It was rare for the pack to attend class, usually on a day when they had tests. Generally, their teachers didn't care about whether homework was done or not, but they needed to pass their tests at the least. Luckily, each of them seemed to have their own expert region and helped the rest out. Alfred was a wizard when it came to science, especially astronomy and physics, while Arthur and Oliver were pretty good with English. James was eerily good at remembering dates and historical happenings, and Allen had a natural talent with math; the numbers just spoke to him, he once explained rather cryptically. Like, really, what does that even mean? Matthew, having grown up in Quebec, knew his way around French, and the rest of the pack all took French as well, aside from Allen. He didn't have trouble with the language, though, as the neighborhood he had lived in as a child had many Mexican immigrant families.

Today was the beginning of midterm week, starting off with the multiple choice portion of their English and Global History exams. The next day would be the written parts, along with the first section of French. The final days would be made up of Algebra, Chemistry, and the finals for their second semester electives. The only one that didn't have to deal with an electives exam this semester was Allen, since he had taken Photography.

For the last week, the pack had spent all of their time studying at the insistence of Oliver. "We need to pass, so we can graduate and get out of here," he told them frequently, hoping to motivate them. They all worked together, determined to at least pass. There wouldn't be any repeating of a grade; that would ruin all their plans.

They had all been dreaming of the day when they would graduate and get the hell out of that school, and when they did, they would all live together and be a family. Matthew, as the group's realist, doubted things would go according to plan but did all he could to help make their dream a reality. He just really hoped that things would at least turn out ok.

Somehow, over the course of the last two weeks, Matthew had found himself the beta of their pack, something that confused him to no end. No one else seemed bothered by it, but then again he had always been much harsher on himself. He figured that James or Alfred would make a better beta, what with James' quiet intimidation and Alfred's naturally ridiculous strength, but supposed that Allen's explanation made sense.

"It's not just about strength or being scary; it's about who can best lead and protect the pack," Allen had said when Matthew asked how he could possibly be their beta. "Even if you don't see it, you have the second best ability to lead us. You make good choices, and you know how to take care of others. It makes you a good leader. But don't worry about all that, me and you got each other's backs!"

While Matthew still really wasn't sure, he trusted his alpha to know what he was talking about. And honestly, he really shouldn't be thinking about that right then, since he had been staring at question #16 of his English exam for the last ten minutes.

Ironically, the question was about an exert of an article about wolves. "According to the article, what are three ways wolves can communicate with one another?" Matthew didn't even have to look at the article; he already knew the answer. He had found out rather quickly that scent, posture, and small noises were very effective forms of communication amongst wolves. His sense of smell had drastically improved, and he often found himself resorting to little whines rather than words. His friends tended to have more submissive posture around himself and Allen, since they were the heads of the pack, and he could tell so much more about them simply from their body language than he ever could before. Even Alfred had become slightly more socially aware.

He filled in the bubble for D and moved on. He was done in no time, leaving him with a spare fifteen minutes to sit there and stare at a wall until the bare minimum hour was up. His thoughts turned back to the pack, as they usually did as of late. Sunday would be the pack's first full moon, and Arthur was pretty close to figuring out a way to keep them aware enough to be free in the woods. He had been collaborating with his friends Halvard and Mircea, and had said yesterday that they were close to a breakthrough.

It would be a lie for Matthew to say that he wasn't nervous. A few weeks ago, he had just been a normal, soft spoken teenage boy at a crummy school that liked manga and maple syrup just a big too much. Now, he was the beta of a pack of teen werewolves, most of whom were going to transform for the first time in six days. He was supposed to be able to lead them in the event that Allen couldn't, and goddamn was that scary. He was torn between following what Allen had said about not worrying too much and being absolutely terrified of his own inadequacy. What was a 13 year old Canadian to do?

A teacher at the front of them stood and told everyone to put down their pencils, and pass their test booklets to the left, making sure to keep them in alphabetical order and yada yada; Matthew stopped listening after that. He passed his paper to James, giving him a small smile when he did so, and started playing with his pencil, waiting for further instructions. After this, it was time for his Global test, and it played out almost exactly the same as the previous one had: he finished it with fifteen minutes to spare, and thought about stuff.

Finally, it was time for their lunch break. Matthew sighed with relief and waited outside the room with James for the rest of the pack. After meeting up with everyone, they made their way to cafeteria and got their food (chicken fingers, fruit cups, and milk), before making their way to their table in the corner.

"Well that was boring," Alfred said with a groan. "I really don't wanna do that again. Oh, hey, Mattie, don't forget to help me out with some last minute French cramming tonight. I still don't really get how infinitives work."

