Vixen (The Fox and Hound Book 1)

by Catherine Labadie

  here.

  Eisen pulls to a stop as close as we can get to the main entrance. “They just updated Hostetler High this past summer,” he says as I reluctantly gather my school bag into my arms in preparation to leave the safety of the vehicle. “It looks much better than the pictures you found on the SMARTspace last week.”

  “It does look...new,” I say, my voice

  unintentionally higher; “New” is the kindest word I can come up with in my current state of mind. At least I’m a senior now, I remind myself. Just one year of school then I'm done. One year.

  “I’ll see you later, I guess,” I say to Eisen, stepping out of his car and briefly choosing to ignore the growing line behind him. “Thanks for the ride.” I want to add more or just hug him...but there's really nothing else to say.

  “Seriously Sierra, call me if anything…well, just call me as soon as you get out today.” He avoids meeting my eyes as he pulls away and leaves me on front of the steps leading up to my new school. I try not to stare after his car like an abandoned pup, but now I’m here I need to have some backbone.

  He said I was tough. I know what Eisen probably

  guessed already as he pulled away: I won’t call him to come get me. Escaping would make my life worse the next day when I’d have to drag myself back to school. Leaving early would be admitting defeat, and I absolutely refuse to let a pack of greasy DNA purists beat me.

  I walk up to the main doors with my head held

  high, slinging my messenger bag over my head and

  across my body. I already sense many eyes watching my progress.

  Nothing has happened yet, I reassure myself as I walk without taking in much of my surroundings. I do notice, however, that no M-DNA students mingle and loiter around the front steps of the school. My stride doesn’t falter, but my heart oozes down to the seething mass of unrest in my stomach. Imagined laughter fills both my fox ears as I reach the main doors.

  They all took the back entrances, my mind informs me as heat rises to my cheeks. That explains part of all of the staring. I wonder if it was a rule for my kind to use the other entryways.

  Abruptly, I’m staring into my own eyes: they slant at the edges like Eisen’s, and they’re wide with fear. I blink and my reflection disappears for a moment. Every single door down the line has been fitted with mirror glass so shiny it would be blinding if the entrance hadn’t been engineered with an overhead cover to block straight sunlight. I catch another glimpse of my features and my attire in the reflections, my red fox ears up and alert and my bottom lip pink from my nervous biting. I took extra care with my appearance this morning, attempting to fit in more with the cute, pretty girls with their tight jeans or short skirts and body-hugging shirts. Now I can see that the effort was probably a waste. The only features the humans will notice about me are my fox ones; distinctive ears, red-brown fur on the back of my hands and forearms, the ridge of fur I have running down my spine—not that that's visible—and the long, sleek red fox tail that curls up behind me and sways as I walk. I’ve only been standing here a second, but I see my hair—reminiscent of my mother’s, golden brown and shot through with some of my red fox fur color—remains adequately curled, and my skin is pale except for two points of pink in my cheeks. My face is almost strictly human, except for my eyes: the pupils slant in a distinctly fox-like way, and their shade is golden yellow.

  I banish my reflection again with a determined shake of my head. Someone bumps my shoulder roughly as they shove past me to get inside, so I follow the current of people pouring inside and enter the school.

  2

  Eisen wasn’t lying when he said the school board had spent the summer renovating Hostetler High. The impractical mirror glass on the doors is an ostentatious show of hefty financial backing, but other than that the building doesn’t seem so bad. I move to the side of the hallway as I enter, keeping out of the way so I can shuffle through my bag for the paper with my locker information on it. Looking around as I search, I observe how the simplistic silver-and-white color scheme makes the locker-lined hallway feel bright, as if the fluorescent lights on the ceiling were meant to be spotlights. Those

  spotlights feel like they’re focused on me, highlighting a glaringly obvious target for any rudeness the humans might want to dish out.

  Finally my fingertips brush the folded up paper in

  the front pocket of my denim bag, and I tug it out, glancing at it as I proceed with the search for my locker. My heart races as my eyes dart around in what I imagine is the unmistakable manner of a frightened animal.

