FPOV

"Jones, get over here!" the gruff voice called from his office.

I waved Matt and Kyle on, and ducked into the blue and white covered room. The entire school was done in Glenfield colors, but the principal's office just spewed school pride. I leaned up against one of the blue chairs in front of Mr. Price's desk and waited for him to speak. Overhead the bell for class rang and I smirked- I loved missing math.

"Tonight's the Deacon Hill game," he barked. "You boys got your bases covered?"

My smirk only grew at the fact that Price was asking me and not our 'captain', that wimp Jacobs. Everyone knew that I carried the team, despite the messed up rule that only seniors could be captain. I ran my hand through my blonde hair, which would need a trim soon, and assured him, "We're ready, don't worry about it."

"Hm," he looked mildly suspicious of the confidence. It made sense, Glenfield hadn't beaten Deacon Hill's lacrosse team in five years, but this year was different. This was our year. The town's private school might have thought that it was all-that, but this year we had them.

"Anything else sir? I gotta get to class," I stood up straight and gestured towards the door.

"Right. Here's a pass," he handed over a blue sheet of paper with his signature on it- he hadn't added a time, score- before continuing. "Listen, Jones. Town paper wants to do a spread on the team if we win this one. That's good publicity for the school. Publicity we need. You understand?"

"Sure."

"Alright, get to class."

I slipped out of his room and strolled down the hallway to class. Ms. Green tried to give me crap for being late, the old goon, but I just had to wave the blue paper in front of her face for her to leave me alone. A few kids shot me a look, wondering where I had been, but I shrugged them off- it wasn't anything that hadn't happened before.

"You going to Kyle's for the after-party tonight?" Matt asked as Ms. Green droned on about asymptotes.

"Probably. Whatever Mona wants to do, I guess," I shrug again. I had the game to focus on- what happened afterwards could be planned later.

"You two on again?" Matt looked surprised for some reason.

Mona Ballard and I had been on again off again for almost two years now. We'd be fine, then she'd bitch about something or another and we'd be off. Then one of us would get bored and we'd be on again. None of it really bothered me. I didn't act too differently whether we were on or off.

"Yeah, I guess so."

After Matt and Kyle followed me to the locker-room, where they promptly left me the hell alone. I had a ritual to go through. It was my junior year, my third year on varsity, and by now they all knew how to handle me on game days. I needed time in my own head to focus, and couldn't do that while dealing with anyone else's bullshit.

Hour two into my ritual and I was pretty much ready. My gear was on, and I had been studying plays to the point that they were basically burned into my eyeballs-

"Fred," a voice broke my concentration. What the hell?

"What?" I snarl, looking up to see who the hell would think that bothering me at such a time was so important.

Of course it would be one of the three people I could never cuss out- my old man. He stood at the door of the locker-room, in full uniform of course, looking around sternly. The only expression the guy had was stern, but he looked especially fierce at that moment. Probably the effect of being in a room with thirty-something teenage boys, being the chief of police, and just knowing there were illegal substances somewhere in the room.

"What do you need, Dad," I asked, just wanting to get him out of there. I needed to get that focus back- and quickly.

"You remember that body that got called in a few weeks ago? Well some hiker that found a guy up by Welker Trails?"

"The animal attack, yeah?" I remembered; I sometimes went up to Welker Trails to run and hadn't been allowed since hearing that there was some man-eating beast lurking around.

"Well they called in another body. Same type of thing, but this guy lived. Hope he'll be able to give us an idea of what it is we're hunting."

His eyes were gleaming with the prospect of knowing what he should be looking for- and I knew he wasn't coming to my game anymore. "Alright, well I guess I'll see you later then."

"Your mother will be at the game."

"Okay, Dad."

He looked around, shooting everything one more suspicious glare, before nodding and backing out of the door. I rolled my eyes at his theatrics- as if someone were going to crack and confess just because of a glare. Then, I turned back to the play charts and started studying them again- I had time to make up for.

