by JK Cooper
“Thirty-seven likes,” Trish said.
Unbelievable, Kale thought, wanting to shout. I’m being hijacked by social media paparazzi.
“Haley Burns commented,” Trish said. “‘King and queen! Heart, kiss, heart, kiss.’”
“One hundred and nine likes in less than a minute!” Amanda exclaimed. “Oh, you guys!”
Kale realized he had been played. Expertly. He couldn’t compete with this.
“Okay, I’ll text you about tomorrow, I promise.”
He tried to pull away, but Chelsea held on to his arm, looking up at him with dreamy, emerald eyes. They were beautiful, Kale admitted, but shallow. She rose up, just slightly, toward his lips.
“I, uh, really stink,” he said. “All the hot water will be gone if I don’t get in there.” He motioned to the locker room.
“I’m sure a cold shower would do you some good,” Chelsea whispered. Looking to Amanda and Trish, she said, “He just wants to save the moment for tomorrow night.”
They nodded in unison, faces melted by the apparent tenderness of the moment that Kale seemed to be missing.
By the time Kale extricated himself from the banshee’s clutches—without having to kiss her, he proudly reminded himself—the picture on Trish’s Instagram account had garnered over 700 likes. It would be many thousands by tomorrow. He was doomed and he knew it. He hadn’t even asked her to homecoming. At this point he may not even have to. Who knew social media controlled your destiny?
As he stepped out of the shower, drying his chest, Remy Zero’s “Save Me” started playing from his phone, the playlist shuffling. The irony made him chuckle darkly, and he turned up the volume as loud as it would go. He loved the song, since he started binge watching seasons of Smallville.
After dressing quickly, he grabbed his bag and headed to the parking lot. He wore a pair of faded Levi’s—he just couldn’t see paying $100 or more for denim and thread that had some designer’s name stamped on them—and an American Eagle cream colored shirt.
His new blacked-out Ford Raptor awaited him, gleaming brilliantly in the sun. The upgraded rims added to the truck’s already built-in aggressive look. He could have driven just about any car due to the small empire his dad’s company had created, but didn’t care for the sports car look. Sure, the price tag on a Raptor, fully decked out, could have bought him a Porsche, but he figured he couldn’t be faulted by the haters for driving, what was in the end, just an upgraded Ford F150.
Kale stopped mid-stride. Something hit him, not something physical, but something from within. The same as before . . . but stronger. His eyes grew wide as he felt a clear burning in his chest. It was not painful, but the intensity was slightly uncomfortable. The burning turned to an urge, and he took short breaths through his mouth. The urge grew, becoming like gravity to his soul. His eyes stung as moisture crept in, but not enough to bring tears.
Primal urges rose in him, those normally only felt when he was not himself, when he was . . . more. But even then, he had never felt them so powerfully. This was different. Greater. More intense. It felt like his soul had just grown, expanded to more than it had been just moments before.
Provide. Shelter. Protect.
Those words thundered within him as feelings, along with confusion thicker than the blackest night.
Protect what? His heart painfully beat its slow, strong rhythm. He wasn’t scared, he realized, just confused. Another part of him was . . . certain? What is this?
See, a voice in his mind spoke, and his head snapped up in the direction he felt the voice wanted him to look, toward the parking lot, straight ahead. The voice—deep, almost a desperate growl—guided his eyes. They burned, the same way they burned whenever he became more.
He couldn’t shift, not here. He suppressed that part of him, swallowing it. But the urge, the all-compelling force within him—he had to find what it wanted. What he wanted, for it was him, the part of his soul that had just expanded.
And that image came back to him, playing out in slow motion. A hazy dawn, smoke all around. Trees and embers. And her silhouette, again swallowed by the mist.
People, his fellow students, mingled in the parking lot where the voice had directed him. He still had not moved but scanned intently, trusting he would know what he needed to see when he saw it. His other eyes took over, and he sniffed the air instinctively.
