I turned to see a familiar girl standing a few feet away -- I recognized her expensive, branded ensemble from head to toe. Flicka, from class.
Now that I was face to face with her, I could see how tall she was, even for a female werewolf. And she was pretty, of course, which I'd seen immediately, but she also had a model-fit body that could make even rags look good.
Unsurprisingly, her opinion of me was far from the same.
(The clothes are good, but name brands can't make up for what's inside them,) she thought nastily, and I had to stop myself from turning my back on her and driving away. Right. She'd wanted to say something to me, and she had every right to an opinion no matter how ugly. But what was it she wanted from me?
"You've been walking around and trying to insert yourself