  So many people! My mind works furiously to process all the surrounding stimuli, making me thankful that half-breeds have the ability to minimize their

  animal senses, making them fade to the background of consciousness. I’ve never been around so many humans at one time, even in a school setting. I grew up on the outskirts of a big city and travelled around with my family when necessary. However, my brothers are protective, especially since my mother asked them to take care of me right before she passed away. Harold moved us to a predominantly M-DNA populated area around when I turned eight. I know he was relieved that the scarcity of people in his line of work gave him more choice about where to live and more options even though he was only twenty-four at the time.

  Thanks to the latest series of desegregation laws, here I am ten years later, lost amidst a crowd of judgmental humans.

  I’m almost to the end of the hallway now, but thankfully the worst anyone has done is whisper as they stare.

  “See her?”

  “Walked in the front door like she owns this place. What a skank.”

  “Don’t you mean skunk? She’s a half-breed, could be anything...”

  “Don’t act more stupid than you look, she’s

  obviously part fox! Ha, I bet that tail of hers gets in the way of any interesting—”

  “I don’t care what she is, isn’t the first day of school stressful enough without shipping in a bunch of jumped-up animals as well?” I almost stop walking as I hear this from one especially petulant girl, wanting to see exactly who spoke. It would be a pointless effort, though; amidst all the noise and in the crowd I

  wouldn’t be able to pick out the speaker. Besides, what would I do, challenge her to a duel for the honor of my people? I'm sure that would go over well with the school committee.

  Instead I keep walking, albeit more slowly, reciting my locker combination in my head to keep my thoughts in my control.

  Two, fifty-three, seventeen...isn’t attending a new school stressful enough for us without being mocked and belittled by a bunch of racist, spoiled, silver-spoon brats? I suppose I should be grateful the students are avoiding physical contact with me so I’m not pressed uncomfortably in the crowd.

  I pause in front of locker 60, checking the not-so-crisp yellow paper in my hand to see if I have the right number; I do. Shifting the strap of my bag on my shoulder I test out the combination. From what I can smell there are still only humans around—where are my fellow half-breeds?—but I hide my anxiety so my hands are steady on the lock.

  The combination doesn’t work. I press in the code again on the tiny gel buttons. Suddenly, something human brushes against my tail and I jump, whirling around so my back is to the locker.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing, mutt?” A tall, muscularly built boy poses right in front of me and the locker, looking down his nose with an arrogance that makes me believe he’s a senior. My face heats at being called a mutt, but my embarrassment is more from the implied this isn’t your place undertone. Or, let's be real, overtone. This is exactly the type of "red-blooded male" I tended to avoid even at my old

  school where I only had M-DNA peers to concern myself with. People are standing around like they were

  before, but now many students in the hallway tune in to this scene with expressions of either amusement or distaste.

  “These aren’t the senior lockers?” I ask as I look up into the
blue eyes—colder than Eisen’s—glaring

  down at me. He called you a mutt, my thoughts whisper in indignation as anger morphs my own look into a glare.

  “Yeah, they are. Human senior lockers, bitch,” he says, and I can hear in his voice he was the one mocking my tail as I came down the hallway. I smell his ocean-y cologne in a whiff, and the aroma is so deceptively wholesome I want to slap him for wearing it…and for calling me a bitch.

  Hush, I tell myself sternly. I’ve been told I’m feisty by several people in my lifetime, but even I know that now is not the time for an outburst.

  “My locker number is 60,” I say, purposefully speaking like I’m talking to an idiot as I hold up the paper with my information on it. “This is locker 60, so obviously—”

  “It's not yours, actually,” a new voice intervenes,

  another boy. Before I even turn to look at him I catch a feline musk, something only an M-DNA person could pick up on.

