Chapter 17
Juniper
The room is practically empty when I step inside, my introductory class to becoming a professional photographer only sitting six other students so far.
Heading to an empty seat that’s entirely void of students, I place my bag to the floor near my seat and hook my camera over the back of my chair. I’m seated for five minutes before several students trail into the classroom, followed by the professor who looks every bit the polished photographer I read he is. Dressed in jeans tighter than a nun’s snatch, a bold shirt I would see on a catwalk rather than in a store, and a pair of calf-high combat boots, the bald professor with a fancy handlebar mustache carries several stacks of books to his desk, dropping them all with a loud thud.
Meanwhile, a student with dark hair, tattoos as far as the eye can see, and covered in a black shirt, dark jeans, and a pair of sneakers that would look really good with my collection, takes a seat in the row in front of me. I catch a faint whiff of pine and citrus when the air shifts around him, a clean, refreshing scent that makes me believe he’s a beta, and something inside me does a little flip knowing this university caters to literally every designation. It makes it easier to relax, to settle into my chair, and simply enjoy the classes ahead.
“Are we all here, guys?” the professor asks, peering down at a piece of paper on his desk, counting out loud as his finger trails over the white sheet. “We only have twelve students this year studying for a degree in Photography. Are twelve of you here?”
I look around, counting each head as I go, and note that there are only eleven of us. The guy in front notices, too, and mumbles, “You’re one short, sir.”
“Ah, yeah. Looks like we had a drop out over the weekend,” the professor notes, nodding once before reaching for a case and pulling out a pair of dark-rimmed glasses that almost look made more for fashion than practicality. The rims take up the majority of the glasses, but hell, what do I know of fashion? Each to their own.
“Alright, folks. Looks like I have you for the next two hours, and I’m afraid we’re not going to get into anything too exciting today. This is an introductory class, after all. I hope you all brought your notebooks and writing utensils,” the professor drawls, taking a seat behind his desk before he fiddles with the mouse attached to his computer. Just as the board behind him comes to life, he says, “If you didn’t already know, my name is Paul Pascal. I’ve had the pleasure of snapping celebrity shots for magazines all over the globe, have won countless awards, and I aspire to share my passion, knowledge, and expertise to those inching into the world of snapshots, landscapes, portraits, and everything in between. I’m dedicating my time and energy into shaping your minds, feeding your creative flow, and molding you all to become the best you can possibly be. Any questions thus far?”
A girl near the front throws her arm up so suddenly that I hear a creak of her bones, and I wince, sinking lower in my seat. The guy in front of me mutters, “Fuck’s sake, here we go.”
I snort despite the confusion his words bring, and the guy turns his head slightly to nod at me. And then the girl speaks, “What was it like working with the Giselle Baltzier?”
“Oh, what about Damon Frazier?” another girl nearby shouts. “I cut out all of the shots from the Devil’s Kill Movie promo shoot and plastered them all over my wall when they were released. ”
Professor Pascal looks utterly bored out of his mind by the questions, and he doesn’t bother looking up from his computer when he answers. “They were both thrilling experiences and I will cherish them until the day I die. Any questions regarding the course you’ll all be taking? Anything related to the work you’ll be expecting to do? Anything else at all?”
When silence answers him, I roll my eyes and find myself suddenly blurting, “Is there a reason you prefer monochrome portraits to the magazine shoots you’re famous for?”
Sure enough, Paul Pascal’s head turns slowly, until he’s peering at me over the frame of his gaudy glasses. He narrows his dark eyes at me and questions, “What makes you think that’s my preferred style?”
I suddenly feel too many eyes on me, and I want to shrink into my fucking chair and pool to the floor in hiding. Since I can’t do that without looking like a weapons-grade idiot, I decide to be truthful and simply state, “Last year you posted more portraits, all of which were black and white. I believe you titled them Natural Selection.”