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"Freddie!" she shrieked loud enough to be heard over the roaring cheers of my teammates. We were huddled around Kyle's SUV, still clad in our uniforms, patting each other on the back for our win. There might have been a flask being passed around- but hell, we were celebrating!

She flounced over, blonde ponytail flying, still in her red and gold cheerleading uniform. She reached up to kiss me quickly before squealing, "You did so good!"

As great as Mona was, she really didn't know anything about lacrosse. She had three comments about the games in her arsenal, and I would undoubtedly hear all three of them at some point tonight. That I did good, that I looked hot, and that the other team sucked. I smiled at her anyways and thanked her for the compliment because well, she was still hot.

After showering and changing into more appropriate clothes for a celebration, we all piled into various cars to head over to Kyle's place. His parents were hardcore lacrosse fans, and allowed for any form of after party he wanted to throw. It was a pretty sweet deal.

As usual, Mona disappeared quickly in a fog of giggling and perfume. Whatever, she'd find her way back to me soon enough. We had a system, and it worked out just fine.

I found myself sitting with a kid I didn't know too well. Garrett Little was a senior and our starting benchwarmer. He always came to the parties, but tended to just nurse one drink the whole night and then offer himself as a driver for the rest of us. No big deal, it meant I wouldn't have to drive anywhere and I was okay with that.

"What're you stewing about over there, Gar?" I asked, making conversation.

"Senior Writing Assignment," he answered unhurriedly.

"Oh, yeah?" All seniors had gotten one of five questions, and had to write a full length essay answering it. Can't say I was looking forward to that. "What question did you get?"

"If I could be anything in the world- what would I be?"

"And?"

He shrugged. "A hero, I guess."

I scoffed. "Like a superhero?"

"Maybe." Another shrug. "Maybe I just want to save the day- like one of those ordinary heroes they show on the news. Maybe I'll pull a kid out of a burning building or stop a bank robbery. I don't know. But out of everything in the world, I'd want to be a hero. Maybe it sounds like a bunch of shit, but it's what I'm writing about."

That was the most I'd heard Garrett talk in years. I was a little shocked, and didn't get a chance to say anything to him- tell him that it sounded pretty damn good- when Mona bounced back to me. She always seemed to be bouncing, didn't she?

"Freddie baby," she slurred. She didn't hold her alcohol overly well.

"Don't call me Freddie," I said, out of habit mostly. She didn't do it often, but it still bugged the crap out of me.

"Sorry," she giggled.

We were alone by then, and I asked, "Hey, if you could be anything in the world, what would you be?"

Another burst of giggles, "A model- or an actress. I'd want to marry a movie star."

Wow. Reaching for the stars. Garrett's hero talk had sobered me up considerably, not that I blamed him for that. Guy was just answering the questions I had asked. But Drunk Mona didn't look so hot to Sober Fred. Maybe it was time to call it a night.

"I think I'm going to head home, Mona. My dad's gonna be out all night- gotta keep the moms company."

"What?" She started pouting. "You can't leave! We just got here!"

"It's not a big deal, I'm just heading home. You can catch a ride with one of the girls, right?"

"But I don't want you to go." The effect of her whines was somewhat diminished by the slurring.

"I'll talk to you tomorrow- okay?"

"Don't count on it," she snapped before stomping off.

Oh well, looks like we were off again.

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It was 12:37, and that reporter was late. I'd been woken up at 9:30am by my mother shoving the house phone in my ear, to have some guy yap about scheduling an interview. After waking up a bit, I'd agreed to meet him at 12:30 at the town diner. For someone eager enough to call that early on a Saturday, you wouldn't think he would be running late.

The bell rang- announcing a new customer, and I glanced over to see if he was finally making his appearance. Nope, but I wasn't overly disappointed. Because in walked Daphne Blake, one of the three hottest girls of Deacon Hill. I'd seen her once or twice at a few parties, but we didn't actually interact much. The two schools tended not to intermingle. I knew Mona hated her, because she and her two best friends had decided that cheerleading was beneath them or something. Not like it mattered to me.