Go to her, the urge told him. Protect.
The urge within him could not be ignored anymore then the call of an Alpha.
Before he could take a step in that direction, the feeling faded.
No! his mind screamed. No.
The urge changed to desperation, to needing, longing, as if to say if he didn’t find—her, the voice had said?—that he would be lost in the deepest abyss of despair, unable to ever escape.
He ran, dropping the gym bag as he took his first powerful strides forward. It was not that Kale didn’t care that others would see him demonstrate speed beyond what could be explained, but that he couldn’t care in this moment. The urge became fearful, clawing at him from within to move faster, to get to her.
Who? he asked. It didn’t matter. Part of him felt like he was dying.
The feeling faded further, and he slowed, a sense of heavy loss coming over him. His legs became iron, anchored by unrelenting hollowness.
It was gone. She was gone. As his mind cleared, he wiped the sweat from his brow. A lot of good the shower did him. By degrees, the sadness, nearly as powerful as the urge that had captivated him, left. Something throbbed inside, deep in his chest. It was the new parts of his expanded soul, which now longed to be filled. Or had they always been there? Dormant, waiting for . . . her?
He didn’t even know who her was, but he needed to find out. More than food, more than oxygen, he needed to find her.
Provide, shelter, protect. The urge spoke quieter now, but still insistently. Protect.
Shelby took in the sight of their new home as the Blazer pulled into the driveway. It had only been a few days, and she was still getting used to it. The two-story colonial sported a canary yellow with white pillars and trim. On the siding, much of the paint was cracked and chipped, exposing patches of gray underneath. A wrap-around porch with dilapidated steps bordered the lower level with several segments of the screens missing or torn. Above the porch were the French doors that led into her room from the balcony. A red brick chimney topped off the home. It held a certain charm in that deep-south kind of way.
More than the home, though, Shelby loved the trees and shrubbery. Two giant moss trees guarded the driveway as it met the road, their branches intertwining to form a kind of arch. Other branches sprawled backward to her bedroom windows on the second floor. The shade cast by the trees would cut down the air conditioning bill, or so her father said. White dangling beards of Spanish Moss—teased by a gentle breeze—bespoke more of a whimsical, rather than wise, look.
“So,” Grant said as he got out of the car and shut the door, “do you think you made the team? Even though you broke the springboard?”
The first board of the porch creaked under Shelby’s foot when they walked up a few steps.
“I think so.”
“When do you find out for sure?”
“I made it. Coach Anders said I’m in.”
Grant raised his eyebrows. “Right on! That’s great!”
Shelby remained a little nonchalant.
“Right?” Grant asked.
“Yeah, sure. It was just different than I expected.”
Grant brought the mail in and Shelby started going through it. That had become one of her self-appointed tasks, since Grant often forgot about the little things. Mostly junk from what she could see. She always separated it into two piles: throw-away and bills. There wasn’t any other kind of mail they ever received. Today was all throw-away pile. Too early for bills.
“Well, it’s a new school, Shel. Not everything is going to be the same. This new team is sure to do a few things different.”
>
“That’s not it,” Shelby said. She put her gym bag on the kitchen counter.
“Shelby.”
“I know, I’ll bring it upstairs in a minute. But something happened, Dad.”
“Oh?”
Shelby stopped flipping through the mail. Definitely all junk. “I kind of made an enemy. Or three, actually.”
Grant smiled. “It’s not even the first day of school, Shel. Off to an early start?”
“I guess the mayor’s daughter doesn’t exactly like new kids.” Shelby plopped on the sofa. The leather sighed under her weight, and she imagined a couple pounds of dust flying up from the old piece of furniture. Her dad plopped down next to her. The place came furnished, but she wasn’t sure that was really a good thing. The décor made her feel like she was at her grandmother’s house, charming or not.
Grant lowered his chin to his chest. “The mayor’s daughter. Wow, I’ve always said you aim high.”