Thankfully, the guy in front of me nods and inserts, “There was that pack from the Amazon you took candids of. Stunning work, also monochrome, but beautiful detail in every single one.”
“Especially the one with the pack kids wearing ceremonial face paint,” I add, remembering the series well, only because they were so unlike Pascal’s usual work. His feed is usually full of models glammed up enough that they barely look recognizable anymore, celebs on movie or television show shoots, all very pretty photographs. It’s the monochrome shots that hold all of the emotion, the raw beauty, and breathtaking detail.
The guy in front of me nods and jerks his thumb at me. “What she said. The one with the pack omega was out of this world, too.”
“She was gorgeous,” I confirm, remembering the slight smirk of the stunning woman with russet skin and beautiful markings over every inch of her skin. With a piercing through her septum, a gold hoop hanging just above her lip. The tasteful way Pascal captured her bare torso as she cuddled a babe to her chest while she fed her infant, the freckles in her chest and shoulders contrasted to her smooth skin. Those are the shorts I follow the man for, and I’ve always been disappointed he doesn’t post more shots like those.
Slowly, a pleased grin forms on his face, and he offers me and the guy in the row in front a slow clap before he delightfully proclaims, “Looks like we have two fans here with us in class. I already know it’s going to be a pleasure to teach you both. As for your question, I prefer monochrome portraits, mostly candid shots, because they hold a natural beauty that can’t be falsified through materialistic means. They’re raw, show vulnerability, and I enjoy capturing the inhabitants of this world as the Gods intended them to be shown.”
He ends his explanation with a fond smile, right before he scares the shit out of me by clapping loud enough that my ears pop.
“Jesus fucks,” the guy in front of me mutters, shaking his head like he’s trying to clear the echo of the sound that still rattles my brain.
“Preach,” I mutter, shaking a finger in my ear to try and get my hearing back.
One look at the other students assures me we aren’t the only ones affected, though the professor seems utterly oblivious. Instead, he turns back to his computer and begins his introduction to our degree.
“Notebooks and pens at the ready, folks. You’ll want to remember this,” he declares, right before he clicks to the first screen on an aesthetically pleasing slideshow he’s prepared for us.
I have my notebook and pen clutched in my hand at the ready, and just as the professor reads the title of the first slide, the guy before me turns in his seat and psst’s me like I’m a cat he’s trying to beckon. I glance at him and raise an eyebrow in question.
“Don’t suppose you have a pen or pencil I could borrow?” he asks bluntly, looking annoyed for forgetting his own .
It’s only that look that has me pulling out my spare pen and handing it over.
“Thanks,” he salutes me with the pen before turning around and, for the next two hours, we all remain silent while we jot down notes on everything the professor will be covering with us for the next school year.
By the time the two hours are up, my hand is cramping from the speed I was writing, and my back aches from the stiff position I’ve been sitting in for much too long.
A pen falls to my desk while I’m clicking my fingers, and the guy who looks like he was born and raised in a tattoo parlor smiles awkwardly and says, “Thanks for that. Forgot most of my shit this morning. I was rushing.”
I shrug. “Don’t have to explain to me. I get it. Happy to help.”
Truthfully, I wasn’t. I’m not a people person, so the sooner he stops talking to me, the better.
“Yeah, you look it,” the guy snorts, heaving his own shit up from the floor.
Rolling my eyes, I mutter, “I’m helpful, but introverted. It’s a fucking curse.”
“Welcome to my world,” the guy agrees, and my lips twitch as this moment turns into a weird little bonding thing between strangers. It’s as weird as it is amusing, and the funny little cringe on the guy’s face tells me he thinks exactly the same.
Chewing the inside of my mouth, debating what I’m meant to do from here and doing my best not to feel as awkward as this encounter has grown, I decide to bite the bullet and try to make a friend. Holding my hand out, I sigh like this is costing me a piece of my soul and introduce myself. “Juniper.”