She was a redhead, something that usually didn't look too good- but she pulled it off flawlessly. I guess her hair was a little blonder than straight red, but it still always looked good. It was long, too. Her eyes were this weird shade of blue that sometimes looked purple under the right lights. I'd never seen them purple, but it was a talked about phenomenon. She scanned the diner, looking for someone I guess, before walking straight towards me. Before I had a chance to react, she had slid into my booth.

"Frederick Jones," she said, as if double checking my identity.

"Daphne Blake," I smirked, teasing. "Call me Fred."

She glanced me over, "Sure."

"Listen, Daphne, I'd love to talk- but I'm actually waiting for a reporter from the paper. They're doing a spread on our big win against Deacon Hill, you know," I couldn't help bragging.

She quirked an eyebrow at me, something that I hadn't ever found sexy before. "Yeah, I know. I'm the reporter."

"What?" My eyebrows furrowed. "But you're just a kid."

"I intern with the paper. I'm a high schooler so they thought I could give the piece an interesting perspective. I though Dave said he covered this with you?" She seemed impatient.

"I must've missed it," I shrugged. All was good, this just meant I could talk to her some more.

"Right." She dug around in the purse that she'd set beside her in the booth. "Here's the deal, Jones. I have all of your stats. Your coach considerately sent those over a while ago. And this isn't your first spread in the paper."

"True," I grinned.

"I had to call you for an official interview- but I've basically got everything I need. We have pictures from last night's game, and I can easily reword what they have on you already. I can write this story already."

"Well, shit. Then why'd you make me come down here at all? Couldn't you have told me this over the phone?" I really hated having my time wasted.

"I wanted to give you a chance," she eyed me. Looking for what, I'm not sure. "There's a chance that I can write this differently from everything else that's been written so far. Give me something that hasn't been said about you- something that this town doesn't know already, and I'll run with it."

I leaned back in the booth, mulling it over. Everything that had been written so far had been pretty damn supportive. Basically the whole sports section worshipped me. Did I really want anything else written?

Something about her expression told me that she didn't think I'd go for it. Which made me want to. I hadn't wanted to prove someone so wrong in a long time. "I don't think I'm going to play lacrosse professionally."

She quirked that eyebrow again. "That's not what you've said before."

"A guy can change his mind," I pointed out.

"Care to share what you plan on doing?"

"Be a hero," I replied without thinking about it. Huh.

"A hero? Can you clarify a little bit?" She had her notebook open, and was scribbling in it- that had to be a good sign.

"Not really. I haven't thought it out a lot or anything- I just know that I want to be a hero. Like, save someone's life or stop a crime or cure a disease. Something that effects someone in a good way. More than playing lacrosse would do."

She thought that over for a moment. "You want to change the world."

"Yeah," I smiled, satisfied that she had found a better way of saying it. "I want to change the world."

DPOV

I drove back to the paper, my mind reeling. I was still in a slight daze as I made my way through the front entrance of the building, and over to my desk.

Sure, I'd heard of Fred Jones. He was the son of the Chief of Police, proclaimed lacrosse star of Glenfield High. A bit of an asshole. I'd seen him at a party or two, enough to know that his blonde hair and muscled body made him extremely attractive. In preparation for the story, I'd read enough of his past ones to think that I had a pretty good idea of what his character was.

But that whole 'hero' business sort of threw me. Those were pretty deep thoughts for a sixteen, almost seventeen year old to be having. Deep or not, though, they had resonated with me.

"You back from the Jones interview?" Dave came up to my tiny cubicle, always present coffee cup steaming in his hands.

"Um, yeah, it didn't take too long."

"Alright. Paul Price requested that we have the article in the Monday issue, think you can have it to me by tomorrow?"

"No problem."

"Good. Bye, Daphne. You coming in Tuesday?"

