You pushed some of your (h/l) (h/c) hair out of your eyes and fixed your (f/c) shirt and quickly brushed off your jeans. You took a deep breath, preparing to enter your new class at your new school, South Park High.

Your parents had recently died in a car accident, but it was a one in a million chance that they would've. Your parents were werewolves, after all. It had taken serious blunt force trauma to splatter their brains. You were quite young when it happened and don't remember exactly what went on, all that you knew was that you survived. Your family had been under close watch of the government, and when your parents died you were immediately taken in by scientists. For the next few years you were raised by a man named Jonathan, but never left the lab. To avoid too much attention, you had been relocated to the laboratory in the quiet mountain town of South Park, Colorado. You were alright with that, as you weren't close with any of the scientists except Jonathan. The government knew how much Jonathan mattered to you, and so they had him relocated with you. They had bought him a house and given him a job at the lab.

This town was small and remote, and that's just how the government liked it, so that's why you were moved there in the first place. Currently, you were about to enter your fourth grade classroom. You had heard that your teacher was named Mr. Garrison.

You took a deep breath and opened the door, causing everyone to silence themselves and watch the only form of unexpected movement coming from other than Mr. Garrison. The teacher had fallen silent as well, as though thinking, but within a few seconds the silence was broken. "Class, we have a new student." He stood next to me. "This is (first name) (last name). Now I want you all to treat her with kindness, as I'm sure you all know how hard it can be to be the new student. Everyone, say hi to (name)."

All at once in unison, the class said, "Hello." It was a very bored sounding monotone, but what did you expect? You were nothing special, just another highschooler. That's what they all had to think.

"Alright, (name) you can have a seat over there next to Wendy," Mr. Garrison instructed, waving his hand towards an empty seat in the back of the room. A girl with long black hair sat in the desk next to it, and you presumed that to be Wendy.

You politely nodded your head and squeaked out a tiny "thank you" before walking over to your desk. On your way there you held your head down and tried to avoid eye contact with anybody. It was best to not bring any attention to yourself. Out of the corner of your eye you caught a fat kid leaning over in his desk and talking with a guy in an orange hoodie. With your hypersensitive hearing, you could pick up on their conversation if you wanted to, but you didn't think it was worth the effort. They both snickered and were obviously the loudest and most obnoxious kids here, so you automatically decided that you didn't like them. They were both trouble; you could sense it.

You silently took your seat and kept your head down. Mr. Garrison began teaching again, and that's when you felt a tap on your shoulder. You looked up and saw that it was that Wendy girl. She smiled at you.

"Hi!" She said.

"Hi," you greeted.

"Since you're new, I was wondering if you wanted to come to my party this Saturday. Do you?" (a/n: I know the whole party thing is sudden, but I was having writerblock and didn't know how to get it there! So, here you go.)

You hesitated, then sighed. It was people like Wendy that made it had for you to not make friends. You wanted friends, yes, but you had been advised not to make any. You really, /really/ wanted to go, but you knew that Jonathan would never hear of it. "I-"

Wendy cut you off, unaware that you were about to turn down her offer. "All of my friends are going to be there; I want you to meet them!"

You didn't even have to think. This was probably going to be one of the few chances you would get at making friends. So it was now or never; disobey Jonathan and everyone that had raised you since your parents' passing, or be a lonely werewolf for the rest of your life.

"Where and what time?" You asked. You didn't want to be lonely. (a/n: I know, I know. Sudden.)

"I'll write it down," Wendy informed before taking out a piece of binder paper and scribbling down some words. After she had finished, she handed it to you. "Here you go; my address and the time. It's a sleepover, by the way." Wendy smiled again, and you folded the paper and stuck it in your pocket.

"Thanks."

"Hey, can I have your number?" Wendy asked. "I wanna be able to contact you."

"Sure." Now it was your turn to take out paper and write something down onto it. You wrote down you cell phone number and handed it to Wendy. Jonathan had been so nice as to give you a phone, and you were glad that you could finally use it for something other than contacting him all the time.

"Thanks (name)."

"Mr. Garrison!" That overweight kid yelled. "Wendy and (name) are passing notes!"

"Eric not now, I'm teaching," was all Mr. Garrison said.

All you did was blink at his response. What kind of a teacher just ignores that? Granted, you were thankful, but come on.

"That's Eric Cartman," Wendy whispered into your ear. "He's a stupid fatass."

"Hey!" Eric yelled. Apparently he could hear you two. "Don't call me fat!"

"But Cartman, you are a fatass, fatass!" Yelled a kid in a green hat.

"Yeah, Wendy's right!" Said another in a blue hat.

"You better shut up, Kyle! You stupid Jew!" Cartman yelled. "And Stan, you're just standing up for your girlfriend!"

"No, you really are fat," said Stan in a much calmer tone.

Cartman clenched his fists and made a sound that sounded like he would explode. "Ah! Wendy, you stupid bitch! Why'd you have to say anything?"

"Eric!" Mr. Garrison exclaimed, finally addressing the lame verbal fight happening behind him. "What have I told you about that word?"

Cartman sighed. "That it's offensive and wrong," he said in a flat monotone.

"That's right. One more time and I'll send you to the principle's office." Mr. Garrison began teaching again.

"That's Kyle Broflosky; he's Jewish," Wendy whispered, this time a little more quietly. "And the one in the blue hat is Stan Marsh. He's my boyfriend." She giggled.

