"I don't mean to take sides here," Marina says when I'm done, "but Cory was right."
"I know."
"What are you going to do?" Desmond asks.
"There's nothing I can do except what Cory said: be cool and try to act as normal as I can. Right now, I just want to make some noise."
Without waiting for either of them to respond, I thumb the volume control on my Les Paul way up and start playing the chunky chords for "Louie Louie." Desmond shrugs and falls in with the simple bass line. Marina grins and pounds on her drums.
We play through a bunch of songs until Desmond's mom finally comes into the garage with her hands over her ears and tells us to put a lid on it.
Marina
From Nira's LiveJournal blog, My Life as an Otter:
Congressman Clayton Householder. Take note of that name, my friends. This man might be the biggest danger that we face. He's been on a crusade against Wildlings ever since the first one of us showed up. The media love him and with all the press that he gets, he just may succeed in getting everyone else to hate us, too.
For those of you who haven't seen what's trending on Twitter and the other social media, let me fill you in. Clayton Householder is a religious zealot who claims that the kids who've changed to Wildlings must have done something to bring God's wrath down upon their heads. He says his job is to stop this "sinful disease" from spreading.
So he's lobbying the legislature to pass laws that will allow the government to capture all the Wildlings and contain the "disease" by imposing a quarantine on all of Santa Feliz.
That's right, kids. Quarantine means if there are good curls down in San Diego or Mexico, you're not going to be riding those waves. And say your favourite band is playing a gig in L.A. or Long Beach—you're not going to be catching that show. Of course, if you're locked away in some hellhole, it's not as though you'll be surfing or catching shows anyway.
Look, it's been proven that what we have is not a virus, so a quarantine isn't going to "solve" anything. And you don't see Wildlings going around attacking people. You're way more likely to have a banger messing up your face.
I've so had it with the bad rap that Wildlings are getting. It seems to me that we're being persecuted for having something extra that other people don't have. I don't know exactly what this is or why it happened, but I am one hundred percent certain that what we have is good, not bad. I wish we didn't have to hide it and we sure shouldn't have to feel ashamed of it.
Fortunately, not all politicians are as whacked out as Householder. It's early days still, so talk to your parents about his witch hunt. If that quarantine happens, it's going to affect them as much as us, so ask them to call their congressional representative.
But speak discreetly, my Wildling friends … until all danger has passed, keep the secret of your gift to yourselves.
Josh
I read through a bunch more of the archived My Life as an Otter blogs after dinner, when I'm supposed to be doing my homework. A message pop-up tells me that Nira has just posted a new entry, so I click on her latest blog about Congressman Householder.
Man, this keeps going from bad to worse. One wrong move could put me in that same holding facility that Cory broke into last night to rescue his friends. I'm glad Mr. Delaney gave me an extension on my history essay because of my "trouble at home," but with something like this hanging over my head, it's hard to care much about English homework or that overdue essay.
Actually, up until this latest post, I haven't concentrated very hard on the blog, either. Mostly, I've just looked for clues to see if I can figure who the mysterious otter girl really is. She's pretty circumspect. Her blogs manage to be really personal without giving away any information about her identity.
I might be better at finding those clues about Nira if I weren't so distracted worrying about Elzie. It's almost midnight now and there's still no word from her. My phone's sitting between my keyboard and the monitor. I keep waiting for it to vibrate with either a call or text.
Maybe I'm being watched somehow. I'm tempted to sneak out to see if I can spy FBI agents skulking around, but I promised Mom I'd tell her if I was going out and it's not like I can tell her the truth. She was so cool about letting me off the hook last week and I really don't want to lose her trust. It's bad enough I can't tell her about this whole Wildling business.
My window's open. I get up from the computer and lean on the sill. I let the night air fill my nostrils and see how many scents I can identify. Maybe I'll smell an agent out here.
It's weird how much there is to smell. I never really paid attention to it before. The night's full of sounds, too, if you take the time to concentrate. I suppose it helps if you can tap into a mountain lion's senses, but really, I think we mostly go through life half asleep—oblivious to all the little details of the world around us. I like being able to notice all these things. It's definitely one of the gifts that comes with being a Wildling.
That makes me think of Nira again. Maybe I should try to send her a private message. But just as I start to turn back around, something catches my attention beyond the window.
It starts out as a feeling, more than actually hearing or smelling anything. I pop the screen and lean out a little, really opening my nostrils, smelling and listening. That's when I hear a giggle. The backyard is dark, but my night sight cuts right through the shadows to find Elzie crouched low along the side of the house. I'm so happy to see her, my heart does a little leap.
"You should see what your face looks like when you do that," she says in a loud whisper.
I smile and lean further out to look at her. "What are you doing there," I whisper back.
"Stand back from the window," she says.
I barely have time to get out of the way before a large cat comes bounding through the opening. It lands in the middle of the room, transforming back into Elzie. A nude Elzie.
"Whoops," she says as she strikes a sultry pose.