The dude eyes my hand, snorts, and slides his against mine. He’s warm, but nowhere near as warm as my alphas and beta. In fact, they smell better than him, too, though he smells pleasant enough. He shakes my hand and says, “Munro.”
My eyebrows raise. “ Cool name.”
“Thanks,” he snickers, and we release each other’s hands at the exact same time, and a bubble of amusement flares to life. It appears I have met the guy version of myself, and my lips twitch when I watch him wipe his hand on his jeans. I’ve already wiped mine on mine beneath the desk, and I’m pretty sure he knows it, too, based on the amused little eyebrow quirk he sends me.
I shrug a shoulder and mutter, “People freak me out.”
“You’re my people, because same,” he mutters. To be fair to him, he genuinely looks both amused and disturbed trying to hold a conversation with me.
Grabbing my things, I step around the desk and ask, “You’ll be in the same classes as me all year, right?”
“All three years’ worth of classes, if neither one of us drops out,” he confirms, falling into step with me as we leave the class.
I nod slowly, and we walk in silence for a long moment. It’s weirdly comfortable, neither one of us feeling any kind of need to fill the space between us. It’s the first time I’ve met anyone who can simply hang out in peace and quiet with me since meeting Mack. I’ll have to call that grumpy bastard today.
Just as we leisurely stride down another hall, I decide to broach the topic of becoming… friends? I don’t know, this whole thing is painfully weird to me. I’m friendless for a reason. From my whole life experience, people really fucking suck. Only my pack and those that created them are the exception to that rule, rare enigmas that I’m sure were gifted to me by divine intervention. Everyone else can go fuck themselves. Well, maybe not this guy, since he actually seems chill enough that I could probably tolerate his presence for longer than a few minutes.
“I know no one here save for my pack,” I explain, hiking my bag up my shoulder and shrugging like it’s no big deal that I’m trying to purposely befriend someone. “You want to reluctantly strike up a friendship? I could do with hanging out with someone who doesn’t make me want to gouge my eyes out. ”
“High praise,” he blandly drawls, but I catch his lips twitching like he’s finding the entire situation funny. “But sure. My pack will get a kick out of hearing that I actually made a friend today. Apparently, my antisocial behavior is suited for prisons and gangs, or whatever the fuck Pace said. Asshole alpha.”
I bite my lip to stop laughing. “Apparently, my attitude towards people is only good for serial killers and assassins, or whatever Creek said. Alphas, man. Assholes, the lot of ‘em.”
Munro barks a surprised laugh and looks down at me with dark-brown eyes. “How many do you have to cope with?”
“Four and a beta,” I snicker. “You?”
“All four of them are alphas. I’m the only beta. Trust me, it’s as bad as it sounds,” he groans dramatically, running a tatted hand through his dark hair littered with pretty curls.
Grinning, because I know all about the troubles of a group of alphas even if I didn’t know they were alphas at the time, we continue down several hallways, down the two sets of stairs I had to heave my sorry ass up to get to class, and down one last hallway before we finally enter the fancy cafeteria that damn near makes my mouth fall open in shock.
It’s beautiful, like something out of a British dining hall filled with stained-glass windows, chandeliers, and lines of tables and chairs littered with students enjoying their morning break.
“Holy shit,” I whisper, eyeing the massive room much like Belle did in that movie about a beast and a wilting enchanted rose.
Munro snorts, eyeing me like he’s amused, and says, “Wait until you see the library. Better than this, if you can believe.”
“Damn. No wonder so many rich kids come here,” I mutter under my breath, not quite bitter, but more low-key envious that the wealthy are granted things like this as though it’s just another day in life for them. Knowing that I had to work my ass off to get a scholarship here almost makes me hate every rich kid here. I probably would hate them if I gave a shit, but, as it was, I’m simply happy enough to be here and get on with life. It’s no business of mine what rich kids are doing.
