Vixen (The Fox and Hound Book 1)

by Catherine Labadie

  “Well, that was abrupt,” Lyle remarks curiously. “I guess they have a scheduled make-out time or something now.” Morgan giggles, blushing attractively.

  “Wouldn’t surprise me,” she says, shaking her head so her long, dark hair sways with the movement. I feel awkward with where this conversation is going, but I don’t want to bring up my news and drag the mood down.

  Plus, I’m starting to get a few vibes from Morgan that she wants me to back off from Lyle. I don’t want to test our budding friendship over her semi-obvious crush on someone I’m not interested in.

  “Well, the rest of this trash won’t take care of itself. I’ll see you guys in class,” Lyle says. He and Morgan exchange some banter as he wrestles with the heap of disposable towels, but eventually he departs. Morgan and I stand in the hallway, watching him walk away.

  “Wow, he has such a crush on you!” she blurts gleefully as soon as he’s out of earshot.

  “Wait, what?” I blink at her, totally surprised by her gusto. Did I read the vibes wrong? “I’ve only known him, like, three days,” I say blandly, watching her face for an indication of where she’s going with this. She shakes her head hurriedly, mocking my lack of

  romanticism.

  “I know how Lyle acts when he’s interested,” Morgan tells me confidently.

  “I…I kind of thought, you know, you and Lyle had a thing…” I don’t know where I’m taking that thread of conversation; I trail off and leave it to her interpretation.

  “You thought me and Lyle were an item? Oh, heck no!” she says brightly; I want to ask why, but she

  doesn’t give me a chance to speak. “Anyway, listen, I have proof! Yesterday when you ran off and I went upstairs to check on…things, I saw Lyle fighting with Bryan. When I caught up with him later last night, he said Bryan tried to go after you when you walked away, and Lyle stopped him. Isn’t that proof enough?”

  “Well—” I begin.

  “And he cleaned your locker! That’s double proof!” she says. I don’t know why she looks so triumphant, with her gleaming dark antlers tall over her sleek hair, but she does. Meanwhile, I’m confused. The information she’s feeding me seems too extraordinary for my emotions to digest…Lyle as an admirer?

  “You said you helped too,” I say. Can we please talk about something else now? I think desperately as Morgan waves one slender hand in the air dismissively.

  As if on cue from the gods of luck, a half-breed girl walks up to us with a big smile on her face. I recognize her by her hair first; she’s the girl I saw across the room, the one with the scarlet parrot feathers in her hair. This time another girl is with her; she has tiny scales on her face the color of gleaming silver. Both of them have a bronze-like hue to their skin that makes them look

  Egyptian.

  “Hello, ladies,” parrot girl says; her voice is deep and throaty, but her eyes seem jovial and friendly in spite of their bird-like perception. “My name is Femi, and my sister here is—”

  “—Hasida. Wonderful to meet you,” the girl with the scales finishes her sister’s sentence.

  “This is my friend Morgan, and I’m—” I get cut off by Femi, who laughs airily.

  “I know Morgan, and we already know who you are, Sierra. You’re kind of hard to miss when you march in through the front doors and back-hand a human into a locker,” she says, her yellow eyes scanning my face. She makes it sound like both of those events occurred simultaneously, like I marched into the school ready for combat. Hasida watches me too, though her reflective, metallic eyes occasionally flick over to a silent Morgan.

  “Why is everyone so impressed with the back-hand?” I mutter, wondering aloud. Then my manners come back to me, and I try to be polite again. “Well, most of that wasn’t exactly stuff I was intending to do, so…”

  “It was still brilliant,” Hasida says, smiling. I notice how fashionably dressed she and her sister are, with

  their slim fit jeans and their colorful tops with the cut-out sleeves. I feel a mildly unpleasant wave of regret regarding my apparel choices this morning; I am a common woodland animal standing between

  two exotic, interesting creatures.

  “Um…thanks,” I say, feeling awkward.

  “No problem,” Femi says, laughing a little as she brushes some of her hair out of her eyes with a surprisingly talon-less hand. “Anyway, school sucks, so my sister and I are throwing a party tomorrow night.”