  Cougar DNA? I wonder, and I’m not wrong: the boy standing in between me and the human student has an apologetic look on his leonine face. Even though he’s wearing a baseball cap I can see his eyes are the color of a mountain lion's. Everything else non-

  human must be hidden, because I don’t see ears or a tail, just a physically fit boy about my height in a baseball t-shirt and slightly oversized jeans.

  “Not mine?” I ask the mountain lion boy, hoping he’s wrong so I can save face. But he’s staring at the human boy now, and they glare at each other. A quick thought flits across my mind, wondering if school will be this hostile all the time.

  The human boy drags his eyes back to me and he looks even more furious. “Are you deaf? I already said it wasn't yours,” he says. He may have continued his verbal abuse, but I’ve stopped listening. Instead, I wonder how much trouble I would get in with the school—and with Harold—if raked my claws across someone's face my first day at school.

  The establishment really would think we were animals if we didn’t show them any different, Harold would probably say in that annoyingly wise way of his.

  “The lockers for us are downstairs,” Lion boy says, and his voice is mild and as relaxed as his casual clothes. He’s ignoring the human now, but

  I doubt it’s from fear; I have a feeling that he is just as disgusted with this situation as me.

  “Okay, thanks,” I reply casually, pretending I’m

  discussing the mildness of the weather. “Show me where?” I realize as soon as the words are out of my mouth that they sound needy, but I don’t regret saying them. I don’t want anyone to think I’m alone and friendless here, even if I actually am. My eyes meet those of the boy who is helping me out, and he nods. I step around the imbecile who called me a mutt.

  “Sorry to get in your way,” I say acidly, and I can

  feel my tail trembling slightly. “But people who can barely string a sentence together without an insult or profanity probably shouldn’t be here. It sends the wrong message about this wonderful school, I think,” I add, quietly but so others will hear me. My new friend laughs, but he’s the only one. I walk away, but as expected the human gets the last word.

  “Freak.”

  I’m still angry enough to slash the eyes off this boy’s stupid face with my sharp nails. But...I can’t. I pause, close my eyes, open them again...

  …and I keep walking after the lion boy. My fox ears droop, and my heart won’t stop racing. People still watch me go, and I taste the hostility in the air.

  “Don’t worry about him. He’s a dick,” I hear someone say as I pass. I'm so comforted by the sign that at least one human sides with me that my ears prick up again. I whirl around, look for the speaker, but just like before when I overheard that one girl calling my kind a bunch of jumped-up animals, I can’t find the person who spoke.

  Lion boy and I reach the end of the hallway and begin heading down the stairs. He breaks the silence

  before I can, speaking as soon as our feet touch the

  stairs.

  “I thought I'd have to pull you off that guy when he said that, honestly," he begins with a winning smile; his voice sounds rugged, not just deep, but gravelly. "You’ve got guts, Vixen. Coming in at the top and walking down the senior hallway like that.”

  “Oh,” I say, not sure how to reply. “Were we not supposed to do that?

  “Clearly someone didn’t read the official information brochure sent to our student SMARTnote accounts last week,” he says, and I feel stupid for not knowing what he—and apparently everyone else—knows.

  Damn the SMARTfactory for not giving out freebies to employees, I think, annoyed. Harold is

  the only one who has a higher level SMARTpad—which he allows me to use on occasion—since they’re so expensive, and my crappy SMARTcall device isn’t good at accessing anything without freezing and sputtering out error messages.

  “What did the brochure say?” I ask, resigned. “I didn’t have my school SMARTpad sent to my house, so I had to wait to get it from my locker today.”

  “There are certain rules for us while we go here,” Lion boy says, “Rules for our kind, not really for the humans. Mostly it’s a bunch of junk about special entrances for us, and human monitors for every M-DNA student.” I wonder which human student is supposed to be monitoring me, and fervently hope it’s not beach-cologne boy. My companion’s voice dips into something like a growl, and my own lips curl with involuntary distaste as we reach the last step.

  It’s not just what he said, though. We’ve entered the dilapidated hallway for students like me, and it’s painfully obvious that we walked into the un-remodeled section of the building reserved for half-breeds.

