Not that it’s breakfast for them. They broke their fast around dawn with bread and cheese and pickles. This is the day’s second meal. The one after they’ve already been hard at work for several hours. About half the family’s there: Grandmother, Great-Aunt, an uncle, two aunts, and most of the kids. They eat steady and fast. The rest will come in and grab what’s left on their own time.
Pete sits next to me, eating even faster, demolishing three helpings, then reaching across to grab more bacon.
“No,” Grandmother says, pulling the plate of rashers away from him. “You’re not the only one who needs to eat.”
Pete shrinks into the bench.
“There’ll be more food,” I say. “Two more meals today.”
“Really?”
“They eat four times a day.”
“Every day?” Pete asks. He doesn’t quite believe me, but he wants to. Across the table Lilly and one of her brothers giggle. Pete flushes. He’ll have to get used to everyone’s ears being as good as his own.
“Every day,” I tell him. “Four meals. You’ll have to work for them, though.”
“I picked apples.”
“Ate most of them, too,” Grandmother says. “That’ll stop.”
Lilly waves at Pete and giggles again. Pete can’t decide where to look.
I push my plate at him. I’ve eaten an egg and half a slice of the murky bread, my hunger muted by heartache. Pete inhales what I’ve left. “It’s good,” he tells me.
“Micah, clear the plates,” Grandmother says, which means the meal is over. Most of my cousins are gone before Grandmother says plates. Not Pete though.
Lilly waves at him again. “More apple picking?” she asks.
Pete mumbles no and starts grabbing some of the plates and cutlery ahead of me. I busy myself stacking the cups. Some of wood, some of clay. All made on the farm.
I look across to Grandmother, who nods. “Slops go in the bucket in the kitchen.”
Pete sticks to my side. I guess he wants to make sure I stay like I promised. Today the Greats let him. It’s his first day. They’ll get tougher on him soon.
After we scrape the plates into the bucket I wash, Pete dries (slowly), and Grandmother puts away. Great-Aunt sits at the kitchen table peeling and coring apples. Pete nudges me and whispers, “See? I didn’t eat all the apples.”
“You ate enough,” Grandmother says, taking the now-dry plate from his hands.
Pete jumps and I laugh.
“Wolves,” I say, “have really good ears. You might want to remember that.”
Pete nods. “Good ears, fast legs, sharp teeth. Like me.”
“Because you’re a wolf,” Grandmother says. “You’re strong, too. But you be careful about eating so much. Keep going like you’re going and you’ll puke it all up.”
“Won’t.”
“Can’t fit that much food in such a skinny human. When you’re a wolf, eat as much as you can. But you’re human for the next few weeks. Got to act like one.”
“Why are we wolfs?” Pete asks.
“We come from wolves is all. Most people come from monkeys.”
I try not to groan. Then Great-Aunt launches into the tale of the man and the wolf and the deal they made.
Pete believes every word.
I want to say that none of it’s true and launch into my theory of horizontal gene transfer, but they won’t understand. I doubt any of them knows what a gene is. Pete can’t even read. Besides, I don’t have any proof. It’s an untested hypothesis.
If I stay here I will never get to test it. I might be able to gather more data but what will I do with it?
I can’t stay.
I can’t stick around till I run out of pills. Till my body is no longer my own.
It doesn’t matter what I promised Pete.
I don’t care if I have to hitchhike back, or ride a freight train, or walk. I’m going back to the city.
AFTER
But I don’t have anywhere to go.
No home, no money, no nothing.
My parents don’t want me. They cut and ran without looking back. If my own parents don’t want me, who in the city does?
Tayshawn?
I have to laugh. His parents are as broke as mine. Tayshawn’s on a full scholarship. There’s no way his parents could afford anyone else in the house. Especially not someone who eats as much as I do.
Sarah?
Well, she’s rich. Or at least her parents are. But no. I embarrass her. What happened between us embarrasses her. Having me in the house, giving up one of her rooms? Not likely. And if she said yes? I wouldn’t be comfortable in a place like that. I’d be afraid of breaking something, doing things the wrong way, saying the wrong thing. I’d never belong there.