  “Not tons of people, just all the upperclassmen and some people we know from around here,” Hasida says. It’s a given that when she mentions “upperclassmen” and “people,” she means exclusively half-breeds. Femi continues her original thought.

  “We’d love it if you could come, Sierra. I think

  you’d enjoy this party,” she says.

  “Really?” I say before I catch myself; I probably sound like such a dork. The people I’m typically friends with never hosted parties, so a real high school party is going to be a new experience for me.

  “She means both of us will be there,” Morgan says for me, smiling at Femi and Hasida. “Sounds awesome…just call me later and you can give us the details!”

  “Wonderful!” Femi burbles. “We’ll see you there, then.”

  The two minute bell before we all have to be in homeroom rings in the hall, as obnoxious in volume as ever. As abruptly as they came, the two sisters wave a farewell as they walk to the end of the hallway where I assume their lockers are. I glance over at Morgan, a slow smile creeping onto my face.

  “Did we just get invited to a real high school party?” I ask her. She smiles too, something that looks happier than when she was talking to me before Femi and Hasida showed up.

  “You’ve never been to one?” she asks curiously as we begin walking up the hall to the half-breed room. I

  shake my head.

  “I didn’t get the chance to go to many parties,” I tell her. “Harold was lenient with me and my brothers growing up, but one of his rules was no unsupervised parties until I’m a junior in high school. He was worried about the drinking and too many animals in the menagerie, let’s say.”

  “Wow…I bet that was annoying. But now you're a senior, so it doesn't matter,” Morgan says. “But do you

  know what this means?”

  “I actually have fun plans this Friday?” I ask sarcastically. She laughs and nudges my shoulder with hers.

  “No, it means that you’ve been accepted as one of the leaders here!” she says. “How does it feel to be popular?”

  “Um, where are you getting any of that information?” I say; I almost add something about this information being as crazy as her idea that Lyle fancies me, but my brain-to-mouth filter kicks back into gear in time for me to keep that thought to myself.

  “I already got the invite and so did Lyle, Ivar, and Shelby…over SMARTtext. It’s not a big deal, really, but I knew Femi and Hasida back in junior high, and they always have epic parties. They made a point to invite anyone they saw as important in person,” she tells me. I wrinkle my nose, not sure if I like that idea.

  “That’s very…elitist of them,” I say. “Not that I’m looking down on them, it’s just—”

  “—yeah, I know. What can I say? They’ve always been that way,” Morgan shrugs; I’m glad she agrees with me. “Something about how they were raised, I guess. Their parents are politicians in the half-breed community, so that must be a contributing factor. Anyway, their parties are worth it, trust me.”

  “We’ll see,” I reply. “Why do they think I’m popular?” We’re in our homeroom now, and Marlow Hynes is actually present before the bell rings. He appears a little more presentable, but not much; at least he shaved, and he’s not weaving quite as obviously. Morgan checks in, and then leans against

  the counter the machine rests on as I enter my ID into the humming machine.

  “You are going to come, right? It’s going to be a really cool party,” Morgan says, trying to convince me. There’s no need; I already i
ntend to go. I notice she didn’t answer my question, though.

  “I have to ask Harold about it, but I’m pretty sure he’ll say yes,” I tell her. Ivar and Shelby enter the classroom as I finish with the machine.

  “You’re going to the party?” Shelby asks with unconcealed excitement, confirming what Morgan said about everyone else being invited first. Ivar has his large arms around her spindly waist as she checks in, and her head appears almost doll-like with the clear brown skin and sleek curls.

  “Yeah, if I can,” I say.

  “Good. We weren’t sure if you got the SMARTtext,”

  Shelby says. “But I didn’t think you’d be excluded, since that just wouldn’t be fair.”

  “Femi invited her personally,” Morgan boasts, smiling at me proudly. I’m glad she approves of me, but I would appreciate less emphasis on that part.

  “Of course she did! The rebel queen has to be there for it to be a party,” Shelby says, releasing one of her characteristic snorts.