  “My name is Lyle, by the way,” Lion boy tells me.

  “Sierra,” I return a little absently. I’m too busy looking at my surroundings and thinking about what

  I’ve just been told to respond with more than my name. This hallway and the few classrooms I can see down here take after that gritty, old-fashioned style which goes with any dreaded institutional building. The steel lockers with their dinky ancient padlocks and the chipped paint on the walls emit an aura of antiquity and industrial decay. Because the hall is filled with about thirty of my kind, though, the space holds more color than the gleaming white hall upstairs. A few faces look vaguely familiar, if not necessarily friendly: a bright bird girl with feathers covering the back of her neck and arching down over her collarbone on both sides, and a cat boy with grey whiskers twitching by his nose are just two of the many.

  No one makes eye contact with me. Embarrassment heats my skin as I wonder if it’s because I ventured upstairs through the front door like I was better than anyone downstairs.

  All in all, the entire atmosphere is tense and... weird. Something is off but I can’t place it yet.

  “So if I had read the SMARTnote, would I know who my monitor is?” I ask Lyle as I finally head the right way to find my locker; I don’t have to talk very loud because the tension in the hallway doesn’t lend itself to

  much idle conversation. You’re not the only one who’s nervous, I remind myself.

  “No, probably not. We’re not supposed to know until later this morning…probably to prevent us from harassing the humans assigned to us beforehand,” he replies disdainfully, following me and glancing around at the other students. Somehow I get the feeling he’s the leader of this group already. “The school is

  supposedly trying to integrate the M-DNA students with the pure DNA students in a safe, friendly way. The human students will watch over the half-breed ones and make sure they find their way and integrate into the school atmosphere well.” It sounds like he’s quoting the SMARTnote, and I infer from his tone that he thinks the entire letter was pompous trash.

  I find my locker and struggle with the lock for a moment before opening the door to a dismally small storage space. Lyle leans on the closed locker next to me, casual with the loping grace of the cat he shares DNA with. I assume he’s going to be my locke
r buddy for the year.

  The five minute bell rings for our homeroom session of the day, and I hurry to shove my lunch and other unnecessary items into my locker. With the invention of SMARTpads for textbooks and notes for classes, lockers seemed a little outdated to me in the past, but now I’m glad I have something in this place to use for storage purposes. My school-issued SMARTpad rests on the shelf inside, looking like it will barely last a year in my care.

  Not to mention the establishment probably has the devices wired so they’ll track everything I look up.

  “It doesn’t sound like you believed the SMART-

  note,” I say to him, hoping that the intense look he’s giving me will fade as our acquaintanceship grows.

  “I don’t, and I don’t think you do either. I’m sure the monitors will abandon us as soon as humanly possible. Not that we want them around us anyway,” he says. Holding my SMARTpad, I look into Lyle’s eyes briefly, trying to read him.

  “HI!” A chipper voice sings right behind my head

  and I jump, startled. “So you’re my locker buddy!”

  “I guess so,” I say, wary as I turn around. There’s no way anyone could be that happy this morning, I think, prepared for a gush of fake nice chatter or try-hard friendliness.

  “That’s great! Someone told me as I came in that you're the girl who came in upstairs...so cool!” The girl standing in front me is short, except for the gorgeous ebony antlers curving out from either side of her head.

  She smiles up at me with wide brown eyes that have faint doe like spots beneath them; a sheet of chestnut colored hair falls straight as silk down to her waist. The bag she carries is a third the size of mine, and she doesn’t even bother with her locker.

  “Hello?” I say. Her exuberance catches me off guard, but not so much that I’m disgusted with it. I’m not sure what else to say, and I can’t help glancing at her antlers more than once.

  “It’s okay to look, people ask me about my antlers all the time. I know they’re more of a male trait, but they really suit me, I think,” she says quickly, still smiling. I feel bad for staring so obviously, and my nod is awkward as I introduce myself.