“Go ahead, ask her,” Jackson whispered, nudging Melody.
“You,” she whispered back.
“Ask me what?” Ms. J asked while signaling the waitress for the check. “This had better not be about staying, because—”
“You can’t leave,” Melody blurted.
Ms. J began blinking, as if genuinely interested in what Melody had to say. “Explain.”
“Um, I just think that…” Melody stammered, the way she often did in class when called on for an answer she didn’t know. But she did know this answer. It was Ms. J’s willingness to hear it that she hadn’t expected.
“You’re a teacher…” she began, thinking it best not to center her plea on broken teenage hearts. The woman was a scientist. A rational thinker. She would, therefore, require a rational argument. “And a role model. Not only for RADs, but for normies too.”
Ms. J nodded in agreement. Melody could feel Jackson grinning beside her.
“If you leave, it sends a message that when the going gets tough, the tough leave, and—”
The waitress slid the check onto the table, but Ms. J’s focus remained fixed on Melody. “What about the safety of my son?”
“Mom, I can—”
Melody gripped his thigh, squeezing him silent. “Keep Jackson in this disguise. Send him to another school. Hide with pride. Isn’t that your motto? But you need to stay at Merston and be an advocate for the RADs who are still here.” Melody leaned across the table and whispered in Ms. J’s ear. “And show Jackson that his mother isn’t afraid to fight.”
Ms. J pulled off her Woody Allen–esque glasses and rubbed her eyes.
Jackson and Melody held hands under the table, their grip tightening with every passing second.
Putting on her glasses, Ms. J turned to her son and said, “You would have to go into hiding.”
“That’s fine.”
“Which means no one, and I mean no one”—she paused to glare at Melody—“can know where you are.”
“Fine,” they answered together. At least they’d be in the same time zone.
Ms. J slapped down a black American Express credit card issued to someone named Rebecca Rose, peeled the protective plastic off a new iPhone, and then began texting.
Jackson pulled his hand away. “What are you doing?”
“Texting the flight crew about my vegan meal.”
Melody’s heart sank. “But I thought—”
Ms. J placed her phone on the paper place mat and met their eyes. “You thought what? That I would let a perfectly good tofu lasagna go to waste?”
“Huh?” Melody asked.
“I told them to put it in a to-go box. We’ll have to swing by the tarmac so we can pick it up.” She pushed her salad aside. “I’m starving. And it’s going to be a long night.”
Melody and Jackson exchanged a victorious hug while Ms. J signed the check. Make out for hours ranked number one on Melody’s what-to-do-next list. Instead, she stuck to her word, wished them both luck, and hurried off to meet Candace.
Nothing about the parking lot had changed, and yet everything about it looked different. The half-lit coffee sign suddenly seemed charming. The duct-taped car was no longer pathetic; it was a survivor. And Candace wasn’t mocking Melody’s paranoia with her bird-watching costume—she was being supportive. All because Jackson was staying. And regardless of the promise they had made to Ms. J, he would find a way to stay in touch.
He always did.
CHAPTER FOUR
PACK MEN
As she’d suspected, the sudsy nest of hair and soap chips still clogged the shower drain. The hot water didn’t shrink the clump as Clawdeen had hoped. Now, ankle deep in boy scum, she would have to reach into the tepid slough to remove the blockage—something she refused to do without a Hazmat suit. This situation made her miss the comforts of home, and her girly bathroom, even more.
Two nights at the Hideout Inn—the family-owned restaurant and inn that encouraged guests to “unplug” with a strict no-TV-or-Internet policy—was a new record. Until now the Wolfs had spent the night only during their full-moon transitions. They posted a SORRY, ALL FULL sign, locked the doors, drew the blinds, and feasted. Stays maxed out at twenty-four hours. The instant they switched back to normalish, the pack returned to Radcliffe Way, and the inn reopened to the public. Closing for any amount of time put a strain on their finances, since the steakhouse had been rated among the top ten restaurants in Salem for the past six years.
