ã€ŠMoonless Without Youã€‹


 1: Social Cues

    The moon stood motionless above the still water, its full face facing me¡ªwatching me. Waiting for me.

    I was stranded away from it on a distant shore, gazing across the water¡¯s expanse. I admired the moon¡¯s soft petal whiteness, like a lily whose beauty, as all things ethereal, appeared patient and eternal. My chest was empty yet full of midnight air and anticipation.

    Come, it called. Even forever fades.

    A ghost of reasoning clung to me¡ªdiving into the ocean after something in the sky was idiotic. But the wisp was smothered by the nature of the numinal space, a realm whose numbing softness steadily lulled me into contentedness.

    Gently, I dipped a paw into black waters. It was cold, pricking my pads, like I just put bare skin on ice. A single, hesitant step sank deeper than I expected, drawing out a whine.

    Why are you waiting? the moon called again. I paced, scraping my claws on the pebbles of the shore.

    I can¡¯t, my tired tongue panted. I can¡¯t.

    Then, the moon, which had seemed so affixed like the stars in the night sky, began to descend. Soon, it was gonna be lost beneath the water¡¯s horizon. Crossing the water seemed impossible; letting the moon leave was unbearable. My heart beat hard against its cage as it sank lower and lower.

    Rushed, I cried out and took the plunge, leaping into the water and paddling. My attempt to swim to the moon quickly changed to an attempt to keep my head above water as I sank faster than a stone. I parted my lips to howl. Cold water rushed to fill my nose and mouth, stinging my throat.

    Lost in the swirling darkness, I lost sight of the moon and the sky¡¯s pinpricks of stars. Just when I thought the waters had fully consumed me, a pale hand reached down from above. Thin fingers extended towards me through the current, luminous as rays of moonlight.

    But, before I could grab it, everything was pulled away.

    ?? | ?? | ??

    I¡¯d be lying if, under this absolutely cool facade of mine, I wasn¡¯t jittering out of my skin.

    I¡¯ve never been ¡®the new kid in town¡¯ before. Every year of my life until now, I¡¯d been trapped around the same people, playing on the same street, spending nearly every day doing the same things over and over again. Only once, when I was ten, my parents took me on a trip to the coast, and I discovered there was a world outside Sulphur Springs. By the time I was thirteen, I was determined to get out. My town¡¯s name predicted what kind of future lay ahead if I didn¡¯t escape its gravitational pull. Then, just after I turned seventeen, I finally escaped.

    You¡¯d think, with five years to prepare for the plunge, I¡¯d be at least a little ready. From day one, I could barely keep my head above water.

    The story starts around when my mother decided to send me to live with my sister Amy, and Amy¡¯s mother Samantha, in Garden City. A temporary decision at first, though with time, Sam and Amy made it feel more and more permanent. Not that that was bad¡ªcities are cool and exciting, right? The first few days Sam planned a bunch of trips, taking us all out to the touristy stuff, from a candy shop in town where they let you try making your own ice cream, to day-long hikes to visit waterfalls and cedar forests.

    Then, the lack of sleep stacked up, and all the trips became too much. Night was never dark outside my bedroom window since the street lamps outside flipped on at dusk. We did get blackout curtains, but then I was left with the anxiety that awaited me in the dark.

    I had anxiety during the day, too. Anytime I wanted to get anywhere without a ride, it had to be on a public bus where random old people would just sit adjacent to you. There was this terrible old guy I¡¯d run into around Sunday at noon who¡¯d clear his throat so loud I could hear him through my headphones, then try to talk to me about my day.

    Older adults didn¡¯t seem to have the courtesy or understanding not to bother people with their headphones on.

    Amy voiced a few times her worries that the transition from Sulphur Springs to Garden City wasn¡¯t going well for me. With my classical flair, I¡¯d smile back and say that everything wasn¡¯t just fine, it was great.

    Fake it ¡®til you make it, right?

    If putting on a cheery face for my sister wasn¡¯t exhausting enough, there was the inevitable introduction of myself to a host of new peers. In the week leading up to my first day at East Garden High, I went with a proactive approach, beginning with what I could control: my looks. I ditched my Carhartts, traded out boots for kicks, and got my first, clean fade. For the first time, I saw someone my age with green hair at the mall while I was changing out my wardrobe. Inspired, I dyed my hair back the next day.

    Asking to fit perfectly on Day 1 of junior year is asking for a lot, but maybe I could blend into the background. Maybe I could be the lone wolf people looked over and forgot about, instead of a sore thumb or a maverick.

    My first day went from being forever in the future to literally next morning. I woke up an hour earlier than I had to, and spent so much time slicking my hair back in the mirror, Amy asked if it was falling out.

    Fuck, I hope it wasn¡¯t.

    Amy volunteered to drive me to school, just for today. With deft automotive maneuvering you¡¯d expect from a car commercial, she zipped through traffic and dropped me off at the curb in front of the school¡¯s entrance¡ªan entrance swarming with students. I gulped.

    ¡°Get ¡®em, tiger,¡± she said as she put the car in park. ¡°You got your lunch? Jacket?¡±

    ¡°Careful, sis. Someone might think you¡¯re my mom,¡± I teased. ¡°And yeah. Mac and Cheese from last night. Side of that apple Sam said I have to eat today or it¡¯ll go bad and then society is gonna collapse or some end of the world scenario.¡±

    Amy punched me hard¡ªshe was only five years older than me, but that hasn¡¯t stopped people from mistaking her for a parent. She was one of those young adults who mystically had her shit together when people twice her age could barely keep their heads on their necks. Her 80¡¯s taste in fashion didn¡¯t help.

    ¡°Just be careful, little bro,¡± she said. ¡°I know how scary it is, being the new wolf in school.¡±

    ¡°Hey, I got this.¡± I gave her my smoothest grin. Hopefully, she didn¡¯t see my lips quiver. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about me. New me, new life. Can¡¯t you tell from the hair? I¡¯m like Toby Maguire in Spiderman 3.¡±

    She smiled at my joke. ¡°If you say so.¡± One last peck on the cheek before Amy ejected me out of her vehicle and into the wild, pubescent world.

    Play it cool. What did cool even look like? I swung my backpack on one shoulder and dove into the crowd, pretending to know where I was going. Wrinkled in my pocket were my locker number and code. Locker 17. Low number meant closer to the front of the school, right?

    The lockers near the front entrance started in the hundreds.

    Sulphur Springs High didn¡¯t give its students lockable anything, just cubbies. If you had something valuable, it stayed in your car (which most people left unlocked, anyways). So, once I found my locker in this maze of a high school, the dial lock proved a riddle. I wasted valuable time fiddling with it, spinning and respinning it over and over, until it finally unlatched.

    ¡°Thank the Moon,¡± I murmured, and immediately set to dumping out my bag. I¡¯d barely emptied everything into my locker before a face popped past my locker¡¯s open door.

    ¡°Oh, hello there,¡± a girl said. ¡°You must be new. I¡¯m Cheryl Maybrook.¡±

    She was a stark, strawberry redhead, and, unfortunately for me, looked eager for a chit chat. Her skirt and blazer were matching, bright plaid patterns, and she had one of those backpacks in the shape of a cute, goofy cartoon creature from a Disney movie or something.

    ¡°Uh¡­ yeah. How¡¯d you know?¡±

    ¡°My locker¡¯s right under yours. 18. I heard 17 got expelled last semester, so I figured I¡¯d get the pleasure of meeting someone new.¡± Cheryl stuck out her hand. ¡°You are?¡±

    ¡°Collin. Collin Thomson.¡± I shook her hand. ¡°Sorry, I¡¯ll get out of the way of your locker.¡±

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    ¡°Thanks.¡± She had to crouch to get to her ground-level locker beneath mine. Every locker in the school was organized into two rows, so half the school had a top locker they could easily use, while the other half was stuck trying to push aside other people¡¯s legs to reach a bottom one. Cheryl didn¡¯t seem to mind. She spun her lock¡¯s dial around and popped the door open as fast as I could blink. ¡°You get a tour of East Garden?¡±

    ¡°Not really. I figured I¡¯d dive right in. The layout of my old school¡¯s not so, er, different, anyways.¡±

    ¡°Really? Where¡¯d you come from?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Uh¡­ just, y¡¯know, some town out east. Probably never heard of it.¡±

    To my benefit, the bell buzzed, killing the conversation before I could.

    ¡°I should go. Gotta find my first class,¡± I told her.

    ¡°Where¡¯s your first period?¡±

    I fished out another crumpled paper, this time from my bag. I smoothed it out best I could. ¡°English with¡­ Mrs. Lovett?¡±

    ¡°Neat! Me too. Good luck you¡¯ve got someone you already know there, right?¡± Cheryl winked. ¡°The class is on the second floor. The closest stairs to the entrance are a bottleneck, so follow me to the next one over.¡±

    She didn¡¯t lead as much as towed me along, pushing through the crowd like an ice breaker in the arctic circle. Clots of people clogged the hallways until a teacher came to disperse them. Somehow, despite all of this, we squeezed into our class before half the seats were filled.

    ¡°Take your pick,¡± my new friend said. Everywhere was filling up, minus the front row, which was the last place I wanted to be. I made a move for a back corner¡ªa surreptitious choice¡ªbut Cheryl stopped me. ¡°Except for there,¡± she whispered. ¡°See that kid in the varsity jacket?¡±

    ¡°Yeah?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s one of Pierson¡¯s packmates. Full name Pier Song Nguyen, but only substitutes make the mistake of calling him that. Trust me when I say that Pierson¡¯s pack doesn¡¯t play nice.¡± She leaned in closer, and I could smell her fruity mouthwash. ¡°The jock-brain himself is one of the biggest jerks in East Garden. Every semester, he has a new girlfriend¡ªabsolute dump-a-holic.¡±

    ¡°How big is his pack?¡± I wondered.

    ¡°Literally the entire lacrosse team and half of track. Someone needs to knock him down a notch. A dozen notches, really.¡±

    Okay then, I¡¯d figure out a second best place to sit. As I decided, someone bumped into Cheryl, who then bumped into me.

    ¡°Move it, chipmunk.¡±

    Cheryl turned to snarl¡ªher round, sweet face turned nasty quick. The boy who bumped her wasn¡¯t phased. Instead, he taunted her with a chuckle, then flicked his gray eyes to me. The way they lit up, with a curiously raised brow, told me the bad news. Like Cheryl, he must have realized I was new.

    Before anyone could bump into us, Cheryl pulled me into a seat by the window, close to the front, and away from trouble.

    "Speaking of Pierson," she muttered to me under her breath. I glanced at the rude dude who was now sitting in the back corner, flanked now by two of his pack. "Looks like the wad''s here himself."

    ¡°At least he¡¯s far away,¡± I assured her.

    ¡°A mile¡¯s not far enough,¡± someone said behind us. Cheryl turned, recognizing our back neighbor, who was wearing some nerdy, inside-joke shirt with a science fiction, trashcan-shaped robot.

    ¡°Yeah, no duh,¡± she responded. Whoever the guy was, Cheryl clearly knew him, and they chatted up a storm. While they carried on, I lined up my textbooks on the corner of my desk, pretending to be absorbed by the need to get their spines perfectly aligned.

    After the bell rang and the last straggler made it to the room, the teacher¡ªwho I had somehow missed sitting behind her desk¡ªstood up and tapped the board.

    ¡°Alright, class. I see some familiar faces and some new ones. If you haven¡¯t had me for English before, my name is Mrs. Lovett¡­¡± She pointed to where her name was chalked on the board, then began outlining a bullet list of things beneath it. ¡°Homeroom is the first fifteen minutes of your schedule. Since our English class starts directly after, there won¡¯t be a break before homeroom and first period¡­¡±

    I had to lean past the student in front of me to make out what she was writing down. Not that his head was big, he was just inconveniently placed smack dab in the middle of my field of view. My elbow bumped against Cheryl¡¯s as I invaded her space. She shot me a glare.

    ¡°Sorry, can¡¯t see,¡± I quietly apologized.

    ¡°Then ask him to move,¡± she responded under her breath.

    ¡°It¡¯s rude,¡± I sheepishly mouthed back.

    She elbowed me in the ribs to do it anyways. Sighing, I leaned forward and gently patted my neighbor on the shoulder. When he turned his head, my words froze in my throat.

    I knew him from. I didn¡¯t know from where, but somewhere.

    C¡¯mon, Collin, don¡¯t be stupid, I told myself. Stop staring. Just ask the thing.

    ¡°Your head¡¯s, uh, blocking my view. Could you move?¡± I blurted. Too¡­ loudly. Someone nearby laughed. Stupidly, I gulped.

    ?? | ?? | ??

    Idiot, idiot, idiot. For the rest of the period, I couldn¡¯t pay attention to the teacher, caught up in the fallout of my embarrassment.

    The mixed emotions on his face, changing from startled, to confused, to annoyed and finally dismissive, made me wonder if he thought I was an idiot, too. His cold gaze had pierced through me like I was being jabbed by icicles. Still, he complied, and with a grudging motion, moved his chair slightly to the left to give me a full view of the board.

    Maybe he wasn¡¯t, like, mean or anything, and just had the kind of default expression on his face the same way people unintentionally had a resting bitch face. The edges of his thin lips seemed naturally down turned, and I couldn¡¯t help but notice how his top lip was thicker than his bottom one. Then there were his eyes that were a startling blue, somewhere between winter sky and a raspberry Icee, that could kill the words right before they left your throat.

    Unfortunately, I survived the rest of English. Awkwardly, but still alive. The bell couldn¡¯t have rung sooner.

    ¡°What¡¯s your second period?¡± I asked Cheryl as we packed our bags. Over the course of an hour, my defensive guard towards her warmness had worn down to a clingy dependency on her presence.

    ¡°Art,¡± she answered cheerfully. ¡°You?¡±

    ¡°Trig.¡±

    ¡°Ew. My condolences. Best of luck!¡±

    After we parted, I trudged to my mathematic condemnation. Unlike English, we weren¡¯t seated in rows, and our desks were organized into four-person pods. The teacher¡¯s first order of business was making us take pastel colored cuts of construction paper and turn them into flimsy name plaques.

    Inadvertently, I ended up seated back to back with the boy from English class that had blocked my view, close enough that if we both got out of our chairs at the same time we¡¯d slam them into each other. Worse, whenever we had to look at the backboard, I had to turn my seat and lean past him again.

    Though his eyes caught me off guard last period, they weren¡¯t the strangest thing about him. His hair was stark white, whispy down to the nape of his neck. An intrusive part of me wanted to reach out and touch it¡ªthe strands looked like they had the texture of silk, inviting me to run my fingertips through them like the irresistible, soft fur of a feline that had a nasty temper (the cutest cats were always the most deadly). The smell of vanilla wafted off of his skin, probably from a shampoo or hand lotion.

    When the bell rang, I realized I hadn¡¯t figured out his name yet. By the time I gathered my stuff, he was already gone.

    ?? | ?? | ??

    Third period wasn¡¯t an improvement in my schedule¡ªgym. The gym lockers were tinier than their hallway brethren, with grates on all sides that aired out everyone¡¯s sneakers and BO. My locker was so narrow, I could barely cram my school bag into it.

    ¡°Need help?¡± someone behind me chuckled.

    I was too determined to squeeze my stuff in to spare a glance. ¡°Thanks, but I¡¯m fine.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t ask about your looks.¡±

    That made me turn around.

    To my misfortune, it was that intimidating kid from first period that Cheryl warned me about, who¡¯d pushed her aside and given me the uncomfortable stare-down. Pierson. Lazily, he leaned on the lockers beside me as if lounging upright was a thing, close enough that I could not only smell his deodorant but identify the brand. The height difference between us wasn¡¯t dramatic, maybe by an inch or two. Still, it was enough to leverage against me.

    ¡°Funny,¡± I frowned. ¡°Unless you can make these flute lockers wider, I don¡¯t think you can help.¡±

    ¡°I could,¡± he teased. ¡°But that would be destroying school property. Grounds are off limits for that kind of behavior. Hey, that looks like some serious bite marks on your shoulder there. You a tough guy?¡±

    ¡°I need to finish changing,¡± I said, pulling on my shirt quickly.

    ¡°Well, if you ever need a bigger place for all your stuff, athletes get bigger lockers in their own room. Showers, too. You play sports at your old dig?¡±

    ¡°Used to play rugby,¡± I shortly answered. ¡°Quit after the first concussion.¡±

    ¡°Nice. Hey, I captain the lacrosse team. We could use a player or two to replace the seniors we lost,¡± the bully smoothly offered. ¡°Course, if you¡¯re scared of getting back into contact sports, the track team could use some spare bodies.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not a great runner.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s always JV.¡± After a minute, tapping the upper row of lockers with his fingertips, he relented. ¡°See you in the field, newbie.¡±

    The gym teacher waited for us outside on the track. His name was Coach¡ªliterally, Mr. Coach, like the bag brand. A whistle hung around his neck and he wore a classy, black-and-white referee shirt. Like a stereotypical PE instructor in their late 40s, he had a beer belly poking out from his shirt, and a coffee thermos that didn¡¯t look as if it had been washed since Tom Brady started his NFL career.

    We lined up as he called us by our last names. When my name was mentioned, almost everyone paused their whispered side conversations to size me up.

    Just normal high schooler behavior.

    ¡°We¡¯ll do some cardio for today,¡± the gym teacher announced. ¡°Warm up stretches first. Toe touches. Knees straight.¡±

    I worried that for the rest of the period, I¡¯d have to deal with more of Pierson. Instead, he was too busy rallying dude bros to even spare me a look. When he wasn¡¯t kicking it with his like-minded crowd, he was teasing girls with side comments and ¡®accidental¡¯ bumps. Instead of being offended at his intrusion, some of the girls swooned in response. He had that sort of charm where what would have been bullying came off as a twisted form of flirting.

    ¡°Oops, didn¡¯t see you there,¡± he said to a girl at one point. ¡°Hard not to trip on those long legs of yours. You play basketball? No? You must be a cheerleader, then.¡±

    The more I watched, the more spiteful I got. The guy had what most people wanted but never got: good looks and a comfortable spot in the limelight. Of course he was an alpha. How could he be anything else?

    After stretches, we ran laps on the track for the rest of period. I turned off my mind and focused on the pounding of my feet on polyurethane. East Garden High¡¯s main field was on high enough of a hill, wind swept up its side and carried off the heat rolling off my back and shoulders. It took the rest of my thoughts with it.

    The only thing that broke my running groove was the gym teacher¡¯s whistle. We regathered, some of us sweaty and panting, others looking like they hadn¡¯t bothered raising their speed more than a trot. Tomorrow, Mr. Coach told us, we could expect to learn the rules of pickleball, and then dismissed us to change back to our street clothes.

    As I changed in the locker room, I realized the mistake of wearing a white shirt on my first day; my perspiration was going to leave visible armpit stains. Disgusted, I pulled at my sleeves and waved my arms around to try and air-dry the sweat faster.

    ¡°Need a stick?¡± Pierson was stationed beside my locker again, bouncing deodorant in his hand, occasionally flipping it like a pinwheel in the air. ¡°I don¡¯t mind sharing.¡±

    Yeah, uh, no flipping way.

 2: Lunch Club

    Nobody cares about your armpits, I lectured myself in the halls. Even after changing my shirt post-gym, a thin sheet of sweat clung to my body. They¡¯re only staring because you¡¯re new.

    I ran into my school savior again during lunch. After calling out her name, Cheryl sauntered on over and buddied up with me in the lunch line.

    ¡°You should sit with my pack,¡± she suggested. ¡°Plenty of room for an extra body. You don¡¯t have to join-join us, of course. Extra company is just nice.¡±

    Hell if I¡¯d know where else to sit, so I nodded.

    We took our lunch (pasta, green beans, and suspicious Jello) to a table on the quieter end of the cafeteria. Already, a handful of people were seated there. One of them was that kid in the nerd shirt Cheryl chatted up in homeroom. Upon seeing us, he scooted over to make room.

    ¡°Hey guys,¡± Cheryl began, ¡°This is Collin. He¡¯s new here.¡±

    ¡°From our first period? Sorry, I don¡¯t think I introduced myself yet,¡± the nerd shirt kid said. ¡°David M.¡±

    ¡°And I¡¯m David H,¡± a second guy across from David M said. ¡°I go by Hoffman, though. Hoff for short.¡±

    ¡°Collin,¡± I introduced myself.