There's a rapid transformation into her Wildling jaguarundi shape, then back to her own, this time dressed. I know she did it on purpose just to get a rise out of me—figuratively as well as literally. Her gaze goes to where I've got a stiff tent pole under my pants. She grins.
"Happy to see me?" she asks in a normal voice.
I nod, but put a finger to my lips.
She steps close to whisper into my ear, "Are you worried about your mom hearing me?"
Her warm breath in my ear tickles. It also makes the bulge in my pants push harder against the fabric.
I shake my head and whisper back into her ear, "Maybe the room's bugged."
"Oh, you don't have to worry about that," she says in a normal voice. "If the room was bugged I'd know. The transmitter has to send out a signal and Auntie Min taught me to identify it. Checking for that's the first thing I did when I got outside your house because—you know the Feds have a car parked down the street, right?"
"I figured they might. They questioned me at school and they've been following me around ever since."
"Do you have anything to eat?" she asks. "I'm starving."
I go into the kitchen and bring back a bag of tortilla chips and some salsa.
"Yum," she says and digs in.
"Why didn't you call me or send a text?" I ask.
"I didn't know who you'd be with."
"I'm not going to be with some other—oh. You mean the FBI."
"Yeah, they've been heavying people all over town. They showed up under the overpass and would have taken everybody in for questioning, except they all scattered while the cops were getting out of their cars."
"Cory told me he broke some people out of the holding facility at the naval base. He thinks that's why the FBI is being so aggressive."
She nods. "And all this talk about quarantining Santa Feliz probably has them scrambling to be in control of the situation."
"I heard about that. Do you really think it'll come to a quarantine?"
"Not unless a bunch of Wildlings
get out of control." She pauses, then adds, "Or if the authorities decide they can prove that what's happened to us is communicable, instead of accepting what it really is."
I give her a blank look.
"I keep telling you," she says. "It's a gift. From Mother Earth, or Gaia, or God, or the Creator, or whatever spiritual force it is that guides the world. Auntie Min calls it the Grace, but I'm never quite sure if she's talking about a person, a place, or maybe some combination of the two."
"Auntie Min sounds really interesting," I say. "I would have liked to have met her."
"Why can't you?"
"You just said everybody scattered."
She nods. "Yeah, but Auntie Min won't go far. This is her holy ground. They'll all end up back there after the cops split."
"Her holy ground? You mean Santa Feliz?"
"Not exactly. It's more like the land that Santa Feliz is built on."
I think about that for a moment.
"She's not a Wildling, is she?" I say.
"If you mean, did she get changed in the last six months like us, then no. She's one of the old ones, like Cory—or at least, they're a lot older than either you or me. How old, I don't know. Auntie Min says that there were animal people here when the world first began and some of those first Wildlings are still around today."
"Do you believe that?"
Elzie shrugs. "Why not? What's happened to us is pretty extraordinary."
That's an understatement. But immortal Wildlings? I think that's a bit of a stretch, but I don't say anything to Elzie. I don't want to set off an argument.
"This is really good salsa," she says. "What kind is it?"
"Homemade. My mom got the recipe from Marina's mom."
"Mmm."
She dips a couple more chips into the salsa and puts them both in her mouth, chewing with relish.
"Is Auntie Min the leader of the ferals?" I ask, hoping this won't lead to anything confrontational.
"She isn't a feral," Elzie says after she swallows, "and we don't really have a leader. We aren't really that organized. I don't think any of the Wildlings are. If we could organize, maybe it'd be different. Maybe we could force the government to accept us as people, instead of trying to round us up and lock us away."
"Do you think that's possible?"
"Why not? Once upon a time, women couldn't vote and your ancestors were slaves. But we fixed that, didn't we?"
There are still misogynists and racists out there, but I know what she means. It's better now. A lot better. Not perfect, but maybe perfection's impossible. You can't just make laws. You have to change the way people think and that can't be legislated.
"But I doubt Wildlings will ever get into organized group lobbying or anything," Elzie goes on. "The change is more of spiritual state—I'm sure you know what I mean. Even Auntie Min says that every individual has to find their own path into the Grace."
"The Grace," I repeat. "I like that term."
"Me too," she says. "Sometimes late at night, when I'm in my jaguarundi shape and running at top speed down some deserted beach, I can feel what she means. I get this whole Zen thing happening inside."
She sees something in my face and punches my shoulder.
"What?" she says. "Didn't you ever feel like that?"
"Hey, I'm not mocking you."
"No, but you looked like you were about to. I know it sounds woo woo."
"It's not that. It's—I've only ever changed once. Twice, if you count doing it for a moment and then freaking out and switching back."
"You're kidding."
I shake my head.
"Well, we'll just have to fix that," she says. "We can easily get past the guys watching us."
"I can't."
"Why not?"
I take a breath. Okay, here comes the big turn-off.
"It's my mom," I say. "She doesn't know I'm a Wildling and I promised her I wouldn't go out without telling her first."
"But if she never finds out ..."
Her voice trails off and she cocks her head to study me for a moment.
"You guys are really close, aren't you?" she says.
"Yeah. Since my dad walked out, all we have is each other."
"At least you've got that."