"Sure thing, Al. Anybody else wanna join up with us for that? Ollie? I know you still have trouble with irregular verbs," Matthew invited, looking knowingly at the ginger, who pouted and opened his mouth to protest.

"What's the present tense form of dormir?" Matthew asked, eyebrow raised and milk lifted to his lips.

Oliver closed his mouth, looking defeated. "Fine, I guess I do need a bit of help still. If only Madame Bonnefoy cared about her job enough to actually teach us."

The bleached blonde teacher was famous for not giving a single shit about anything outside of the Global History teacher's finer than average ass and the not-at-all-well-hidden bottle of booze in her desk drawer. All she really did was talk about her affairs in French and let her students guess what she was saying. It was a certifiable miracle that she hadn't been fired yet.

"Yeah, she really needs to get her shit together," Alfred agreed. "Also, Ollie, the present tense form of dormir is dors, with an s. Irregular verbs suck, am I right?"

"So, Art, how's that magic stuff going with Hal and Mircea? Think it'll be ready by Sunday?" Matthew wondered, turning his attention to the other Brit.

"Well, Halvard's been a bit blinkered; can't be fagged for bloody anything lately. All he does is fanny about and go on about how his brother's been around some barmy twit, and doesn't pay attention to him anymore. But if Mircea and I can get him to stop mucking around, it'll be a doddle to get it done," Arthur explained, picking at his chicken fingers with a faint look of disgust on his face. "Blimey, why can't they give us something better than this rubbish?"

"...What?" Alfred's head tilted to the side, a lost puppy look on his face. He looked even more confused than he had when the time his father had tried to give him the sex talk using complicated food analogies, and that was pretty damn bewildering.

"Arthur, why are you so fucking British? I didn't understand a word of that! Speak a English for Christ's sake," Allen complained, munching on a spoonful of his fruit cup.

Arthur bristled. "Bollocks to that. It's not my fault you're a stonking ninny. Why don't you speak the queen's english? Bloody Americans, thinking they're better than everyone else. James asks me a question and suddenly it's the inquisition! I swear-"

"Uh, Arthur, I asked you, not James," Matthew piped in. Why did they always mistake him for James; they didn't look that much alike, did they? I mean, they were both blond Canadians, but James was taller and more intimidating and sexy-, er, handsome, than Matthew. Matthew was too thin and small to really be anything but cute.

"Right, right," Arthur dismissed him, waving a hand. "Anyway, there are more pressing matters at hand. Halvard has spoken with Timo, and they think they know what the hunters' next move will be. Now, I've never been one to trust vampires, barring Alin, but Timo is just about as trustworthy as can be. He's a good guy, a bit shirty, but if what he has to say is true, then we're all in for a do. And a beastly one at that. Timo overheard Louise and Gilbert- honestly, how could you not?- and they were saying something about checking out the woods. Now, you all know that we absolutely cannot allow them to find the cabin; they'll know that it's ours, and then it's only a step from there to find the basement and find out about us. Now, you've all been careful not to let anyone see your bites, I assume?"

Alfred winced, and Arthur noticed instantly, as well as the rest of the pack.

"Al, what did you do?" Allen groaned, head in his hands. He didn't sound at all surprised, mostly just tired of Alfred in advance.

"I may have started to roll up my sleeves, and then Ludwig sat down next to me, but I don't know if he noticed. I mean-he might not have, right? Maybe he didn't see!" Alfred looked hopeful, but flinched when Arthur stood and slammed his hands down on the table.

"Well, isn't that a bloody fine cock up," he hollered, face red. "We're all fucked! Idiots, I'm surrounded by idiots," he moaned, sinking back into his seat. His head dropped down onto the table, and Matthew could hear him quietly lamenting his choice in friends.

"Chill out, Art, it's really not that big of a deal. Alfred may have screwed up a little, but I'm sure it'll turn out ok. Al, you're fine. Don't take what Asshole McGee over here said, got it?" Allen told Alfred, who looked like he was about to cry. Kid didn't take too well to being yelled at, but then again who did? Arthur was right, but he was being kind of a dick.

At that moment, the bell rang and everyone stood to return to their examinations.

"Well, there's nothing we can do now," Oliver said softly. "Back to the grind. See you chaps at the cabin?"

Everyone nodded their affirmations and wearily made their way to their class rooms.

Hot damn, 2k words! Just wanna remind yall about the review contest, 50th reviewer can request a fic, so yeah do that pls. See ya next week!