  “Rebel queen?” I ask. “What—”

  “Talking about that damn party again, are you?” Lyle asks as he reenters. He grins at me, and I smile back as a weird sensation makes my stomach feel like it’s sinking. I’m not unexcited about the party; it’s exactly the opposite. But I wish I was invited because I’m wanted, not because of my apparent social

  standing. Morgan subtly nudges my arm again after Lyle smiles, and I resist the urge to sigh.

  I haven’t decided how to deal with that yet, I think in her direction, knowing full well she would still ignore me even if I spoke aloud.

  The bell rings again, so we all hurry to our seats. Our instructor begins the arduous process of taking roll, and I don’t have time to observe him further before I feel someone tapping on my shoulder. It’s Shelby.

  “No ‘family meeting’ today, huh?” she asks. The thought didn’t occur to me, but I share her curiosity once I consider the idea.

  “You’re right, it seems weird that we’re not having one,” I say. “Maybe she thought it was too soon for another assembly meeting?”

  “I don’t know…she seems like the type who would want to flaunt her control as much as possible,” Shelby says. I sense her doubt, and then I remember why Belinda probably isn’t bothering with an assembly meeting.

  The letter. There’s a sinking feeling in my gut as I think of the neat, folded piece of paper with Harold’s rushed penmanship decorating it resting innocently in

  my bag. I want to tell someone about it, if only to boast about how amazing Harold is. But at the same time, I don’t want word to get out; the awful thing shouldn’t even be required, or it shouldn’t be a one-sided deal.

  I don’t desire further interaction with people like Katrina and Bryan, but a badly spelled, short apology letter from the human who insulted me wouldn’t be unsatisfying. At least Belinda’s handling of the situation would be equal.

  “So…Lyle must like you, huh?” Shelby comments after Marlow Hynes concludes roll with a long sigh and moves on to announcements. There’s never anything interesting for announcements here; important information would be relayed over the intercom system.

  “What?” I ask Shelby incredulously, turning so I can see her face. She’s smiling like it’s a joke as she pats her dark hair, and I’m glad she’s not manically happy—desperately cheerful, rather— like Morgan was when she brought up the same topic.

  “Don’t worry, I’m not going to harass you about it. Ivar noticed first, but I think I agree with him after what happened yesterday,” she says.

  “It seems like everyone is reading a lot into that moment,” I feel like an idiot for not picking up these mysterious signs along with everyone else.

  “It was pretty cool that Lyle stepped in and stopped Bryan once that other redheaded human followed you.” Shelby doesn’t realize it, but I’m more interested in the redheaded human who followed me than in whatever gallant action Lyle took. I choose my

  next words carefully.

  “Oh?” I’m not sure how to question her about who else came after me without expressly asking. “He probably wasn’t the only one…that was a pretty tense scene,” I hope she’ll explain further anyway.

  “Yeah, but Lyle sucker punched him in the gut. Ivar had to step in after that; the humans got so mad. That’s when the fighting really started,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Most of the girls were just watching the men fight; it’s so dumb. No one needed to get in trouble at

  all, but I guess they had to battle for their honor or something equally stupid.”

  “I know a good sized group of people got in trouble, but I’m glad that hallway was relatively

  under-populated,” I say. I’m resigned to not getting any more information about the human; I didn’t tell Shelby or Morgan about my encounter with Duncan, and I’d rather they not get curious about what I did during my run-away time yesterday.

  Shelby wants to question me more about my thoughts on Lyle’s interest, but I purposefully face forward in my seat to end the conversation. I need time to think about this relationship prospect on my own before I convey my thoughts to others. Plus, the first person I would want to talk to about a boy would be Hayley. Morgan and Shelby are nice, but I don’t know them well enough yet to trust my feelings to them.

  11

  Bryan and Katrina’s expressions turn from smug to shocked as I approach them right after Sociology; they were locked into a discussion, flirting expertly as Bryan leaned casually against his locker. Judging from their frowns, they thought I’d be expelled by now, or at least suspended.