"Just like always."

"Right." And he was back to his large office.

I'd expected this little article to take twenty minutes of my time, a half an hour topes. But that was before Fred Jones had opened his mouth and spoken the words that changed things.

Did he really mean them, though? Maybe he was just saying things to impress a pretty girl- I reasoned. It wouldn't be the first time a guy had lied to impress me. I wasn't blind, I knew how they felt about my looks. But Fred had spoken with an air that made me think he'd thought it all over before. No, I believed that he was being serious in this hero business.

An hour and a half later I was finally saving and emailing it to Dave. Maybe I hadn't done it justice, but at least it was done. Dave could to final edits and if Fred decided he had a problem with it, he could deal.

I left the office building and stepped into my purple VW Bug, a sixteenth birthday present. My friends had been a little surprised that I hadn't asked for the luxury cars like they had, but the Beetle's cuteness just called to me. I liked having such a unique car. At least I would always know which one was mine.

My house was on the West side of town, the side opposite the paper. It wasn't exclusive by any means, but a general rule people on the west side of town tended to go to Deacon Hill. The houses were a little nicer, maybe a little bigger, but not ostentatiously so. Everything was tastefully done. I pulled in front of the Tudor-style house that my mom had designed and had built a few years back, parking in my spot on the rounded driveway.

"Daphne! There you are! Where have you been?" Mom scurried down the stairwell as I walked into the front foyer.

"At the paper, Mom. I had an article to finish."

She tsked, as she always did when it came to the paper. "You spend a lot of time there, darling. Is it too much work? I know your sisters all interned in high school, but are you really interested in journalism? Wouldn't you want to intern somewhere more fun? I have a friend who is starting her own interior design business, you know. Wouldn't that be much better?"

"Its fine, Mom," I insisted, walking into the kitchen, knowing she would follow. It wasn't even close to the first time we'd had this conversation, and it was practically scripted out by now.

I wouldn't ever tell her that I secretly agreed with her. That I actually wasn't happy with my internship at the paper. That when I had confessed I dreamed of being a journalist- I wasn't referring to covering the stories at the local paper that no one else wanted to cover. That when I contemplated journalism as a career I'd wanted to do the stuff that would actually make a difference to people. That I hadn't wanted to get some crappy internship that was marginally related to what I wanted to do because my dad played golf with its owner. Because it would open a can of worms that I didn't really need opened.

What would Fred Jones think of my dream? Was becoming a world-renowned journalist considered a hero? It would make a difference in the world at least, which he said he wanted to do.

Wait, why was I thinking about him? That couldn't be normal. He was just some Glenfield guy who I didn't need to be wasting mental faculties on. Its probably because I'd just spent hours writing about and researching him. I'd snap out of it soon enough.

"It just seems like a lot of work, darling. Too much stress. Stress causes wrinkles, you know."

"I know, Mom. I know."

"I just want you to take care of yourself," she patted my cheek. "Your sisters are darling girls, but there just wasn't too much hope for them in the looks department, bless their hearts. They didn't have to worry about stress lines, the dears."

Alice and Veronica were from Walter Blake's first marriage. Neither had been fortunate enough to get their mother's looks. I had gotten the new Mrs. Blake's model good looks. Of course, both girls had ended up at Ivy Leagues, majoring in competitive fields- but that wasn't brought up very often.

"It's fine, Mom."

-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l

Monday rolled around, and I got a little bit of crap at school for 'writing about the enemy', but not much. People at Deacon Hill were relatively nice.

"You want to go to the mall after school? You don't have your internship today, do you?" Chloe leaned against her shiny silver car, cigarette in hand. She'd always detested the fact that we wore uniforms, and it had spurred her love of stuffing her closets to the brim. I didn't really mind them- the black skirt, white shirt, purple blazer, and black tie were pretty cute as far as uniforms went. The guy's version in black pants, white shirt, black blazer, and purple tie, wasn't any worse.

