Okay, some Wildlings are predators. They eat meat. But I say, so what? Out in the wild, so do bears and mountains lions and wolves and such. The difference is they're killing to survive—it's the natural order of things. They're not killing for fun. For "sport."
The thing is, this is our chance to actually communicate with animals. But do we embrace the opportunity? No. We freak out.
Don't get me wrong. It's an awful awful thing that happened to Laura Connor. But what if those boys who were out shooting birds and rats could have met and talked to her, knowing that her Wildling aspect was a rat? Would they still think shooting rats was fun?
I don't know. I don't know those boys and I don't have any answers.
Right now I just feel sad for Laura and her friends and family. I wish I could have known her as a Wildling and as a girl. But I understand why she hid her animal aspect. And I understand what drove her to go running wild in a place she thought was safe. Sometimes I feel like the otter in me is going to burst out of my skin if I don't find some safe place to let her out.
Take care, my friends. After what happened to Laura, I can only wonder, is any place safe for us?
I know exactly what she means about the otter wanting to burst out of her skin. The mountain lion in me doesn't push and stretch only when I'm scared or angry. It's there all the time. I can feel the way it catches a scent that attracts it, or notices some movement in a hedge or up in the dried fronds of a palm. The way that it yearns to run free. But I don't see how or where I could do that. It's not like I'm something small like a rat or a lizard that nobody's going to notice. And the truth is, I'm a little scared, too. What if I lose control and someone gets hurt? Then I'll be just another one of those negative Wildling stories on the news.
I like this blogger. I read through what she wrote a second time before I go all the way back to her first post, dated a few months earlier:
The first wave I ever went paddling for, I thought for sure I'd catch it. The procedure seems so simple. Get on your knees, push your shoulders up and slide your body back, spring quickly to your feet, putting them a foot apart and under you in one motion. It's tricky, but doable when you practice on the beach.
But out on the water, that wave just slipped away. By the time I got to my feet, the wave had gone on and I just stood there on my board, slowly sinking into the water. I tried and tried again and, when I finally did catch my first swell, all I could think was, what happened? How'd I do this?
Every surfer goes through those painful days. I don't even recall my first ride very clearly, when the wave pushed me for long enough so that I could actually stand for a few seconds. But I do know that was the day that I got hooked. I think of that whole day as Wave No. 1. I remember lying in my bed that night and reliving the experience. I promised myself that every session I was going to ride at least one swell.
It took awhile, but when I finally got to the point where I could do just that, I felt so lucky. It made it all worthwhile: the paddle out, the turtle rolls, the constant paddling against the current.
What does any of this have to do with being a Wildling?
Nothing and everything. It took me a long time to get comfortable in this new skin—just like it took me a long time to get comfortable standing on my board, riding a wave to shore. It took me longer to feel lucky that I'm one of the few who, by some fluke of fate, gets to live two lives.
My job now is to integrate them the best I can. To still be a girl when I'm an otter and to let the superior senses and strengths of the otter enhance the girl.
Celebrate who you are, my Wildling friends. Be careful, but be joyful. We've received a tremendous gift.
I sit back and stretch my arms over my head. Well, she's definitely a girl and I think I'd like her even more if we met. We've got a lot in common. She's a Wildling. She's a surfer, so she must dig the whole surf scene. I wonder if she likes surf music. I'll bet Marina knows her and doesn't even realize that she's a Wildling.
Judging from the date of her first post, I see that she's been a Wildling for a relatively long time.
I'd love to know who she is. I want to read more of her blog, but I'll do that tomorrow night. Right now I've got to get to bed. The morning comes awfully quick when you go to sleep this late.
Monday morning I find Marina and Desmond waiting for me in front of Desmond's house. I'm still feeling a little off and I guess they are, too, because we're pretty quiet as we make our way to school. We start off walking, carrying our boards.
"Do either of you know a girl named Nira?" I ask after a couple of blocks.
"Who's she?" Desmond asks.
"Some girl who's got a blog about what it's like to be a Wildling. One of us probably knows her."
"What makes you say that?" Marina asks.
I shrug. "She's a Wildling, so she has to be from Santa Feliz, and since it's only teenagers who are getting changed, she must go to our school. Where else would she go?"
"You said her name's Nira?"
"Yeah. But she's probably only calling herself that for her blog. It could be anything. She might be on the surf team. Has anyone been acting differently? Kind of, I don't know. Otterish?"
"That's her animal shape?" Desmond asks. "An otter?"
I nod. "A sea otter."
"I can't think of anyone," Marina says. "But I'm sure you're right that she'd use a pseudonym. If she's smart."
"Oh, she's way smart," I say. "I'd love to meet her, so I'm going to keep my eyes open—and my Wildling radar."
"That really works?" Desmond asks.
Marina gives me a thoughtful look, but I just shrug.
"Sort of. If she goes to school here, I figure I can find her."
"Unless she's like Elzie," Desmond says. "She could have been visiting and changed, and then gone back to wherever she's from."
"I didn't think of that."
"Which is why I'm the brains of this outfit."