Besides, what would I tell them? My parents threw me out because . . . because they don’t want a wolf in the house anymore. Oh, yeah, that’s right, I’m a wolf. You didn’t know? Well, it’s like this . . .
I don’t think so.
How I could prove it to them? The only convincing proof I have no one wants to see.
My DNA test. The one I never opened. What if there’s something there?
But that won’t mean a whole lot to Sarah or Tayshawn or their parents.
Then I realize who it would mean something to:
Yayeko Shoji. My biology teacher.
FAMILY HISTORY
My parents stopped loving me long before they dumped me at the Greats’.
Their love was already tempered by the fur I was born with, by the way I run, because those were both signs of what I was going to become.
Then, after my first change at the age of twelve, their love was gone completely.
That was the year Jordan died.
My parents still said they loved me, still kissed me good night, still let me live in their home and eat their food, but it was pretend: they were waiting for the right time to get rid of me.
For five years I lived a shadow life with shadow parents and never knew the difference.
Except that I did.
I just couldn’t admit it to myself.
But they never admitted it either. They abandoned me.
Who’s the bigger liar?
Me or them?
Isn’t lying about love the worst lie? Isn’t that worse than anything I’ve ever done?
HISTORY OF ME
I’ve told you all the important moments between me and Zach. All the memories I go over again and again and again.
I fear I will wear them out. Break them by thinking of them too long and too often. But maybe doing so is what keeps them fresh and alive.
That first day in the park when he came up and kissed me out of nowhere . . . Me, who he’d never looked at before. Why did he choose me? How’d he know we’d be good together?
Did he know?
Or did he kiss all the girls? Like the princess kissing all those frogs. I was the frog. He made me into a real girl. A human girl.
When I was with him I wasn’t a frog, wasn’t a wolf. I was me. Micah.
I worry that I will forget Zach. Forget his face. Forget the feel of his lips against mine. His hands on my skin. The feel of us naked and wrapped around each other.
Forget what it was like running by his side, matching strides, breaths, heartbeats.
I’m alive.
He’s dead.
He’ll always be dead.
I think about joining him.
But I can’t.
The wolf inside won’t let me. It wants to live. Even without him.
AFTER
Lurking outside the school waiting for Yayeko Shoji to leave is not as great a plan as I thought. There’s not much cover and I don’t want anyone but Yayeko to see me.
I narrowly avoid Brandon spotting me. He slouches out of school with a backpack over one shoulder. Alone, of course. The scowl on his face has spread to the rest of his body. He looks up, and for a moment I think he sees me, across the street, crouched behind a car.
Why didn’t Pete kill Brandon instead of Zach? But then Brandon turns his gaze back to his feet where it belongs.
I should have disguised myself. Gotten a wig or something. Mom has one. I should have grabbed it along with my DNA result.
I finally opened it. The proof I need. It says the blood I sent in isn’t human. Yayeko watched us take blood samples, seal them, and she sent them. She’ll understand what the test means: I’m not human.
If I knew where Yayeko lived, I wouldn’t have to wait outside school. But she’s not listed.
I watch Tayshawn come down the steps, basketball in his hands. He’s heading for the court down the block, Will at his heels. I am tempted to join them. Tayshawn wouldn’t mind and Will does what Tayshawn says. But I don’t, because, well, what would I say?
By four o’clock no more students drift down the front steps, just teachers. A bit before five Yayeko Shoji, lugging a shopping bag overloaded with papers and a heavy backpack, takes the steps. I wonder if the papers are the ones we did on plant systems. I handed mine in last Friday.
I follow her from across the street until she turns onto West Broadway, then I scamper over.
“Yayeko,” I say.
She turns and almost drops the shopping bag in her surprise.
“Micah!”
“It’s me,” I say.
