides past my table, dropping books onto the shelves by itself without making a sound.

I’m fifteen minutes early, sitting at our assigned table with my notes spread out, reviewing her second page.