Unfortunately, I must not mutter quietly enough, because Munro’s eyebrows raise in shock and he nods slowly, as if he’s in agreement. “Plenty of those around here.”
“Not you?” I wonder, curious about the guy I’m trying to make my friend. Honestly, it’s too weird.
Munro shakes his head, donning a smirk as he eyes a particularly preppy-looking bunch of kids I cringe at the thought of befriending. Absolutely not. I’d rather make friends with a feral cat that would claw my eyes out if I got too close. No thanks. “Nah. I’m on scholarship. Won’t see me dead in a polo and khakis.”
I snort. “Same, on both fronts.”
“See? My people. Come on, let’s eat. Best thing about this place is the grub,” he informs, jerking his head toward the food court at the far end of the massive room, several students waiting in line to be served. “There’s a bunch of shit here to choose from. Fries, pizza, spaghetti bolognese. Salad, if you’re into that.”
Pulling a face that could only be called a grimace, I decide relatively quickly. “Pizza.”
“Pizza,” Munro agrees. “And fries.”
“And fries,” I mumble, side-eyeing the guy, convinced he’s me in another form.
I follow after him as he leads us to the queue for pizza, and we grab our food in record time. Munro carries our tray to an empty table and sits with a tired sigh, handing me my food before diving straight into his own without so much as an attempt at small talk. It’s quite possibly the best human interaction outside of my pack that I’ve had.
Just as that thought bubbles across my mind, a bright, bubblegum princess plonks her ass right next to me. The overpowering scent of bubblegum fills my nostrils, and my eyes widen in horror when I realize it’s the girl from my first day here. “Oh, god. It’s you. ”
“Don’t sound so excited to see me, kitten. Put the claws away and turn off friendly fire. I come in peace,” the Pastel Parade laughs, winking at me as she unwraps a… is that a whole red velvet cake? Like, an honest to god frosted, prettily decorated red velvet cake?
When Silver sees me staring in absolute awe at the baked confectionary before her, she shrugs and unabashedly says, “Don’t judge. I have free will, and that free will allows me to eat cake during breaks between classes. You want some?”
Weirdly enough, I do, my hankering for all things sweet and sugary driving me to accept. So, like all respectable people, I nod. I mean, only stupid people turn down cake.
“Omegas, kitten. We just understand one another,” she snickers like she’s in on my inner conversation, cutting me off a slice that could rival the size of my head, and I gape as she plops it on a napkin and slides it over. When she eyes Munro, who sits opposite me with a scowl in Silver’s direction, she raises an eyebrow and asks, “Want some, too, you little thundercloud?”
That scowl deepens, and I clear my throat to break his stare down of the pretty little pixie with pastel hair, baby-blue, wide-legged pants, and a pale-pink cropped shirt with strawberries patterned all over it. “Thanks, Tink.”
“You know her?” Munro asks bluntly, eyeing Silver with a tame sneer, before discarding her.
Sadly, it’s Silver that answers. “Of course, she does. We’re best friends. Met on her very first day and it was love at first sight. She can hardly be away from me for a single second. It’s beautiful.”
“Oh my fucking god,” I breathe, cutting my cake in half and sliding the other side to Munro. Just because he didn’t answer Silver, doesn’t mean I didn't see the look he sent the cake before realizing it was the Pastel Parade that brought it. “I think you dye your hair too much, because I’ve never known anyone to be more delusional.”
“You say delulu, I say wishful thinking. Not that I want you madly in love with me in a romantic way. You’re a total babe, but you’re sadly not packing the stuff I like. But we’re definitely besties. I decided the moment you told me I smelt of unicorn farts. Never received a better compliment,” the girl quips, right before she stuffs her mouth with a slice of cake in a way that most girls would be embarrassed to.
“What a sad life you live,” Munro quips with a bite that shocks me. Probably because he’s only spoken to me like he’s floundering through making friends as badly as I am.