Marina and I both whack him at the same time.
I'm in English when I hear my name on the school PA system. For a moment, it doesn't register. Then Mr. Cairns tells me I'm excused to go to the office and I realize it was me that was asked to report to Principal Hayden.
I glance at Marina.
"What did you do?" she mouths.
I shake my head. I have no idea.
Everybody stares at me as I leave class and it's a long walk to the office. I feel guilty even though I know I haven't done anything wrong. Then I think of how I talked to Chaingang last week. Maybe one of the teachers noticed and now I'm about to get a lecture on gangs and drugs. They don't try to save the kids who are obviously already lost—like Chaingang—but they're all over anybody else they think is heading for trouble.
When I get to the office, I'm still trying to figure out what I'll say if they ask me about Chaingang. I step up to the counter and the school secretary lifts her head. Mrs. O'Shay usually has a smile for everyone, but right now she looks really serious. This can't be good.
"They're waiting for you in the office, Josh," she says.
They're waiting for me? What they? I assumed I was here to see Principal Hayden. Nobody said anything about a they. Of course, nobody said anything about anything.
"Wha—" I have to clear my throat. "What's it all about, Mrs. O'Shay?"
She gives me a sympathetic look, but only says, "You should just go in."
I might have some fierce mountain lion sitting inside me just waiting to pop out of my skin, but my hand's shaking as I turn the knob on the door to Principal Hayden's office. I've only been called to the office once before—when Zane Gibbons and I got caught messing around with firecrackers under the bleachers on the soccer field. Principal Hayden's sitting behind his desk, just as he was that time, but today he looks puzzled instead of pissed off.
A man in a dark suit is standing by the window with his back to me. When he turns, my heart sinks. It's the FBI guy from the pier—the one who went chasing off after Elzie. He smiles at me, but his p
ale-blue eyes are cold. I get the feeling they don't miss anything and I wonder what they're seeing when he looks at me.
"I'm Agent Matteson," he says.
He doesn't show me his badge, but I guess the school already verified his credentials or he wouldn't be allowed to talk to me. They're pretty hard line about who they let onto the campus.
"And behind you is Agent Solana," Matteson goes on.
When I turn, I see the other agent from the pier—the one who stopped me just before I took off. He doesn't smile, but he doesn't give off the same scary vibe that his partner does.
"You never called," he says.
I go blank until I remember the business card he gave me.
"I didn't have anything to tell you," I say.
Matteson moves from the window and sits on the edge of Principal Hayden's desk. I don't think Principal Hayden likes it, but he doesn't say anything.
"That's what we're having trouble with," Matteson says.
"I don't understand."
"This is serious business. I'd think that as a good citizen, you'd want to help out however you could."
"Help out with what?"
"How about we start with some names?" Solana says from behind me.
"I don't know what you're talking about. What names?"
I look to Principal Hayden for help. He meets my gaze for a moment before he looks away and just sits there with his hands on his desk.
"Of Wildlings," Solana says.
Matteson nods. "That's as good a place to start as any." He takes a pad out of the inner pocket of his suit coat. "Give us a list of all the Wildlings you know."
"I don't know any Wildlings."
"Come on, Saunders," Solana says. "We all know better than that. We saw you hanging out with Elizabeth Moore and Danny Reed down at the pier a few days ago."
Elzie's name is Elizabeth Moore?
"And that's not even taking into account," Matteson adds, "that somebody you know turned into a mountain lion in your house and attacked you."
"I wasn't attacked," I say. "That thing just showed up and I took off. I don't know anything more than that."
"We think you do," Solana says.
Matteson steps up to me. He's tall and broad across the shoulders. He's intimidating and he knows it.
"We know you're involved, kid," he says, "so I'm going to give you a piece of advice. Come clean now, while you can. If you don't, I promise it'll go that much harder on you down the line. Let it go too far and you'll find yourself in a place you don't even want to visit."
I don't reply to him. Instead I turn to Principal Hayden.
"I want my mom to be here," I say. "This isn't right. They're treating me like a criminal and I haven't done anything. Besides, when did Wildlings become against the law?"
"Aw," Matteson says, looking over my head at his partner. "He wants his mommy."
"That's enough," Principal Hayden finally says. "I won't have you threatening or mocking my students."
I see the flash of anger in Matteson's eyes before he shuts it down and smiles. He holds up his hands, palms out.
"Okay," he says. He steps back so that he can look at both the Principal and me. "I was out of line. But that doesn't change the problem we have. Wildlings can be dangerous—we all know that. After what happened to that poor girl last Friday, we're expecting them to deliver some kind of payback. All we're trying to do is stop it before things get out of hand."
"I thought they didn't shoot her on purpose," I say. "I heard it was a rat they shot."
Matteson nods. "A rat that turned into a girl."
"So why would anybody be looking for payback?"
"Think of it this way," Solana says from behind me. "White kid shoots a black kid. Does anybody see it as two kids, or does it become a race thing? Maybe the black kid was a banger that nobody in his community cared for. But if a white kid pulls the trigger, it becomes an issue. That black kid? Now he's a martyr. Next you get protest rallies, everybody up in arms, more violence."