"Yes! Mall!" Jess called from inside her car, where she was rooting around for mouth spray to hide the smoke smell from her overly strict father.

We three had a free period at the end of the day. School policy forbade us from leaving school grounds before the end of the day, so we always just ended up hanging out in the parking lot. Occasionally some of our other friends would ditch and hang out with us, but it was consistently us three. We'd been friends since diapers, and because of that had most of the same interests by now. Our hanging out all the time just seemed to make sense.

"I can't I have that tutoring, today. I can do Wednesday, though," I compromised, dropping my own cigarette and stomping it out on the asphalt.

"You got that Velma girl, right?" Chloe checked, even though I knew she knew the answer.

"That's right."

"She's good enough. Just play stupid for like, ten minutes, and she'll do whatever assignment it is for you."

"Make sure you dumb down her words a little, or the teacher'll catch on!" Jess added helpfully from her car.

"Alright guys," I rolled my eyes and unlocked the Bug. "I'd better head over there. Call me tonight if you want."

"Bye, Daph," they chorused- Jess sticking her head out of her vehicle to wave energetically and Chloe flicking her cigarette towards me in her own halfhearted wave.

I drove home, now more frustrated than ever that I had to deal with this whole tutor business. It had been my mother's idea, and I was doing it, no matter how idiotic it was. I didn't need a tutor. I had a fairly solid GPA, nothing lower than a B- nothing to be ashamed of. But Mother had heard from Chloe's mom that this girl, Velma something or another, would do assignments for the people she tutored. Thinking I had too much on my plate and that I needed to get out of my schoolwork to de-stress me, Mother lovingly hired this girl.

She wasn't there when I got home, but it wasn't more than twenty minutes when she was knocking on my front door.

When I opened it, I realized that I did know her. I'd seen her around school a few times- she was one of the scholarship kids if I remembered correctly. She had the skirts and tights on from the uniform, but had replaced the blazer for a ratty orange hoodie. But she'd also been to the house before. She assisted Madame Gemini, who came in once a week to do my mother's horoscopes. Guess the girl had two part time jobs.

She lifted her big messenger bag and readjusted it on her shoulder, and spoke, "I'm Velma Dinkley. Your mother called and said you needed a tutor?"

I leaned against the door and studied her. Her hair was cut too short for her face shape, and her glasses weren't doing her any favors, but other than that she wasn't unfortunate looking by any means. "How much do you get paid to do this?"

"Oh," she looked down at the ground, apparently she was shy. "I have a minimum number of tutoring hours I have to complete for my scholarship, actually."

"Well come on in," I gestured for her to follow me into the house, and led her to the dining room. She set her bag down and plopped into the heat without hesitation.

"What do you need help with?" She asked, pushing her glasses back on the bridge of her nose.

"Nothing really," I shrugged. "I'm doing pretty well in school right now, actually."

"Oh," her eyebrows furrowed- as if trying to compute the fact that she wasn't needed. "Well you're in Chloe Harrison's English level, right? Doesn't your class have an essay due in a few days?"

"Yeah, sure."

"I could proof-read yours, if you want."

Before I could answer, the doorbell rang. I quickly grabbed my finished paper from my backpack that had been sitting on the table and flung it at Velma in answer, then hurried to the front door.

What do you know- there was Fred Jones standing on my front porch.

"Hi?"

"Oh. Hey Daphne. Sorry, I would have called but I don't have your number and my dad knew where your house was so…" he trailed off, running a hand through his hair and looking slightly sheepish.

"What do you need, Fred?"

"Can I come in?"

What the hell was going on . "Sure."

He stepped in to the foyer, but didn't move to go anywhere else. "Listen. My dad's the police chief, right?"

"Yeah." Everyone knew Chief Jones.

"Well a few weeks ago this guy was killed up at Welker Trails, and they figured it was an animal attack because his wounds matched up with that sort of thing. Then on Friday another guy got attacked, except this time he got found before he bled out." He was speaking really quickly, almost nervously, and it was a little hard to keep up.