    ¡°And that¡¯s Katie,¡± Cheryl continued around the table, ¡°Leslie, and at the end of the table, our wonderful Selene. There¡¯re more dudes¡ªSole and Kraig¡ªbut their lunch period is later.¡±

    I knew for certain I wouldn¡¯t remember everyone¡¯s names, so I filed each of them in my memory based on their quirky looks. David M was scraggly, like Shaggy from Scooby Doo. Hoff was bigger than him, maybe half a head taller, and a few inches wider. Katie was the shortest and had pink glasses. Leslie looked like, well, a Leslie. And Selene¡­

    I didn¡¯t have to meet the missing two members to know she was the alpha. She radiated an aura of calmness, and had smooth, thick raven-black hair that was braided into corn rows along her temple. She was clean, professional, and didn¡¯t need a lot of words to keep a firm grip on her pack.

    It wasn¡¯t hard to tell why each individual here coalesced together; they all looked like honor students who watched SciFi, enjoyed reading overbearing literature outside of English, and attended plays. They were nerdy not in the sense of basement dwelling sedentaries, but nerdy in the sense that they¡¯d definitely graduate high school with decent scholarships, if not full rides.

    ¡°Glad to have you,¡± Selene said. Her voice was enviably smooth and monotone; she could say anything and still sound smart.

    ¡°Thanks,¡± I said as I put my tray down. ¡°¡¯Preciate you guys for letting me chill here.¡±

    ¡°Of course,¡± she replied. ¡°We don¡¯t mind at all. It¡¯s disorienting, being the new kid in school. Especially as an upperclassman, when everyone else has already settled into their cliques. Glad Cheryl found you.¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± Hoff pitched in. ¡°When I was a freshman transfer from out of state, Cher held my hand for the whole year.¡±

    ¡°And here you are, with your training wheels off,¡± Cheryl said smugly.

    Everyone laughed at the inside joke. Awkwardly, I added a chuckle. As I dug into lunch, the interrogations began.

    ¡°Soo, got any hobbies?¡± Leslie asked. ¡°Favorite games?¡±

    I tried to think of the sort of answer that¡¯d leave a good first impression. ¡°Sometimes I hike.¡± I didn¡¯t mention that most of the ¡®hiking¡¯ was when my parents made me walk around with a gun trying to get me into hunting. ¡°And do you mean, like, board games or video games?¡±

    ¡°Either or.¡±

    ¡°I guess¡­ Call of Duty?¡±

    She scrunched up her face. Wrong answer. Selene shot her a reprimanding look.

    ¡°It¡¯s good to get out,¡± Selene said. ¡°I used to camp with my grandfather. He told me a good hike with a good friend makes a good day.¡±

    ¡°Sounds like good advice,¡± I joked.

    ¡°Where are you from?¡± Hoff asked.

    ¡°Sulphur Springs.¡±

    ¡°Never heard of it.¡±

    ¡°Most people haven¡¯t. It¡¯s a¡­ ways away.¡± Like, a four-hour car ride away.

    We chatted more for a bit, breaking the ice with a variety of little, non-consequential questions. When lunch was almost over, everyone passed their leftovers to Hoff, the table¡¯s resident human trashcan. All the while, I scanned the rest of the lunchroom, trying to discern a rough estimate of how many packs existed. Not that I didn¡¯t like Cheryl¡¯s pack; I just wanted to scope out my options.

    There was plenty of social sloppage between tables, a sign suggesting the packs at East Garden High didn¡¯t keep solemnly to themselves. Caught up in the crowd¡¯s complexities, I nearly missed him in the back, sitting alone at a table.

    It wasn¡¯t just the fact that he was sitting alone that made him easy to spot--his head of white hair separated him so clearly from the rest. I considered getting up and saying something before lunch ended. I don¡¯t know, like a hello?

    Then, the bell rang, and he disappeared into the crowd.

    ?? | ?? | ??

    Day two of class¡ªback to the grind.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know his name, and I literally have him in three of my classes,¡± I told Cheryl at the start of English. I tried to speak quietly, even though the strange kid who sat in front of us hadn¡¯t come into the room yet.

    ¡°Well, maybe you should ask,¡± she said.

    ¡°Can¡¯t you just tell me?¡±

    ¡°And take the fun out of it?¡±

    I wanted to say something more, but stopped short when our topic of the day entered the class. Nonchalantly, he resumed his usual seat. I moodily growled at Cheryl; she was proving worse than my sister when it came to nudging me in the ¡®correct¡¯ direction.

    Not even a week into English, and we were already being assigned our first project. Mrs. Lovett was kind enough to put us in pairs based on our seating arrangements, assigning each group a choice of three dusty novels: Great Expectations, Pride and Prejudice, and Wuthering Heights. There were limited novels of each, so groups had to pick whatever was still available when the sign up sheet was passed around. Fortunately for Cheryl and I, the front half of the class had the best pick of the litter.

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    ¡°Pride and Prejudice,¡± Cheryl decided for us. ¡°Shortest of the three. Plus, maybe Jane Austen¡¯s got some good tips for you on being broody and romantic.¡±

    ¡°You think I¡¯m broody?¡± And/or romantic.

    She laughed. I pouted.

    A lot of people went for Great Expectations. I couldn¡¯t help but chuckle when the only book left for Pierson¡¯s peers in the back corner was Wuthering Heights. Not that it was a bad book¡ªmore so, that they looked like the antonym of thrilled.

    ¡°You¡¯ve got two and a half weeks to finish your books,¡± Mrs. Lovett announced as she passed out the last copies. ¡°Then, a five-page report, and a class presentation. I suggest using a power point-style program. Don¡¯t wait until the last minute to get either done; come up with a gist of a topic while you read, and take diverse notes.¡±

    As everyone divulged into group planning, I examined my edition. The back of my book had been ripped off, taking the summary with it. ¡°Classic,¡± I complained under my breath. ¡°Public school systems at their best.¡± I tossed my book on the desk, letting it slap against the wood. On the bright side, I didn¡¯t see any dicks sharpied on the inside of the front cover.

    ¡°You can borrow mine.¡±

    I almost missed his voice amidst the swell of classroom chatter. I couldn¡¯t tell if the airiness in his tone portrayed delicateness or disinterest.

    ¡°Oh, actually, it isn¡¯t that bad,¡± I retracted. Not, y¡¯know, in a flustered sort of way. ¡°I can live without the summary. Gotta read the whole thing anyways.¡±

    ¡°I insist.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯ll take it,¡± Cheryl interrupted. ¡°Because if he doesn¡¯t, I¡¯ll have to listen to him moan about it the whole project.¡±

    Jeez, Cheryl and I just met yesterday, and already she was talking like we¡¯d known each other since childhood.

    ¡°Fine,¡± I conceded to her. ¡°Only because you said so. Thanks¡ª¡°

    ¡°Simon,¡± he said.

    ¡°Oh¡­¡± I swallowed. ¡°Well, I¡¯m¡ª¡°

    ¡°Collin Thompson.¡± I stared at him a moment¡ªhow did he know already? ¡°I do my best to pay attention in class, even if it¡¯s just introductions.¡±

    Someone behind me snickered. David.

    ¡°I¡¯ll have it tomorrow,¡± Simon said.

    ¡°Sure, sure, no problem,¡± I responded.

    He didn¡¯t say anything more, turning around to talk to his own partner a row in front of him. I sank in my chair, metaphorical tail between my legs.

    ?? | ?? | ??

    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you just tell me his name beforehand?¡± I asked, still blushing with embarrassment.

    ¡°Because you gotta take initiative, Collin,¡± Cheryl answered. David was still laughing after retelling the story himself to the whole lunch crew. ¡°You can¡¯t hide behind others.¡±

    ¡°Maybe after you and Simon exchange books, you can exchange numbers, too,¡± David teased. ¡°Really, though. How many guys just own Pride and Prejudice?¡±

    ¡°Oh, knock it off.¡± I rolled my eyes. ¡°It¡¯s a classic, assigned read. Men can enjoy dated, musty books of any genre, just like any woman can. And, so you know, Cheryl picked it. Because it just so happens to be the shortest assigned book.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, sure.¡±

    Selene interrupted the dissension. ¡°What other classes does everyone have next?¡±

    ¡°Pre-calc,¡± Hoff muttered. "Don''t know why they call it pre-calculus when its more algebra than actual calculus."

    ¡°Astronomy and Astrology,¡± David cheerfully chipped in.

    ¡°Home Ec.¡± I slumped. Before David had a chance to open his maw again, I cut him short. ¡°Shop was full, alright?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, get a less sensitive manhood, David,¡± Cheryl snapped.

    ¡°Let it up, guys.¡± The sudden chill in Selene¡¯s calm voice reigned her pack in. ¡°I won¡¯t see any of you for the rest of the day. Don¡¯t start fights or do anything stupid, alright? Every year, first few weeks, everyone¡¯s testing boundaries. Some people will take any excuse to pick a fight.¡±

    Everyone else nodded. As we all gathered our trays to leave, Selene put her hand on my arm.

    ¡°Mind waiting a sec, Collin?¡± she said.

    I nodded, watching the rest of the pack leave.

    ¡°I¡¯m not your lead,¡± she began. ¡°Hang out with who you want. But if you want to keep your¡­ ¡®pack¡¯ options open, I¡¯d be careful around Simon. And I¡¯m not saying this as a threat. I¡¯m talking about packs in general.¡±

    ¡°Why?¡± I asked.

    ¡°It¡¯s complicated,¡± she simply answered. ¡°And, while we¡¯re on the subject, I advise staying away from Pierson, too.¡±

    I raised my brow. Pierson and I''s only, real interaction was in the privacy of the boy¡¯s locker room, which I was pretty sure no one else saw. Selene jerked her chin off to the side, pointing my attention a couple of tables away. Great--there was Pierson, staring back at us with a shit eating grin.

    ¡°I swear, we¡¯re not hanging out or anything, he just stares at me and drops one-liners," I defended myself. "What¡¯s his deal, anyway?¡±

    ¡°There''s bad blood running through the school, no matter what company you keep,¡± Selene simply put. ¡°I¡¯d be a liar if I said the same wasn¡¯t true with me. Don¡¯t let him corner you. Take care, Collin. Ears up, eyes open.¡±

    ?? | ?? | ??

    ¡°How was class?¡± Amy asked from the kitchen when I got home from school. I dropped my bag next to the couch. The trig textbook I''d recently got made it thud.

    ¡°Good. Mostly, at least,¡± I told her. ¡°Sam still at work?¡±

    ¡°She had to stop at the gas station. I¡¯m making lasagna, you want any? Be done in fifteen minutes.¡±

    ¡°Of course.¡±

    Samantha was Amy¡¯s mother, not mine. Even if we were half-siblings, Amy would always be sis to me, the same way I¡¯d always be her bro. However, my relationship to Sam was a little different.

    I didn''t know much outside of the fact that Sam had a fling with my birth father years before I was born. They never married, so she didn¡¯t quite fit the stepmom category in our relations. Neither had I seen her very often before I moved to Garden City. The only way I could technically describe my relationship to Sam was as ¡®my half-sister¡¯s mom.¡¯

    Despite this, once I moved in, Sam acted as if she were my aunt, both personally and in public. Every time I called her by her full name, she reminded me I could just call her by her nickname. With time, I¡¯d probably warm up to it all, though that didn¡¯t remove the awkwardness between us now.

    As hesitant as I was around her, that didn¡¯t mean I wasn¡¯t grateful. She took me under her wing right after¡­ well, when shit hit the fan back home.

    Despite all the weirdness of packing up my life on short notice and moving into Sam''s townhouse, it was nice to be around Amy full time. I craved her company my entire childhood. Hell if I was going to waste it now.

    ¡°Did you make any friends at school?¡± my sister asked. I slid beside her at the sink to help unload the washer.

    ¡°Yeah. I met this girl named Cheryl, and she introduced me to her pack," I told her. "I¡¯m not sure if I¡¯m their type, but maybe. They probably see me as the country bumpkin.¡±

    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t look at yourself like that,¡± Amy tittered. ¡°How about anyone else?¡±

    ¡°Well¡­ there¡¯s this boy named Pierson.¡± I frowned, thinking about what Selene said of him. ¡°He kind of creeps me out, though. Apparently, he¡¯s the leader of the biggest pack in East Garden. I can¡¯t tell if he¡¯s interested in talking to me or crushing me under his boot.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s always a bully,¡± she sighed. ¡°When you¡¯re older, they don¡¯t go away, but they get easier to manage. Helps that the end of the world happens less frequently after high school.¡±

    I considered mentioning Simon to Amy, too. In the end, I decided against it. Not until I knew more about him. Plus, I didn''t want me to tease me more than she already was. ¡°You have bullies at your work, then?¡±

    ¡°Of course. I just bear my fangs at them until they go away. All bark, no bite, at the end of the day.¡±

    After Pierson¡¯s offer to wrench my gym locker apart, I doubted the same applied to him.

    When the timer went off, I set at the dinner table as my sister pulled the lasagna out of the oven. Her timing couldn¡¯t be better¡ªout on the driveway, I heard Sam¡¯s car pull up.

    ¡°Quarter moon¡¯s next week,¡± Amy mentioned. I nodded idly, listening to the crunch of gravel as Sam approached the front door. ¡°I know shifting on an off phase isn''t as fun as full, but it¡¯s been a while. I already told my work and my pack I wanted time off with family, so we can go to the dog park and have a run at it.¡±

    I was happy to oblige. I really didn¡¯t want to shift alone if I could avoid it¡ªone summer in the city wasn''t long enough for me to be comfortable on my own.

    Sam walked in just as lasagna was served, still in her scrubs. She worked at the same pediatric hospital as Amy did, and though her scrub top was supposed to be jelly bear patterned, it reminded me of the Grateful Dead.

    ¡°How was school?¡± she asked as she hung up her purse.

    I repeated what I told Amy in less detail.

    ¡°Well, if you ever need any friends,¡± Sam said. ¡°There¡¯s an arcade in town. And some game shops, if you do that DND thing. Oh, my coworker, Harriet, has a son your age. We can set up a play date, or¡ª¡°

    ¡°I¡¯m not twelve, Sam. Trust me, I¡¯ll be alright. Worst-case scenario, if I can¡¯t find any friends in class, I¡¯ll do some after-school stuff. Maybe join a gardening club,¡± I joked.

    ¡°Oh! I¡¯ll pick up some extra pots and tools for you, then!¡± she said excitedly. Clearly, I had miscalculated Sam taking me seriously. ¡°There¡¯s a sale at the local hardware store. Potting soil at a quarter of the usual price.¡±

    ¡°Sam, it¡¯s almost fall, that¡¯s probably why they¡¯re on sale. I don¡¯t think there¡¯s anything you can really plant this time of year, anyways¡ª¡°

    ¡°There¡¯s tulips! Bulbs go in during September, right? Or October. I¡¯ll ask my coworkers. The plant bed at the front of the house has some weed issues. Wouldn¡¯t be hard to clean it up, maybe mulch it¡­¡±

    Amy comically rolled her eyes at me from behind Sam. Maybe I¡¯d get lucky, and Sam would forget our conversation by next week.

 3: Wolves Like Me

    It was hard to follow Selene¡¯s advice and ignore Simon. My curiosity ached.

    Pierson proved difficult to ignore for other reasons. He displayed his maturity one day at the start of homeroom by hitting the back of my head with a balled-up sheet of paper. Cheryl grabbed it from where it landed on the ground, then threatened to dock him in the face with it. I had a growing admiration for her ferocity, accompanied by the fear that maybe she would actually fight him fang-for-fang one day.

    As he promised, Simon brought the book with him to English. He pulled it from his bag after we sat in our seats for English, and passed it to me over his shoulder the way relay runners pass batons to each other. I grabbed it before it slid out of his hand and onto the linoleum floor. Nearly fumbled it, too.

    ¡°Thanks, Simon,¡± I said, making sure to really use his name this time. ¡°You didn¡¯t have to.¡±

    ¡°I did.¡±

    ¡°Well¡­ thanks anyways.¡± I decided to use the opportunity to try and start a conversation. ¡°Do you, uh, like to read?¡±

    ¡°I''ve gotta talk to my partner. Just return it to me when you¡¯re done.¡±

    Conversation... ended. David hid a snigger under his hand, using the term hide liberally.

    I knew David''s opinion of Simon wasn¡¯t low, but like the rest of his pack, it wasn¡¯t high either. David had jokingly voiced that he didn¡¯t pity Simon¡¯s partner. Which, instead of throwing me off, made me sort of wonder what working with Simon was like.

    Was he¡­ easier to talk to, once you got to know him? Did he chat about himself at all, or stay on task? And when it came to school work, was he stringent on splitting tasks up evenly, or did he have a more laissez-faire approach?

    All I knew for sure was that Simon was competent. Competent enough, he¡¯d probably put someone like me in a back corner to avoid fuck-ups.

    David¡¯s opinion of his own partner for class wasn''t any higher; in fact, it was significantly lower. Her name was Becca, and she was the sort where you could pretty much hear her eyes roll.

    ¡°Might as well be getting a mule to read,¡± he complained under his breath while she was in the bathroom. ¡°She probably goes home and watches that Bachelorette garbage.¡±

    I also watched that Bachlorette garbage with my sister and Sam on Tuesday nights. Before I could respond, Cheryl cut me off.

    ¡°Stop distracting my partner,¡± she said. ¡°Collin, Mrs. Lovette said we could either use this time to talk or read. Want to just start reading the book now?¡±

    ¡°Reading?¡± I asked. ¡°Oh, right, the book. Reading the book. Yeah, sure.¡±

    I cracked open the book Simon loaned me and spotted an elegant script of penmanship on the first page.

    For Our Sine, someone beautifully wrote. You are our Moon and Stars, shining even on blackest nights. -Mom and Dad.

    A tingle went up to my spine. Even if all I was given was just a single line of his life story, I suddenly felt like I was intruding in on Simon¡¯s personal life.

    Something in me savored that.

    ?? | ?? | ??

    The rest of the week passed without incident. I got used to the bus system. Pierson only harassed me every once in a while, typically by long-range assault via wadded-up, paper balls. Friday, while packing my English books into my bag at the end of class, I discovered either he (or someone in cahoots) had slipped a crumpled note into it.

    I flattened it out on my desk to read it. It had a phone number and a message scrawled beneath: Ditch the losers. I crumpled it and tossed it in the trash.

    ¡°Ugh. I bet he¡¯s trying to skim you off our pack,¡± Cheryl said later during Home Ec after I told her about the note. ¡°He and Selene dated two and a half years ago. Jerk dumped her right before Spring Dance. Now he¡¯s jealous that she¡¯s doing just fine without him¡ªshe¡¯s top of the Senior class, started her own reputable pack, and wouldn¡¯t take him back even if he crawled on his stomach. Pierson¡¯s pride probably limps every time he sees her.¡±

    ¡°Good to know I¡¯m leverage,¡± I replied. "Two cups of flour, right?"

    We were baking brownies for class, and while Cheryl was already pouring her mixture into the pan, I was still mashing together the ingredients. For all the cupcakes and cookies I¡¯d eaten, I¡¯d never baked in my life.

    ¡°Yes. And don¡¯t talk yourself down like that, Collin. You¡¯re a human being. Wait, stop, stop! That¡¯s powdered sugar, not flour, my dude.¡±

    ¡°Shit, thanks.¡± I crammed a measuring cup into the correct bag of flour, shaking off the excess and making a white powder cloud in the process. Cheryl cringed. ¡°What¡¯s the deal with Simon, by the way?¡±

    ¡°Simon Lovett?¡±

    ¡°Lovett?¡± The cogs in my mind skipped a pitch. ¡°Like, related to Mrs. Lovett? Our English teacher, Lovett?¡±

    ¡°Yeah. She¡¯s his mom.¡± She shrugged. ¡°Personally, if one of my parents was my teacher, I¡¯d drop out. As far as I know, Simon was homeschooled on and off through middle school, then came back full-time for high school. Definitely shows. Doesn¡¯t belong to a pack that I know of¡ªat least, any of the packs I know of here. With that ¡®tude of his, I¡¯d put my money on him being a lone wolf. Definitely ticks the personality traits of one.¡±

    ¡°Why homeschool your kid for so long when you teach public?¡±

    She sighed. ¡°Apparently, she used to teach at some prestigious private school for girls somewhere on the edge of town. Religious probably. Swapped over to public two years ago and has been teaching English since.¡±

    ¡°Simon seems¡­¡± I scratched my head, trying to figure out a way to put what I wanted to say politely. ¡°Have you ever talked to him?¡±

    ¡°Sort of. He was nice the first year of high school. All of a sudden, he told me to fuck off. In more polite speech.¡±

    ¡°Huh.¡± I cleaned the flour dust off my hands on my pants, earning another cringe from my friend. ¡°I mean, he was nice enough to loan me his book.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t say he wasn¡¯t nice. He just¡­ usually isn¡¯t.¡± A strange expression passed over her face that I couldn¡¯t read. ¡°It¡¯s just a book, anyways.¡±

    I wanted to correct her. Judging from the inside cover, his copy of Pride and Prejudice was more than just a book. It was a heartfelt gift. A rather¡­ old, heartfelt gift.