“She’s the team captain,” Shelby huffed.
“The gymnastics team captain?”
Shelby nodded.
Grant wore that look on his face that said he was concerned but also that these kinds of things really didn’t matter later in life. Truthfully, it really didn’t matter now, but it made Shelby feel a little more normal to have regular high school drama. The shallowness of it grounded her in a way.
“Well, I’m sure she’s no match for you. What about friends? Make any of those?”
By the way, I know what you are.
“Um, I think so. Maybe.”
“What’s her name?”
Before she could answer, her dad added, “Or, is it a he?”
“Both.”
“A hermaphrodite? I know it’s a new generation and all but—”
“No, dad,” Shelby said, genuinely laughing, “I made a friend named Sadie and another named Sean.”
He was silent for a minute with a confused look on his face. “Which is the boy?”
She slapped his arm. “Stop.”
“Well, I can never tell these days. Are they on the team, too?”
“Swearing Sadie is. Hey, what do you think about me trying out for track and field? They have late tryouts tomorrow.”
“Swearing Sadie,” Grant said out of the side of his mouth.
Shelby shrugged. “Long story. Did the thing about me trying out for track and field not come out of my mouth?”
“Could you do both?”
“Probably not.”
“You don’t want to do gymnastics anymore?”
Shelby shifted in the couch, wedging herself in the corner, and folded her arms. “I don’t know.”
“What would you do in track and field?”
Shelby shrugged. “Not sure. Maybe hurdles.”
Grant looked knowingly at his daughter, and she hoped she wasn’t shrinking under that penetrating stare. Those cold blue eyes of his could always see right through her, and she loved him for that even if she didn’t right now.
“So, Sean does track and field.”
“Whoops.”
“Uh-huh . . .”
Shelby pursed her lips. “It was just an idea. I mean, gymnastics is a very individual kind of sport, right? Even though you’re on a ‘team’ you’re still competing with each other. Like golf.”
“Sweetheart, golf is not a sport. It’s an activity. Like hula-hoop.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“Anything you can do while smoking is not a sport.”
“So, baseball, then?” Shelby said with a smirk.
“Watch it, kiddo. Not the same thing.”
“Why not? Just because you played it growing up?”
“Are you serious about trying out for track and field?”
Shelby leaned forward, and her slightly damp hair covered her face. “I don’t know. No, I guess.”
“Listen, Shel, don’t ever do anything just because . . .”
“Just because of a boy. I know. I’m just not sure the whorey trinity is going to make my life very easy.”
Her dad scrunched his face. “Excuse me?”
“Chelsea and her two disciples. That’s the mayor’s daughter. She’s the queen bee around here apparently.”
“Wow, I really do not miss high school.”
“Sometimes the drama actually helps.” But, ugh, three enemies in one day? Nice one, Shelby.
“You’ll survive, kiddo. You’re tough. It’s how I taught you to be, how we’ve had to be.”
“Dad . . .”
“Yeah?”
“My new friend, Sadie.” Shelby paused. “I think she might know.”
Grant stood abruptly. “How? Did something happen?”
“I don’t know,” Shelby said. “I don’t think so, but maybe.”
A vein in Grant’s neck pulsed, and his hands balled into fists.
“When I did my tryout on the vault,” Shelby said, “I felt something. Like, an intense moment or something. I flew really high off the vault, higher than I ever have.”
Her dad’s fists released. His knuckles had turned purple from squeezing them so tightly. “Is that all?”
“I. Broke. The. Springboard. Remember? In front of everyone.”
“Yeah, you ‘slayed’ it. I remember. And?”
“You really are lost, Grant.”
“Shelby!”
“Grant!”
The staring contest lasted for about ten seconds. Her dad blinked.
“What happened then?” her dad asked.
