The Amazing Wolf Boy Page 10

  “Then you could tattoo your scalp. Little snakes coiled all over. It’ll look like hair until you get close.”

  “Tattoos aren’t my thing.”

  “Henna, then. I can do the artwork.”

  “That actually sounds cool.”

  I grinned, pleased to have impressed her. We sat at the kitchen table with our books. I had math homework left over because I’d missed school on Friday, and she had her history book. We’d just settled when Grandpa Earle came in.

  “Ah, the fix-it boy,” he said without looking at me. “You here again?”

  “His name is Cody, Grandpa,” Brittany said.

  He poured a glass of water from a pitcher in the fridge. “The faucet in the bathroom is drippy.”

  “We’re studying,” Brittany said with exasperation.

  “It probably needs a washer,” I said. “I’ll bring one the next time I come by.”

  He looked at me. “You should keep your tools on your belt.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said, smiling. A lesser guest might feel putout about being asked to work around someone’s home. I felt accepted, like I was already one of the clan. Watching Grandpa Earle shamble out of the kitchen, I decided I kind of liked the old guy.

  We studied for a couple of hours. Brittany was smart. I doubted she needed coaching in history. To change things up a bit, I asked for a hand with my math. So there we were, two people acting like we needed help when neither of us did. It was slower but more enjoyable working together.

  Outside, the sky darkened. It was a relief to feel I didn’t have to shift tonight, that the moon had no hold on me. I watched Brittany’s face as she bent over my Trig worksheet, wanting to spend as much time with her as I could.

  “Do you have to get back?” she asked as if just noticing I was staring at her.

  “No, I can stay.”

  “Good. Let’s get dinner before Butt Crack comes down and eats everything.” Her eyes sparkled as she said it, so I didn’t think she was really speaking ill of her brother. She opened the pot, and steam puffed up. She nuked a couple of sticks of butter until they were soft. Then she pulled out a breadboard and sliced off the tops of four round loaves of bread. She used a spoon to hollow them. It was like watching someone carve a jack-o-lantern. The loose chunks of bread went into the chili, instantly thickening the broth. “The secret to a good bread bowl is buttering the inside,” she said as she painted a loaf with the soft butter and a brush. “Otherwise, it gets soggy.”

  Her brother appeared as if he’d teleported. He gave me a nod of acknowledgement, and then leaned over his sister’s shoulder as if to make her hurry.

  “Stop, Butt Crack,” she said. “Geez. Have one.”

  He snatched the bread, smiling in triumph, and ladled vegetables inside. “Any cheese?”

  “No.” She handed me a bowl. “Here, Cody. Just push him out of the way.”

  I was struck by how casual dinner was. Not the white linen affairs of my home. In spite of that, I was not about to push anyone out of my way.

  “Is Grandpa awake?” Brittany asked.

  “Asleep.” Butt Crack ladled until cooked tomatoes dripped down the sides of his bowl. “I saw a black bear today.”

  “An actual bear?” I blurted. I didn’t know Florida had bears. Alligators, panthers, pythons. What kind of place was this?

  Brittany dropped her paintbrush in the sink. “Don’t tell me you were hanging out in the Glades again.”

  “Nope. It was closer to town.”

  “Well, it better stay away. Somebody will shoot it. Poor thing.”

  “Yeah.” Butt Crack looked thoughtful. He carried his bowl back upstairs.

  I took his place at the pot, and then moved aside for Brittany. She handed me a plate to hold my vegetable-laden bread and led me to the front porch. We sat together on the wicker furniture, eating and counting fireflies. The chili was good, spicy and full of peppers and squash. A few months ago, I would have said it was ideal, but lately I craved a little more meat with my meals.

  After we ate, we played gin rummy. I told her about the ostrich and how I thought it was a body, which she thought was hilarious. She kept trying to steer the conversation to my home in Massachusetts, but I didn’t want to talk about it. My life there seemed opulent compared to what I had now, and I didn’t think I could describe it without sounding like I missed it. I mean, I did. But if somebody came up to me and offered to turn back time, I wouldn’t let them. This day was perfect, and I wouldn’t leave Brittany for anything.