    Ever since I got it, I¡¯d been handling it like a geriatric patient. The spine wasn¡¯t fragile but still pretty worn, and the yellowed pages had an alluring vanilla-lignin smell. On the back of the hardcover was a coffee stain ring, denoting that someone, at some time, used it as a coaster. Some pages had creases. None of them were ripped or missing, though. Despite these signs of being well-loved, I feared adding as much as a stray dog ear to the pages.

    The teacher reminded us that we had less than half an hour of Home Ec, and to stop lollygagging and get our brownies baking soon. When the oven door burned me, I hissed from pain, clenching my fists.

    If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    ¡°Oo, ouchies,¡± Cheryl sympathized. She fetched a handful of burn cream packets from the first aid and ripped one open for me. ¡°Here. Keep the extras in your bag. Moon knows you¡¯ll use it all up by the end of the week.¡±

    ¡°Yeah. Silly me, right?¡± I laughed. Just to be safe, I ran my new burn spot under cold water for a few minutes. The patch of skin hadn¡¯t blistered yet, so it was probably fine.

    Baking may not have been a skill I¡¯d thought to hone, but it was sort of fun. Like a science project that you could eat. Maybe not in my case, though¡ªat the end of class my brownies looked like hell had crawled out of the oven and, from the exertion, collapsed in on itself.

    ?? | ?? | ??

    The nice thing about fifth period was that it was basically a study hall with minimalistic babysitting. The teacher, a younger guy who looked like he normally substituted, had outlined the rules on the whiteboard: No cellphones, no sitting adjacent to other students, no playing games. Classic display of the no, no, and no school policy.

    However, the teacher didn¡¯t display any motivation to enforce them. I guess even he knew the rules were bullshit, probably the brainchild of someone else. Today, a trio of girls played Uno in the back. Someone else was on a tablet, doing what was probably not school work.

    I sat down in the most antisocial corner of the room, pulling out my English book. The last time I read a book front to back was my freshman year¡ªonce my parents finally let me use a computer more than an hour a day, I became an acolyte of Sparknotes. If Simon was going to go out of his way to loan me his personal things, the least I could do is use them. I cracked open to the last place I left off. The main character Elizabeth and her sister had just met with their matching pair of ultra-rich love interests, the older already head over heels, while the other was ready to pull out a knife.

    By Jane, the page started, this attention was received with greatest pleasure, but Elizabeth still saw superciliousness in their treatment of everybody, hardly excepting even her sister, and could not like them¡­

    Right. This was only the third time I was rereading the same passage, and I still hadn¡¯t figured out what the book was trying to say.

    A straggling student walked through the door a few seconds after the bell had rung. Nobody said anything or seemed to care; the instructor had more important matters on his phone.

    The straggler usually sat across the room from me, propping his feet up and napping or whatever. Today he decided to change things up; with a casual stride, the latecomer slid next to me, and upon speaking, a strong waft of cigarette smoke floated on his breath.

    ¡°Nice book,¡± he whispered, tapping on the cover. ¡°Looks old school.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s for English. You¡­ read it before?¡±

    ¡°Nope.¡± Then, he leaned on his elbow, giving me a deep look. It wasn¡¯t expectant but observational, as if he were trying to read me in a non-judgmental fashion. ¡°More of a poetry person. Rimbaud, Allen Ginsberg, Langston Hughes. You new to East Garden?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re not the first to ask.¡±

    The latecomer¡¯s laugh was a musical sort, the kind that invited you to laugh along. I restrained myself to a grin. ¡°Pardon, man. Everyone loves an opportunity to be curious. The grind gets mundane, y¡¯know?¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m Ash, by the way. Hey, you listen to the Strokes?¡± He pointed at my band shirt. Already, I¡¯d forgotten I was wearing in.

    ¡°I do.¡±

    ¡°My uncle met the lead singer in a bar after a concert, before they got real big. You play any instruments or do any art?¡±

    ¡°Super cool. And no, not really. Always wanted to play the drums, though. I¡¯m Collin Thomas.¡±

    ¡°Nice. Like a reverse Tom Collins.¡±

    I scratched my head. ¡°Sorry, I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve heard of him before.¡±

    ¡°It''s... not a musician.¡± Ash laughed again. ¡°How about the Arctic Monkeys?¡±

    ¡°Hell yeah.¡±

    ¡°Rise Against?¡±

    ¡°Uh, sorry, I don¡¯t like them too much. Their music feels too¡­ generic and radio-catering to me. Not that I don¡¯t believe in their message.¡±

    ¡°Hell yeah, I agree.¡± He winked. ¡°Never be sorry, Collin. Just because people say it¡¯s good music, doesn¡¯t mean it¡¯s good for you. Opinions are free, complacency costs.¡± Though he didn''t dress like it, his attitude made me think of the beat generation.

    ¡°You listen to Velvet Underground?¡± I guessed.

    ¡°Pegged me,¡± he confessed. ¡°You¡¯re a pretty cultured guy.¡±

    ¡°Not really. Your voice just reminds me of the main singer, Lou Reed.¡±

    ¡°Really?¡± He looked at me, amazed. ¡°Thanks. Wish I could be as smooth as Lou.¡±

    ¡°Same. Except without the drugs.¡±

    We grinned at each other.

    Our conversation had apparently become too loud. The teacher cleared his throat to pull our attention, and tapped on the board with a ruler. No talking. Ash rolled his eyes, jerking his thumb to the girls playing Uno unhampered.

    ¡°Unfair,¡± I muttered.

    Ash corrected me with a stronger word. ¡°Unjust.¡±

    I returned to my book. Ash returned to slacking off. When enough of the heat had passed, he tapped my shoulder and leaned in to whisper. ¡°We¡¯re throwing a party this weekend. You interested?¡±

    I didn¡¯t know who we were, but if it was more people like him, I was. But...

    ¡°Sorry, I''ve got a prior engagement," I apologized. "Promised my sister we¡¯d shift together.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s all cool,¡± he reassured. ¡°Hey, why don''t you take my number? In case you get bored.¡± He clicked his tongue and winked again.

    The teacher cleared his throat and tapped the board again. Passing knowing glances with each other, Ash and I went back to pretending to look busy.

    ?? | ?? | ??

    That evening, my sister drove us out to the old dog park. It was on the edge of town, east of the river fork. Across the water, you could see the bright stadium lights of the local university¡¯s football field shining down on empty stands.

    We wore loose, ugly gym clothes and packed the cooler in the back of the car with enough food to supply a picnic of four. Little much in my opinion, but I wasn¡¯t the one who paid for it.

    ¡°I know it¡¯s excessive, but the city¡¯s been cracking down on people chasing wildlife and hunting house cats,¡± Amy explained during the car ride. ¡°I mean, most people don¡¯t eat each other¡¯s pets. But I like having a meal nearby. It¡¯s nice.¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡± I shrugged.

    I believed her, but couldn¡¯t help my strong suspicion that an ulterior motive was at play. My last transformation hadn¡¯t gone well, and the family therapist had come up with a list of suggestions to alleviate things in the future¡ªfood being one. I was willing to go along with the suggestion if it made everyone else feel better.

    Then again, maybe I was being paranoid. The voracity of a post-shift appetite wasn¡¯t to be underestimated.

    ¡°It¡¯s all raw, by the way. Sorry. I didn¡¯t have time to cook after work.¡±

    ¡°No problem. How was work?¡±

    ¡°Went smoothly,¡± she replied. ¡°Aside from a few dinguses. Healthcare¡¯s like customer service sometimes. Most times, actually.¡± Like Sam, she worked in a clinic, except as a medical assistant instead of a nurse. ¡°You see that sunset?¡±

    The world outside the car windows was falling to summer dusk¡¯s umber and warm shadows. The grass had dried to a straw color, while smatterings of larches were yellowing amidst ponderosas intent on keeping evergreen. If I had a camera, I could sell the picture on a gas station postcard rack.

    In the sky, the moon was already rising. For shifting, Amy picked a night just after a quarter moon to avoid the crowd.

    ¡°Yeah. It¡¯s nice,¡± I admitted.

    ¡°Garden City¡¯s like mini-Seattle on the Idaho-Washington border,¡± she went on. ¡°Big enough to be busy, but lacking the sprawl that overruns the hills and blocks the view of the mountains. I don¡¯t think I could live anywhere else.¡±

    Compared to Garden City, Sulphur Springs was a flat, brown, stretch of nowhere, until winter. Then it was a flat, white, stretch of nowhere. I could understand Amy''s draw.

    When we got to the dog park around 8 PM, only a few cars were in the lot. Unlike most dog parks in town, the one Amy picked was large, an island in the river that connected to the banks running up and down. She popped open the hatch of her Honda CRV, moving the cooler closer to the edge for easy access. Then, we sat on the trunk together, dangling our feet and waiting. It was easier to let the shift happen slowly, instead of forcing it. And, well, it was nice to just sit around with Amy and talk.

    ¡°What time is sunset?¡± I asked.

    ¡°Soon.¡±

    ¡°Moonset?¡±

    ¡°Hour past midnight.¡±

    "Cool." That meant there was a good chance we¡¯d be home before 3 am.

    We continued to sit side-by-side talking about the little things, mostly Amy prompting me about my social life, and me trying to turn the conversation back on her. Fifteen minutes later, my skin began to terribly itch. Then, I felt the pull.

    The rest happened quickly. Teeth began coming loose as larger, sharper fangs pushed them out. Once the top, human row detached, I spat them out quickly¡ªSam once told me that most transformation-related fatalities weren¡¯t violence related but medical, like choking on your own teeth. Maybe she was screwing with me. I wasn¡¯t taking the chance.

    My skin sloughed off as my pelt emerged underneath, thick fur the shades of black and timber brown. When I looked at my sister, her eyes had changed from amber to bright, golden yellow, her maw already fully formed and snapping to loosen up her jaws. Just from eye contact, a flood of her emotions entered my head, a gust of her inner wild that hit me as strong as a stormy gust.

    She belonged to the moon now, and I wasn¡¯t far behind.

    Once Amy finished shifting, she gunned for the path, bouncing on her feet, and impatiently barking at me to hurry up. Not that I could change any faster. Once my bones became stable from all the lengthening and shortening, I bolted after her to race, loping forward on all fours.

    The thing about transformations is that they aren¡¯t just physical; it rewires your brain. The night called to me, exciting every fiber of my being. When the breeze graced us, it carried the faint whispering from the darkness waiting beneath the trees. Complicated thoughts became simple, while simple things exploded into complex arrays of colors, sounds, and smells. Even if her face hadn¡¯t fully waxed, I could feel the moon''s gaze above, hear her even. Her voice was poised and serene, with demands short of savage.

    Breath my air, she commanded. Bare your teeth. Run.

    I caught up to Amy, nipping at her heels. Everything became a soggy dream¡ªsome mine, some belonging to everyone else. Grass, leaves. Dirt, loam. Sweat, sweet dogwood¡­

    ¡­ Squirrel.

 4: Supercilious

    Sometime between last night and early this morning, Amy and I made it home safely and crawled into our beds. By the time I woke up, it was already past noon. Judging by the icky, algae smell sticking to me, I must¡¯ve dove into the river at some point, then decided to take it home.

    ¡°Your sister¡¯s still in bed,¡± Sam said when I walked into the kitchen. She had something frying on a skillet that was aromatically fatty, rich, and so good. ¡°Bacon and eggs. I know it¡¯s a little late for breakfast, but proteins and lipids are crucial to recovering.¡±

    ¡°Thanks, Sam.¡± I plopped down while she poured a glass of orange juice for me. Before the plate had a second to cool, I shoveled it all into my mouth without chewing. ¡°I¡¯ve got a killer headache.¡±

    ¡°You want acetaminophen or ibuprofen?¡±

    ¡°Sure?¡±

    She rattled a bottle of Advil and tossed it to me. ¡°How about plans for the rest of the day?¡±

    ¡°Thinking about going to the mall after I shower.¡±

    ¡°Sounds fun. Don¡¯t forget to brush your teeth. I can smell your dinner from last night ten feet away.¡±

    After getting ready (brushing and flossing very thoroughly), I caught the 6 Line down the block to the Canyon Gate center. There were two malls in town, but the other was over a half-hour ride away, and half as big. As for actual plans, I didn¡¯t have much in mind besides stopping by the game store or the pretzel stand. The bus let me and half a dozen other people off at the front entrance.

    As I walked in, eyes glued to my phone screen, I bumped into someone barely past the doors.

    ¡°Hey, new guy.¡±

    I frowned. Correction: someone bumped into me.

    ¡°Hey¡­ Pierson. Didn¡¯t see you there.¡±

    ¡°I see that.¡± He smiled. ¡°What a coincidence. You get my note? I was worried your phone wasn¡¯t working. Looks like it¡¯s working fine.¡±

    ¡°Actually¡­ I¡¯ve been having some issues with my data since I moved here,¡± I lied. My gaze darted around our surroundings, searching for any of Pierson¡¯s pack mates waiting in the wings. Nobody stood out. ¡°Was, uh, actually on my way to the phone store to get it checked out. Coincidences, right?¡±

    ¡°You being honest?¡± A dark look crossed Pierson¡¯s face, and he leaned toward me to speak in a low voice. ¡°You know, an alpha can smell a lie.¡±

    Just like that, my guard snapped up, and I couldn¡¯t tell if his tone of voice was a warning, a threat, or a bluff.

    ¡°You¡¯re pulling my leg,¡± I said.

    ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m pulling your leg,¡± he laughed. Just like that, the tension cleared. ¡°Phone store¡¯s the other way, newbie. Here, I¡¯ll take you there.¡±

    ¡°Oh, no, I don¡¯t want to interrupt you,¡±  I sheepishly declined. ¡°You¡¯ve got better things to do on a weekend, right?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m all done here. Got my birthday shopping done,¡± he dismissed.

    ¡°Well, happy birthday, then.¡±

    ¡°Not me, silly.¡± Pierson laughed again as he invasively walked beside me, herding me in the right direction with just his physical presence. That¡¯s the thing about alphas¡ªeven when they weren¡¯t yours, their peer pressure manifested like heat against your back. ¡°It¡¯s my little siblings¡¯. You have any?¡±

    ¡°Just one. A sister.¡±

    ¡°Just one? Lucky. I have four, one older, the rest younger. And, all girls, too.¡±

    Oof. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t want to be the last one up in the morning to shower. Must be hectic.¡±

    ¡°We manage with a bit of chaos. Let¡¯s just say my parents planned on having three kids. The third one ended up being triplets. Makes birthday shopping something.¡± He held up the bags he was holding. From the amount, I could guess it was the triplets¡¯ special day coming up.

    ¡°Hey, how about you?¡± he charmingly asked. ¡°How¡¯s your family life?¡±

    I shrugged. ¡°Nothing special. Live with my older sister Amy and her mom, Sam. Amy¡¯s graduated and works.¡±

    ¡°Mom and dad?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a private matter,¡± I replied with a frown.

    To my surprise, he didn¡¯t dig further. ¡°You like East Garden so far?¡±

    ¡°Just a little different than the one I used to go to,¡± I downplayed.

    ¡°Where¡¯re you from?¡±

    ¡°Small town two states over. Barely has a name¡ªSulphur Springs.¡±

    The conversation went dry from there, mostly because I had less interest in getting to know Pierson than he had in getting to know me. As friendly as he sounded, I suspected he was softening me up for some ulterior motive. The awkward pause in talking didn¡¯t seem to bother Pierson at all, though. He stayed beside me, close enough that passerby¡¯s probably thought we were friends.

    We eventually came to a stop in front of the phone store. He turned to face me, my hands in my pocket while his arms were loosely crossed.

    ¡°Alrighty, then,¡± he said. ¡°Get that phone fixed. I look forward to seeing you at lunch sometime next week. I promise, you¡¯ll find my table more interesting than Pointdexter corner.¡±

    ¡°They aren¡¯t that bad.¡±

    Pierson sharply snorted. ¡°Not bad yet.¡±

    I shrugged. Didn¡¯t believe him on that one.

    ¡°Hey, the grind gets boring when you don¡¯t make your own fun,¡± Pierson said, echoing sentiments I¡¯d already heard before. ¡°Give it a try. Expand your horizons. If your new friends can¡¯t handle a little bit of jealousy, well. You¡¯re your own man, aren¡¯t you?¡±

    Maybe his advice had some weight¡ªthere were people in the school outside of Cheryl and her pack mates. It would be smart to meet a few more folks. Not that that someone was going to be him.

    ¡°I¡¯ll consider it, Pierson.¡±

    ¡°Do that.¡±

    With a click of his tongue and a wink, he departed, the multitude of shopping bags on his arms rustling as he walked. Okay, I¡¯ll admit, it wasn¡¯t like I wanted to talk to him, but it was nice having someone to talk to.

    ?? | ?? | ??

    For the rest of the weekend, I tried to pass off my brownies to Amy and Sam. Sam was nice enough to try a bite. Amy saw them, then told me she was on a new diet. With too many leftovers, I offered some to Cheryl first period on Monday.

    ¡°No offense, Collin, but I watched you bake those,¡± she said bluntly. ¡°Hey, where in the book are you?¡±

    ¡°For English? Like, a few chapters,¡± I answered.

    ¡°Just a few?¡±

    ¡°Well, it¡¯s¡­ kind of hard to read.¡± She gave me a skeptical look, so I justified myself. ¡°Not that I don¡¯t understand, it¡¯s just all old-timey. All the characters constantly argue about who¡¯s the richest and prissiest when they¡¯re all rich and prissy. I can¡¯t tell if the book is serious or sarcastic.¡±

    ¡°Dripping with sarcasm,¡± Cheryl said. ¡°Jane Austin defines sardonic in the Oxford Dictionary. Once you figure out the book¡¯s a big roast on Victorian culture, it¡¯s easier to read.¡± She drummed her fingers on her copy of the book. ¡°By the way, I was thinking about doing our project on the portrayal of male and female characters¡¯ attitudes toward matrimony. Or maybe something more of a social class commentary. Maybe we should go with something smaller and more focused, like Liz and Mr. Darcy¡¯s relationship?¡±

    I shrugged. ¡°The lady¡¯s pissed because he called her ugly. Personally, I¡¯m pissed for her, too.¡±

    This earned a chuckle from Cheryl. ¡°You know, I think it¡¯s interesting, how the two are written. The book was published nearly two hundred years ago, but Darcy¡¯s portrayal continues to echo in male characters in our modern day romances. Broody, conveniently rich, misunderstood as evil when he¡¯s secretly good, all the while hiding his true feelings under the guise of fake apathy and passive aggression. If only Elizabeth Bennets didn¡¯t fade away to make room for the female cardboard cutouts in romance novels nowadays.¡±

    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

    I nodded. ¡°Uh-huh.¡±

    ¡°Well, Co, we¡¯ve got until the end of next week to finish the book, and the weekend to start our presentation,¡± Cheryl continued. ¡°Let¡¯s chill at my place after school today and read. My parents got a new Keurig, and I have some of those reusable coffee pods.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m more of a hot chocolate guy. Caffeine makes me too jittery,¡± I confessed.

    ¡°How does peppermint sound?¡±

    ¡°Hell yeah. Sold.¡±

    ?? | ?? | ??

    ¡°Hot take¡ªMary Poppins is a time lord,¡± Hoff argued over lunch.

    Leslie scoffed. ¡°You¡¯re being controversial for the sake of controversial.¡±

    ¡°But consider it.¡± Hoff talked with his fork as he outlined his points. ¡°Her bag is bigger on the inside like a Tardis, her umbrella¡¯s like a sonic screwdriver¡­¡±

    As interesting as the argument was, I tuned out and zoned in on my salad instead. Its composition was bland and simple, composed of about four ingredients: lettuce, dressing, carrots, and red cabbage strips that colorfully enhanced the illusion of edibility.