Instead of slinging back a quirky quip like I expected, a darkness falls over Silver’s gray eyes and she chews on her cake, peering down at the table before she mutters, “Yeah. Sad.”
I don’t know why, but my heart aches at the look that crosses her face, but it’s gone in the next blink, and I realize straight away what she’s done. A mask has fallen in place, secured with nuts and bolts, welded to her features, and all darkness and that heartachingly sad sorrow she wore for only a moment disappears just as quickly as it arrived.
“So, how’s your first day going, Juniper Baines?” she wonders, licking the frosting from her cake.
I hear Munro choke on his inhale, and I look over to find him glaring at the table like it spit on him and called him a little bitch. What the hell is his problem?
“Good so far,” I answer, a little distracted by my new friend, who is doing everything to ignore the little omega enigma beside me.
Sure enough, Silver catches it, and she nudges me before she whispers loudly, “Who’s the breathing bad attitude?”
“My… friend?” I answer, though it comes out like more of a question, my gaze still on Munro as he ignores the cake and eats his pizza, keeping his own eyes off the pixie that smells like a candy store.
“You telling or asking?” she snickers, dropping her chin in her hand as she continues to stare into the soul of the guy doing his best to pretend she doesn’t exist.
“Uh,” I mumble. “Telling?”
“Oh, Kitten,” Silver sighs, full of amusement. “You’re so friend-makingly inept that it would be laughable if it didn’t make me want to hug you and tell you it was all going to be alright. Lucky you have me, right? Anyway, I need your number.”
The girl is talking so fast, that I can only turn my head toward her and blink. Right before I blurt, “Are you in a rush or something? Practicing for a rap battle? Why are you talking to me like you’re trying to cast a hex on me?”
Silver stares for all of two seconds before she’s laughing. It’s that loud, infectious, ‘head thrown back’ kind of laughter, and I see Munro eye her from my peripheral, his head jerking toward her at the first note of her laugh. Almost like he can’t help himself, or the way his mouth parts slightly, his eyes widening a fraction… Oh? Oh! Oooh, okay. I’m storing that in my pocket for a later date.
“Sorry. I’ve had two energy drinks and a coffee this morning,” she eventually explains once she’s calmed down enough, sliding her phone across the table to me. “I do need your number, though. How else am I supposed to get to know my new bestie if I can’t text or call?”
I must be possessed by something unholy, because my stupid ass picks the cellphone up and I type in my number, knowing damn well it’s going to bite me in the ass later. Lord knows, the last thing I need is to be adopted by an extroverted explosion of color, sass, and hyperactivity.
Looks like I’ve got no say in the matter, though, because she slides her cell back, taps merrily away for a few seconds, and then pockets her cell before grinning at me. “There. Now you have mine. Anyway, I have to go call my cousin before he shows up and demands that I give him attention. Later, bestie.”
Then the omega presses a kiss to my cheek, bringing her bubblegum scent, before she disappears into the crowd, pulling a pair of sky blue headphones over her silver and pastel hair.
“What, and I can’t stress this enough, the fuck was that?” Munro finally asks, staring in the direction Silver vanished.
My eyebrows pinch in confusion, because I don’t actually know. “My best friend? ”
At that, Munro’s hard expression softens slightly, his lips twitching with amusement. “You telling or asking?”
My expression flattens and I glare at him. “You’re a dick.”
“Now you’re catching on. Why do you think I’m a loner?” the guy snorts, right before he digs into his slice of cake, and I have to force myself not to smile mockingly at him. Sadly, I mustn't do a good job, or else he senses my struggle, because without looking up from his cake, he hurries to say, “You better keep your mouth shut, or else I won’t be your friend at all.”
Sure enough, I find myself miming my mouth shut with a zipper, and the two of us fall back into a peaceful silence while we eat. And through the remainder of our break, I find myself realizing how much I’ve enjoyed myself in what little time I’ve spent here at North U already.