“Skyler, come on, you don’t want to be late for school,” Mom’s voice echoes from downstairs, her hand hitting a metal object reverberating through the entire house. It’s as if she’s unaware of the discomfort it causes mine and Dad’s ears, or perhaps she does it to grab our attention. Either way, she knows how to ensure we’re all aware of the time and the importance of punctuality for school.

“Mom, I’ll be there in a minute!” I shout in response, dragging myself out of bed and making my way towards the closet with a slight groan. My tired eyes scan through the clothes in my wardrobe until they settle on soft black leggings and a loose-fitting shirt. Opting for comfort over style, I change into this cozy ensemble, reminding myself there’s no need to impress anyone today. After a quick detour to the bathroom, I brush my hair and tie it into a neat bun, ready to start the day.

The school environment fills me with dread as I face continual ridicule and mistreatment for not fitting into conventional expectations. Despite my attempts to blend in, I have recognized that compromising my identity and self-esteem for the sake of others is not valuable. The cruel jokes and physical bullying inflicted a heavy toll on me, and it’s time for a change.

The relentless bullying they subject me to stems from their inability to accept my unique silver eyes, which are sensitive to light and require me to wear sunglasses. My skin tone, which is lighter than theirs, is a constant source of discomfort for them. However, despite the hurtful treatment I endure, I embrace my differences as they make me unique. I refuse to allow their negativity to define who I am, and instead, I strive to rise above their hurtful actions.

“Good morning, sweetheart. I hope you had a restful night,” Dad greets me with a gentle kiss on my forehead.

I welcome him with a smile. “Indeed, I enjoyed a restful night. But I'm not ready to go to school. Everyone hates me and always hurts me!”

“Why do you say that, young lady?” Mom says while glaring at me.

“Oh, I lack any friends. I am made fun of, slammed into lockers, or beat up on,” I whine.

“Did you speak with the Principal or the Alpha?” Dad inquires, his tone laced with anger.

“It’s a regrettable truth, but my faith in the principal has been lost. He’s quick to accuse me whenever something goes wrong, making me perceive that it’s always my fault. The thought of going to the Alpha only fills me with dread. Because I know they’ll single me out and make me more of a target for their relentless scrutiny.” I confess with tears in my eyes.

“If it gets worse, you need to say something to me and I will step in. You are my only daughter, and no one gets away with hurting you!” Dad exclaims, slamming his fist on the table, making Mom and I jump.

“OK, hurry and eat before you leave for school. I also packed you a lunch with fresh rabbit and strawberries.” Mom says, smiling.

As I approach the refrigerator, my hand naturally reaches for a blood bag, knowing I need to warm it up in the microwave to make it more palatable. The chilling temperature of the blood is just sickening, and I can’t afford to let anyone glimpse my peculiar craving. I secretly dispose of the empty bag in a grocery bag. To uphold the secrecy of my unusual desire, mom always gets rid of the evidence for me.

Just as I grab my bookbag to walk to school, Dad stands up and hugs me, saying, “Remember, we have training this evening, so be home before dark.”

“Sure, Dad. I’m well aware of that, and I make it a point to be home right after school. I mean, why would I want to stay late, anyway? It’s not like I have a bunch of friends waiting for me to hang out and cause trouble together,” I say with a hint of sarcasm in my voice.

“I love you guys, and please don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” I say with a smirk. Because how else did they make me?

I swiftly grab my reliable tennis shoes and settle on the bench, enthusiastically preparing to slip them on. Ultimately, I effortlessly slip into my jacket and lift my book bag onto my back.

As soon as I step out into the world, I am captivated by the breathtaking expanse of the sky and the harmonious symphony of birdsong. As I reluctantly make my way toward school, fully aware that I might encounter the formidable “bitch squad,” an unsettling sense of unease creeps over me amidst the serene ambiance.

The clique referred to as the “Bitch Squad” comprises women who firmly believe that they are in contention with our Alpha. They exhibit a tendency to nitpick and gripe about anything and everything. It’s almost as if they cannot cope with the idea of someone else wearing the same clothes or even being in proximity. They act as though sharing the same air might lead to contracting an infectious illness.

As I approach the school, my heart skips a beat when a car zooms towards me, causing me to jump in surprise. And wouldn’t you believe it? Right on time, the infamous “bitch squad” appears out of nowhere. With no warning, they roll down their windows and throw their drinks at me spitefully before speeding off, leaving me soaked in a sticky mixture of coffee and soda. Just as I attempt to wipe my face clean, a faint scent of blood reaches my nostrils, causing me to let out a frustrated sigh. Is asking for a day with no mishaps or injuries too much?

Do you consistently bring spare clothes to school or keep them in your locker? It feels as though I’m frequently altering my outfit multiple times a day because the popular kids and the mean girls consistently ruin my clothes. They tear them, spill things on me, or even spray me with their preferred fragrance, claiming it’s better than my natural scent. It’s highly frustrating, and I can’t help but wonder if others experience the same thing.