  Around eight o’clock, after she’d beat me two hands out of three, she drove me home. I wanted so bad to kiss her goodnight, but I was afraid to spoil things. I knew she liked me as a study partner. That was as far as it went. So I thanked her for dinner and got out of the car.

  The house was dark. Uncle Bob wasn’t home. I booted my laptop and searched how to fix a leaky faucet. It looked straightforward. With a flashlight in hand, I went to the tool shed. I unlocked it with the hidden key.

  My mouth dropped open. There must have been a million tools in that shed. There were five kinds of wrenches, one of them two feet long, and twelve different screwdrivers. There were even a couple of machetes. All the drawers were labeled—three-eighths this and five-eighths that. How was I going to choose what I needed?

  “Can I help you find something?” Uncle Bob said.

  I jumped at his voice, then wailed, “Grandpa Earle has a drippy faucet.”

  “Earle Meyer? How do you know him?” His face eased. “Ah, the cute girl.”

  My shoulders drooped along with the flashlight beam. I didn’t want him to know I had a thing for Brittany. After all, she didn’t have a thing for me.

  “Newer faucets don’t use washers,” he said, “but I happen to know the Meyers have an old one like us. I’m not sure what size you’ll need. I’ll give you a couple of the most common. Then it’s just a matter of taking off the handles. Come on, I’ll show you.”

  Wishing I could have figured it out myself, I followed him into the kitchen.

  “First thing,” he said, “turn off the water. Then close the drain and lay paper towel in the sink. Next, you take the screws out of the handles. This screwdriver is a six-in-one. You change the bits like this. When you take out the screws, lay them on the paper towel so you can see them.”

  I leaned close, watching him work. He removed the handles, and then used an adjustable wrench to take out the insides.

  “You know, people relationships are tough,” he said. “I don’t want to see either of you hurt.”

  I wanted to say no problem, but it wasn’t that easy. I knew in my gut that I would love Brittany until I died. But if she ever found out about my little problem, I was likely to be the one who got hurt.

  “I realize things are tough for you right now,” Uncle Bob said. “Your body’s changing, and you have urges you never felt before.”

  I groaned. Was he saying what I thought he was saying? I had that conversation with my dad two years ago.

  He looked at me and smiled. “I’m here, that’s all. If you ever want to talk.”

  “Thanks.” I took the tools and retired to my room.

  Tuesday after school, I fixed Brittany’s bathroom faucet. She beamed at me as if I’d performed brain surgery. Grandpa Earle was already down for his nap, so we couldn’t tell him. That was all right. I didn’t do it for him, anyway.

  For the next couple of days, I had to watch my step at school. Literally. It seemed the entire football team was gunning for me, tossing objects in my path as I hurried between classes, trying to trip me. Once as I was walking through the halls, a book came skittering across the floor at me. Another time it was an apple. Then the halls would boom with laughter to make sure I knew who’d thrown it. Often it was Eff himself.

  It was stupid and petty and totally not beneath him. It was also not without precedent. I remember at my old school, James Dawson flung a handful of pencils at the feet of his lacrosse rival. The kid wrenched
his back and had to sit out the entire season, and James didn’t make the team anyway.

  Jocks. They’re a different breed. But what Eff and his beefy friends didn’t know was that I had enhanced hearing and reflexes. They weren’t going to trip me up no matter how many times they tried.

  Thursday at lunch, Brittany threw me a curve. “We have to put our study sessions on hold for a few days.”

  I was watching how delicately her throat moved when she swallowed her yogurt, and at first I didn’t register what she said. “Stop studying? Why?”

  “Tomorrow is my niece’s birthday. Miley. I told you about her. She’s turning three. So Butt Crack and I are driving up to give her a present. If we go right after school, we’re sure to get invited for dinner. My sister’s a great cook.”

  “Where do they live?”

  “Kissimmee.”

  I frowned. “Kiss who?”

  She laughed and shook her head. “You really are a newbie. Anyway, it takes a couple hours to get there, so I won’t be back until late.”

  “Well, tell little Miley happy birthday from me. What did you get her?”