    David nudged me hard. ¡°Hey Collin, you in there?¡±

    ¡°Mmhm?¡±

    ¡°You look deep in thought.¡±

    ¡°Not really. I¡¯m just¡­¡± I scanned the lunchroom for an excuse. My eyes came to rest on a familiar, near-empty table with a specific someone sitting alone. ¡°¡­ thinking about trig class. Which I should be studying. Right now.¡± I got up with my tray.

    ¡°There¡¯s only like five minutes of lunch left, dude.¡±

    ¡°Well, one of my classmates is actually here. I¡¯m gonna just check in with them about some triangle-circle-unit-stuff.¡±

    The answer satisfied David enough, and after scanning my tray and finding nothing left of value, he turned back to Hoff and Leslie¡¯s debate. Cheryl was too consumed in her phone to notice me leaving, and considering we had the next period together, I didn¡¯t bother saying goodbye. Selene, however, gave me an inquisitive look.

    Hopefully, Pierson really was joking about the whole alphas-smelling-lies thing.

    I sorted out my food waste into the compost and recycling bins before tossing the tray into the dish drop-off window. Then, I straightened my shirt, straightened my back, and made my way straight over to him.

    As usual, Simon¡¯s table was empty, though the fact didn¡¯t seem to bother him. He took advantage of the open space to spill the contents of his bag on the table, leaving out some books and notebooks. He didn¡¯t notice my approach, preoccupied with a novel held in one hand, and a spoonful of yogurt in the other.

    Putting my hands in my pockets, I stood around for a bit waiting for him to notice me. I read the title of his book--The Picture of Dorian Gray. Didn¡¯t look like the sort of book that had a lot of pictures, though.

    ¡°Hi there,¡± I eventually said.

    Simon didn¡¯t say anything at first. Either he was ignoring me, or was that caught up in his book. Hoping for the former, I cleared my throat and tapped on the table.

    ¡°Hey, uh, Simon?¡±

    He almost jumped, tugging out a pair of earbuds that explained his initial ambivalence. Once he realized who I was, his expression shifted from surprise to an impassive mask that probably hide either apathy or annoyance.

    ¡°What?¡± he sharply asked.

    ¡°Anyone sitting here?¡± I replied.

    ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°Do you mind if I¡­?¡±

    ¡°Sort of.¡±

    ¡°Oh, well¡­¡± I shifted my bag on my back. Not a response I expected so swiftly. ¡°Sorry to bother you, then.¡± I considered adding Jerkwad to the end but thought better of it, turning to leave instead.

    ¡°I won¡¯t stop you, though,¡± he suddenly followed up, changing his tone. ¡°Free country, sit where you want. Why, what¡¯s up?¡±

    ¡°Honestly?¡±

    ¡°Preferably.¡±

    ¡°I see you sitting alone all the time, and I figured I¡¯d come to say hi,¡± I confessed. ¡°I know if I was you, I wouldn¡¯t mind the company.¡±

    ¡°I doubt, if you were me, you would. But¡­ I appreciate the thought.¡±

    Simon looked at me now with his chin resting on his interlocked fingers, expectantly. Too late to backpedal now¡ªhis eyes were locked with mine now, holding me in place. Hesitantly, I sat down.

    ¡°Sorry, I¡¯m awkward,¡± I admitted.

    ¡°I get it. It¡¯s a plummeting feeling,¡± he said. ¡°Isn¡¯t it, being new?¡±

    ¡°Like the ground fell away.¡± The words slipped out of my mouth before they registered in my brain. ¡°Why, where is this coming from?¡±

    He flipped my words back on me. ¡°Just trying to be good company. Not trying to offend you, just being empathetic.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s a strange way of putting it.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re the one who came here to pity me first, weren¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°No, that¡¯s not¡ªI came to say hi since you were nice and loaned me your book and all. You¡¯re the one being¡­¡±

    ¡°Being what?¡±

    Being¡­ being¡­

    ¡°Supercilious,¡± I stammered.

    I braced for his response. He looked at me weirdly for a bit, before suddenly breaking out into a laugh. Not a small chuckle¡ªa long, drawn-out one that went until he was fully winded. It left me a little worried. ¡°So it¡¯s true.¡±

    ¡°What? What¡¯s true?¡±

    ¡°You can read,¡± Simon clarified. ¡°You picked it up from my Jane Austin¡¯s book, didn¡¯t you? It¡¯s a very memorable word, Supercilious, written in a sea of very incisive wit.¡±

    I blushed in embarrassment. ¡°Maybe I learned it from somewhere else. I¡¯m fully capable of cracking open a dictionary every once in a while.¡±

    ¡°Really? I¡¯ve never met someone who reads the dictionary for recreation.¡±

    ¡°Look,¡± I interrupted. ¡°I made some brownies in Home Ec, and I wanted to know if you¡¯d be interested in any. You don¡¯t have to. I¡¯m trying to say thanks, is all.¡±

    "Oh." Critically, he examined them before taking one off my hand. ¡°They¡¯re a little...¡±

    ¡°I tried.¡±

    ¡°I see that.¡± He turned it in his palms as if I handed him a malformed hockey puck. The bell rang.

    ¡°Well, my locker¡¯s across the school, so I should get a head start and go,¡± I said. ¡°Enjoy the brownie.¡±

    ¡°I will. Thank you.¡±

    ¡°Fine. I mean, you¡¯re welcome.¡±

    I took off, losing myself in the crowd.

    ?? | ?? | ??

    After school, I went to Cheryl¡¯s. For most of our time so far, I laid flat on Cheryl¡¯s living room floor and paged through my book. Well, Simon¡¯s book. My focus wandered.

    ¡°You doing okay there, bud?¡± Cheryl asked. She was curled up on the couch beneath a chunky knit blanket, book on her lap while cradling a Lilo and Stitch coffee mug in her hands.

    ¡°No. I mean, yeah. I¡¯m doing okay. Just¡­ still getting used to the writing.¡± I flipped back a page. ¡°I keep forgetting what I¡¯m reading right after I read it.¡±

    ¡°What chapter are you on?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t remember, I lost track when I went back to look something up.¡±

    ¡°If you tell me what you do remember, I can probably help you get back on track,¡± Cheryl offered.

    I shrugged. ¡°Thanks. There¡¯s other stuff on my mind, too. I talked to Simon during lunch.¡±

    ¡°I saw. How¡¯d it go?¡±

    ¡°Bad.¡±

    ¡°Bad bad?¡±

    I sighed. ¡°I got a little mad and said some not nice things."

    One of her eyebrows raised inquisitively. "Like...?"

    "Called him supercilious,¡± I muttered into my cup.

    Cheryl started choking mid-sip of her drink, resolving the blockage with a hysteric laugh.

    ¡°You can¡¯t¡ªha¡ªbe serious!¡±

    I rolled my eyes. ¡°You better not tell anyone.¡±

    ¡°Lips. Sealed. Damnit, I got coffee on my page.¡± She padded her open book down with the hem of her shirt, drying out the damage. ¡°Sick burn, though. Wish I thought of saying something like that to his face.¡±

    ¡°No, don¡¯t. Please.¡±

    Just then, the cuckoo clock on the wall went off, the brightly painted wooden bird popping in and out of its miniature cabin door a bunch of times. I¡¯d never seen one before outside of Tom and Jerry cartoons. ¡°I was trying to be nice, but things got¡­ frustrating.¡±

    ¡°Sounds about right. Why did you talk to him anyway? I thought you said you were going to talk to a classmate about trig.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s in my trig class. And I don¡¯t know.¡± I sighed. ¡°I figured, since he was nice and loaned me his book, I¡¯d be nice back. And¡­¡± There were a few more things I wanted to say, but they failed to configure themselves into coherent words.

    ¡°He has that effect on a lot of people,¡± she answered for me. ¡°The way he just draws people in only to spit on them later. Is it his eyes? The curve of his lips? Maybe the enigma that shrouds his identity, or the mercurial roulette of his personality. Who knows.¡±

    The joking sarcasm in her voice ended in a veiled, jaded tone. I rubbed my eyes. A sudden wave of fatigue overcame me¡ªI had hit my limits in both studying and conversing. Cheryl started to look tired, too.

    ¡°It¡¯s late,¡± I said. ¡°I could go for some z¡¯s.¡±

    ¡°Oh, right. The clock went off like six times, huh?¡±

    ¡°Wait, we¡¯ve been here for eight hours?¡±

    ¡°No, silly. Just three. The bird cuckoos for every hour,¡± she explained. ¡°So six cuckoos means six o¡¯clock.¡±

    ¡°Right.¡± Cool and all, but checking a phone seemed simpler.

    ¡°Wanna do this again Thursday?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Wish I could, but I gotta meet with my therapist. Sam thinks it¡¯s a good idea I see someone regularly while I readjust.¡±

    ¡°Hey, I get it.¡± Putting down her stuff, she gathered up all our mugs and tidied the couch. ¡°Mental health is important. My dad¡¯s a therapist, too. Hope he¡¯s not yours.¡±

    ¡°Mine¡¯s a lady, so no.¡± Thank the moon. ¡°Class tomorrow then, Cheryl?¡±

    ¡°For sure. Speaking of my dad, want him to drop you off?¡±

    ¡°Oh, uh, I think I¡¯m good¡ª¡°

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, he¡¯s not gonna vivisect your mind. Not for free, at least.¡± She smiled, dissipating my reservation. ¡°I¡¯ll be in the car with you the whole time. Stars forbid I leave you to the sharks.¡±

    ¡°You implying your dad is a stealthy, marine predator?¡±

    ¡°Yeah. If I let a boy stay over until nine, he turns them to chum. Dads, y¡¯know.¡±

    Cheryl¡¯s dad drove a station wagon with faux wood panels, reminding me of the cars they used in 90s movies. I sat in the back, while Cheryl occupied shotgun, chatting cheerfully with her father. Sinking into the fake leather of the seats, I quietly looked out the window and restrained myself from participating¡ªI always felt awkward around other people¡¯s parents.

    At one point, her father loudly cleared his throat and looked at me through the rearview mirror.

    ¡°So, Collin,¡± he began, ¡°How long have you been in Garden City?¡±

    ¡°Since early summer,¡± I answered.

    ¡°Anything special bring you here?¡±

    ¡°Just family. They thought I¡¯d do better in school here than in Sulphur Springs.¡±

    ¡°Sulphur Springs, huh?¡± He whistled. ¡°That town has a total population of a Los Angeles city block spread out across a fifteen-mile sage flat. I¡¯ve passed through there a few times on the way to Yellowstone. Ever been?¡±

    ¡°Once, when I was young. My parents weren¡¯t too big on vacations.¡±

    ¡°Shame. Well, if you ever want to join us sometime, Cheryl¡¯s always free to bring a friend.¡± When Cheryl¡¯s father nudged her in the side, she gave him the stink eye. He replied with a What? combined with a shrug.

    ¡°You can drop me off here,¡± I piped up. ¡°Just on the corner. My house is just across the road.¡±

    ¡°Alright. Take care and stay safe,¡± Cheryl¡¯s dad said.

    ¡°Thanks, Mr. Maybrook.¡±

    ¡°Just call me Roger, Collin.¡±

    Cheryl groaned. ¡°See you tomorrow, Collin. Escape while you still can.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, see you, too.¡±

    I got out, waving as Cheryl¡¯s dad drove off. Once the car disappeared around the corner, and I was sure they weren¡¯t going to turn around and come back, I started my walk to my apartment, four blocks away.

 5: Delicate Things

    ¡°Collin?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s my name.¡±

    ¡°Collin. I¡¯ve known a few Collins.¡±

    I shrugged, letting the water lap at my feet. In my hand was a smooth-edged stone; I practiced winding up a skip across the rippling reflection of the moon.

    ¡°Well, this Collin is me,¡± I stated.

    ¡°That makes it different, then.¡±

    ¡°Different, how?¡±

    ¡°Collin,¡± he repeated instead. ¡°Collin... I could get used to that. What¡¯s it like, being you?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± I hesitated. Maybe not this stone. Even though it was flat, I was becoming more and more unsure of its shape.

    ¡°Collin.¡± A breeze picked up, toying with my hair. ¡°Are you a lone wolf?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± I repeated. ¡°I don¡¯t think I am.¡±

    ¡°Do you know what a lone wolf is?¡±

    ¡°Somebody who¡­ is alone?¡± I vaguely answered.

    ¡°Somebody who¡¯s searching,¡± he responded. ¡°What are you searching for, Collin?¡±

    I froze. The stone slipped from my hand.

    ?? | ?? | ??

    Sam started sending me to the therapist a few weeks after I moved in. Her name was Amber, she specialized in child psychology (I wasn¡¯t a child), and was one of the very few providers that met Sam¡¯s rigorous vetting process. Unlike stereotypical therapists on TV, Amber didn¡¯t keep a notepad on her knee to scribble away at as we talked. She treated our conversations as if they were, well, just normal, casual conversations.

    The casual approach didn¡¯t mean she lacked professionalism. Every word I said seemed to matter to her, in an uncanny, not-bad-but-kind-of-uncomfortable way? She rarely talked much about herself, staying on task every session, giving each of our conversations some sort of theme or focus. On the surface, yeah, talking about yourself for an hour to someone who had to listen is great. But as the sessions came on and on, I found myself running out of stuff to say while still pressured to say something, anything, to make our time together worth her competence.

    Amber¡¯s office was in one of those multi-use buildings a few decades past its glory, above a shipping store and next to a child dental practice. Like today, Sam usually dropped me off before going to the Target down the road to get her retail therapy done at the same time. It gave her something to look forward to considering the drive was nearly half an hour through biker-cluttered, rush hour traffic.

    ¡°Thank you for coming again,¡± Amber said as she lead me to her office. I smiled at the nicety¡ªeven though it was her time I was taking up, not the other way around. When we arrived, I settled down into the chair across from her. A clear glass coffee table separated us, bare except for a wireless clock perched on its far end.

    5:00 PM.

    Amber¡¯s office carried a distinct personality. She loved plants; this passion was displayed by an overpopulation of cuttings huddled together under every inch of space of window sill and spare lamp light. In addition, she''d taken it upon herself to hang huge botanical prints to cover up as much of the grey walls of the room that weren''t already covered by bookshelves and, well, actual plants. A monstera proliferated by the couches despite its exposure to low light conditions. I¡¯m not sure how, maybe she brought it home with her on weekends to fill the gap where other adults would be busy taking care of a child or a dog or something.

    5:01

    ¡°So, Sam mentioned you and Amy transformed last Friday,¡± Amber started us off. ¡°How was it?¡±

    ¡°Fine,¡± I answered.

    ¡°I¡¯m glad. Did you have a good time?¡±

    I shrugged. ¡°Yeah, pretty much.¡±

    ¡°Anything out of the blue happen?¡±

    ¡°No, just¡­ normal, y¡¯know?¡±

    She continued to ask, ¡°Would you mind describing your transformation to me?¡±

    Uncomfortably, I resettled into my seat. My first instinct was to politely say no, but I wasn¡¯t doing this for myself. I was doing this for Sam.

    ¡°We drove down to the park by the University,¡± I began. ¡°Moon was up before we started. Shifted at the tail end of dusk, and ran around until after midnight.¡±

    ¡°How long did the shift take?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know, like¡­ ten minutes? I¡¯m typically faster, but I didn¡¯t want to rush Amy.¡±

    ¡°I ask because sometimes, our speed of transformation can shed some light on our emotional state.¡± Amber folded her hands over a knee, her legs crossed in a way that pulled up her pant leg to reveal ribbed, retro socks. ¡°In a calm environment, between ten and fifteen minutes is normal. Nervousness, fear, or strong emotions can cause outliers on both ends of the spectrum¡ªthreats can cause near-instantaneous shifts, while anxiety and discomfort can extend shifts by up to an hour, if not make it impossible.¡±

    I nodded. Made sense. Amber waited for a second to see if I had anything to add, then continued.

    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°Well, Collin, what I wanted to propose to you today is keeping a journal of your transformations. I¡¯ve had several other patients keep their own and reported some success. Perhaps you can find some enlightenment in tracking your shifts. If something changes, you can have a record to refer to. Like a sleep journal.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not a journal sort of person,¡± I admitted.

    Amber pleasantly smiled. ¡°That¡¯s alright. If a habit doesn¡¯t work for you, it doesn¡¯t work for you. Give it a try and let me know.¡±

    The only response I could think of in return was a shrug. Again, I glanced at the clock.

    5:10

    ¡°You¡¯re in your second week of school, right?¡± she asked. ¡°How have you been coping?¡±

    ¡°Fine. A little disorienting, but it¡¯s been alright.¡±

    ¡°Have you been making friends?¡±

    ¡°A couple.¡±

    ¡°Good. How about your thoughts on school? I¡¯m sure it¡¯s a lot different than Sulphur Springs.¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± I admitted. ¡°There¡¯s more people than I¡¯d imagine in East Garden. I¡¯ve been hanging out with some new friends during lunch. They''re nice, talk a lot and stuff.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s also good,¡± Amber responded. ¡°I know it can be hard to make friends and join a new group, especially when we¡¯re still overcoming our own, negative experiences from our previous packs and home lives. But it¡¯s important to make an effort, and I applaud you for that.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, I know.¡± There was an unexpected curtness in my tone. She didn¡¯t recoil, only returning my reaction with a thoughtful look. Her next words were spoken more carefully.

    ¡°Have you put any thought into joining a particular, new pack?¡± she continued. ¡°I hope, with the larger social environment, you¡¯ll have better luck than your last school in finding people you fit in with.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, I know. It¡¯s just¡­ hard to choose.¡±

    ¡°It is a big choice, Collin. Whatever you choose, I want you to be conscious about your reasons for or against a decision.¡± This wasn¡¯t the first time I was hearing the same talk. I restrained from rolling my eyes and pretended to listen, hoping desperately she wouldn''t suggest making a t-chart of ''good'' and ''bad'' tradeoffs before making a decision. "Being in a pack is part of healthy behavior, but toxic packs have more negative than positive affects on our lives. Sometimes, even a pack that seems great on the outside isn¡¯t a good fit in the long term. Often, I see people struggle with their packs, or with forming their own packs, because they think in terms of tropes and stereotypes we often assign to wild wolves. That our positions in our packs are set, or that rank equates to identity, or that if we won''t feel like we now belong, then we''ll never belong at all. Do you have any ideas why those statements are flawed?¡±

    ¡°Because we¡¯re people, not animals,¡± I dully answered.

    ¡°Because we¡¯re complex creatures,¡± Amber clarified. ¡°Who we are to ourselves, and each other, is fluid and constantly evolving.¡±

    ¡°I get it. Find a pack ASAP.¡±

    5:15

    Amber reached out and turned the clock over, hiding the time from me.

    ¡°This is important,¡± she sternly iterated. ¡°I¡¯m bringing this up because I want to segway into your aunt¡¯s concerns about whether or not you¡¯ll find a pack to begin with this semester.¡±

    I flinched¡ªof course, Sam talked privately with Amber about me before we met today.

    ¡°There¡¯s a common condition called Packless Syndrome," she continued to explain. "It can cause unusual shifts, strange dreams, feelings of isolation, and a buildup of destructive anxiety. Most people go through some version of it at one point or another in our modern lives; our society is mobile and fast-paced, our territories are smaller and restricted, and compared to our ancestors, we spend significantly less time as wolves than humans. Sam believes that you may be feeling some pressure that may be manifesting some of these symptoms.

    "Even when our human social lives are cared for, there will always be the wolf inside of us whose needs are satisfied differently. When we don¡¯t take care of those needs, that wolf will try and find its own way out. Does that make sense to you, Collin?¡±

    I nodded, swallowing.

    ¡°Alright.¡± Amber sighed, probably frustrated with our mostly one-sided conversation. ¡°Well, we still have more time together. Is there anything else you want to talk about, Collin?¡±

    The answer was, like at the start, no. But I couldn¡¯t simply get up and leave, so I had to at least try. Which I did.

    I touched on some of my teachers. Talked about Cheryl and her pack. Then I mentioned Pierson. Amber gave me advice on avoiding conflict with him and his groupies. Most of it I forgot within minutes of discussion. Before I got to Simon, however, our time ran out.

    Probably a good thing. I hadn¡¯t yet organized my thoughts about Simon, and while I was (begrudgingly) willing to share the rest of my budding social life with her, I wanted to keep our sparse interactions to myself. For now.

    ¡°Well then, Collin,¡± Amber finished with a friendly smile. ¡°I think that was a productive session. If something pops up, you can always call, or ask Sam to contact me. I¡¯ll lead you out.¡±

    As we got up to leave, I noticed a new plant on Amber¡¯s desk. It wasn''t big; personally, I would have thought it was just a flower clipping left in a glass vase, if it wasn''t for the translucent roots that spread out into delicate webs. The plant was mostly composed of a slender stalk with a couple of leaves, then a tightly closed, soft, white-petaled flower head.  After all the near-fruitless talking about myself, it seemed a polite opportunity to say something nice on the way out.

    "Is that a new one?" I asked, pointing at it. "It''s very pretty."

    ¡°Yes,¡± she enthusiastically answered. ¡°It¡¯s called a lunam osculum. More commonly, a moonflower. Most people take them for an oriental-bred variety, but it grows in the wild just the same in freshwater wetlands. The blossom only opens during full moons. Would you like to see it?¡±

    Before I could say no, she grabbed the vase and held it out to me. I wanted to say no, in case I dropped it or something. I carefully took it anyways, realizing that the glass vase was actually just a bottle that Amber had stripped the label off of. Delicately, I ran a thumb along the flower''s petals, soft and smooth. They were... irresistible not to touch. It wasn¡¯t until Amber spoke that I broke out of my stupor.

    ¡°Why don¡¯t you keep it, Collin?¡± she offered.

    ¡°I can¡¯t¡ª¡° I tried to politely decline.

    ¡°Trust me." She smiled, her teeth perfectly straight and white. "It could use a good home. Every week, my partner likes to take home a plant that couldn''t sell at his job, or a snapped cutting that he wants to reroot instead of throw away. I''m running out of office space--I think it would do well with you if you were to take care of it.¡±

    ¡°Alright,¡± I conceded. ¡°Thanks, Amber.¡±

    ¡°Take care. See you next week.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, see you next week.¡±

    Outside, Sam was parked on the curb in her red buggy. When I crawled into the passenger seat, I noticed the back was loaded with an above-average amount of Target bags. Mostly clothes, with one new lamp shade in the pile. She''d been talking about updating the living room to match the ¡°cottage core¡± style she¡¯d apparently introduced to the kitchen.

    ¡°You have a good session?¡± Sam asked me as I buckled in.

    ¡°Yeah. You?¡±

    ¡°Too good. For the sake of my wallet, I think Amy will have to drop you off next time.¡± She giggled, and I giggled along with her. ¡°What¡¯s that you got there?¡±

    ¡°Oh, nothing,¡± I said. ¡°Just some flower Amber said I could have. Apparently, her partner keeps bringing them home and she''s trying to give them away.¡±

    ¡°For just some flower, it¡¯s beautiful." She leaned closer and took a sniff of its tight bud. "I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve seen something like it before, to be honest. Is it a dahlia or a zinnia or some sort? I like its perfume. Does it need a lot of sunlight?¡±

    ¡°Amber said it was a moon-something flower. And I don¡¯t know, it¡¯s so fragile it might burn.¡± I gently ran a finger up a stem and gingerly touched the petals again. ¡°I think I¡¯ll just keep it in my room for now.¡±

    ¡°You''ve got an east-facing window, which I''ve heard is good for plants." It took a few turns of the engine before Sam''s Volkswagon turned on. "Treat it special. I don¡¯t know how hard it¡¯ll be to replace.¡±

    ¡°I will,¡± I promised. Hopefully, unlike a lot of things in my short-so-far life, it would last.

 6: Long Division

    We took a break in English from our assigned reading to talk about literature themes and symbolism and stuff. Apparently, themes were something I was supposed to learn at the front end of high school. Guess Sulphur Springs didn¡¯t put much thought into literature as an academic priority.

    Mrs. Lovette wrote on the whiteboard: Werewolf vs Lycanthrope.

    ¡°Can anyone tell me the difference in the definitions of these words?¡± she asked. Cheryl raised her hand beside me. The motion caught the teacher¡¯s eye¡ªunluckily, she ended up calling me instead.

    ¡°Collin?¡±

    I shrugged. ¡°Aren¡¯t they¡­ the same? They mean us. People who can turn into wolves.¡±

    Cheryl puffed, annoyed from being put aside in favor of my underwhelming answer.

    ¡°If we were to approach these words with the lens of denotation, that is correct,¡± Mrs. Lovette responded. ¡°However, annotatively, some writers have their own reasons for choosing one over the other.¡± She underscored part of the words: Werewolf vs Lycanthrope. ¡°Can anyone tell me what these prefixes mean?¡±

    Again, Cheryl¡¯s hand shot up.

    ¡°Anyone in the back corner?¡± Mrs. Lovette called again. I turned my head over my shoulder to look. Right smack dab was Pierson and his pack, all with blank faces.

    ¡°The prefixes mean, like, wolf people?¡± Pierson, the ever-fierce leader of his pack, dared to answer.

    ¡°We''re looking for the definition of their prefixes, not the whole words, Pierson,¡± Mrs. Lovette responded. Pierson folded his arms, more annoyed than embarrassed. ¡°How about you, David? You had your hand up earlier.¡±

    Cheryl groaned, clearly on the verge of losing her shit.

    ¡°Were means human. Like how weregild refers to a human¡¯s worth, paid in the case of their murder or injury by another,¡± David answered with a smirk, clearly enjoying Cheryl¡¯s misery. ¡°Lycan comes from the Greek word Lykanos, meaning wolf.¡±

    ¡°Yes, David. The significance of the difference in the swap of these prefixes and suffixes of these words¡ª¡°

    ¡°Is because one implies our nature as humans first. The other, as wolves,¡± Cheryl burst out.

    ¡°Excellent, Cheryl,¡± Mrs. Lovette said. ¡°However, I would prefer it if we answered questions after being called upon. How many of you, in your assigned readings, have an author that uses the word Werewolf?¡±

    Cheryl nudged me, her hand raised again. I went along and raised my hand, too.

    ¡°And lycanthrope?¡±

    A smaller part of the class put their hands up¡ªthe Wuthering Heights groups.

    ¡°If you haven¡¯t come up with what topic you want to focus on for your book projects, consider why your books either use the words werewolf or lycanthrope. One exception for Great Expectations, where one character is referred to as a werecat--we don''t have a word similar to lycanthrope for felids in reputable, English dictionaries. Think about the importance of how your individual authors present human nature. All three discuss the importance of how we behave in response to things like romance and social class, but one fits the more tragic, cynical genre that suggests our natures are more hopeless than we''d like¡­¡±

    My attention span drifted. There will always be the wolf inside of us, whose needs are satisfied differently. Was this more like werewolf, where our other sides were more secondary to our human nature? Or lycanthrope, where that side of us was always lurking, waiting to burst out. I hadn¡¯t thought of it at the time, but what was my therapist, Amber, trying to teach me? Were our other sides in need of physical stuff, like exercise? Amy and I had a pretty good shift running around last week¡ªwas that good enough to satisfy our hidden natures?

    Hopefully, whatever Amber was getting at wasn¡¯t some puberty-related question.

    The bell abruptly ended my stupor. As we stood up to leave class, Cheryl said something to me that I could barely hear above the commotion of everyone packing my bags. I absentmindedly nodded my head.

    ¡°Great,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯ll see you tonight.¡±

    ?? | ?? | ??

    My table at math had a pretty good grip on the school work of the day, punching away at their calculators. All our calculators were the size of bricks, and half as heavy; with all the buttons and programs it was more than capable of adding and subtracting, like calculating the projectory of a spaceship or graphing Harvard-level stuff. When I turned mine on, whoever had it last class used the letter functions to write something inappropriate. Idly, I doodled on the margins of our paper assignment, filling out the bare minimum that I could manage.

    I didn¡¯t have to guess, from my table¡¯s chatter, that everyone was ahead of their assignment. I flipped through my book as if I was getting something done, stopping to studiously stare every few seconds at a table of figures. My acting wasn''t great.

    ¡°What are you searching for?¡± someone behind me asked.

    My back stiffened, and I made an elongated Uhh sound.

    ¡°In the textbook,¡± he clarified. There was a squeaky rumble of Simon pushing his chair over, backing it up until he was right beside me. My table went silent, but he didn¡¯t seem to care for the awkward attention.

    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

    ¡°Nothing, just working on my assignment,¡± I responded.

    ¡°Really? Sounds more like you¡¯re flipping the pages than reading. We aren¡¯t even on vectors and planes yet.¡±

    ¡°Guess I¡¯m super ahead, huh?¡± My cheeks warmed with embarrassment.

    "Let me see." He reached a hand out to slide my assignment closer to him with the tips of his thin, elegant fingers. They were pianist¡¯s fingers, the kind that would tangle on the keys without perfected practice. ¡°Well¡­ you spelled your name correctly on the page. That¡¯s something. Today¡¯s the fifth, by the way. Not the fourth. Let me see your calculator.¡±

    I should have said no. I gave it to him anyways¡ªhe already had my assignment hostage.

    ¡°Here, you¡¯re trying to figure out the hypotenuse of a scalene, not a right-angle triangle, so you aren¡¯t going to find the square root of a2 and b2 combined, you¡¯re going to use the Law of Cosine. It¡¯s in Chapter Four.¡±

    I let Simon scribble on my paper margins, and show me how to shortcut functions on my calculator. He was even bold enough to dog-ear some of the textbook pages for me. I didn¡¯t notice how much time was passing until the bell rang, and we¡¯d only gotten three-quarters of the way through.

    ¡°What are you doing tonight?¡± he asked me.

    ¡°Nothing, really.¡± The words eeked out of my throat, and I realized the whole time, I¡¯d barely talked aside from some uh-huhs. ¡°Why?¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s an after-school study club. You should go. Seriously.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m that hopeless?¡±

    ¡°Your words, not mine,¡± he replied. ¡°Bring your assignment. I¡¯ll be there.¡±

    ¡°Really? I mean, cool.¡± I casually shrugged. ¡°I guess I¡¯ll consider it. Thanks, Sine.¡±

    At the mention of his nickname, his head snapped up, the cold blue of his eyes jabbing right into my self-confidence.

    ¡°I mean, Simon,¡± I corrected myself. ¡°Haha, sorry, too much trig on my mind.¡±

    ¡°3:45,¡± he simply responded. ¡°Room 230. I¡¯m usually there a few minutes beforehand.¡±

    Simon stood up and packed his things and made for the door. I did the same, not wanting to be late for gym.

    ?? | ?? | ??

    Stars, I felt like I was floating the rest of the day, and I could barely describe why.

    At gym, one of the girls nearly hit me with a pickleball, but my head was so far in the clouds I could barely bother with being upset.

    Cheryl buddied up with me in the lunch line as she always did, chatting a million miles per hour. David waited at the table already loaded with his complaints about his English partner, a conversation I¡¯d rather stay outside of for political reasons. I glanced over to Simon¡¯s table, still empty. Would sitting right next to him now be too upfront? Then, there would be the fact I was abandoning Cheryl.

    Pierson¡¯s words resurfaced in my mind. If your new friends can¡¯t handle a little bit of jealousy, well¡­

    Cheryl was the nicest person at school. Would she be jealous if I left? She¡¯d been accepting of everything I did so far, so there was a good chance it was okay. Everyone was telling me to get to know more people, after all. But what if she wasn¡¯t?

    Honestly, I¡¯d rather cut off my tail than hurt her feelings.

    ¡°You okay, Co?¡±

    My thought bubble burst, bringing me back to Earth.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± I answered Cheryl. ¡°Just thinking. Figured I¡¯d get some practice in, using my brain.¡±

    She smiled at my joke, then turned around to talk to Selene. I played around with my spaghetti, having already eaten all the meatballs.

    Ash was missing for fifth period, so I sat alone. My textbooks were stacked on my desk. I should be studying. Yet I could barely pay attention, more caught up in thought. At the end of the day, Cheryl met me at our lockers.

    ¡°You ready to go?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Go where?¡±

    ¡°To my place to study. You know, what we talked about it during English?¡±

    Shit. Was that what she was talking about earlier?

    ¡°Sorry, I uh¡­ forgot, and made plans to meet with someone,¡± I answered, flinching at the end.

    She raised her eyebrows. ¡°With who?¡±

    ¡°Just¡­ someone. Not that I don¡¯t want to hang out with you. Sorry, I fucked up.¡± If I had wolven ears, they''d be flattened against my skull.

    ¡°Oh.¡± There was a moment between us, her face blank, and I couldn¡¯t tell if she was going to be angry, disappointed, or both. She broke into a wavering smile instead. ¡°So¡­ you¡¯re meeting with a special someone, then, aren¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°No, I mean, it¡¯s just someone for trig¡ª¡°

    ¡°You don¡¯t have to hide it, Collin. I get it. No wonder why you¡¯ve had that face all day.¡±

    ¡°W-what face?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it,¡± she continued. ¡°My dad¡¯s picking me up, so I¡¯ll catch you later.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, see you tomorrow.¡±

    The conversation wasn¡¯t as bad as I feared. I swung my back over my shoulder, excited to make my way to Simon¡¯s study session. I waved at Cheryl one last time, who smiled again, though once she broke eye contact she quickly sped off.

    Room 230 wasn¡¯t far away. I took the stairs two at a time, nearly slipping. Once I got upstairs and turned around the corner, I saw Simon down the hall, arms clasped around his bag, talking to someone.

    Well, not just someone. Pierson.

    The asshole had his classic stance of leaning over his subject with an arm propped against the locker, towering over Simon. The hairs on the back of my neck bristled, my voice ready to growl in case Pierson was playing bully again.

    Then, Simon laughed, grinning at something Pierson said. He waved a hand around like he was explaining something, and Pierson chuckled in a deep tone. I tried to tune my ears in to eavesdrop, but they were too far away, speaking at a volume too low to hear. Their bodies were close, familiarly close.

    Too close.

    Something in my chest sank, pulling the weight of my shoulders with it. Before either could spot me, I fled.

    ?? | ?? | ??

    When I got home, Amy and Sam asked me how school went.

    ¡°Fine,¡± I answered bitterly. ¡°Just fine.¡±

    The tone of my voice gave me away. Amy raised her eyebrow. ¡°You¡­ wanna talk about it?¡±

    I made an ff sound. ¡°I said it went fine.¡± Sam put down a book she was reading at the table to glance at my sister.

    ¡°You¡­ wanna walk to the gas station with me?¡± Amy asked. ¡°Get a few steps in?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± I declined. ¡°I¡¯m super tired from school right now, I want to go to bed.¡±

    ¡°No problem. You want anything?¡±

    ¡°A soda.¡±

    ¡°You sure?¡± Sam chipped in. ¡°You¡¯ve been drinking a lot of coke lately. Remember what the dentist said when you had that cavity drilled?¡±

    I rolled my eyes. ¡°An iced tea, then. Unsweetened.¡±

    Sam gave me a look that I ignored.

    ¡°It¡¯s no problem,¡± Amy stepped in. I wasn¡¯t sure if she meant me or Sam. ¡°Be back soon.¡±

    After Amy left, I didn¡¯t want to spend any more time than I had to downstairs. I stomped more than I should have on the way up, but Sam didn¡¯t shout at me, nor did she storm up the stairs to yell out a lecture as I slammed the door. I had silence to myself.

    I don¡¯t know why I felt so frustrated. We were just going to meet casual after-school study session, not a date or something. So what if Pierson was there? As unlikely as it seemed, maybe the two were uncanny friends. What was there to kick up dust about?

    As much as I wanted to punch the wall, the house didn¡¯t deserve it. I flipped the hamper with a kick¡ªmost of my clothes were clean and folded away, so the satisfaction was lacking. My fists tightened and loosened, until my eyes laid upon the white flower my therapist had given me.

    Its petals weren¡¯t as tightly closed as before, slowly unfolding since the last I looked at it in the morning. My brain still buzzed with anger that I forced myself to swallow. In the end, I flopped onto the bed face down on a pillow and passed out.

 7: Lions Den

    The bottle of tea was waiting for me in the fridge the next morning.

    Sam left for work early in the morning, and Amy was in too much of a rush for breakfast, so I made myself Egos with a side of day-old egg salad and a couple pickles that one of Sam¡¯s coworkers pickled herself.

    Over the summer, Sam had taken it upon herself to plaster little squares of wallpaper above the sink. Each square bore a continuing Fleur de Lis pattern that linked together. To the untrained eye, the stretch of the wall looked like a single, professionally done piece instead of a budget DIY project except for a small seam where there was a slight overlap. The minor defect grew bigger and bigger the more and more I stared at it.

    I got on the bus before my attention turned to picking myself apart.

    My day didn¡¯t improve much when I got to school. Cheryl made it to our lockers first, and when she saw me, her back seemed to stiffen.

    ¡°Good morning,¡± I said.

    ¡°How was your evening?¡± she dryly asked.

    ¡°It was¡­ okay.¡± There was hesitation in her voice. She took her time unloading her bag, while I waited beside her, trying to troubleshoot what to say. ¡°Yours?¡±

    She shrugged. ¡°Just fine.¡±

    I took the moment to apologize. ¡°Sorry about last night. The whole double booking and ditching your thing.¡±

    ¡°I told you, it¡¯s fine.¡±

    ¡°No, it¡¯s not. I made plans with you first.¡±

    ¡°Well, I hope had a good time with whoever.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t,¡± I confessed. ¡°Turns out there was someone else.¡±

    Cheryl¡¯s brows raised with concern. ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    ¡°I misread the situation,¡± I admitted. ¡°I guess he had other interests.¡±

    ¡°Oh, Collin, I¡¯m sorry to hear that!¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± I sighed. ¡°I guess I deserved it. Went home and sat in my room the rest of the day.¡±

    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you text me? I could have turned around and picked you up from school.¡±

    ¡°Dunno. Cause I¡¯m dumb.¡±

    Cheryl rolled her eyes. ¡°Collin, you aren¡¯t dumb. Silly, sure, not dumb.¡±

    ¡°Tell that to my GPA.¡±

    ¡°Stop it. Just be straight with me next time, okay? Or I¡¯ll cut off your tail. I¡¯m serious,¡± she warned. ¡°Jeez, what a fucking jerk, leaving you hanging. If I ever meet your person, I¡¯ll their pelt and make myself a new rug.¡±

    ¡°It wasn¡¯t that bad,¡± I insisted. As frustrated as I was last night, seeing Simon as a shag runner wouldn¡¯t have improved my mood.

    Though Cheryl and I settled our qualms before class, she made it clear I was still on my probationary period for earning her forgiveness. It didn¡¯t help that I was behind on the assigned reading. Like, a hundred chapters behind. Honestly, she was more than capable of writing our essay and pulling off our presentation alone without hauling my fat ass along in the process. But, I did my best to keep up, even though I might as well have been a slug keeping up with a cheetah.

    When Simon walked into English class, I was determined to stay upset with him, but instead, my feelings became mixed. He barely even glanced at me; not even a word about yesterday.

    The end of class bell rang earlier than I expected, probably because I spent the whole period trying to catch up.

    ¡°Well, see you later at lunch?¡± I cautiously asked Cheryl.

    ¡°Not today,¡± she responded. ¡°It¡¯s not you, I got a dentist appointment after second period, so I¡¯ll be off until fifth¡±

    ¡°Oh, well, good luck. Cavity?¡±

    ¡°Nah, just cleaning. I got good teeth.¡±

    ¡°Lucky,¡± I remarked in good humor. ¡°Every time I go, I feel like they¡¯re always trying to drill one.¡±

    ¡°I brush my teeth twice a day. Haven¡¯t had a cavity my whole life,¡± she informed me. Of course.

    ¡°Guess I should get in the habit of brushing more than once a full moon.¡±

    ¡°Stars, Collin. Do I have to start texting you every night to floss?¡±

    ¡°I think I¡¯m good on the babysitting,¡± I said. ¡°Sam¡¯s already on my tail on my sugar consumption.¡±

    ¡°Sounds like she needs to be on your tail for a lot more than that.¡±

    I shrugged and shared a laugh.

    ?? | ?? | ??

    Gym was more pickle ball.

    The teacher had let us mess around and do whatever the past few days to get used to the sport. Some of the girls spent most of those days in the sidelines, while I awkwardly stood around without a clue how to socialize. When I did play, it was usually with someone almost as bad and unwanted as I was.

    There was a dreadful change in plans today¡ªMr. Coach decided to end our unit with a tourney. At the start of class, he rolled out a whiteboard with assigned partners with a confusing, round-robin bracket.

    ¡°Let¡¯s go have some fun!¡± he announced. ¡°We¡¯ve only got today left, then it¡¯s off to basketball.¡±

    None of us echoed his energy.

    I was paired with a girl named Vicki. She more of the athletic type than I was, despite wearing eyeliner during gym, and judging by her shorts being school colors, was probably in one of the school sports teams. When I found her in the crowd, I waved her over, though her response back wasn¡¯t particularly nice.

    ¡°What¡¯s your name again?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Collin. It¡¯s¡­ on the board.¡±

    ¡°Right,¡± Vicki sighed. ¡°Let¡¯s get this over with. Try to hit the ball at least once, okay?¡±

    I considered returning the snappy insult. With 45 minutes left in class, it was probably best to keep the slights until the very end.

    Mr. Coach continued to try and hype us up. ¡°Just remember, this isn¡¯t about winning. You don¡¯t get graded on ranking. It¡¯s about performance and staying engaged. What matters most is that you try hard and have fun!¡±

    ¡°Dog shit. If it wasn¡¯t about winning, he wouldn¡¯t put us through this damn stuff,¡± Vicki muttered.

    If Coach had any intention of evening out teams, he didn¡¯t do a particularly good job. Pierson was our first rival, paired someone named Matt. Face to face, I recognized Matt as one of Pierson¡¯s pack mates that called Cheryl a chipmunk my first day. Just from the way the two stood next to each other, I knew they¡¯d be an absolute pain in the ass to play against.

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    ¡°Best of luck,¡± Pierson cockily said as we settled in our court. Matt gave us a toothy smile, showing off his canines. Vicki snorted. I gripped my racket, imagining the ball slamming straight into Pierson¡¯s face.

    Even though Pierson¡¯s team won the coin flip, he decided to let Vicki and I serve first, either out of pity or some twisted form of teasing. Vicki took the ball before I had a say, hitting it with one long, graceful swing. Pierson easily reach volleyed it back, his height a clear advantage in pickle ball. Well, pretty much every sport someone like hi could ever dream of playing.

    The ball whizzed past me before I could blink, bouncing just before the boundary line for a legal score. I chased it down and tossed it over for the enemy team¡¯s turn, ignoring Matt¡¯s gloating face. Pierson did the honors of serving, dropping his friendly act and hitting it so hard and fast that not even Vicki could dive for it. While Pierson¡¯s sportsmanship stopped just short of arrogance, his pack mate loudly savored every point scored against us.

    Around round 4, Matt and Pierson managed to hit the ball right smack dab between Vicki and I. Both of us moved to hit it, which ended in our rackets getting tangled and the ball anticlimactically bouncing between us.

    ¡°Real omega move,¡± Matt snarked at me across the net.

    Vicki growled at me. ¡°Get out of the way next time, Conner, okay?¡± she huffed under her breath.

    ¡°Collin,¡± I corrected. It was bad enough that we were 0 to 4 with two minutes left on the clock without Vicki lashing out at me.

    Things changed after round 5. Pierson served as he usually did, except this time, his aim was conveniently skewed. The ball went way past the little cones that marked the edge of our court. He shrugged as if it was a genuine mistake.

    ¡°My bad. Nobody¡¯s perfect, huh?¡± he casually said.

    Yeah, right.

    I picked up the ball, and Vicki stretched out a hand to take it. I shook my head, backing up to the edge of our side of the court. Fuck if I was going to just stand and let the two shit on us.

    When he saw me prepare to serve, Pierson took a firm stance across the court from me, smiling in anticipation to see what sort of screw-up I¡¯d pull off next. As for Matt, he stuck his tongue out.

    ¡°Real freaking mature,¡± I snarled. ¡°You spend all day licking his hind with that tongue?¡±

    ¡°Says the freak that can¡¯t even¡ª¡°

    I didn¡¯t let him finish his sentence. I hit the ball hard, so hard even Pierson had to dive to return it. Vicki moved up, but I beat her to the return, reaching up to spike it at full power.

    Instead of a racket, the ball hit Matt right in the face.

    You¡¯d think the cheapo plastic structure of a pickle ball would reduce the damage irresponsible high schoolers could do to each other. That wasn¡¯t enough to stop it from hitting with an audible smack, knocking Matt off balance enough to drop his racket. When he recovered, he hissed louder than a sputtering lawn sprinkler.

    Mr. Coach¡¯s whistle pierced through the entire gymnasium and brought every game to a stop.

    ¡°Collin!¡± he yelled. ¡°Out!¡±

    I looked at Vicki¡ªeven she was stunned, her jaw dropping. Frustred, I walked off the court to toss my racket into the wire bin of sports equipment. As I passed him, Pierson had a stupid smile plastered on his face as if he was enjoying himself even more.

    ¡°Knew you were a fighter,¡± he teased. I shrugged off the compliment and waited for Mr. Coach¡¯s inevitable lecture. With Matt needing first aid, and me needing a time out, Vicki and Pierson paired together for the rest of the tourney; probably a relief on Vicki¡¯s behalf, considering she finally got a team mate that could hit.

    The rest of class, I stewed on the sidelines. As unsportsmanlike-like as it was to hit Matt in the face with a pickleball, I¡¯d take a one-hour lecture just to do it again. The only thing better? Hitting Pierson¡¯s instead.

    ?? | ?? | ??

    Without Cheryl, I wasn¡¯t sure if it would be weird to sit with her pack, or if I should find an unpopulated corner. Maybe word hadn¡¯t spread yet that I¡¯d pommeled a pickle ball straight into someone¡¯s face. If so, that probably wouldn¡¯t last for long.

    While I waited in the lunch line, mulling over my options, someone tapped me on the shoulder. The familiar smell of deodorant invaded my personal space. I turned to catch Pierson cutting right into line beside me.

    Great. I counted my lives¡ªwhich, for a werewolf, was just one.

    ¡°Hey hot shot,¡± he said in his usual, cocky tone. ¡°Where¡¯s your bestie?¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s at the dentist for a cleaning,¡± I grittingly answered Pierson.

    ¡°I see. Keepin¡¯ those buck teeth pearly.¡±

    ¡°She doesn¡¯t have buck teeth.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m teasing,¡± he laughed. ¡°Sounds like you¡¯re taking up on my offer, then.¡±

    ¡°What offer?¡±

    ¡°Lunch, silly.¡±

    I frowned. Course he was still stuck on it, taking my response at the mall a week ago as more of a ¡®yes¡¯ than its intended ¡®no.¡¯ ¡°Why are you so set on it?¡±

    ¡°I told you¡ªlittle bit of curiosity, little bit of flavor.¡± Pierson was now hovering over my tray. ¡°Talking about flavor, the jello tastes like discount cough drops. Trust me, not worth the calories.¡±

    I yanked my tray away from him. ¡°I think I can manage my diet.¡±

    ¡°Just looking out for you,¡± Pierson shrugged. ¡°If you¡¯re gonna get back into sports, you need to take care of your body outside of your sweet tooth. It¡¯s exercise and diet, not one or the other. Hey, the table¡¯s this way, future team mate.¡±

    Maybe it was the alpha-thing, maybe it was Pierson¡¯s brick wall body. Either way, it was difficult to resist his lead over to one of the busiest tables in the cafeteria; the complete opposite of what I was looking for this lunch.

    ¡°Ears up, crew,¡± Pierson announced when we arrived. ¡°This is Collin Thomas. New wolf in town.¡± They all looked up from their chow in unison. If I wasn¡¯t set on being defiant, cowering would have been the smart move.

    Even though everyone there was a mix of faces, somehow everyone still looked the same. All of them had similar haircuts¡ªfades for men, ponytails for women¡ªand similar sporty clothes, down to their sneakers that were either Adidas or Nikes.

    I put on an awkward smile, trying to look friendly, but even I knew it was crooked. Not a single one of them returned the sentiment.

    Whenever I hung out with Cheryl¡¯s pack, I constantly wondered if they were okay with me, or were secretly annoyed with my presence. With Pierson¡¯s pack, there was no need to guess¡ªthe general expressions smeared across their faces were a clear answer. I was an outsider, an intruder, an offense to their territory. Without their alpha between me and them, I had little doubt they¡¯d rip me to shreds.

    I looked at Pierson, who didn¡¯t show any trace he noticed the underlying, hostile current. Instead, he slung his arm around my shoulder as if we were familiar friends, conveniently trapping me in place. When I stayed quiet, he gave me a shake. Say something.

    ¡°Hi,¡± I finally eeked out.

    As pathetic as it was, my response was enough to break their stares. Most of everyone went back to their own business except for a handful who kept their eyes on me. From their proximity, they must have been Pierson¡¯s inner-most circle, a central seat in their midsts left open for him. With no open spots for me, I saw an opportunity to wiggle out. But, before I could excuse myself, Pierson spat out a command.

    ¡°Knudson, up.¡±

    The guy sitting on the right of Pierson¡¯s open seat stiffly turned his head to glare. Specifically, at me.

    As it turned out, ¡®Knudson¡¯ was Matt from gym class, the kid I spiked in the face less than an hour earlier. He now had a thick piece of gauze taped over one eye, hiding whatever bruise I gave him. A growl from Pierson, and Knudson finally relented, moving others aside so he could at least sit in front of his alpha. I¡¯d call it a childish tantrum if it wasn¡¯t my hind taking his seat.

    Pierson cleared his throat once everyone was resettled. Back to all smiles and showmanship.

    ¡°Well, Collin, mandatory introductions, right? For starters, we¡¯ve got Matt Knudson here, my right-hand man,¡± he gestured. ¡°Course, you¡¯ve met him already.¡±

    Matt¡¯s glare at me intensified.

    ¡°Then, we¡¯ve got my wonderful girl, Uriey Lane. Beauty of the pack,¡± he continued. Wait, girl as in¡­ girlfriend? ¡°Clockwise, Hannah Chang, Jet Harrison, and Sonny Bull Plume Over time, I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll warm up to us just fine.¡±

    ¡°Uhh, thanks.¡± I set my tray down beside Pierson. Due to the table being packed, it was either pressing against Pierson¡¯s side or knocking elbows with Sonny. If you¡¯ve ever stood in a mountain¡¯s shadow, that would summarize Sonny¡¯s size.

    ¡°Where are you from?¡± Uriey asked. The tone of her voice wasn¡¯t very friendly¡ªMoon forbid I mistook the question as a fun little ice breaker.

    ¡°Small town,¡± I admitted, keeping my eyes averted. ¡°Central Montana.¡±

    ¡°Sulphur Springs, right?¡± Pierson supplemented.

    ¡°Sounds like the name of a backwater town, alright,¡± Hannah cut in. Her tone was harsh, even though she kept a friendly face on. ¡°Why¡¯d you leave?¡±

    I shrugged. ¡°Just¡­ needed to get away, y¡¯know?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t get why people stick around places like that,¡± Uriey piped back in. She feigned being distracted, picking at her nails. Judging from her proximity to Hannah, the two had to be cliquey close. ¡°Other than like, old people.¡±

    ¡°Well, it¡¯s hard to just pick up your life and leave, sometimes,¡± I answered.

    She didn¡¯t find my answer very satisfying and continued. ¡°I heard people from rural towns spend more time wild than human. Is that true? And that they eat their meat raw even when they¡¯re normal?¡±

    ¡°My mom says if you stay shifted too long, it makes your legs really hairy,¡± Hannah added.

    It took a lot of effort to keep the annoyance out of my voice. ¡°I, uh¡­ don¡¯t think any of that¡¯s true.¡±

    Matt scoffed. ¡°Bet the mining waste makes them all¡ª¡°

    ¡°Cut it out, guys,¡± Pierson growled again, his voice low and rumbling. A hair-prickling pause where nobody said a word. Then, just as easily as he had built the tension, Pierson cut through it with a smile.

    ¡°Apologies, Collin. Been a while since we had someone new that wasn¡¯t, well, a snotty freshman. Like I said, curious, y¡¯know?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, I get it,¡± I reluctantly agreed.

    ¡°Well, it¡¯s noble of you, Pierson, including a guy like him,¡± Uriey commented. It was hard to miss the facetiousness in her tone, let alone the possessiveness. ¡°Not that there¡¯s anything wrong with you, Carson.¡±

    ¡°Collin,¡± I corrected.

    ¡°He¡¯s a fighter,¡± Pierson defended.

    ¡°Not, uh, really.¡± I awkwardly laughed off the compliment. Instinctively, I rubbed my shoulder, where my bite scars were. It wasn¡¯t the first time those scars gave people the wrong impression.

 8: Glass Animals

    Now that I was left on my lonesome, I had all of Home Ec to myself to mull over things. I busied myself with unraveling the enigma of peeling kiwis.

    Selene had warned me about letting Pierson back me into a wall, and I still floundered in front of him and his entire pack. Maybe his over-territorial alpha brain craved controlling others. Maybe he was, simply put, a bully looking to, uh, bully. What I had that he wanted, I had no idea, considering he already had seemingly everything a guy could want¡ªpopularity, a stunning sports career, and a far-above-average girlfriend. As nasty as Uriey was beneath her facade, she was gorgeous. She knew it, too.

    There was another issue to worry about, too. If Pierson had a girlfriend, had I stood Simon up the other day for nothing?

    My fine slicing turned to hacking as my thoughts sped up. Here I was, stewing over the whole thing, replaying that scene. The muffled talking, the smiles and laughter between Simon and Pierson. Pierson didn¡¯t seem Simon¡¯s type and vice versa. Why¡¯d I make such a crazy leap? People were allowed to hang out for the sake of hanging out, weren¡¯t they?

    Without Cheryl in class, I had to apply my bandaid by myself after cutting myself with my knife. The Home Ec teacher came by and gave my work a thoughtful look, and though the quality was a solid D, she marked it down on my rubric as a C+ for effort.

    ¡°Not a final grade, mind you,¡± Mrs. Merri, the Home Ec teacher, informed me. ¡°The rubric I¡¯m filling out for you, and all the grades on it, are a guide to show you where you need to improve before the end of the semester. If you can show me you can do better, I¡¯ll change it.¡±

    Her words would have given me some hope if she hadn¡¯t been telling me the same thing since the semester started.

    ?? | ?? | ??

    Ash was missing for fifth period again. I stared at his empty seat as if he¡¯d apparate out of nowhere, shrug his shoulders, and shoot me with a yo. Fifteen minutes passed, and it didn¡¯t look like that was going to happen. I cracked open my book, trying to at least grind through the last few chapters, but my mind was more interested in other things. When I got home from school, I said my mandatory hi to Amy and Sam before going upstairs to flop on my bed and process the day.

    I could break the past two days down into two states: things that were resolved, and things that were getting worse.

    Resolved: Pierson had a girlfriend, bringing me some relief that maybe there wasn¡¯t something going on between him and Simon. Well, outside of maybe some unknown friendship. I¡¯d made up with Cheryl and returned to talking terms.

    Worsening: Matt from Gym had developed a taste for my blood. Pierson¡¯s advances were getting bolder. Which, sure, there was some flattery in one of the most popular guys in school finding me interesting, but the ire of his girlfriend and the rest of his pack came with it. I certainly wasn¡¯t the right type to join them, or even breathe the same air.

    And, on the final topic lingering on my mind, was I ever going to get another chance to hang with Simon, now that I¡¯d trashed the last one? Sure, Cheryl was quick to forgive me. Simon seemed¡­ different.

    My thoughts were interrupted by a knock on my bedroom door.

    ¡°Come in!¡± I called out. The door cracked open; Amy was on the other side.

    ¡°How are you feeling?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Fine.¡± I got up and made room on the bed for her to sit. The frame squeaked as she sat down beside me. ¡°What¡¯s up?¡±

    ¡°Just doing my mandatory sister duty and checking up on you. You seemed pretty upset yesterday.¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± I admitted. ¡°I shouldn¡¯t have talked to you and Sam like that.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I didn¡¯t come up here to lecture you,¡± she said. ¡°Being a teenager is hard and ugly. Sam¡¯s been worried you¡¯re mad at her for getting too involved in your life.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not mad at Sam,¡± I told Amy. ¡°It¡¯s just¡­ I need space. A lot of people have been poking around my life lately.¡±

    ¡°How so?¡±

    ¡°Telling me what to eat. Who to hang out with.¡± I frowned. ¡°Whenever I¡¯m the center of attention, it¡¯s always a bad thing. And everything¡¯s getting worse. I hit some guy in the face with a pickle ball during gym, and now I¡¯ve got some target on my back for it. Meanwhile, there¡¯s another guy I really want to spend time with, but I stood him up by accident.¡±

    ¡°Wait, back it up a sec,¡± Amy said. ¡°You hit someone in the face during gym?¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± I confessed. ¡°He was being a dick. I fumbled during a game in gym, and he was all total omega move or some crap. So, I figured, if he was gonna gloat like that, might as well remind him he was beta. Right in front of his alpha, too. You¡¯re¡­ not going to tell Sam, are you?¡±

    She laughed. ¡°No. To be honest, I¡¯m a little proud of you.¡±

    ¡°Scandalous.¡±

    ¡°And worried,¡± she pointed out. ¡°You better not go shifting alone in some dark alley somewhere.¡±

    ¡°This isn¡¯t The Outsiders, Amy.¡± Sam had a bunch of 80s and 90s movies on DVD, which the two of us had been steadily parsing through. ¡°Some Soc isn¡¯t going to pop out of nowhere and drown me in a fountain.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m joking. But my point stands.¡± Amy straightened a patch of the sheets with her hand, the way a mom would straighten your things when they were looking for something to say. ¡°As for your new friend, have you thought about apologizing to him?¡±

    ¡°No.¡± My shoulders slumped. ¡°He told me once that if you say sorry too much, it stops meaning anything.¡±

    ¡°Then make it up to him. Ask him if he wants to do anything around town. There¡¯s the mall or the arcade, or maybe shakes. Down near Yarrow Street and Broadway, there¡¯s a used book store that has a cafe in it.¡±

    ¡°If he says no?¡±

    ¡°Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?¡±

    ¡°Right,¡± I nodded. ¡°But I don¡¯t have his number.¡±

    ¡°Guess you¡¯ll have to talk to him in person, then.¡± Amy gave me a small smile. ¡°The old-fashioned way.¡±

    ¡°Yeah. Kind of like Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet.¡±

    She looked at me quizzically. ¡°Sorry?¡±

    ¡°From the book, Pride and Prejudice. They didn¡¯t have internet back then, so they had to send letters and track each other down to have conversations.¡±

    ¡°Right. And it went well, I presume?¡±

    ¡°Not for most of it, really,¡± I admitted. ¡°The two main characters keep offending each other and getting mad over avoidable stuff. It¡¯s not until the end when they actually stop trying to burn each other and have an honest, face-to-face conversation that they find out everything was a huge misunderstanding and that they like each other.

    ¡°That¡¯s good¡ª¡°

    ¡°Which happens after someone gets borderline kidnapped by a creepy old guy and they need to save them. Conflict shows people¡¯s true colors or something, yeah?¡±

    Amy¡¯s voice stalled a second before she replied. ¡°Well¡­ less good. But that whole thing about talking to each other honestly, face to face? Try it. Preferably without waiting for something terrible to happen.¡±

    I nodded. She pulled me into a side hug, then scruffed the hair on the top of my head.

    ¡°Goodnight, Collin. Sleep sound, don¡¯t let the fleas bite.¡±

    ¡°You too, sis. Goodnight.¡±

    ¡°Are you watching for something?¡± I asked.

    ¡°Yeah.¡±

    I followed his gaze but found nothing of interest laying ahead. Just black pebbled shoreline and more dark water.

    ¡°Where, the waves?¡±

    ¡°Mostly. Sometimes, the shore, when there¡¯s other wolves.¡±

    ¡°So¡­ more people like me.¡± Something in me sank upon the realization it wasn¡¯t just the two of us. I mean, wasn¡¯t that a good thing? That we weren¡¯t as alone as I thought?

    ¡°Not like you, Collin,¡± he corrected. I raised an ear. ¡°They never stay long, anyways.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry. Whatever that means.¡±

    ¡°No, it¡¯s¡­ a good thing. The last one that stayed, hurt a lot to lose.¡± The rocks shifted as he sat down. ¡°You smell like cigarettes.¡±

    I snorted, sitting down on my haunches beside him and snaking my muzzle beside his hand. ¡°I don¡¯t smoke.¡±

    ¡°It isn¡¯t good for your lungs, you know. Smoking so early. Smoking at all. Neither is driving without a seatbelt.¡±

    ?? | ?? | ??

    Ash was in fifth period again. Like usual, we scooted our seats closer together to chat.

    ¡°Where¡¯ve you been?¡± I asked.

    ¡°Just out and about,¡± he answered casually. ¡°School¡¯s kind of a drag¡ªthe whole education system¡¯s an industrial complex. Need to take a break every once in a while to enjoy life, y¡¯know?¡±

    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

    ¡°Uh-huh,¡± I nodded along.

    ¡°Hey, how about your day?¡± he asked, brushing back the locks of dark hair that hid his dichromatic eyes. ¡°What do you have going on?¡±

    ¡°Just the usual,¡± I answered, leaning back. ¡°English, trig, gym, home ec.¡± Luckily, there hadn¡¯t been much else happening with Pierson and his crew, just the occasional glare from one-eyed Matt. ¡°Been hanging with Selene¡¯s pack on and off.¡±

    Ash frowned. The expression seemed unnatural on his face¡ªhe was the kind of guy who¡¯d rather smile, even when things got discomforting.

    ¡°You know her?¡± I asked.

    ¡°Yeah¡­ we know each other.¡± He tapped his fingers on his desk before quickly changing the subject. ¡°Hey, how about going out somewhere today?¡±

    ¡°After school?¡±

    ¡°Nah, now. I¡¯m thinking Slammin¡¯ Sally¡¯s. You been?¡±

    ¡°You aren¡¯t talking about skipping class, are you?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s just fifth period,¡± he shrugged. ¡°Nobody cares. Teach doesn¡¯t even pay attention.¡±

    I looked up at the front desk. Mr. Sanger looked half asleep over a pile of papers he had been unenthusiastically grading. Still awake enough to catch us trying to walk past him and out the door, though. Ash stood up anyway, waving at me to follow him as he made his way to the front of the class, so I did.

    He cleared his throat to grab Mr. Sanger¡¯s nearly-depleted attention span. ¡°Hey, Mr. Sanger¡ªCollin and I¡¯ve been falling behind in Spanish, and Ms. Ramirez told us to stop before the end of the day by when we can to grab some extra assignments. Can we go?¡±

    ¡°You can¡¯t do this after class?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Yeah, but apparently the staff printer¡¯s been acting up, and we don¡¯t want to miss the buses home, y¡¯know?¡±

    Sanger conceded with a shrug. ¡°Just don¡¯t linger in the halls.¡±

    ¡°Course, teach.¡± Ash smiled, less to the teacher and more to me.

    Normal Collin would have felt guilty. Current Collin was grinning, even though he didn¡¯t do the cunning legwork. My friend put his hands in his pockets and walked out the door and down the hall.

    Neither of us even bothered stopping at our lockers, boldly passing by the receptionist with a friendly wave. She waved back. And, without a single hassle, we exited out the front door and entered the freedom of the streets.

    ¡°How far is it from here?¡± I asked.

    ¡°Probably twenty minutes by foot,¡± Ash calculated. ¡°It¡¯s downtown just before Macomb Park. You skateboard?¡±

    ¡°Never owned one, just a school bus pass.¡±

    ¡°The back parking lot leads to the skate park. Check it out sometime, if you ever get a board.¡±

    ¡°My birthday¡¯s next month,¡± I told him. ¡°I¡¯ll ask for sure.¡±

    We cut through some alleys and jaywalked a few streets, chatting about random stuff like music on the college radio (flaunting Ash¡¯s maturity and advanced tastes), how modern fashion was turning people to sheep, and other things that, if I wasn¡¯t agreeing with Ash on, I was being enlightened about. He could say anything, and just by the way he posed his words, he didn¡¯t have to argue to seem right.

    ¡°Where do you hang out in town?¡± I asked him. He lit a cigarette as we walked. ¡°Other than the skate park.¡±

    ¡°Moxy¡¯s cool. Local theater. Tickets are cheap. Especially when they keep the back doors unlocked.¡± He hummed as he thought, musical as always. ¡°Macomb after dark. Real beatnik vibe on summer nights.¡±

    ¡°How about shifting?¡±

    ¡°Shifting?¡± A sideways smile broke out on his face. ¡°Plenty of good places. Most people go for the North Slopes, the hills above town, or Walker Butte southwest. But Devil¡¯s Ridge is where it¡¯s at, east of here.¡±

    ¡°Sounds like a cool place.¡±

    ¡°Yeah. Early explorers called it that because of all the native tribes and outlaws that would ambush travelers from the ravines,¡± he spun. ¡°Friends and I meet up there on full moons¡ªmy friend Seb¡¯s trailer is right on the city line, so you can jump the fence from her backyard straight into the forest¡¯s edge. It¡¯s a steep ways up, but once you get past the initial climb, you can see the city and all three rivers. We go there, like, every full moon.¡±

    ¡°Wow. Is that why you were out the past couple of days?¡±

    Ash nodded. ¡°Yeah. Full moon was Monday. Went and camped there for a bit.¡±

    ¡°And your parents just let you?¡±

    He laughed. ¡°They¡¯d get their tails in a twist if they find out, so I pretend to take the bus to school, then get off somewhere else.¡±

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t the school notify your parents if you miss class?¡±

    ¡°Who cares?¡± he simply replied. ¡°They¡¯re all waiting til I¡¯m sixteen to drop out. Me, too. Hey, you should join us next full moon. You in?¡±

    ¡°Maybe. I¡¯ve never shifted with people here, really, before.¡±

    ¡°How was your old pack?¡±

    I shrugged. ¡°I never really fit in with them. Felt like we were hanging out not because we wanted to, but because we had to. Couldn¡¯t really pick your pals in a population of under 500.¡±

    ¡°Small town stuff, huh?¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± I sighed. ¡°My dad was kind of¡­ restrictive about who I hung out with, too. He didn¡¯t fit in either.¡±

    ¡°But you had plenty of room to run around, right? Out in the boonies¡ªI mean, the country.¡±

    ¡°It was the boonies,¡± I admitted. ¡°I¡¯d rather die than go back, y¡¯know? But there was plenty of room to shift. Even though I don¡¯t miss home, I do miss that part.¡±

    ¡°Yeah?¡±

    ¡°Back there, it was just a ¡®Hey, I¡¯m going to step out for the night, see ya later¡¯ jig. My dad would go out for cigarettes and either come back late at night or the next day. Sometimes, I¡¯d come home, and my mom would just be gone and no one would say a word.¡±

    ¡°Wow,¡± Ash whistled. ¡°Just going wild whenever and where ever it takes you.¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± I hesitantly agreed. ¡°But¡­ I like it here better. There¡¯s people to spend time with. My family here, Sam and Amy, are around more. Sure, I can¡¯t just walk out the door on all fours without disrupting traffic and getting yelled at. I¡¯m OK with that, though. It¡¯s just¡­ nice, I guess.¡±

    ¡°Well, to each their own. Hey, we¡¯re here.¡±

    We stopped in front of a square brick building. Slammin¡¯ Sallies¡¯ appeared to be in a renovated part of an old factory, flanked by a pilates studio and a holistic medicine shop. The glass of the front door was covered in so stickers and concert tour posters you couldn¡¯t see in, while the nearby sidewalk was lined with makeshift flower beds built from recycled tires and metal. Bikes were parked all over the place, locked to anything they could be, from handicap signs to street light posts.

    Ash smothered his cigarette in an ashtray piled with other butts near the entrance. Either nobody was routinely taking it out, or the place had so many smokers whoever was in charge of cleaning couldn¡¯t keep up.

    The door jingled as we walked in, and we were greeted by the smell of incense and an undertone of something herbal and skunky. Immediately, I liked the place¡ªit was filled with shelves and shelves of crazy stuff, mazes of posters, knick-knacks, and succulent pots. A dog lay next to an antique gas pump and sat up when we walked past, wagging her tail. I spared the hound a scratch behind her droopy ears, finding it funny how the folds on her face made her look like an old man. I¡¯d never owned a dog before; I¡¯ve been wishing for one almost my whole life.

    We walked around the store, playing around with all the weird stuff, like the singing bells and wind chimes. Ash strode over to a display with a bunch of iron-on patches, pointing out one of an hourglass with a skull at the bottom, with the words ¡®Killing Time¡¯ embroidered at the bottom.

    Along the back wall, with a host of fragile stuff, there were a bunch of glass animals small enough to fit in a fist. They weren¡¯t the gimicky stuff you could get at a gas station, crafted with enough detail that you could see the pupils divited into their eyes. When I held one up to the light, it cast a prismatic rainbow instead of a shadow, turning the whole shelf into an enchanted menagerie.

    ¡°Nice,¡± Ash said as he peered past my shoulder. ¡°You into collecting that stuff?¡±

    ¡°No, but my sister and her mom Sam are.¡± I could imagine Sam or Amy finding a home for it on the ledge above the kitchen sink. Most of the figures on display were (predictably) wolves, which I passed on. One of them was a giraffe, poking its head high above the crowd. I picked it up, turning it over to see the tiny price tag on the belly. Well over the change I kept in my wallet. ¡°Maybe not.¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s check out the second floor,¡± Ash said. ¡°They¡¯ve got a whole wall of vinyls and shirts there.¡±

    For all the talk we had over music, I barely recognized any of the artists Ash pointed out, let alone understand the rarity of a few he fawned over. We eventually split off from each other, and after twenty minutes, rejoined at the front door.

    ¡°You get anything?¡± I asked.

    Ash gave me an mmm sound. ¡°You?¡±

    ¡°Just a card. Thought it looked pretty.¡± I showed it to him, the card¡¯s front picturing the moon across several phases, with a blank inside. ¡°Eventually it¡¯s gonna be someone¡¯s birthday, right? Or anniversary. Graduation, maybe.¡±

    The card was an (overpriced) $5, and the cashier slipped it into a little paper bag and told us to have a good day. When I checked my phone, it was already 4:00 PM¡ªhalf an hour past when I was supposed to be home.

    ¡°I gotta run,¡± I told Ash. ¡°Sam¡¯ll be mad if I miss dinner and the food gets cold. She¡¯s a stickler about that sort of thing.¡±

    ¡°I won¡¯t hold you back. Hey, before you go, though.¡± Ash fished something out of his inner coat pocket, handing it to me. It was the glass giraffe from earlier.

    ¡°Wow,¡± I said. ¡°You didn¡¯t have to¡ª I can¡¯t keep it without giving you something.¡±

    ¡°No skin off my teeth. You said your birthday¡¯s coming up, right?¡±

    ¡°Are you sure?¡±

    Ash winked at me.

    ¡°Hey, don¡¯t worry about it. It''s cool,¡± Ash calmly insisted. Assertively, he took one of my hands, and planted it in my palm, wrapping my fingers around it with his own. ¡°Trust me, alright?¡±

    I nodded. ¡°Alright. I¡¯ll see you soon then.¡±

    ¡°Yup. Catch up with you later.¡±

    Departing, I should have been in a good mood, but a strange, uneasy feeling came over me. Maybe tinged with guilt; I didn¡¯t know exactly why. Was it because I had skipped class? Because I was out late?

    I hadn¡¯t seen Ash check out at the store when we were done shopping. That was because he checked out before me, right?

    ?? | ?? | ??

    ¡°Where¡¯ve you been?¡± Sam asked me. ¡°It¡¯s almost five.¡±

    ¡°Sorry,¡± I apologized. ¡°I took a walk around the river with a friend to get some air.¡±

    An internal debate went on in Sam¡¯s head, on whether to scold me for coming home late, or praise me for finding another friend to spend time with. ¡°Well, if you¡¯re going to be out later than usual, text me next time, okay?¡± She sniffed. ¡°You smell like cigarettes.¡±

    ¡°There was some guy on the bus trying to smoke out an open window,¡± I lied. ¡°Bus driver had to kick him off. Really awkward. Think I might take up biking.¡±

    ¡°Well, maybe we can see about getting you a bike for your birthday. Food¡¯s getting cold.¡±

    I nodded and slid into a seat. Sam put out a couple of red pot holders on the table just before Amy set a bowl of rice and stir fry on top. They both dug in with chopsticks, while I went with the trusty fork and spoon. Amy gave me an elephant thing that you put on the end of your chopsticks that helped teach you how to use them, but I was too hungry to settle for anything less than a mouth shovel.

    I kept my eyes on my plate, hoping Sam and Amy would keep talking to each other about work or the weather or something. If they asked me about the day, I feared I¡¯d say something too suspicious. The stir fry was a mix of chicken, chili sauce, soy glaze, and green beans. Spicy, but not too hot for a guy who grew up on beef and potatoes.

    ¡°When¡¯s the last time you called your mom?¡± Sam asked me out of the blue. ¡°She¡¯s a timezone ahead, but it shouldn¡¯t be too late.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t have her new number,¡± I said.

    ¡°I¡¯ll give it to you after we eat, okay? She misses you.¡±

    We finished the meal without ceremony. Sam gave me my mom¡¯s number on a sticky note, and I went outside, out of hearing range. I could lie to Sam¡ªtell her I did call without even dialing a single digit, make up a fictional conversation if she pressed further. Something too mundane to look into while still being believable enough to satisfy everyone.

    In the end, I decided to give my mom a ring.

    ?? | ?? | ??

    ¡°Hey mom, it¡¯s me, Collin. Just wanted to give you a call, and let you know everything¡¯s going okay. Made some new friends. In fact, I just hung out with one a few hours ago around town. Garden City¡¯s so much bigger than Sulphur Springs. Way bigger.

    ¡°School¡¯s been tough so far, but¡­ it¡¯s getting better. There¡¯s a few bullies I have to deal with. I met some great people who more than make up for it, though! There¡¯s a girl named Cheryl, she¡¯s super smart and has been holding my hand the whole time while I get used to things. I¡¯ve gone to her place a couple of times to study. She¡¯s introduced me to her pack, too. I don¡¯t know what I¡¯d do without her.

    ¡°Then there¡¯s my classmate Ash¡ªhe¡¯s the guy I was hanging out with today. He¡¯s cool, and I want to hang out more. But he¡¯s the kind of kid that if Sam knew about him, I don¡¯t think she¡¯d like him. He smokes cigarettes, and my therapist thinks that makes him a bad influence to be around. Sometimes he skips class, too. He¡¯s not a bad person, though. We talk a lot, and he¡¯s always thinking about right and wrong. At least, on the big picture scale.

    ¡°Oh, there¡¯s this one kid called Simon, and I¡¯m having a hard time figuring out how to act or think about him. I can¡¯t tell if he hates me, or likes me. Every time we talk, I have a lot of things I want to say. I don¡¯t know how to say them, though, so he probably thinks I¡¯m an idiot. I¡¯d have better luck dealing with lions, I bet.

    ¡°By the way, Sam¡¯s got me seeing a therapist. Her name¡¯s Amber, and she¡¯s nice. I hope the one you¡¯re seeing is still working out. And I hope you¡¯re doing alright. I¡¯m calling you from my new number, so you can always call me back on it. The number is 509-777¡­¡±

    When I finished the call, a part of me was relieved that my mom hadn''t picked up. Another part of me was sad. The more time I spent with Sam and Amy, the more I realized there had been a gap in my life; maybe if my parents were there, it wouldn¡¯t feel so big.

 9: Crepusculum Horus

    Another session with Amber came and went. Now that school was in full swing, I had a little more to talk to her about. When I brought up my call earlier with my mom, Amber asked me how it ¡®made me feel.¡¯ My response was a shrug. How was it supposed to make me feel?

    In English, we finally got to our presentations on our assigned reading. Cheryl had done her best to include me in the essay writing portion, and though I had my best intention to carry my weight, I couldn¡¯t beat the feeling I was dragging her down with all the grammar and spelling mistakes she had to fix.

    ¡°Hey,¡± she reassured me. ¡°You¡¯ll get better. Writing takes practice. The book wasn¡¯t an easy read.¡±

    ¡°Seemed pretty easy to you,¡± I sullenly responded.

    ¡°Wait until you see the rest of the class present. Bet you five bucks the goof troop in the back didn¡¯t even finish.¡± She winked and pointed with her thumb towards the back of the room, where three of Pierson¡¯s pack was situated. After lunch in what felt like the lion¡¯s den, I now knew them by name¡ªChang, Knudson, and Bull Plume. Pierson himself was distracted, texting away at a phone close to his lap, but his friends returned our glances with silent, judgmental looks.

    Cheryl was unfazed, probably from habituation after years of forced coexistance. I guess she hadn¡¯t found out yet I¡¯d spent lunch with them recently, otherwise she¡¯d understand their watchful interest in me was less about asserting general dominance, and more about sizing up a potential meal.

    I turned around and pretended their eyes weren¡¯t digging into my back. Presentation order, Mrs. Lovette decided, would be volunteer based. So, once she had opened the floor, David¡¯s hand shot up to claim the first performance.

    Once his presentation was functioning on the projector, he cockily started things off with too much bravado. He picked the concepts of innocence and guilt in Great Expectations, delving into the meanings of the gallows, courthouses, and stuff, and how they were allegories for something other than gallows, courthouses, and stuff. I wasn¡¯t sure if David¡¯s partner got a word in edgewise, or if David had run of the whole show. She certainly didn¡¯t appear to have a desire to.

    The next group that went wasn¡¯t as smooth. What they lacked in knowledge, they made up in PowerPoint techniques.

    When it was time for the next set of volunteers, I kept my hands down¡ªI was more than happy to bide my time and go fifth or sixth after everyone¡¯s eyes glazed over and their attention spans were shot. Unfortunately, Cheryl had a different idea, and quickly volunteered us for third.

    As Cheryl figured out the computer end of things, plugging her school laptop into the projector port, I was left to awkwardly stand around trying to look like I was helping. I flipped through my notebook, pretending there were actual notes in it, occasionally glancing up at the sea of eyes staring back.

    Each time I did was a mistake¡ªthe pressure of all those people looking, from Pierson¡¯s pack in the back corner up to the front row where Mrs. Lovette had seated herself in the crowd, was starting to crush my chest. Amongst the ocean of dark gazes, inexpressive brows, and blank faces, there was a single pair of eyes that stood out and anchored my focus.

    Simon''s.

    His startling shade contrasted with everyone else''s in a clash that revitalized my interest in them. When I first saw them, I¡¯d been stuck on how unusual it was for someone to have eyes the same color as his, but that wasn¡¯t the complete truth--I''d seen people with similar shades. Just not while they were human.

    I never got the science of why our eyes were dull in the day, but lit up into bright shades when we started to shift. Or, in rare cases, when we got really mad, or super excited. Dim browns turn into bright yellows, pale shades to piercing greens. Enviable violets, burnt umbers; all shining in the night like smooth, glass marbles in the dark. Simon''s piercing blues would have fit right in under the full moon.

    Except it wasn¡¯t the full moon. It was the middle of the day. And Simon was acting normal. Well, relatively. Depending on opinion. His personality was still kinda weird.

    ¡°All right,¡± Cheryl began. My back straightened as I came to attention. Someone coughed, and I shuffled out of the way of the projection screen. ¡°Our reading was Pride and Prejudice, and our project topic is about the expectations placed on women in Victorian society, especially in regards to the expectations of men, and how Jane Austin¡¯s skepticism challenges this status quo¡­¡±

    From the start, the passion of Cheryl¡¯s words carried us; she was bold without being obnoxious, though her long sentences were tripping hazards. We¡¯d practiced our presentation twice before, which (surprise) made things easier. I hoped Mrs. Lovette was impressed with how neatly decorated our slides were. I came up with the slide colors.

    Course, you could tell which slides were Cheryl¡¯s, inundated with blocks of text and bullet points, and which were mine, containing only a few sentences in an oversized font. I tried to make up for it by talking every once in a while, hoping I didn''t sound desperate.

    When we finished and opened up for questions, nobody said anything at first¡ªthank the Moon. Just before we could escape the front of the class, though, someone¡¯s hand shot up.

    "Yes, Simon?" Cheryl asked.

    ¡°Do you still see similar expectations of women in relationships now portrayed in media?¡± Simon said. The clarity of his voice was addicting.

    ¡°Well,¡± Cheryl hesitantly began, ¡°As Americans, our expectations of marriage are less strict than in the 1800s in an England dominated by the Anglican church. Women have more social mobility, divorce is more accessible¡ª¡°

    ¡°But women still often find themselves as objects of status in modern media,¡± I interrupted. ¡°Music, movies, books. Men can be bad boys on the outside, and as long as there¡¯s that plot twist that they had good intentions the whole time, it¡¯s OK. Women are different because they¡¯re status tokens waiting to be acted on. Even if Mr. Darcys still exist in romance books¡ªdark, brooding, misunderstood but rich¡ªproactive Bennets are lacking. When a girl does start with some scrap of agency, Hollywood makes sure we know they''re conquests for male characters, not equals.¡±

    Even Cheryl looked at me startled. My cheeks warmed. Honestly, I was just repeating what I heard, both from complaints Cheryl¡¯s pack members had voiced about recent movie releases and Amy¡¯s snide critiques whenever something sexist happened on TV.

    ¡°Excellent presentation, you two,¡± Mrs. Lovette clapped. The rest of the class followed with their mandatory applause, too. ¡°Top notch. I¡¯d like to get three more groups in before the end of class, so we¡¯ll cut the Q&A short. Who¡¯s next?¡±

    I didn¡¯t pay as much attention to the next group as I should have, or the group after. Did my speech impress, or was it an embarrassing outburst? What was Pierson¡¯s pack in the back thinking? Simon?

    On our way out, Mrs. Lovette passed us copies of our presentation grades. My jaw almost drop¡ªnot only did Cheryl and I get an A, we got an A+. I didn¡¯t know grades went that high.

    ¡°Hey, good job at the end,¡± Cheryl beamed once we were clear of the room. ¡°We did it. High five!¡±

    ¡°Yeah, we did.¡± My hands trembled as our palms made contact. ¡°Holy shit. I do and don¡¯t want to do that ever again.¡±

    ¡°Right?¡±

    As we made our way into the aisle, someone bumped into my side on the way out of class. Knudson. He didn¡¯t respond with his usual ¡®chipmunk¡¯ insult to Cheryl, but he did snicker. Pierson was behind him, too busy texting on his phone to check his packmate for bad behavior.

    ¡°The thick skulls are just jealous,¡± she complained. ¡°Lucky the Goof Troop didn¡¯t go today, or I bet we¡¯d have shown them up real bad.¡±

    David slid passed us, too. Unlike usual, he didn¡¯t have much to say, not even congratulations or see ya at lunch.

    ?? | ?? | ??

    I ran into Simon again on our way to trig. For maybe the second time in my life, as we stood by the classroom doorway, he spoke first.

    ¡°Hey,¡± he simply said.

    ¡°Hey,¡± I responded. We stood around for a few seconds until it hit me. ¡°Oh, your book! Here.¡±

    Right on the spot, I dropped my backpack and ruffled through it, pulling out the copy by its spine. Now that my presentation was over, I didn¡¯t need it. But, as I held it out, part of me didn¡¯t want to give it back, to keep hanging onto this one piece of him.

    Simon took it and slid it into his messenger bag.

    ¡°Oh, hey, and uh¡­ sorry,¡± I followed up.

    ¡°About what?¡± he coolly asked.

    ¡°The after-school study thing last week. It¡¯s, well¡­¡± I did my best to push through my stammering. ¡°I know I said I¡¯d go with you, and then I didn¡¯t. It¡¯s just that I got kind of nervous¡­ I should have let you know sooner. I get uncomfortable around other people, sometimes. Sometimes I think that things are one way, when they¡¯re actually the other way. But I didn¡¯t have your number to let you know.¡±

    ¡°It would have been nice to know beforehand,¡± he responded. ¡°Thank you for the apology.¡±

    ¡°Well, would you like to do something, sometime, to make up for it?¡±

    One of his eyebrows raised. ¡°Is this about more schoolwork you need help with?¡±

    ¡°No, like, go out for shakes, or...¡± I remembered the smell of coffee on his book and the ring-shaped stain on the back cover. ¡°How about a cafe? I¡¯ll cover. My sister says there¡¯s a used book shop if you¡¯re, like, interested in that sort of thing?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re talking about Marlowe¡¯s, right?¡± he asked. ¡°It¡¯s been a while since I¡¯ve been there.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve already been?¡± I scratched my head. ¡°We can go somewhere else.¡±

    ¡°No, I like it there.¡± Simon smiled. ¡°It¡¯s one of my favorite places in town. When were you thinking?¡±

    ¡°After class Friday? Unless that doesn¡¯t work. I can do Saturday or Sunday. Or next week. If you¡¯re too busy this week.¡±

    ¡°Friday works for me.¡±

    ¡°Sweet, well¡­ I¡¯ll see you then?¡± My voice accidentally cracked at the end, raising in pitch.

    He asked, ¡°Don¡¯t you need my number first?¡±

    ¡°Oh, right, right, let me find my phone¡­¡± I padded down my pockets, trying to find the damn thing.

    ¡°Here,¡± Simon said. He took one of my hands in his thin fingers and drew the skin on the back taut with a thumb. With a sharpie from his pocket, Simon began to scribble something down below my knuckles.

    His fingers were cold, too; he might as well have had his hand in the freezer or been holding onto an ice cube all period. There was a ring on his right hand that looked like a hand-me-down from someone special, like his book, because it looked way too old for a high schooler.

    ¡°You¡¯re a southpaw,¡± I observed.

    ¡°Southpaw?¡± he looked up and asked.

    ¡°Y¡¯know, left-handed. Me, too.¡±

    A smile marked his lips again. ¡°That makes two of us, then, huh?¡±

    Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

    ¡°And Jimi Hendrix,¡± I pointed out. ¡°The musician.¡±

    ¡°And Paul McCartney,¡± he countered. ¡°Who coincidentally happens to be a musician, too.¡±

    ¡°Right,¡± I laughed. ¡°I mean, that he¡¯s left. Handed.¡±

    Simon laughed, too. When we entered class and sat down at our separate tables, I had less interest in the math on the board and more in the little, black markings Simon left on my hand that clearly composed a phone number. The edges of the writing that were once crisp now began to bleed ink a little.

    Fifteen minutes later, I could still feel his touch on my hand.

    Maybe I was gripping my pencil too tightly, maybe I''d scribbled down too many "notes" on my sheet, but I could feel a hot spot coming that made it hard to write. I checked the underside of my fingers and found a small band of sore skin that stung when I pressed down on it.

    Shoot, must¡¯ve been a burn from Home Ec finally starting to blister. Hopefully, it wasn¡¯t getting infected.

    ?? | ?? | ??

    ¡°What are you doing this weekend?¡± Ash asked me during fifth. I had my trig textbook open, trying to at least look like I was working on homework. Meanwhile, Ash kept to his usual, lean-back posture with nothing but a clean desk in front of him, minus a couple of geometric, graffiti-style ¡°S¡± scribblings etched on the surface with a pencil.

    ¡°Going out with someone Friday. As in just seeing a friend, I mean,¡± I specified. The phrase ¡®Going out¡¯ carried a certain implication potentially leading to some catastrophic discovery that Simon and I weren¡¯t on the same page. ¡°Probably the bookstore.¡±

    ¡°Wanna hang the day after?¡±

    ¡°Where?¡±

    ¡°Devil¡¯s Ridge,¡± he answered. ¡°Few of us are going out shifting, Saturday evening into Sunday. You up?¡±

    ¡°Sweet, I¡¯d love to. Hit me up when you guys meet, yeah?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, for sure. Text ya.¡±

    Thursday came by quicker than expected, and I realized I hadn¡¯t updated Cheryl yet on the Simon news, which, yes, my personal life was my personal life, but not filling her in was a literal, mortal sin. I planned to tell her at lunch. When we got to the lunch table, though, an unexpected tension muted the table.

    Hoff swallowed hard as Cheryl and I approached together. If we were wolves, I¡¯m sure his ear would¡¯ve been twitching¡ªit didn¡¯t take much body language to understand he was anticipating of something.

    Cheryl didn¡¯t react. Instead, she sat down next to Selene, closer than she usually did, across from David who was already chatting their alpha up. He stopped his conversation abruptly.

    From there, the table¡¯s tip-toe behavior was rampant. When everyone did talk, it was with more restraint than their usual, animated banter. The new, awkward undercurrent in Cheryl¡¯s pack behavior rose the hairs on my neck; the wolf inside didn¡¯t need help reading the vibes that something not-so-great going on at a deeper level.

    ¡°I think,¡± David began saying, ¡°We, as a pack, should go out to the North Slopes, by Macomb River, to shift. It¡¯s been a while since we¡¯ve all been together at once. Someone¡¯s always been sitting out because of some commitment.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s far out,¡± Cheryl replied. ¡°You can¡¯t even take a bus into walking distance, even if we took walking distance liberally. If you want everyone to be together, then you need to pick somewhere more accessible, like Laure¡¯s Island, or Walker Butte.¡±

    ¡°We were at Laure¡¯s last time. And we can carpool. Selene, Lindsey, and I all have our licenses. Right, Selene?¡±

    Selene nodded but said no more. She chewed her lunch so softly her jaw barely moved.

    ¡°I still think we should go somewhere closer,¡± Cheryl stated. ¡°We can think on it and have a vote. This Friday over lunch, so we can decide for sure.¡±

    David scoffed. ¡°Or, we can decide now so we aren¡¯t making last-minute changes.¡±

    ¡°Hey, how about, like, a normal hanging out on Friday at least?¡± Hoffman cautiously interjected. ¡°I mean, I¡¯m still up to shift, but we can do something beforehand, then make a final decision after. Have you guys seen the lineup at the Moxie theatre? They got that new movie, the vampire one. Leslie, you said you were into that supernatural stuff, right?¡±

    ¡°Depends on if it¡¯s anything like that Underworld stuff,¡± Leslie responded. ¡°Hyped-up action movies aren¡¯t really my thing.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s more suspense. Kind of a slice of life, romance-y thing, if you¡¯re into that? I mean, if we¡¯re all into that?¡±

    I looked to Cheryl and David, no doubt annoyed to have their standoff interrupted. Selene was the very much opposite.

    ¡°I agree with Hoff¡¯s suggestion of the middle road,¡± Selene asked, spurring the change in conversation. ¡°I am¡­ not sure of the movie choice, though.¡±

    Lindsey sighed. ¡°I¡¯ll have to think about it.¡±

    ¡°Aren¡¯t vampires just werebats or something, though?¡± I asked. ¡°They just turn into bats at night.¡±

    Hoffman rolled his eyes so emphatically, I could have mistaken it for stage acting. ¡°Bats are way too tiny for weres to turn into. Vampires are different.¡±

    ¡°How so?¡±

    ¡°They just are. Like, supernatural and freaky shit,¡± he continued to argue. ¡°They drink blood instead of eating normal food and predate on people while they¡¯re asleep. When they¡¯re out in the sun, they burn up, but they can hypnotize mortals and turn them into ghouls to do their bidding during daylight. Plus live forever in eternal youth.¡±

    ¡°Those are just some common themes,¡± Lindsey calmly disputed. ¡°There¡¯s hundreds of myths and thousands of stories. Readers and writers carry a shotgun range of expectations. Dracula and Edward Cullen are iconic vampires and you might as well compare apples and oranges with those two.¡±

    ¡°More like apples to rigatoni,¡± Hoff nonsensically made up. ¡°One¡¯s literature, the other¡¯s some heartthrob ploy for teenagers and their middle-aged moms. As for vampires, maybe there¡¯s some truth. Multiple cultures talk about blood sucks that transform into bats. They could be out there.¡±

    Lindsey rolled her eyes. ¡°And that dragons fly around hoarding gold, and leprechauns grant wishes, and ghosts exist, and zombies walk around eating brains¡­¡±

    ¡°Ghosts totally exist,¡± Hoff interrupted. ¡°Right, Collin?¡±

    ¡°Why are you asking me?¡± I subverted. I shouldn¡¯t have entered the conversation. ¡°I¡¯ve never seen a ghost before.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t they have tons of ghost towns out east where you¡¯re from? Montana¡¯s got a ton of old pioneer spots.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, but they¡¯re more of a creepy, touristy thing.¡±

    ¡°But don¡¯t you think it¡¯s possible?¡± Hoff pressed.

    ¡°Well,¡± I thought, ¡°Honestly, I don¡¯t believe in ghosts.¡±

    ¡°So you¡¯d stay in a ghost town overnight, no sweat.¡±

    ¡°There could be some crazed psychopathic serial killer hiding out with some rusty farm tools,¡± I rebuked. ¡°Or a bear.¡±

    ¡°What about serial killer ghosts?¡± Hoff ventured.

    ¡°We¡¯re not going there,¡± Leslie sternly decided.

    ?? | ?? | ??

    I tried to bring up Simon to Cheryl again during Home Ec. But once we broke into our private work groups, she burst like a keg. An angry keg.

    ¡°I can¡¯t believe that arrogant jerk,¡± she spat. ¡°He¡¯s always trying to show me up, find something to rub in.¡± Instead of peeling carrots as per the class assignment, Cheryl was violently skinning the tubers.

    ¡°Who, David?¡± I guessed. ¡°What happened?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not what happened. It¡¯s what¡¯s happening.¡±

    ¡°Think I¡¯m missing half the conversation. Did you want to talk about it?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s just¡­¡± Cheryl sighed. ¡°Complicated pack stuff. Selene brought up last week she¡¯s only got spring semester left. Then, she¡¯s out and heading to college, along with Kraig. Someone¡¯s gotta take the helm at East Garden until we all finish. But our pack¡¯s so small, we don¡¯t even have a beta. We never needed one.¡±

    I didn¡¯t remember a Kraig in Cheryl¡¯s pack¡ªhe must have been one of the members with a different lunch period that I hadn¡¯t met yet.

    ¡°Did she tell you she was looking for a beta?¡± I asked.

    ¡°No, but it¡¯s on her mind, I¡¯m sure. Everyone¡¯s mind.¡± She put her knife down, propping herself on the counter with her arms. ¡°Ideally, where ever she goes to college, we¡¯ll all go. I¡¯ve heard universities are more likely to accept a candidate if they¡¯ve already admitted people from the same pack.¡±

    I nodded¡ªgood information, though it didn¡¯t apply to a guy like me who had no future plans beyond a week in advance. ¡°You think David¡¯s making a bid for beta?¡±

    ¡°No way he isn¡¯t.¡±

    The sound of knives clacking on cutting boards filled the room, masking our conversation to between us. Probably for the best; I¡¯d never really been in a school with multiple packs before, but I assumed pack drama wasn¡¯t something you wanted spreading. Especially in terms of pecking orders.

    ¡°What about you?¡± I asked.

    ¡°Me? Pff.¡± Cheryl¡¯s chopping suddenly picked up the pace. ¡°I¡¯m not ambitious about ranking and stuff. But I care about the pack. A lot. David¡¯s putting on the ¡®deputy¡¯ attitude now, but I bet, once Selene¡¯s gone, he¡¯s gonna get bossy.¡±

    ¡°Yeah?¡±

    ¡°Yeah. I¡¯ve always told Selene, if the pack needed anything, I¡¯m more than willing to step up.¡± I couldn¡¯t help but notice a crack in Cheryl¡¯s voice. ¡°Whether it¡¯s with a bad grade, a breakup, or a bully, I¡¯ve been there for my friends. Always have been.¡±

    I believed Cheryl wholeheartedly. She was empathetic, hard working, and loyal beyond measure. All things that should have given her confidence in her qualifications. But I could hear her confidence fluster in her growingly raw voice.

    ¡°I think¡­ no, I know that you¡¯re worthy,¡± I encouraged. ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯d have lasted this long without you. And, I bet, others in your pack feel the same way. Whether or not you become Selene¡¯s beta, you¡¯re irreplaceable. You don¡¯t need a title to prove that.¡±

    And anyways, fuck Selene if she doesn¡¯t see that.

    She sniffed and nodded. ¡°Thanks, Collin. You¡¯re one of the few, honestly good people I know in this school, and you¡¯ve only just moved here.¡±

    I found her comment an overstatement. ¡°Least I can do.¡±

    When I glanced back, she was smiling, her head tilted so her auburn hair fell over her shoulder. All of a sudden, her smile dropped, and she pointed at my hand. ¡°You¡¯re bleeding.¡±

    I shrugged. ¡°Sometimes, you bleed just to know you¡¯re alive¡ªouch!¡±

    Cheryl¡¯s slug hit me with nearly enough force to knock my shoulder out of its socket.

    ¡°Don¡¯t even start,¡± Cheryl said. ¡°And don¡¯t give me that look. I didn¡¯t hit you that hard.¡±

    ?? | ?? | ??

    After dinner, during dishes, I told Sam and Amy about my plans to go out with Simon Friday, then shift with Ash at Devil¡¯s Ridge on Saturday.

    ¡°I can give you some cash for your date,¡± Sam chipperly offered, her hands in a pile of dishes.

    ¡°It¡¯s not a date,¡± I defensively corrected. Not a date date, anyways.

    ¡°How does $20 sound?¡± she seamlessly continued. ¡°Enough for some hot chocolate or a chai?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know what a chai is.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a hot drink with milk that¡¯s kind of like gingerbread or pumpkin spice.¡± Sam passed a clean, wet plate to Amy, who then dried it and handed it off to me. We had a dishwasher, but after it flooded the kitchen three times in a row, we converted our after-dinner duties to forming a dish brigade. ¡°This weekend, though, I¡¯d like to meet your friends before you go out alone with them. Make sure you guys will be safe.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re safe,¡± I pointedly stated, reaching high to stack the plate on a top shelf. Yeah, I hadn¡¯t met Ash¡¯s friends yet, but they were probably as cool-minded as him. ¡°And it¡¯s weird going around and introducing your friends to your family at my age. I¡¯m trying to make friends, not drive them away.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not weird, Collin, it¡¯s diligent,¡± Sam corrected me. ¡°Devil¡¯s Ridge can get dangerous. It¡¯s steep, and people from some shady walks of life sometimes hang around there. Why not go out to the North Slopes, closer to town? Or Walker Butte? Amy and I will be shifting near Walker this weekend. If anything happens, all you¡¯ll have to do is howl.¡±

    I rolled my eyes. ¡°My friends said they¡¯ve shifted plenty of times at Devil¡¯s Ridge before. It¡¯s behind one of their houses. I¡¯m used to rough terrain anyways.¡±

    ¡°Collin, I¡¯m only trying to look out for you.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not a kid anymore¡ª¡°

    Before our cycle of rebuttals got heated, Amy interrupted the tension.

    ¡°I think,¡± she began, ¡°Sam¡¯s right about Devil¡¯s Ridge. It¡¯s not well-lit or patrolled. But I think Collin¡¯s responsible enough to pick his friends. Maybe, Collin, you should talk to them about a safer place.¡±

    ¡°Alright, I¡¯ll talk to them, then,¡± I settled. It was dumb enough Sam had begun to decide I needed permission from her to go out. Fighting Amy was even more useless. ¡°I¡¯ll have my cellphone the whole time. I won¡¯t leave it in a pile of clothes somewhere.¡±

    ¡°You better not be stripping down the whole way when you¡¯re shifting. Someone could confuse you for a dog or a wild wolf.¡± Sam sighed. ¡°But, if you can convince your friends to pick somewhere more public, and promise to be good, I¡¯ll sleep easy a lot easier.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, yeah,¡± I sighed, too. ¡°I get it.¡±

    ¡°Thanks. Promise me, if you need anything, call. No matter what, okay?¡±

    After dish brigade, I went upstairs mumbling an excuse about homework. There wasn¡¯t much else to do; Sam was using the TV for Jeopardy, and I wasn¡¯t in the mood for video games after our post-dinner chat.

    I could read a book instead¡ªSimon was into reading. If I started on some big novel, maybe we¡¯d have something to talk about. There weren¡¯t any books in my room, though, now that I¡¯d given Simon¡¯s copy of Pride and Prejudice back. Well, other than my trig textbook. Ugh.

    I stared out the window, then stared at my side table. Next to my bed, the white flower my therapist had given me was loosening its once tightly wound petals. What was its name? Creeping Pus Horse-something? I think Amber said its normal name was just Violet Hour.

    She wasn¡¯t kidding though about the plant¡¯s flowering habits; its tight petals had begun to unwind in anticipation of the coming full moon. This weekend would be the first time I¡¯d see it bloom since Amber gave it to me. Well, if it kept its bloom until I got home after shifting with Ash.

    I began to worry¡ªwould the flower lose all its petals after its bloom? If it did, would it grow a new bud, or die out?