I’m Not Your Wolf.

Ms. Adams goes through the syllabus.

We have a minute left until class is over and she still has two more pages to go over. I start putting my notebook away so that I don’t have to rush to second period.

The bell rings and everyone gets out of their seat. Everyone is in a hurry to get out of this classroom. I’m not going to lie, Ms. Adams’ class was such a dull way to start 7th grade. That's saying a lot since English is my favorite subject.

I make my way out of the classroom and merge into the sea of students.

“Hey,” I hear someone call out behind me. I keep walking since it couldn’t possibly be directed at me. None of my friends were in my class. There’s a tap on my shoulder. I spin around and there's a pair of green eyes staring back at me. “You forgot your pen.” Theodore hands my pen to me.

“Oh. Thanks,” I respond, taking my pen from his fingers.

“Sorry, I didn’t catch your name,” he says, with a small smile tugging at the end of his lips.

“Romina,” I say, “but I go by Mina.”

“Nice to meet you, Mina. I’m Theo.”

“I know,” I stupidly respond. His eyebrows shoot up, “I mean, I heard your friend call you Theo before class started.”

“Oh. Yeah, Alex,” he remembers. “What do you have for second period?”

“Uhm, Pre-Algebra with Mr. Spencer.”

“Oh, me too. Can I walk you to class”

“I’m not sure how that would be considered walking me to class if you also need to go to the same class.”

“Well, can I walk with you?”

“Sure,” I finally give in. I turn around and continue on the path that I was on before he returned my pen. He walks beside me. I notice that he must be at least a whole foot taller than me, but I'm trying not to stare at him or even look at him.

“So uhm, tell me about yourself, Mina," he says. Where do I start? I don't want to overshare. What if this is some sort of prank or bet he has going on with his friends?

"Uhm," I start.

He laughs. "Fine, I'll go first. My name is Theodore Wynn. I go by Theo. I have a little sister. And I've played hockey since I was 3."

"Three?" I ask.

"Yup," I'm trying not to look at him, but I can hear the smile in his voice, "Where did you go to school before this?"

"Reed," I answer shortly. I am still having doubts about his intentions.

"Oh, nice! So you know Trevor," he says.

"You know Trevor?" I ask.

"We play on the same hockey team. We have since we were 10," he says.

"Oh," I answer shortly again. I used to have a crush on Trevor. Actually, I have had a crush on Trevor since we were in kindergarten. He's always been nice and says hi to me and tries to include me in group settings. But in 4th grade, Rosie moved from Colorado and since she was the new shiny toy, she had all the boys chasing her, including Trevor. In two weeks, they were holding hands during recess and they've been together ever since.

We finally arrived to Room 117. "Uhm, well, I guess we should go in." Unlike Ms. Adams, Mr. Spencer hasn't assigned seats. I walk ahead of Theo to the front row and hope that he doesn't follow me. Maybe he has another friend in this class that he'd rather sit next to.

"Theo!" I hear another boy call out to him. Of course he has friends in this class Why wouldn't he. I sit down and pull out my yellow notebook. I put away my pen and choose my pencil. There are too many mistakes that can happen in math and notes with stuff crossed out bug me.

"Did you save us a seat?" A deep voice asks. I look up, confused. Us? I didn't save anyone a seat, let alone seats for multiple people. The voice belongs to Trevor. His light blue eyes are twinkling back at me and the dimple on his left cheek is marked as he smiles. Standing behind him is Theo with his green eyes. Why would either of them want to sit next to me? Why can't they just sit together, somewhere else?

Unfortunately for me, this classroom has tables that seat three. Trevor is already taking off his backpack and moving to my left while Theo walks across the front of the classroom to take the seat on my right side. I move over to the middle seat so that Trevor can sit. What is happening today?

Oh, did I mention that Rosie doesn't like me? By the end of 4th grade, she found out that I had a crush on Trevor and warned me to stay away from him. Of course that was kind of an impossible thing. Trevor lives across the street and our moms have become best friends. The four of us have movie nights once a week. I'm still not sure if Rosie knows that, but I have avoided talking to Trevor at school if I could help it.

The moment I met him I knew that I should have turned around and ran the opposite way. Deep in my bones I knew that he was about to change me forever. For the rest of my life, I was going to carry grief and my heart was going to carry the weight of having been abandoned by him. I would know what David Foster Wallace meant when he wrote, “Everything I've ever let go of has claw marks on it.”

It’s the first day of seventh grade. Previous to this, we were all in different elementary schools. Now we are all mixed together with only a few familiar faces in each class.

I knew exactly where my English classroom was. I had made my Mom bring me prior to middle school beginning so that I knew where all my classrooms were located. I was so terrified of getting lost and being late to one of my classes. I would be so humiliated if I was known for the next two years as the girl that got lost on her first day of middle school.

There was a chart with assigned seating posted on the door of Room 105. I wasn't expecting this. I had expected that we would be trusted to pick our own seats now that we were in middle school. I guess Ms. Adams knew better. It seems as she had assigned our seats alphabetically. I sighed in frustration. Since my last name is Weber I knew I'd be at the back of class. I hated being placed in the back. If I could choose, I'd be front and center in every class.

This classroom had tables that seated two. I was assigned the seat on the left. Since I was so distraught by being assigned to the back of the classroom, I didn't check who was seated next to me. Should I go back and check?

"Settle down and take your seats!" a petite woman with gray hair and thick tortoise glasses shouts over the chit chat of everyone catching up with their friends about what they did over summer vacation. I don't have many friends in most of my classes. I excelled in my placement exams. While my friends aren't dumb, I got placed in accelerated classes for most of my subjects.

I took a seat and just observed my new classmates. I scanned the room and then my eyes caught a pair of green eyes that had just entered the room. He smiled and then somebody walked between our eye contact.

"Theo! How was summer?" his friend asked as their hands clasped each others and then they came together in a bro hug.

"Alright! Alright! Keep it moving, Alex. There's plenty of time to catch up during lunch," Ms. Adams said to his friend and ushered them to get out of the doorway.

They start walking to their seats and then oh my god. He's walking towards me. And I'm still staring. Look away, Romina. I start looking through my bag to get out my notebook. Thankfully, I don't think he noticed me staring his whole interaction with his friend.

He keeps walking past me and around my seat. Through my peripheral, I see him pull out the chair next to me. Dammit. His smell seems to have engulfed me in a cloud and I'm entranced. What is that?

I pull out my English notebook and pencil case. I chose a blue notebook for this class because everyone knows that English is blue, science is green, and math is yellow. At least that’s what makes sense to my brain. My seat mate has already sat down and pulled out a 1-inch binder filled with loose lined sheet paper. Of course.

He shifts in his seat and I swear he moves his chair farther from me. It’s bad enough that we still have assigned seats in middle school, let alone that he has made it so apparent that he does not want to sit next to me. Meanwhile, my stomach is doing flips that I have never felt before.

There's a loud bang as a boy with dark rimmed glasses walks straight into a desk. I jump at the noise and my pencil slips out of my finger. We reached for it at the same time. My breath hitches when our fingers barely touch. I hope he didn’t notice. I clear my throat to deviate from the electrifying wave his simple touch sent through my body.

“Thanks,” I say.

“Yeah,” he responds. He pulls out his own pen and starts writing on the top right corner. When he puts his pen down, I see he has written: