The bell's shriek tore them apart. One second, Isabella's hand was warm in his—the next, a tsunami of backpacks and bored teenagers flooded the hallway, sweeping her away. Damon stood frozen like a boulder in a river moving against the tides, students parting around him with irritated sighs.
Then—thud—an arm slung over his shoulders. Caleb's grin was already in full shit-eating mode.
"Mall. Now. We're getting you a shirt that doesn't scream 'I sleep on appliances.'"
Damon opened his mouth, but Caleb steamrolled him, steering them toward the parking lot:
"Save the puppy eyes. Patrick's ditching practice. We've got two hours before the game to make you look less… you."
"I almost kissed her," Damon blurted.
Caleb missed a step.
"In the HALLWAY? Jesus, you WERE gonna fuck her against the lockers—" He dissolved into wheezing laughter, clutching his stomach. "Fucking—ROMANTIC—oh my God—"
Damon's glare could've melted steel.
"Okay, okay!" Caleb wiped tears, still hiccuping.
"Look, you got cockblocked by the UNIVERSE, but—" He shoved Damon into the Thunderbird's backseat. "Game tonight. Date tomorrow. Same plan, just with more…" He gestured at Damon's wrinkled flannel. "'Attempted human' vibes."
Damon slumped, scratching his nails. "What if she changes her mind?"
"Then you'll cry into a milkshake like a normal person."
"Now shut up. We're upgrading you from 'washed-up cryptid' to 'maybe showers weekly.'"
Damon slid into the passenger seat from the back, eyeing the keys in Caleb's hand.
"How much does your boyfriend trust you to drive his prized car?"
Caleb jammed the key into the ignition, flashed a grin, and revved the engine twice—vroom vroom—before peeling out of the lot.
"That's just love, baby."
---
Isabella locked herself in the farthest stall, knees pulled to her chest, trying to ignore the acrid stench of bleach and something worse. Her phone trembled in her hands.
ISABELLA: Get here. Now.
Five minutes later, Lucy's signature whistle pierced the bathroom—two sharp notes, like calling a dog.
"Bella? Bellaaaa?"
Isabella kicked the stall door open.
"Get the fuck in here."
Lucy squeezed in, wrinkling her nose.
"Damn, we really doing this in Shit Stall #3?"
But the joke died when she saw Isabella's face. Wordlessly, she hip-checked her over and sat beside her.
Next door, a torrent of piss hit the toilet water. They burst into laughter, shoulders knocking together.
Lucy: "Alright, drama queen. Talk."
Isabella inhaled sharply.
"Oh my God, Luce… I think I love him."
Lucy: "Who—"
Isabella: "Damon. The weirdo. I think I LOVE him."
Silence. Then—
Lucy: "…We're LITERALLY sitting on a toilet right now."
Lucy pulled Isabella into a crushing hug.
"Oh baby, you'll be fine. Love's beautiful. And if he ever hurts you?" She drew back, eyes glinting. "I'll deal with him myself. Promise you - it'll be gory."
Isabella buried her face in Lucy's shoulder.
"It's not about that. It's senior year. I'm the new girl. Should I really be falling in love right now?"
Lucy grabbed her face, forcing eye contact.
"Bells, are you dumb? You're eighteen. You're young. Live your life. Be dumb. Be free. Be you."
A wicked grin spread across her face.
"Now go get that weirdo's dick."
Isabella snorted, shoving her away.
"Can we please leave? I'm gonna suffocate in here."
Lucy elbowed Isabella as they pushed through the crowd:
"PS - try not to sob your way through the game. And for God's sake, wear something cute."
---
And then as the hand of time passes and the hours go on, it was night time.
The Thunderbirds' crazed fans had transformed the school into a sea of chaos:
Blue body-painted lunatics chanting obscenities
Student trucks with suspiciously frothy kegs
The bitter cold that cut through even the thickest coats
Above it all, a full moon glared down, its pale light competing with the stadium's harsh fluorescents.
Lucy was already in uniform when they arrived early—the skin-tight crop top that showed off her midriff, the skirt that rode up no matter how much she tugged at it, and those damn blue-and-white pom-poms resting in her lap. With her golden blonde hair in a high ponytail and that all-American smile, she looked every inch the perfect cheerleader. Minus the bitch attitude, of course.