"Anyways my dad was home last night and he was complaining about how the guy didn't really remember much from the attack. I guess he got hit over the head or something and blacked out. But my dad was more mad because the guy was confused about what he had seen. Apparently the victim swears up and down that he saw a man's shadow approaching him before he got hit.

"Which is crazy right? Because his wounds are like, one hundred percent animal bites. Like a wolf went to town on his leg and side. So that got me thinking- why the hell does this guy think that it was a man that he saw? Dad thinks the guy is either confused because of his trauma, or there is a witness who ran away or something.

"But what if its something else? This guy saw a man and then was immediately attacked by a wolf. I mean, what does that say to you? Sure, werewolves don't exist- but those old stories have to come from somewhere, right?

"I want you to help me figure out what's going on up at Welker Trails." He concluded his speech.

I ran over his words one more time in my head before spluttering, "Werewolf?"

"Yeah- maybe?"

"You think there's a werewolf up at Welker Trails." Maybe if I said it out loud he would hear just how crazy that sounded.

"Well I think its something!" he insisted. "And this could be a chance! A chance to make a difference! If we do this- listen to what the victim said- then we could change the whole freaking world! Imagine if we found something!"

"I'm sorry- but what exactly did you want me to do about all of this?"

"You'd be the journalist on the case! I'd lead the investigating and you'd help me get it out to the people. Plus, you'd have sources at the paper, right?"

"This is crazy."

"Maybe. But its also a now-or-never chance."

I looked him over, and his blue eyes were brimming. It was a mix of hope and desperation in his eyes. This boy really wanted to make a difference- and apparently saw this as his one shot. So what if he was wrong? I'd go with him, we'd find that there wasn't actually a werewolf, and then he'd find something else to crusade for.

"And what makes you think I'd help you?"

"Come on, you intern at the town paper and are writing stories that they've already written three times." I didn't like how spot on his words were. "You're a Blake. And everyone knows that all the Blake daughters are achievers. This is a whole 'nother ball game than some shitty article. Its investigative journalism."

He was right. If nothing else it was a hell of a lot closer to what I actually wanted to do with my life than my internship at the paper. "Alright. I'm in."

His face lit up immediately at my words, it was cute.

"Seriously?" a voice spoke up. It was Velma, and she had come out from the dining room at some point.

"Um, hey. I'm Fred Jones," he stuck out his hand, trying to be polite.

She just looked at him, not offering his hand. "I know. What I didn't know was that you were a sap. Monsters aren't real. There's a logical explanation for the fact that the victim thinks he saw a person- and sorry to break it to you, but your father has it figured out already. Its more than normal for trauma to alter memories- memories themselves are extremely fickle. Especially because this man was hit on the head. You can't really trust anything that he thinks he saw."

Wow- guess Velma wasn't actually that shy. She barreled on before either of us could speak up. "Daphne, your paper is looking good. Surprisingly good, considering you'd go along with bogus like this. I'll be back next week."

She stormed out and it was a few moments before I could speak again. Fred was still staring at the door- where she'd exited. "That was Velma Dinkly. Scholarship kid from Deacon."

"So she's smart?" he looked back at me, and the hope/desperation mix was back in his eye. "Really smart, I mean?"

"Uh, I guess."

"Can you get her to help us? I mean, neither of us are stupid- but someone book smart could really add to the operation, you know? In the movies they always have some kids spurting facts all the time- and she could do that."

"You want Velma to help up find this thing? She called you crazy for even thinking it!"

"Come on Daphne! She could help! And the faster we find this thing- the faster you can write about it, right?"

I scowled, but nodded. "I'll see what I can do."

AN:

So, the chapters are going to alternate between Fred and Daphne's POV and Velma and Shaggy's. Hit me up with a review and let me know what you were thinking while you read it. Or what you were thinking at other times. Whatever, just hit review!