“I landed wrong. It really hurt, and coach had someone call 911 because he was sure I broke something, ya know, like my back. Nothing critical. But then the Chelsea-wench called me fat, and so I jumped up to my feet like nothing had happened and shut her down.”
“Were your eyes burning?” her dad asked quietly.
Shelby looked away. “Yes.”
“And your voice?”
“I . . . I don’t know. I felt a growl inside me, but I don’t think it came out.”
Her dad looked pensive. “But another werewolf could have heard it, right? Seen it in your eyes? Maybe this isn’t as bad as it seemed. Maybe this Sadie girl is like you.”
“But … I would have smelled her. I think. Right?”
Grant shrugged with his arms out, palms up.
There were also those that hunted Lycans. Her father had warned her about this, told her what to look out for.
“Maybe she’s a hunter and was just being nice to me to get close to me. . . .”
“But, then why tell you she knew what you were? Are you sure she was even talking about . . . you know?”
Shelby wasn’t sure, not completely.
The cushions below Shelby angled toward her dad as he sat back down. He took a breath.
“Your friend isn’t a hunter, Shel.”
“How do you know?”
Grant swallowed, looking intently at his steepled hands. “Because you wouldn’t be here right now.”
Awesome. Nothing like the “hey, other people do want to kill you,” vibe to keep things light. But Shelby already knew that all too well.
“Listen,” Grant said, changing the subject, “I met with someone today while running errands.”
“Someone?”
“An investment manager guy or something.”
“We have investments?”
“Actually, we do.”
“We do? We have money?”
“Some.”
Shelby sat up. “Really? How much?”
Grant wrung his hands and looked like he was considering whether or not to divulge a big secret.
“Dad?”
“Two point three million. Or there about, as of the close of the stock market today.”
Shelby thought her eyes widened as far as her mouth opened.
“It’s not as much as it seems. Not really,” her dad said.
“Where did it all come from? I haven’t seen you work more than a middle-income job in like . . . ever.”
“Lif
e insurance from your mom,” he said. “Some guy sold us a lot, way more than we ever needed. Your mom insisted at the time. The premiums were so high we had to stop paying extra on our mortgage, but she wouldn’t be dissuaded. I didn’t understand at the time, but . . . well, werewolves can have a high mortality rate, quick healing notwithstanding.”
“Did she know . . . know that . . .”
“That she was going to die? No, not at the time. She was just cautious. She took a huge risk in choosing to marry me, but love . . . it’s a crazy thing. Makes you do things that seem crazy. Like wanting to try out for track and field.”
“Dad! You’re ruining the moment!”
“Sorry,” he said with a smirk.
“Did you know? What she was when you got married, I mean?”
Grant swallowed. “Yes.”
Shelby could not speak, her lips slightly parted as she worked up the courage for the next question. She knew her dad knew more than what he let on. She could feel it sometimes, the way he would say certain things, the way he would not say other things. “Are you hiding it from me? How she really died?”
Grant turned to her completely, the leather couch sounding its soft protest as he pivoted. “I have never lied to you, Shel.”
“Was it another werewolf? For marrying you?”
“No, Shel, it wasn’t. It was cancer, as I’ve always said.”
“But, we heal. Like, superhero-fast. What’s the guy with spandex and claws—”
“Wolverine. And you’re right, but not with cancer. She told me cancer is very aggressive with werewolves, and no one knows why. Even treatable kinds can be lethal in a matter of weeks, where humans can last years or decades with proper treatment.”
“So much for being immortal,” Shelby said.
“Nothing is immortal, Shel. Everything can die.” Grant turned his head away briefly before looking back to her. She thought she saw the hint of moisture in his eyes. “But, to answer your question, that’s where the money came from. The insurance policy paid out after she passed on, and we’ve been living on the interest ever since. I’ve always had to use banks and firms out of town just to keep things quiet. Didn’t want the local folks to know because . . . well, just because, I guess. But now, I figured we’re far enough away from Florida that it won’t matter.”
