“How far is that? This gym is massive.”
“It’s about the size of four basketball courts put together and then some. Nine-ish laps is about a mile.”
So eleven miles. That’s nearly a half marathon. Axel and I ran nearly every morning before school, but only three miles. On a good day we hit five. This was a whole different ballpark. “This is nuts.”
“Too much talking. Not enough running,” Mr. Dawson said.
At least we weren’t doing it outside. It was way too hot and humid to be running out there. I settled into a comfortable pace next to Chris. Something about the sound of everyone’s feet slapping the wood was pleasant. It took me a minute to realize that we were all running in sync, every footfall matching. I stumbled, breaking the rhythm.
Chris grabbed me before I fell.
My feet matched the rest of the class again. “This is very Village of the Damned.”
“What?”
“You know that horror movie where those kids all look the same and do the same thing. We’re running in perfect sync. Exactly matching Mr. Dawson.”
“That’s part of being a pack. If we were racing, then we wouldn’t match, but when you’re a pack it’s comfortable to move as one.”
I made a face. “I never agreed to join any pack.”
“Well…kinda, through Dastien, who is part of our pack.”
Mr. Dawson sped up, and we met his faster pace.
“Does everyone. Join the pack?” It was getting harder to talk.
“Pretty much.”
“What if. I don’t want to?”
“You’re a girl. You kind of have to.”
I growled. Werewolves were kind of sexist. “You’re pissing me off.”
“Relax.” He bumped me on the shoulder. “That’s not what I meant. It’s just, well, haven’t you noticed the ratio?”
I let my silence speak for me.
“Not a lot of girls are born. That’s why Imogene thinks she’s so special. Her mom had two girls, which is unheard of. Those two think they’re the shit because of it. Anyway, it’s about a ten to one ratio. We take care of our women, and they’re never without a pack.”
I gave him a sideways glance, hoping he got the point. He was bringing out the feminist in me again and there wasn’t that much ra-ra feminism in me to begin with.
“Look. There are tons of packs to choose from. All over the world.”
Mr. Dawson sped up the pace again.
“You. Don’t have. To choose. Now.”
I was too winded to respond, but I didn’t like where he was going with this.
The call of the pack slid over my skin, urging me to stay in step with everyone else. It took me a couple of tries to get my footfalls to break their beat. It wasn’t that I had anything against the pack stuff, but I didn’t like the idea of having someone dictate my moves, even if it was just the way I was running.
“What. Are. You doing?” Chris said.
I couldn’t answer him. Staying on the offbeat took all my concentration. I forced my legs to move faster until I was next to Mr. Dawson. Whispers followed in my wake. I was gasping as I reached him.
“You’re just full of surprises,” Mr. Dawson said with a smirk.
I matched his pace, but made sure my feet hit the ground just before his did.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Ninety-seven.
A drop of sweat rolled off my nose as I straightened my arms, completing a push-up.
Ninety-eight.
My arms felt like jell-o. I was losing form, and my lower back was starting to ache.
Ninety-nine.
I collapsed down on the ground. The grass felt cool on my hot cheek.
It hadn’t taken that long to finish the laps around the gym with the pace Mr. Dawson set. He wasn’t done with our torture by any means. As soon as we were done running, he took us outside next to the Cazadores track. I’d already done more sit-ups than I’d done in my entire life, a cool 124 and a half before I gave up. I was counting that half. I’d earned it. But the rest had done over 500. They were beasts. No wonder they all had amazing bodies.
Everyone was still trucking along, like there was nothing to 200 push-ups. Their bodies moved to the ground and up together.
I rolled onto my side facing Chris and massaged my biceps. “I can’t do it. I can’t do one more freaking push-up.” Triple digits wasn’t something humanly possible. Or Tessa-possible.
Chris looked over at me, pausing an inch from the ground. “What are you? A girl?” Chris pushed himself off the ground, clapped once, before landing, and did it again.
“Oh, come on! Are you for real?” I shoved him.
“Hey! Watch it!” Shannon said as Chris tumbled into her.
A throat cleared above me. “Trouble, pups?”
I rolled myself up and sat on my heels. “Not anymore. I’m almost breathing normally again.”
He crossed his arms.
“I can’t do one more, Mr. Dawson. My arms have turned into cooked spaghetti noodles. And they’re shaking.” I held them out.