But this time, the strain was on Clawdeen’s sanity. If she had to spend one more day sharing a bathroom with her brothers, she’d—
“Ahhhh!” A gallon of ice-cold water splashed over her head.
“Dinner’s ready!” announced Don, dropping a plastic milk jug onto the tiled floor. It landed with a hollow bounce. Howie burst out laughing, and then the two triplets took off, slamming the door behind them.
Shivering and disgusted, Clawdeen shut off the faucet. “You’re going to pay for this, Cleo,” she muttered, holding her ex-friend responsible as she sidestepped anthills of stubble, clipped nails, and discarded underwear. Appetite-suppressing odors clung to her hair—a condition the perpetually upright toilet seat only made worse. If her friends could see her now… what would they laugh at first? Her matted curls? Chipped nails? The ill-fitting brown HIDEOUT INN souvenir T-shirt from the gift shop? Probably the shirt. But what was she supposed to do? Her clothes were back home… along with her makeup, her privacy, and her life.
Downstairs in the restaurant, everything but the full moon was present and accounted for. The red velvet curtains, which Clawdeen had helped her mother make back when they first opened for business, kept the parking lot from view, giving guests the illusion that they were nestled inside a cozy dining room in the Alps, not a mere ten miles north of Salem just off the freeway. Candles flickered inside sangria-colored votives. The tepee of logs in the stone fireplace was ablaze. Eighteen tables were set but unoccupied. Mom was in the kitchen heating up another batch of rolls. The guys were already eating, seated around a central circular table, deep in conversation and second helpings.
“Hi, Deenie.” Her father’s serious expression quickly melted into one of sticky sweetness. “How’s my precious little pup?”
“Hey, Dad,” she said, kissing the top of his head before sitting. Clawrk Wolf’s lush black hair and thick eyebrows always made her think of Seth’s father from The O.C. “Do you think we can work on my driving this week? Two more weeks until I’m sixteen.”
“When I get back,” he said. “I’m leaving for a construction job in Beaverton tomorrow. I’ll be gone until Thursday.”
“Anything good?” she asked, hoping for more industrial head nails, metal gates, or marble chunks. Or possibly something unexpected, like the mannequins from that old department store he’d demolished. Not that it really mattered. As long as she could DIY his trash into treasure, her video blog—Where There’s a Wolf, There’s a Way—would keep gaining followers. Her first episode, called “Lip Glass”—in which she’d mounted glass panes on her wall and covered them with colorful lipstick kisses from all her friends—had already brought in seven followers. Before long she’d be fielding calls for her own show on the DIY Network. Then she’d move out, buy a massive New York–style loft, DIY it diva-style, and invite all of her friends (including Anya the waxer) to move in. From that moment on, the only fur lying around would be the fabulous faux kind.
“I’m building a kids’ tree house and jungle gym in some hoitytoity couple’s backyard,” he explained, spooning a mound of sautéed mushrooms onto his plate. “So probably a ton of wood chips.”
“Perfect.” Clawdeen smiled, thinking of how she could experiment with new nail-art designs on the wood chips and then glue them to the outside of her laptop. How blog-able was that?
“Boys,” Clawrk said, chewing, “I’m counting on you to keep your mom and Deenie safe while I’m gone.” He sighed. “At least Leena is safe at Arrowhead.”
The other boys laughed.
“If you really cared about safety, you guys would clean the pit hairs out of the soap and unclog the drain,” Clawdeen said, even though she knew that wasn’t what her father meant. She was tired of being overprotected and underestimated, especially by a pack of boys who didn’t know how much was too much when it came to squeezing a tube of toothpaste. “I don’t understand why we have to share one bathroom when we have the entire inn to ourselves,” she continued.
Overcome by the rich aroma of warm butter and beef, she quickly stabbed the last New York strip with her fork and dropped it onto her plate, beating Clawd by a millisecond.
“Because I want to keep this place clean,” Harriet called from the kitchen.
“She’s right,” said Clawrk. “We need to be ready for guests the instant that ALL FULL sign comes down.”
“Baaaaap!” Nino burped. The boys howled. “I don’t have an ALL FULL sign, because I love Mom’s steak,” he added, swiping the hair from his eyes.
