Page 4 of Legacy Wolf: Semester One (Legacy Wolf #1)

RAWLING

Maybe my old college was too much of a “party school” or maybe it was the classes I signed up for, but this place was tough.

Just getting through the lectures with my brain intact was a feat and a half.

By the time I was done with my last class of the day, I was put a fork in me done.

All I wanted was to grab a quick dinner and finish the bare minimum of my homework before crashing.

I stood in line at the dining hall for fifteen minutes before realizing that I didn’t have my card.

Jack wasn’t with me, her class requiring a lab that had her racing to catch the last few minutes of dinner on lab days.

The attendant at the scanning station was the same person there every dinner and a few breakfasts I’d been to.

They smelled me and then giggled each and every time.

Yet when I didn’t have my card, they shrugged.

“Sorry, I can’t let you in.” Mind you, they had just let someone in without their card.

“What about the redhead at the soda fountain?” I pointed to the card-forgetting person in question.

“I recognize him. You? For all I know you live in town and are here because it’s breakfast-for-dinner night.” The jerk smirked. As if anyone would sneak in here for tepid French toast. If anything, they’d sneak in for pot roast night.

I didn’t bother to argue. There was no point. They were choosing to be an alphahole, and fighting back would only fuel them on.

Instead, I headed back to my room, where I crossed my fingers and my toes that I’d find the card there.

I was so not in the mood for any of this.

And to make matters worse, I opened the house door to find myself standing face to face with Mrs. Ardilla—AKA my house mother.

Every time I thought this school couldn’t treat us more like children than they already were, they one upped themselves, and my house mother was by far the most in-your-face of them, in my opinion.

“Excuse me, Mrs. Ardilla.” I didn’t even know why we called her that.

As far as the rumor mill went, no one else did either.

She never mentioned a spouse or being a widow, and she never wore a ring.

She did, however, insist we call her Mrs., reminding us if we messed up and called her any other title.

“I was just looking for you, Rawling.”

Great. Just freaking great.

“I was just running to my room to grab my meal plan card for dinner. I’m quite famished.” Famished . Way to talk like a normal college kid.

“That will have to wait, I fear. Follow me.” She started toward her office, and I followed, dread building in my middle.

I tried to think of anything I might’ve done that would require me being disciplined.

I was careful not to lock our neighbors out of the bathroom accidentally, I didn’t drink or smoke, and I tended to be in bed early if for no other reason than I had nothing better to do.

By the time we reached her office door, not one possible infraction had crossed my mind.

“Come in.” She walked to the far side of the room and sat at her “desk.” The office, as she called it, was more of a breakfast nook with a little bistro table and an old baker’s cabinet that had to be worth some money, given both its age and condition.

I stepped inside and took the seat she offered me.

“You are aware of why I called you in here.”

It didn’t really sound like a question, but I answered it as such. “Not really. I’ve been trying not to step out of line.” Which only sounded like a confession of guilt to my ears. Please let her not hear it that way.

“You got the notice, right?”

I just stared at her blankly, having not a fraction of a clue as to what she was talking about. Finally, I responded, “Which notice?”

Mrs. Ardilla pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Does the future hold any promise, with youth such as this?” She was mumbling, and I took that as a sign that it was a rhetorical question and not one that required an answer.

Pretty sure she would loathe any comments I had about her premise, and keeping my mouth shut was the safest of options.

“The notice was put under your door at the end of last semester.”

“Before I arrived?” I leaned back into my chair, my suspicion being that I was in the room for the long haul.

“That is neither here nor there.” She got up and went to the baking cabinet, opened a door, and pulled out two student handbooks, handing one to me and then reclaiming her seat.

“Thank you.” I had a copy somewhere. It had been included in the welcome packet. Aside from the sections that seemed really important, I glossed over most of it at the time.

“Open to page 76.” She flipped through her book, and I hurried to comply.

And having page 76 not be the very end told me that I was probably not the only one in the house who hadn’t read the entire thing. We all had classes and homework to deal with. Who had time for a novel-length handbook?

I glanced down at the page once I found it: Physical Education Requirements.

“Students of Sombertooth are expected to take care of both their mind and body. In 1983, as part of the university’s desire to foster this goal, the physical education requirement was put into place.

” She read the passage word for word and then looked up at me.

“Have you taken this into consideration?”

I had not. “I don’t remember any PE classes being offered.

” Not that I would’ve jumped at the chance to take one.

Sports and I were not the best of friends.

I tried football as a middle schooler and cried every day.

Soccer the next year was worse, because I broke my classmate Jules’s nose on day one.

I learned a very valuable lesson that day: I’d much rather be the one crying than the one causing the tears. That was for sure.

“You get credit for being on a team.” She closed the book. “Which sport will you be trying out for?”

No. Just no. If I couldn’t handle middle school sports, college teams were so far outside my abilities that I might as well be on a different planet.

“I’m not a sports team kind of guy.” The look she gave me had me tacking on real quickly, “But I do like bowling.” And I did. That didn’t mean I was decent at it, or even okay for that matter.

“Bowling is not one of our offerings. You need to pick something and soon. The house is counting on you.”

I wasn’t so sure why the house would care about my stupid gym credit, but I could see how frustrated the woman was getting, and I was on the express train to hangry which would only exacerbate the whole situation. Best to just get the conversation over and done with.

“I wish I was better at sports for the house.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.” She growled. “You of all people have to live up to your potential.”

I officially hated being a transfer student.

Just because I came here from another school didn’t mean that I should have to work twice as hard to prove my worthiness.

The notion was ridiculous, and yet I felt the pressure to be “more than” I was from most of my teachers and now my house mother. Maybe coming here wasn’t the best idea.

No. I refused to believe that. I just needed to adjust and that would take some time.

“There’s one team that still hasn’t filled all of their spots—unless you are interested in cross country?” She must’ve seen the terror in my eyes over running really long distances for fun, because she quickly added on, “Didn’t think so.”

She opened the planner on her desk and opened it to this month’s entry. I couldn’t read what was on the page, but it was full—every single box had multiple entries. She grabbed a sticky note, wrote on it, then reached out with it, not getting up. “Well, take it.”

I did and looked down at it. “This is tonight.” And in less than half an hour.

“It is. You best get ready. How long have you been tuning your skills with a bow?”

“Never.” Hunting hadn’t been something I ever wanted to do. If I could go to the store to grab a steak, why would I want to kill a beautiful deer? It just wasn’t my thing.

“But Rawlins?—”

“Was an amazing man with many talents.” I got up. “And I will do what I can to make him proud.”

Protein bar for dinner it was.