I put my arm around her shoulder.
"You've got me," I tell her.
She snuggles into me for a second, then pulls away, smiling.
"I do, don't I? So we'll stay in. What do you want to do? Wait!" she adds before I can say anything. "I've got an idea."
Then she grabs my arm and pulls me down onto the bed. We fall in a tumble of limbs and the headboard bangs into the wall. We lie silent, waiting to hear if Mom heard anything. Luckily her room is way down the hall.
Elzie puts her mouth against my ear again.
"Whoops," she breathes, like she did before, only this time she removes her clothing piece by piece.
Then she turns my face so that we can kiss.
Marina
I leave my room and go sit beside Mamá in the living room. Wouldn't you know that creep Householder is holding forth on the religious channel. He's a great big man in his fifties and older people seem to think he's handsome. I don't see that. I just see a disgusting old bigot who has way too much power and sway over people.
"We live in a beautiful world," Householder is saying on the television. "We live in the best country in the world. But, friends, right now, right here in the U.S. of A., we have a contagion that threatens everything we hold dear. A virus waits to strike like the serpent did in the Garden. The Devil possesses our innocents and changes them into monsters that will turn on you and your family to rip out your throats and consume your flesh.
"Good people, we have a sacred duty to remove these vermin from the garden of God …"
"Mamá," I say. "You don't actually believe what he's saying, do you?"
"I'm not sure what to think, mija. He's very close to God, so I'm interested in what he has to say. But it's hard to think that the Devil has entered all of these poor children."
"I don't think God or the Devil have anything to do with it. I'll bet none of those kids had a choice about what happened to them. We shouldn't judge them for something that's not even their fault. No one really knows why it's been happening—at least, not yet—but it's got nothing to do with God and it's not a disease."
"But God watches over everything," Mamá says. "I thought that he had chosen to bring Laura Connor up to heaven with him, but perhaps Congressman Householder is right. Only the Devil himself would turn poor Laura into a rat and then kill her. I fear for you and Ampora. Have you been saying your prayers?"
Mamá and I don't see eye to eye on religious matters, but otherwise, we're pretty close. My sister Ampora and me, not so much.
My parents' divorce really split our family. Ampora sided with Papá and she still won't speak to me, even though I kept Papá's name and we go to the same school. She's proud of our Mexican heritage. I am too, but I don't know much about it.
When Mamá remarried, she pretty much turned her back on the past.
"We're Americans now, not Mexicans," she told us—and embraced my step dad's gringo culture—although she held tight to her religious upbringing.
We all lived in the barrio before the divorce. I was young enough when my parents split up that I only vaguely remember the barrio as a scary place. But Ampora thrives in it. As far as I know, she never got jumped into a gang, but she's embraced the whole gangsta music and bandas fashion scene. She thinks surfing is for dorks, so you can imagine what she thinks of me. And being as judgmental as she is, she probably hates Wildlings, too—although not for the same reason as Householder.
"Yes, Mamá," I say, to make her happy. "But I'm sure that what happened to Laura had nothing to do with God or the Devil. I think she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. None of it was her fault."
"Perhaps, mija, perhaps. I hope you pray for her soul."
"Of course I do. But what Congress
man Householder is preaching is racism. Treating people like second-class citizens because they're different just leads to what happened to the Native people and Mexicans when the Spaniards came, and the way some people still treat us today."
"How can you be so sure?" Mamá asks. "Congressman Householder seems to be a man of God."
I press my point. "And a bigot. Think about it, Mamá. A quarantine will keep everybody stuck here in Santa Feliz—not just kids. You won't be able to visit Abuela and Abuelo, or Tía Rosa."
"I hadn't thought of that."
"Please tell me you'll get in touch with our own congresswoman and tell her that you don't agree with Householder's ideas. We need to fight that kind of thinking."
Mamá gets a line in her brow that tells me she doesn't much like the prospect of a quarantine.
"Tonight I will ask for God's guidance in my prayers," she says. "You know that you can do that, too, don't you? You might also pray for your little stepsisters, that this terrible curse doesn't fall upon them."
I don't let my face show how much it hurts that my own mother can feel like that about what I've become, even if she doesn't know I'm a Wildling.
All I say is, "Of course. And I'll pray for you as well. I know God will tell you that it's not right to cast judgment on those who are innocent. I really hope you'll call Congresswoman Cohen and ask Papá to call her, too."
Josh
When I wake up the next morning, Elzie's gone. I don't know when she left and there isn't a note. I see a light blinking on my phone, telling me I have a text. I reach over from the bed and look.
had 2 leave b4 light so i wouldnt b seen. talk 2 u soon. kiss kiss.
I grin like a fool as I go take a shower. I never got around to asking Elzie where she sleeps or what she does during the day, but right now, I don't really care. Not even seeing the undercover cops sitting in their car at the end of the street can wreck my mood. I've still got a goofy grin when I meet up with Desmond and Marina to go to school.
"Aw, man," Desmond says. "I know that look. You totally got some last night."
Under My Skin (Wildlings) Page 12