“You’re not the only one, son. Normies go crazy when they can’t get a reservation. They’re addicted to your mother’s cooking.” Clawrk glanced around the empty dining room. “That movie was bad for business. Very bad.”
“Why?” Rocks chewed loudly. “The Hideout wasn’t even in the movie.”
Clawdeen rolled her eyes. “He means because we have to hide here, so the place is closed.”
Rocks stared at her blankly.
“No money!” she explained.
“Yeah,” scoffed Howie. “I wonder whose fault that is.”
Clawdeen quickly flashed her brother a mouthful of chewed meat.
“If you’re not going to finish that, I will,” Nino offered.
“Ew!” Clawdeen giggled.
“So, Dad,” Clawd said, “remember I told you football scouts were coming to Merston? Well, Coach Donnelly texted. They’ll be there on Monday.”
Clawrk cracked open a beer and took a long swig.
“Coach saw the video and knows I’m a RAD and all, but he’s cool with it,” Clawd went on. “He even said he’ll drive me back after the game. And if I want that scholarship—”
Clawrk slammed down his beer. “You didn’t tell him where we are, did you?”
“Course not. But even if I did, it’d be fine. He’s cool.”
“Does he know the inn is ours? Or that Charlie and Joanne Stewart are made-up owners?”
“No, I swear,” Clawd insisted. “I’ve never told anyone that. And I never would.”
“I read that people are hunting us for rewards,” Howie announced.
“You read?” Clawdeen teased.
“How much are they asking for you?” he wondered.
“You couldn’t afford it, bro.”
“That’s what you think.” Howie reached into the pocket of his jeans and flicked a nickel at Don. “Keep the change.”
Everyone laughed except their dad, who was considering Clawd’s request, and Clawd, who was waiting to hear his fate.
“I’ll need to talk to the coach.”
“Sure,” Clawd said, offering his phone.
“And you’ll take the car. I don’t want him knowing we’re here.”
Clawd nodded.
Clawrk looked toward the kitchen, as if consulting his wife. Rolling up the sleeves of his stained white thermal, he leaned back in his chair and announced, “As long as you knock the socks off those scouts! And take that girly earring out of your ear.”
“Promise!” Clawd leaned across the table and high-fived his father. His brothers howled their support.
“I think I’ll go with you,” Clawdeen said casually. “I can check the mail for RSVPs, get some fresh clothes, check in with some friends, you know—”
“You don’t think you’re still having that Sweet Sixteen party, do you?” asked Howie in his usual know-it-all way.
“Sassy Sixteen. And why not?” She tried dodging them. “It’s two weeks away. This will all be over by then.”
“Yeah, right.” Howie shook his head in disbelief. “Who told you that? The other minorities on this planet?”
“Maybe,” Clawdeen said.
“You mean the ones who have been fighting for equal rights for, I dunno, about five thousand years?”
The other brothers snickered.
“Yeah, I bet they’re working overtime to have this whole racism thing wrapped up by your Sweet—I mean your Sassy—Sixteen.”
“That’s enough!” snapped Clawrk, coming to his daughter’s rescue.
“Thank you, Daddy,” Clawdeen cooed. “I was just hoping to check on the house and pick up a few things. It’s not like I’m going to school or anything.”
“No way,” her dad said. “You’re staying here with your brothers, where it’s safe.”
What? Why? Frustration formed in the pit of Clawdeen’s stomach. Gathering strength, it swirled toward her heart and up through her throat. If she let it out, it would sound like, What a massive double standard! This is so unfair! I’m running away to live with the Kardashians!
But it was clear from the dark circles under her father’s eyes, his rounded shoulders, and his shredded fingernails that this was a bad time to fight for equal rights. Knowing he would be away on a construction job and unable to protect them was obviously stressing him out big-time. Why make things worse? Instead, Clawdeen wiped her mouth on a napkin like a good little girl. Just like everyone expected her to.
