Beyond Ordinary

Ayla

The bathroom mirror doesn't lie. It never has. I press my palms against the cold porcelain sink and lean closer, examining every flaw etched across my face like a map of disappointments.

I am a collection of imperfections walking in human form.

Some days I fantasize about winning the lottery just to afford the surgeries that might make me tolerable to look at. But even my dreams are practical enough to know better.

I'm Ayla Reed, seventeen years old with the weathered appearance of someone decades older. At 5'2", I'm the shortest person in every room, and at 225 pounds, I'm usually the widest. I've tried every diet imaginable—skipping meals until my stomach feels like it's consuming itself from the inside out—yet the scale refuses to budge even an ounce.

What's the point of existing like this?

Everyone in my age group received their wolf at sixteen—that magical connection that makes us truly part of the pack. Everyone except me. The hollowness where that bond should be echoes inside me daily, a constant reminder that I'm defective even by supernatural standards.

"Ayla! You'll miss the bus if you don't hurry!" My mother's voice, Valerie's voice, cuts through my spiral of self-loathing.

School. Right. The first day at a new one, no less.

We relocated here after things became unbearable at our old pack. The bullying got so severe that my parents abandoned everything familiar to give me a fresh start. Now they work double shifts just to keep us afloat in this new territory. The guilt of being their burden weighs heavier than my physical form.

"Coming!" I call back, grabbing my single apple—my entire day's sustenance—and stuffing it into my backpack.

Mom kisses my cheek at the door. "New school, new possibilities," she says with forced optimism.

I nod, not wanting to crush her hope. At least one of us should believe things might improve.

The walk to Silver Ridge High is torturous. My oversized hoodie and baggy jeans hide my body but trap heat like a furnace. Sweat trickles down my back before I've gone three blocks. My breasts—disproportionately large—are bound with fabric since regular bras feel like torture devices against my skin.

"Look at her waddle," someone whispers as I pass.

"Like watching a penguin in a desert," another voice adds, followed by snickering.

I keep my eyes on the sidewalk. This is nothing new. I've been a spectacle since birth—so large my mother needed surgery to deliver me, unheard of among werewolves.

The school appears in the distance, perched atop a small hill like some medieval fortress. The architecture is impressive—stone facade, towering oak trees, manicured lawns—but all I can focus on is the incline I'll need to climb.

By the time I reach the entrance, my lungs are burning. Each breath comes out as a wheeze. The registration line stretches before me, and I fight the urge to collapse right there on the pavement.

"Next!" barks a woman with steel-gray hair and eyes that could freeze fire. She examines me like I'm something stuck to her shoe. "I don't have all day. Papers."

My hands tremble as I pass over my documents. She scans them with impatient efficiency.

"Administration building," she says, thrusting the papers back at me.

"Could you tell me where—"

"Next!"

I stand there, lost and increasingly anxious, until I notice an extra paper mixed with my documents—a campus map. Small mercies.

Studying the map, I begin navigating the unfamiliar grounds. Students flow around me like water around a boulder, none making eye contact. I'm so focused on deciphering the map that I don't notice the person in my path until it's too late.

The collision isn't dramatic—just enough to knock me off-balance. For someone my size, however, regaining equilibrium is nearly impossible. I hit the ground hard, my papers scattering across the pavement like oversized confetti.

"What the hell?" A voice cuts through my pain. "Are you blind or just stupid?"

I look up into the most perfectly sculpted face I've ever seen. Piercing blue eyes, sharp jawline, skin like polished marble. He'd be beautiful if not for the rage distorting his features and the coffee now staining his pristine white shirt.

"I'm sorry," I mumble. "I didn't see you."

"Get up," he demands, his voice carrying enough authority that several students stop to watch. I struggle, my body suddenly feeling twice its normal weight under the pressure of all those stares.

"I said get up, you fat cow." The words slice through me like physical blows. Tears spring to my eyes instantly, hot and humiliating.

"Someone help the whale before she beaches permanently," he says, and two boys step forward, grabbing my arms.

"Christ, she's heavy," one grunts as they haul me upright. Laughter erupts around us, a soundtrack to my shame.

I try to escape, but my version of hurrying is everyone else's casual stroll.

"Look at her go!"

"Like watching molasses flow uphill!"

"That's enough!" A sharp, authoritative voice cuts through the jeering. A tall woman with auburn hair strides toward us. "All of you, to class. Now."

The crowd disperses reluctantly, but the blue-eyed boy lingers.

"This isn't over," he says quietly, his voice eerily calm. "Nobody ruins my things without consequences. Remember that, fatty." He turns and walks away, his posture perfect, his movements fluid.

"I'm Miss Willow," the teacher says, bending to help gather my scattered papers. "Don't mind Knox. He thinks being Alpha's son grants him immunity from basic decency."

I nod mutely, too choked with tears to speak.

"Let's see..." She examines my schedule. "Room 102B." Her smile falters slightly. "Oh. I see."

Something in her tone makes my stomach clench tighter than hunger ever has. Whatever waits for me in Room 102B, Miss Willow's reaction suggests it won't be pleasant.

As I follow her directions through the now-empty hallways, I can't shake the feeling that I've just made an enemy far more dangerous than any I left behind. And in a world where I already have so little power, that thought terrifies me more than any mirror ever could.