Tate Bullard's Story

"Tate get up!" Harvey, Tate's 'father', barked whilst flicking his bedroom lights on and off. Only receiving a groan from Tate, he was really anything but a morning person. It didn't take long until Tate's blankets were tugged from him and he was pulled by his ankles out the warm embrace of his bed. He was already late for school, about fifteen minutes to be exact. He'd usually get up by himself but today, a lot like other days, not so much. This year, being Tate's senior year, was supposed to be different. Different meaning no missing school just because he felt like it or not even trying to undertake homework like he used to, he made a promise to Harvey and he was already letting him down. By this time Harvey left, leaving Tate with the decision whether to keep his promise or over look it, and Tate never breaks promises.

He quickly got up from his heap of blankets that had formed upon the floor, and began to get dressed. Being someone who's never been one for fashion, Tate looked around his room, throwing on the first things he could find not bothering to mess with his hair. Once done dressing he ended up wearing an old torn pair of blue jeans, a plain black shirt followed by his infamous leather jacket gifted to him by his mom when he was a boy. It never fit him when he was young, only now as he was just growing into it, but that didn't stop him from wearing it whenever he could. He then grabbed his worn, maroon backpack and was out the door and into the chilly september air.

Tate use to look forward to school when he was younger, but not as much anymore. Tate didn't know that many people in his school, nor did he know the building that well. He officially moved to Beacon Hills around the end of summer, not giving him much time to meet potential friends or atleast have an idea of what the people of Beacon are like. The walk to Beacon Hills high school wasn't long yet, Tate wished he could've kept walking. It wasn't his first day either, he'd already been attending the school for about a week now. But still as much as he'd like, no real friends have been made. Tate rushed through the building doors and headed straight for the office, signing himself in since he'd already missed a bit of first period, and then headed to his class which happened to be English III.

The teacher was mid lecture when Tate rushed in, he was quickly told to take a seat, earning glares from everyone. He ran a hand through his hair, disheveling it even more, as he plopped down in a seat next to a blonde boy not much smaller than him. Tate didn't know his name, he wasn't exactly good at names, but he did know for certain the whole aura given off by him interested Tate. He had seen him in the class but never took the chance to do a double take. The boy didn't seem to notice Tate's staring, though neither did Tate.

As they walked through the halls, Scarlet notices Kennedy's attention shift to the hordes of people around them. She couldn't blame her really; there were so many and she was new to the school. When she told Scarlet that she hadn't met anyone else yet, she wasn't that surprised. Everyone here was pretty tight-knit and to get into a group of friends was almost impossible without really good people skills and a guide. "Don't worry about it. I'll introduce you to some of my friends if you want later. Or anyone you might be interested in that you might've picked out?" It came out more as a question, a friendly suggestion or hint at anyone she's seen so far. When she heard the bell, she internally groaned. She hated being late, but maybe her teacher would understand when he saw that she had been showing a new kid around...

When they finally made it to English III, she gave a sigh of relief. Honestly, they probably weren't even that late; it just felt like they were because she wasn't used to it. The minutes always dragged on to her, but English was one of her favorite classes and she was excited to start. They slipped in the door and Scarlet gave the teacher a quick apologetic smile before surveying the room. She had a few friends in the class, a lot of people she had grown up with, but also a few more new faces. She would have to find out who they were later. Scarlet quickly took an empty seat near the front of the room, since there weren't many left open, and took out a notebook and a blue pen. She had made an effort to sit near another new face to try and get to know everyone and had sat in front of a new boy. He had shaggy, light brown hair and dark eyes, pale skin and a muscular build. As she realized she wasn't focusing on the lecture, she mentally scolded herself and started to take notes.

As Johnny began to arrange his supplies on his desk in his preferred setup, the teacher began to speak, beginning with something about the origins of language and the beginning of literature. He then moved from that to a quick recounting of how most civilizations starts in human's earliest days had oral traditions, passing their history and stories of the past through spoken word, not by writing. Of course, this was all stuff that Johnny knew. He had been known at his old school for being one of, if not the smartest kids there. He'd skipped both 7th grade and had skipped half of freshman year, which was why he was younger than everyone else here. He was a 16 year old senior and he wasn't sure if that was a good thing yet.

As the man at the head of the class continued with his lecture, clearly enjoying the area of study he taught, Johnny leaned forward, placing his cheek into his and resting his elbow on the desk top. As he did so, he absentmindedly placed the tip of his pin between his lips and began to flick it up and down, a nervous habit of his. But as he did so, his attention was quickly drawn to another teen who entered the class, quite late, which clearly annoyed the teacher, who just told him to take a seat. But despite the glares that most students seemed to be giving, Johnny could only stare. Damn, were all California guys as good looking as him? Johnny thought to himself as he watched Tate walk in and sit down, not realizing he hadn't taken his eyes off the guy since he'd walked in.