"I pretty much got that from what the fatass said." You giggled too, and Cartman only rolled his eyes, arms folded over his chest.

Later that day, you found yourself sitting with Wendy at lunch. She bought lunch, but you didn't of course. Jonathan always packed you a lunch; it contained a special ingredient the lab created to help you contain your inner beast; otherwise you'd go around transforming whenever you got upset or scared, or any other intense negative feeling like that.

You sat at a table indoors, sitting with Wendy and a nice blonde girl named Bebe. You had recently been introduced, and it was just like you and Wendy. You two hit it off, and had basically become immediate friends. You were all eating your food peacefully, chatting, and giggling. It was a wonderful moment that you had not experienced in a /long/ while, if ever. You didn't want it to end.

But it did. It had to, of course, to give the universe a laugh.

Cartman and all of his friends, most of which you didn't know, were sitting at the table across from yours. The fat kid jolted you out of your happy mood when he yelled out, "Hey, yo! New girl!"

Following your new fiends' advice, you didn't look up at him; but that only made things worse. He shouted once more, "Hey!" When you didn't respond, you heard him get up from the lunch table and walk over. "(Name)!"

Reluctantly, you looked up from your lunch and to Cartman's face. "What is it, fatass?"

He stuck his finger out at you. "That's exactly what I wanted to talk to you about!"

"Your weight?" You asked in a monotone. "Or me making bad decisions, i.e. talking to a fat, unpopular douche."

As Wendy and Bebe broke into a silent fit of smiles, Cartman continued, more peeved than ever. "Oh! Oh you think you're so tough, huh?"

"I can get by," you said with a pokerface, barely able to hide the laughs brewing inside of you at such a question. You were a /werewolf/ after all! You could beat anyone in a fight, fourth grader or not.

"I was only going to come over here to make you apologize, but I can see that's not the case! You want more than to apologize to me; you want me to beat you up!"

You blinked at the wild accusation. "W-what? No, I-"

He cut you off. "Alright, alright! You have got yourself a fight! This Friday after school; behind the gym."

"I'm not going to go there and fight you, fatass." You rolled your eyes.

Cartman began to make chicken noises, and that's when Kyle called to him and said, "Just leave her alone if she doesn't want to fight."

"Dude just chill," Stan commented.

The overweight ball of dough flipped himself around and faced Kyle. "No! No! This bitch needs to learn her lesson!"

"Eric!" You exclaimed, using the same tone that Mr. Garrison had used as you weakly imitated his voice. "What did I tell you about that word?"

You broke into a fit of giggles, but of course you couldn't finish them, as the universe always needed a laugh. Right as the sound started to leave your lips, Eric slapped you right across your face. You had crossed the line without even realizing it; or rather his temper was just really short.

"I'm not afraid to hit a girl."

Everyone in the lunch room gasped and fell silent at what they witnessed. You were holding your now-red cheek, staring Cartman dead in the eye with your own wide, shocked eyes. But that shock instantly turned into anger as you realized that you, /you/ of all people, had been struck by an annoying fatass. That was it. He had gone to far. Every single person was speechless as you slowly stood from the bench, your anger and frustration slowly bubbling inside of you and growing, growing, preparing to come out. Even Eric's face had gone white, but his posture had denied any other sign of his fear. You held an evil death glare in your (dark/light) (e/c) orbs.

"Don't. Touch. Me."

Eric tried to laugh of his nervousness. "Ha! Ha ha; and why shouldn't I?" He inquired in a mocking tone.

With your eyes still shaded by your hair, you said, "Because I will rip your fucking throat out and shove it up your ass."

"O-oh really?" His arms stayed folded and his face stayed confident, but his tone an his nervous scent gave it away. He was deathly afraid.

'And he should be!' You should to yourself. 'He's just a puny fat kid, a delicious and easy meal! You'll rip him limb from limb, ravishing the meat of his dead body! He should tremble before your beastly might!'

'No!' You mentally shouted to yourself, grabbing the sides of your head. It was happening again. Your other side was coming out; you were starting to transform. First, a mental takeover. Then the physical. You thought frantically with the small amount of free will you had left. You needed the medicine; the pills. Food? No, no food. That would take to long to work.

'Oh yeah! Backpack!' You suddenly remembered that Jonathan had prepared you for a moment like this. The medicine in the food was just a regular prescription, as the scientists called it, but you always kept a bottle of pills in your backpack just in case. Jonathan made sure that they were there every single day.

Releasing your head, you flipped on your heel, your back now to the baffled and confused fourth grader, and rummaged quickly through your backpack. 'Come on! Hurry, hurry, hurry! That...got it!' You could feel it in your hands, you had grabbed the bottle. Without another word, you left the scene you created and ran out of the cafeteria.

You ran to the back of the school, to that corner that every school seems to have that no one notices nor visits. You slumped down and opened the cap with shaky hands. You flipped the cap off and poured two pills into your hand, immediately swallowing them.

These pills had been perfected by the government scientists, and were guaranteed to work within thirty seconds. They were right. Within the half minute, your breathing slowed down to normal, and your body felt as though a huge weight was being lifted from it. You began to feel more alone and private in your own mind, now that the beast was gone. Well, not gone, more like suppressed.

Closing your eyes in relief, you screwed the cap back on the pill container and rested your head against the wall of the school. You sighed, relieved that you had once again saved yourself.