  “That’s the problem. I don’t know whether to buy clothes or a toy.”

  “Kids want toys,” I said. “There’s nothing worse than opening a gift and finding clothes.”

  “You think so?”

  “Sure. You buy clothes to please the parents, not the kid.”

  Brittany smiled. “I’m going to the mall this afternoon. Can you come with?”

  My heart somersaulted. She actually wanted to be seen with me in public. This was way better than studying. “No problem. I’ll even help you pick out a card.”

  We drove out to Old Wellington Mall. By the name, I expected it to be rundown, but it was state-of-the-art. It had two floors and palm trees growing under skylights. I saw a lot of kids, and remembered Maxwell and Lonnie inviting me to the arcade for a Tie Fighter tournament. Apparently, this was a designated hang out.

  I was so proud to be with Brittany. I wanted to hold her hand, but didn’t have the nerve. We walked along the storefronts. She made fun of the dresses on the mannequins. Then she made fun of the people going in to buy them.

  “They’re probably getting ready for Jana’s party,” Brittany told me.

  “You mentioned her party before. Who’s Jana?”

  “She’s this really rich girl. She has all these stables and a gazebo and stuff. Every year she throws a formal birthday party. February twenty second. It’s huge. Like event of the year huge. The stores will actually run out of decent dresses.” She laughed and nudged my arm. “I heard last year she had life-sized ice sculptures. Can you imagine ice sculptures in Florida? I would’ve gone just to watch them melt.”

  “You weren’t invited?”

  “Sure, I was. Everyone is. Our entire grade. It just isn’t my thing, that’s all.”

  I felt a sinking sensation in my stomach. February twenty first was the next full moon, which meant Jana’s party fell on a waning moon. There was no way I could attend that party. I hoped I wouldn’t be expected to go.

  We went into Planet Toys. Contrary to my advice, I had no idea what to buy a three-year-old girl. I knew better than to suggest anything stereotypic, like a doll. Fortunately, all the toys had age groups printed on the boxes. We ended up with a barnyard set. It was bright and bulky, and sure to be a hit.

  As we left the store, I saw Eff coming out of a clothing shop a few doors down. He stopped to stare, looking at first surprised and then angry. He might have started something right then, but he was with a woman, likely his mother. I pretended I didn’t see him and walked at Brittany’s side, carrying her bag.

  We went into Annie’s Hallmark for wrapping paper and a card. Brittany froze in the doorway, and then stepped to a display of snow globes as if drawn to them. She seemed entranced, and then she shocked me further by pulling down a globe with fairies in it.

  My uncle would say what girl doesn’t like fairies. That just goes to show how little I know about girls because I did not expect it.

  “Look,” she said breathlessly, holding the thing so I could see.

  I will never forget the look of pure delight on her face as she shook the globe and tiny flower petals swirled among the fairies. It played a tune. I didn’t recognize it, but Brittany hummed along. I promised myself that if I had to go without lunch for a month, I would buy her that snow globe.

  The next morning, I told my uncle I didn’t need a ride into school and would take my bike. It wasn’t as tiring as I expected. In fact, the quiet of early morning was enjoyable.

  That would not be the case, I knew, on the long haul to the mall. But I was excited to buy Brittany a gift. Something she really wanted.

  After school, I hopped on my bike. The sky was blue and cloudless, and the air was warm in the sun but cool in the shade. I paced myself, hoping to keep my newfound super-strength in reserve for the ride back.

  I was tired when I finally made it to the mall. It was late afternoon, and the parking lots were filling up. I had to ride halfway around the back before I found a bike rack. It felt good to stand up and walk.

  I bought the snow globe first thing—checked it over, made sure the music played fine. At my insistence, the clerk stuffed the box with tissue paper. I didn’t want anything to happen to it on the way home.

  I sat in the food court with a tall drink and people-watched for a time. The mall was crowded, like there was nothing better to do on a Friday afternoon. I caught sight of Eff walking with two of his football thugs. He was texting on his cell and didn’t notice me.