"Do you see where we're going with this?" Matteson asks me.
I shake my head.
"We want to nip this in the bud before anybody else gets hurt."
"But I don't get your logic," I say, "and I don't know any Wildlings."
"Joshua, those kids at the pier ..."
"I didn't know they were Wildlings until you guys went after one and he changed into some kind of a deer. And I never knew the girl with the dreads was one until you just told me."
Matteson looks over my head at his partner, then shrugs.
"You've got Agent Solana's card," he says. "Call him if you change your mind. But don't wait too long. Principal Hayden," he adds with a nod in the Principal's direction.
He gives me a last lingering look, then he and his partner start for the door. I don't follow them out of the office. But I wait until they're gone before I ask Principal Hayden, "Are they allowed to do that?"
He shakes his head. "Agent Matteson was right. He stepped out of line." He hesitates, then asks, "I'm sorry, Josh, but I have to ask. Are you sure you can't tell them anything?"
"I don't know any Wildlings."
"I don't think either of those men are bad people," he says. "They appear to be genuinely concerned about preventing more innocent people being hurt."
I nod. I don't believe it, but I don't want to make any waves. I'm feeling lucky that they didn't take me away with them.
"Can I go now?" I ask.
"Of course. Mrs. O'Shay will give you a hall pass."
As soon as I leave the office, I head straight for the boys' washroom. I go into one of the stalls and sit on the seat, my phone in hand. If I get caught doing this, they'll confiscate it—Sunny Hill is really strict about any kind of electronic devices being used inside the school—but I have to get a message to Elzie. Phones are supposed to stay in our lockers, the same as our skateboards. Nobody leaves them there, but we all turn them off so we won't get caught.
I hesitate before writing anything. Can texts be intercepted the way they say calls on a cell phone can? I don't want to take a chance, so I just keep it simple and vague.
dont come 2 school 2day, I thumb. meet me @ d's.
But if they're investigating me, they'll be able to figure out that "D" stands for "Desmond." I backspace and change it to meet me @ the usual.
We hang out in Desmond's garage a lot of the time, so I'm sure she'll figure it out.
I press "Send," turn off my phone and stick it in my pocket. Then I flush like I had some real business in here and leave the washroom, heading for my class. The bell rings almost as soon as I take my seat again.
"What was that all about?" Marina asks as we leave Mr. Cairns's classroom.
I shake my head. There are too many other kids close by, just as curious as she is about why I got called to the office.
"I'll tell you at lunch," I say.
"But—"
"Not now. Did you finish your calc homework?"
Luckily, she gets it. It's a little harder to quell Desmond's curiosity.
"Dude!" he cries as he catches up with us, pushing his way through the crowded hall. "Called to the office—I couldn't be more proud. What did you do?"
If you don't get a detention at least once a week, Desmond figures your life is too safe.
"Nothing," I tell him. "It was just a misunderstanding. I'll tell you about it at lunch."
"You're just going to leave me hanging?" He turns to Marina. "Did he tell you?"
She shakes her head. "He'll tell us both later. At lunch."
She's trying to give him the eye, the same as I am. But he's oblivious to the fact that we're surrounded by kids and maybe I don't want to have everybody and their uncle hear what happened.
"Come on," he says. "Lunch is almost an hour away. Enquiring minds need to know."
"Enquiring minds are just going to have to wait," Marina says, then she leans in closer to him and adds, in a whisper that the mountain lion in me lets me catch, "S
o shut the fuck up already."
"Jeez," he says with a hurt expression, but he lets it go.
We take our lunches outside to the soccer field and sit on a bench in the stands, where we can talk without being overheard. There's a good breeze coming in from the west and I lift my head. There's so much to read in the smells I'm taking in. I let my nostrils flare until I realize that Marina's giving me a warning look.
"What?" I say.
"People don't do that," she says. "But I'm guessing Wildlings do."
And if I'm trying to hide the fact that I'm one ...
"Right," I say. "Thanks."
"So what's the big secret about your getting called to the office?" Desmond wants to know. "What did you do?"
"It was nothing I did. There were two FBI agents with Hayden when I got there—the same ones from the pier when I met Elzie. They grilled me about Wildlings."
Desmond's eyes go wide. "Are you serious?"
"Do they suspect you?" Marina asks.
"I don't know. It's hard to figure out what they're thinking. But they're pretty sure that I know some Wildlings and they want me to give up their names."
"What did you do?"
"I lied. What was I supposed to do? Tell them about Elzie?"
Not to mention Chaingang. And how about myself? No thanks.
"Oh no," Marina says. "Elzie doesn't know. Is she meeting us after school today?"
"Not anymore. At least I hope not. I texted her to go to Des's place, but I had to be kind of vague about it. You know how they say that you can tap into a cell phone signal?"
"I don't think that applies to a text," Marina says.
I turn to Desmond. "Still think I'm being paranoid?"
He gives a slow shake of his head.
Under My Skin (Wildlings) Page 10