But as he continued to watch him sit, Johnny finally regained his wits and turned away, looking forward, not being able to shake the feeling that.... Was he staring at me? Johnny asked himself. No. There was no way. Please, he thought, He's' gotta be a basketball player with that height and I'm...well... Just as that thought crossed his mind, two more students entered late. These were two girls, one dark headed, the other as blonde as Johnny. They were pretty and apparently the teacher didn't mind that they were late. Johnny just snickered to himself about that fact.

Then the teacher finally paused to ask the class a question. "Right. So can anyone tell me what is commonly considered the oldest literary work in human history? Not the oldest story, but just the oldest written piece," the man asked, looking around the room to see who'd give it a shot. One student, a young female raised her hand and guessed, "Beowulf?" The teacher smiled and replied, "While that is one of, if not the oldest English work we know of, it's not the oldest work known to mankind. Does anyone know that one is?" The man then took a step forward and shut the textbook on one of the students in front's desk and added with a chuckle, "Without looking it up."

Johnny looked around the room and just shrugged and raised his hand, since it didn't seem anyone else was going to answer. The teacher pointed to him and said, "Yes, Mr.....Halbrook?" Johnny nodded in confirmation that, that was his name and then said, "Most historians consider the Epic of Gilgamesh to be the oldest known piece of literature, written about 3,000 years ago by the first known civilization, the Sumerians." Even the teacher seemed to be a bit caught off guard by how Johnny just prattled off the information right off the top of his head and nodded as he replied, "Yes. That's correct, Mr. Halbrook. And without your cell phone, very good." The class snickered a bit at that, as did Johnny who couldn't help but blush a little as he realized most eyes were on him. But the teacher quickly shifted into his next lecture, discussing the importance of literature to history and all that. And as if given a queue, Johnny placed the pen back between his lips and began to flick it back and forth, wondering if the lecture would contain something that he didn't already know, and thus would actually need his pen and paper. In the least, the teacher seemed to like what he was doing and at least was willing to try and make the class entertaining.

Tate snapped out of his daze as the teacher rose his voice, no discreetly trying to get his attention, he then began to continue his lecture of old pieces of literature. English III was interesting to Tate, he was sometimes completely fascinated about the history of literature or epic poems written in the 8th century. But lots of thing interested him, so it didn't take long for him to once again get distracted, this time it was from two girls barging into the classroom. They shot the teacher some shy eyes, causing him to smile and nod his head in a motion saying take a seat. Tate rolled his eyes, People and their inability to resist a pretty face.. Tate thought as the blonde and raven haired girls took their seat, one plopping behind Tate.

Class went on for a few second longer uninterrupted, before a smell crept into Tate nose. His head perked up at the familiar scent, a mixture of tree bark and dew, a weird concoction but the smell was distinct. Tate hastily glanced around the room, his eyes swiftly glowing a light blue due to his heart rate hastening. When he noticed the change in his eyes he glued them shut mentally cursing himself, hoping no one had noticed as he steadied his breath. He shook his head and attempted to pay attention, once he felt his pulse drop he looked around the room once more to see if anyone noticed but didn't see any shocked stares. None that he caught that is.

"You were just overreacting, you smell weird things all the time." Tate whispered to himself. Would it really be that bad anyway? To meet another werewolf? his mind began to race but he stopped himself. A few more minutes after the whole ordeal, Tate had put it in the back of his mind, blaming the smell on the open window in the back of the class and a gust of wind. It was crazy but kept his mind of it. Tate began to pay attention to the lecture fully now, no more distractions. He paid attention just to hear the teacher smugly ask the class a question, one girl hesitantly rose her hand but was incorrect.

Tate tried to think for a minute but didn't really have an idea at the moment, until the blonde boy next to Tate rose his hand. "Most historians consider the Epic of Gilgamesh to be the oldest known piece of literature, written about 3,000 years ago by the first known civilization, the Sumerians." the boy answered, as Tate smirked as the teacher was even a bit taken aback. Even Tate was stunned, the boy was smart most likely the smartest one in the class even if he looked a bit young for the class in the first place, but he was also not to mention good looking with made Tate infatuated with him. "Good job, blondie." Tate whispered to the boy, almost automatically regretting his petty attempt to sound cool as he gnawed on his bottom lip out of embarrassment, wishing he'd taken another moment to think through his word choices.