  After a while, I picked up my bag and headed outside. The setting sun turned the sky bright orange. I hummed the tune the snow globe played as I skirted the parking lots and made my way to the back of the mall where I’d left my bike. I wondered if I should wrap the present, but no, I wanted to keep it casual.

  There was no one around. I was beginning to think I’d walked the wrong way when I saw the rack and my lone, beat-up bike. I quickened my pace.

  With a squeal of tires, three cars leapt the curb, blocking me in. Doors opened even before the vehicles came to a stop. Jocks swarmed out as if from clown cars with a dozen occupants. They all wore white T-shirts and football-player hair. Then I saw Eff, his face lit with awful glee and a two-by-four in his hand.

  TWELVE

  A groan escaped me as I glanced around at the closing half-moon of football thugs. My heart rate shot from zero to a hundred in about a second. I placed the snow globe on the ground and stood over it, hoping I could protect it.

  Eff rushed me, swinging the two-by-four like a baseball bat. I took the blow on my arm and struck out with my fist, aiming for his nose. I clipped another kid instead.

  The guy next in line socked me in the jaw, and I staggered. I took a punch to the ribs. Then a roundhouse that snapped my head back. An arc of blood shot out.

  Someone gave an appreciative, “Yeah.”

  I stiff-armed him in the throat. Someone else clobbered my ear. Knuckles caught me square in the mouth, and I swear every tooth loosened. It felt unreal, like I was watching a movie. But unlike the movies, these guys didn’t take turns. They crowded me, each getting their licks in.

  I held my own for a while. But a hard punch to my brow caused my vision to flash. I nearly fell. Another punch and another burst of light. I looked up, gasping for fresh air, aware of blood streaming from my nose. Above the heads and flying fists, I saw Eff’s two-by-four swing as if he intended to brain me. I raised my arm to deflect the blow and heard something crack. I didn’t think it was the wood.

  I dropped to my knees. Apparently, this put my face out of the comfortable range for punching, so they started kicking. Thuds came from all directions. I rolled on my side, arms over my head and knees to my chest. After a while, it didn’t hurt anymore.

  Their kicks tapered to a distant pummeling.

  Someone said, “Knock it off, Eff. You’re going to kill him.”

&nbs
p; And just like that, the beating stopped. I didn’t move. I felt a terrible wrongness in my body.

  “I got an idea,” a voice said.

  Someone fumbled with my zipper. This alarmed me more than getting beat up, but there wasn’t a thing I could do to stop them. They yanked off my pants and shirt, and then dragged me to the wall.

  “Here. Pose him with this. Fairies.”

  “Perfect,” Eff said.

  Something cool and smooth was shoved into my arms. Brittany’s snow globe.

  Oh, God.

  I tried so hard to open my eyes. I wanted to glare at them, wanted to tell them to back off. But my face felt thick and wet. My mouth wouldn’t work.

  Someone snickered, and then the globe went away. The plastic bag rustled.

  “Here, let me package this back up for you,” Eff said. “Oops.”

  I heard the bag fall, heard the globe pop as it struck the ground.

  Laughter surrounded me. High-fives all around. Then tires screeched nearby. I smelled exhaust.

  Hands lifted me, tossed me through the air. I landed on something cold and rough. A truck bed. They were taking me away. For the first time, I was afraid they intended to murder me.

  For the first time, I wished to become a wolf. I imagined their faces when they came around the pickup to find a full-grown wolf in the back. I tried to shift, delved deep down inside, even though it wasn’t the full moon, wasn’t even full dark. The bouncing of the truck threw off my concentration. All I could do was to wait for the end.

  I must have blacked out, because the next thing I knew, water poured over my body. Wind gusted, and I swayed gently.

  Swayed?

  The sensation jerked me awake. I was cold and in more pain than I ever imagined. My arms stretched over my head. I tried to move and swayed again. I opened one eye to a slit and looked around. Darkness. Nighttime. It was raining. I was just thinking how unusual it was to rain at night in South Florida when lightning struck nearby. Thunder reverberated in my chest.

  I wanted to run, needed to get out of there, needed to find shelter. My legs moved, but my arms wouldn’t. With my swollen eye, I peered upward and saw knots binding my wrists. I was strung between two trees.