Later that night, she woke to the sound of wheels crunching over gravel. Confused by gauzy remnants of sleep, she tried to place her surroundings. Darkness. Blankets that smelled like wet dog instead of breezy-clean fabric softener. This was definitely not her bedroom on Radcliffe Way.
Something began to rustle, like a body squirming against a leather seat. It was breathing. Clawdeen’s heartbeat began to accelerate. Adrenaline pumped her awake.
Oof! A shoe slammed on top of her ribs. A second one quickly followed. Then something lighter. She bit her lower lip and refused to move.
“I know you’re back there,” said Clawd.
Oops.
Clawdeen bicycle-kicked the stinky blanket off her body. “How?” she asked, hoisting herself off the car floor and onto the backseat.
“You started snoring the minute we hit the highway.”
“And you let me stay?” she asked, never failing to be surprised by her older brother. “What if Dad finds out?”
“I’ll say I didn’t know you were here.”
“What if something happens to me?” she teased.
He turned around to face her. “I won’t let it.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“Because I know sometimes they don’t treat you fairly,” Clawd admitted.
Clawdeen smiled. Finally, someone understands.
“What are Mom and Dad going to say when they wake up and you’re gone?” Clawd tested her.
“Dad is taking off for Beaverton at, like, four in the morning, and Mom is driving to the Seattle Marketplace to stock up on food. She leaves before we wake up and won’t be home until Monday after dinner. As long as we head back after your game, we’ll beat her.”
“And the brothers?”
“You slipped a note under their door promising to buy them a Wii for Christmas if they keep quiet.”
“I did?”
Clawdeen giggled. “Don’t worry, I’ll pay you back as soon as my DIY show takes off. Now can we please get out of this car and go home? I’m going to start shedding if I don’t take off these gift shop clothes.”
“Wait! We have to be careful,” Clawd insisted, opening the door. “I parked three blocks from the house to avoid suspicion. Let’s take the ravine.”
“The streets are better. People will be looking for us in the ravine. But if we just walk normally, no one will suspect a thing.”
“That’s ridiculous. We’re just asking to get caught.” Clawd
gently shut the door.
Clawdeen opened hers. “No. If we take the ravine, we’re asking to get caught.”
“My road trip, my plan,” Clawd insisted.
“Forget it. You go your way, and I’ll go mine.” Clawdeen wasn’t sure what she was fighting for anymore, but she refused to back down.
“I’m not just going to leave you,” he huffed.
“Then come with me on the street,” Clawdeen said, stepping onto the curb.
She began walking down Glacier Road feeling naked and exposed. Alive and in charge. Afraid and energized. Indisputably independent. She liked it.
“Wait!” whispered Clawd, scrambling to catch up.
They walked half the block in silence, senses attuned, hackles up.
Her brother finally broke the silence. “Why are you always trying to be the alpha?”
“I’m not trying,” Clawdeen whispered. “I am.”
“Very funny.” Clawd chuckled.
But somehow, someday, Clawdeen would find a way to prove it. And once she did, the last laugh would be hers.
If they could see me now…
Billy imagined the Richter levels of envy that would quake through the guys at school if they knew he was spending his Sunday naked in Candace Carver’s bedroom. And that it smelled like gardenia, vanilla, and hot girl. Not that he would ever brag. That was très déclassé. Besides, it wasn’t even like that. He and Candace would have preferred to hang at Whole Latte Love, but there were only so many times (fourteen and counting) they could crack up at the invisible-boy-sneaking-bites-of-people’s-scones routine before wanting to have an actual conversation. And Candace said she didn’t want people to think she was talking to herself. But she had been doing exactly that for the past twenty minutes, anyway, so what was the big deal? But, hey, if Billy understood the opposite sex, he wouldn’t have spent the entire night journaling about—
“… are you even listening?” Candace snapped, pacing back and forth in front of her frilly pink girl bed. “Wait, you didn’t leave, did you?” She splayed her arms as if feeling her way around in a dark closet. “Billy?”
It was the perfect opportunity to tie the laces of her brown riding boots together, but pranks were for the lighthearted, and he was feeling anything but.
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