  Think again, I send the thought in their direction. Katrina crosses her arms and glares at me, every inch of her petite, narrow body screaming aggravation. Bryan stands beside her, stiff as a corpse.

  I grit my teeth, telling myself to get it over with, and so far my nerve hasn’t failed. My friends know about the “apology” letter, since throughout the morning classes I apprised them of what was going on. Morgan and Shelby were sufficiently horrified, and Lyle

  suggested I cut the drama and slip the stupid thing into his locker. I like to believe I do have a little pride about myself, so it’s me handing it to him, or I’m not doing it at all.

  If I have to do this, I want everyone to see it, I think. I want everyone to know that I'm only doing this because the school required it. Then word can get out that I'm doing this to save their asses from suspension.

  Now I stand in front of the two people I dislike the most, wishing I could melt into the floor. The lights in the hall make me feel like I’m onstage again: everyone standing around conversing as they get stuff from their lockers won’t ignore this scene for long.

  “Why are you still here?” Katrina asks me.

  “Same as you,” I tell her like she’s stupid. “School.”

  “It’s not as if that matters for people like you,” she says, glaring at me as if daring me to argue.

  Difficult as it is, I try to ignore her; she’s not the reason I’m within spitting distance of Bryan. I notice with relish that his face looks pretty bad; humans don’t heal like M-DNA people. My slap yesterday left a good mark…along with the damage other fighting did, like random scratches and one very dark black eye.

  “Here,” I say to Bryan, holding up the letter. I feel like this is a silly, old-fashioned thing to do, which is infuriating. Belinda probably wanted a physical copy involved so I couldn’t get away with a private SMARTnote, I think bitterly. I don’t know if he’ll take the document, but I make sure people see me giving it to him. “I’m required to give this to you if I want everyone to stick around Hostetler. Maybe you can use it to teach yourself to read.” At least pretend you care a little, I chide myself.

  “That’s it? You wrote a letter?” Bryan asks, incredulity coloring his words with disgust.

  “Don’t get all sentimental,” I snap. Katrina glares at me and snatches the letter from my hand before Bryan can take it. Her skin brushes against my fur, but thankfully sh
e’s too angry to react beyond a shiver of repulsion. I predict the outrage she’s going to feel, and

  I hope she’ll voice it after she finishes reading. That way everyone in this hall will know I didn’t give in, not really.

  Bryan reads over her shoulder, but he keeps glancing up at me. I have to admit, he and Katrina make a good-looking pair; they’re both smart, decent looking people. However, the angle of her profile is too severe to be truly pretty, and there’s nothing about this human bully I find attractive or redeeming. Katrina’s dark eyes narrow behind her thick glasses as she reads. Some of the half-breeds depart with the haste of those wishing to avoid trouble.

  “That is utter rubbish, and if you think the school is going to accept this as an apology, you’re as stupid as you seem,” she snarls acidly, crumpling the paper in her fist. I shrug, showing how little her words affect me.

  “I don’t care what you do with the letter. I wrote it, he read it, and there are witnesses. That’s all that matters,” I say.

  “You really think this is going to fly?” Bryan asks. “You can’t just start a riot and then write an ‘apology’ letter as your only penalty.” In some ways, I agree with him. It does seem too easy…while at the same time, it’s too much. I resent Belinda for using this strategy to force me to submit, and I resent her for not punishing

  Bryan at all for his part in the debacle yesterday.

  “Take it up with Harper if it’s such a problem. I don’t make the rules,” I feign nonchalance.

  “We will,” Katrina assures me, before grabbing Bryan’s arm and walking away in a huff. I blink, surprised she just gave in—well, for her it was giving in—and left. I didn’t have to do much of anything at all.

  Thanks, Harold, I send him a mental message as I

  stomp down the hall to get my food. My friends wanted to wait for me, but I told them to go on. I didn’t need anyone who was feeling particularly hostile—specifically Lyle and Ivar—nearby for that.

  Maybe this means my semester will go well after all, I think optimistically. Hunger plucks at my gut, making my stomach growl; the leftover chicken spaghetti I packed last night is calling my name.