"Alright, girl," Lucy said, slamming the car door.
"Try not to die before I find you again."
And just like that, she was gone, swallowed by the crowd.
Isabella sat frozen in the car, hands gripping the wheel.
I could just leave. Drive home. Pretend this isn't happening.
A glance in the rearview mirror—at her own wide eyes—made her snort.
"Get it together," she muttered, slapping her cheeks.
"It's just a fucking football game."
---
The roar of the crowd hit her first. Then the smell—popcorn, cheap beer, and the metallic tang of cold. She was pushing through the sea of bodies when a familiar engine growl cut through the noise.
The Thunderbird rolled in like a celebrity, Patrick at the wheel—star quarterback, jawline sharp enough to cut glass. Caleb lounged in the passenger seat, all smirks and letterman-jacket swagger. And crammed between them, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else? Damon. Their resident third wheel, all awkward limbs and nervous energy.
As they spilled out of the car, Patrick paused to survey the roaring crowd. Caleb caught his hand.
"Win or lose, you're still number one," he said, pressing a quick kiss to Patrick's knuckles.
"But you better not lose."
Patrick flashed a grin and jogged toward the field, leaving Caleb and Damon standing alone.
"Wow. That's... uhh, something," Damon managed.
Caleb shrugged.
"That's just love. Now come on - I want seats close enough to smell Patrick's sweat."
"Eww, what the fuck?" Damon recoiled.
"Relax, I'm joking. Mostly." Caleb shoved through the crowd, then suddenly elbowed Damon hard.
"Hey Dumbo! Isn't that your sneaky link?" He pointed to Isabella sitting alone.
"Look, there's a free seat."
Damon hesitated.
"What if she wants to be left alone?"
"Who the fuck wants to be alone at a high school football game?" Caleb rolled his eyes.
"Go buy popcorn and two drinks. And for Christ's sake, grow a pair."
Damon took a deep breath, clenched his fists, and forced his way through the crowd. He plopped down beside Isabella so suddenly she jumped.
"So," he said, offering her a soda, "you don't exactly scream school spirit."
She blinked, then recovered with a smirk.
"Maybe there's more to me than meets the eye."
Damon grinned.
"So... who are we playing?"
Isabella burst out laughing, covering her face.
"Oh shit, you caught me."
As their laughter faded, Damon pointed to the field.
"We're the Thunderbirds - blue and white. Those red nightmares? Red Porcupines. This turnout's because it's the first qualifying game for the league."
"Normally no one would care," Damon explained, "but this is senior year. There's actual scouts here who might make these losers' pipe dreams come true."
He gestured to the field.
"That's Patrick Holmes - star QB, only bearable one here. Probably because he's dating Caleb. Then there's Matt Barnes - wide receiver, stole my lunch in middle school. Rest of them?" He shrugged.
"No clue who the fuck they are."
Isabella burst out laughing.
"You've been at this school your whole life!"
"Never said I was invested," Damon shot back with a grin.
The game started calmly enough. Damon sipped his drink, actually enjoying himself for once. When nature called, he just told her he'd be right back, he headed to the restroom with an uncharacteristic smile - things were finally looking up.
Then the door slammed open.
A chill swept through the tiled room as a shirtless student—he guesses but he hadn't seen him before—staggered in. His eyes locked onto Damon with unnatural focus.
"So," the boy slurred, voice thick with something... wrong.
"You think you can have her? That you two could actually be happy?"
Damon froze mid-zip.
"Uh... what?"
"You don't deserve her."
The words hung in the air like a threat. Damon raised his hands, edging toward the door.
"Hey man, I think you've had one too many-"
The boy moved faster than should've been possible. His hands—no, his claws—slammed into Damon's chest with bone-crushing force. Damon's body bent the metal lockers as he crashed to the floor.
When he looked up, while struggling to stand up again—
The boy's flesh ripped like a knife through butter. Bones elongated into porcupine quills, tearing through skin with wet snaps. His mouth unhinged as his teeth turned canines, releasing a scream that wasn't human—
And Damon realized two things:
This wasn't just some drunk asshole.
And he was completely fucked.