“But your leg. Your face. You’re alright!” She puts the bag down.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Your parents said there’d been an accident. They said your leg was broken in ten places, your face a mess. I tried to find out which hospital, but they didn’t get back to me.”
“They won’t.” I can imagine Dad going into details about the accident, easy for him to imagine since that’s what he wishes had happened. I wonder if he mustered a tear, let his voice break to be more convincing.
My eyes sting. I am not going to cry in front of Yayeko. “There wasn’t any accident. My parents threw me out.”
“Threw you out?” Yayeko says. The shock widens her eyes. “But your parents seem so nice.”
“Yes. No. It’s a long story. Can I tell it to you?” I say, trying not to sound as desperate as I feel. “Do you have time now, I mean?”
“Where are you staying?” Yayeko asks.
“Nowhere. They threw me out. There’s nowhere else for me to stay.” I realize how pathetic this sounds. I don’t want to beg, but that’s what I’m doing. “I don’t have any money.”
“They didn’t give you any?”
I shake my head. They hadn’t. I searched the suitcase thoroughly, but there was nothing.
Yayeko looks at me closely. She’s weighing her options. I’m realizing just what a big deal it is I’m asking for. I have always been her favorite student, but is that enough for her to let me into her life? It could be nothing but trouble. It will be. I concentrate on not crying.
“Yes,” she says at last. “But only until we can find somewhere better. Okay?”
I nod, pick up her shopping bag. I try to say thank you even though those words are nowhere near as strong as I need them to be. I’m quiet for a while. I have to wait until the tears stop threatening to leak out. When I can speak, my thank you is so quiet Yayeko doesn’t hear.
AFTER
Yayeko Shoji’s apartment is a six-story walk-up in Queens. Like mine, or, rather, like my parents’. But her apartment is bigger, nicer, too. More rooms, and the kitchen/living room is big enough for a couch and two comfy chairs and a big table with no bicycles suspended above it. Yayeko lives with her daughter and her mother, neither of whom are home. Her daughter plays basketball and is at practice. Her mother is a lawyer who works late.
I’m relieved. I don’t want to meet new people. I am nervous and wound up enough as it is.
“Would you like some tea?” Yayeko asks, after she’s taken off her shoes and put her bags away. She offers me a seat in the kitchen. I sit down. There are trees out the window. They’re still mostly green.
“Yes,” I say. “No, not really. Do you have coffee? No, that’s not a good idea.” I stand up, walk around the kitchen. “Maybe water?”
“Water then. Are you okay, Micah? I’m sorry. Of course you’re not. Are you ready to tell me what’s going on?”
“Yes. But it’s hard, Yayeko. I don’t know where to start and there are so many questions you’ll ask. I think I should just show you.” I pull the test results out of my pocket, unfold it, and hand it to her.
“Your DNA test?”
I nod.
She opens it, pulls the report out, reads, flips pages.
“You see?” I say.
Yayeko looks at me. “Your test was invalid. The blood you sent in wasn’t human.”
“The blood I sent in? You were there when we all took the test. You sent our tests off. That was my blood. It says my blood is animal. That’s what it proves.” I’m pacing.
“Invalid results are common. What are you trying to prove, Micah?”
“I’m a wolf.”
Yayeko doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t bow down before my scientific proof. This is not going as I planned.
“Not all the time,” I say. “Obviously. When I get my period, I change into a wolf. Only I don’t since I started taking the pill all the time, like you said to. But it’s not really because of how bad my period is. It’s to stop me changing. Whatever triggers the change—it has to do with hormones because birth control pills stop it.”
“You’re taking hormones continuously and there’s nothing wrong with your menstrual cycle?” Yayeko’s voice gets louder. “You’re only seventeen!”
“I’m not—”
“You lied to me. I can’t believe . . .” She pauses. She’s not looking at me anymore.
“I didn’t! There is something wrong with my periods! I turn into a wolf!” Now I’m shouting.
Yayeko puts her hand up. “There’s nothing wrong with being a girl, Micah.”
“What?” I’m spluttering. I sit down. “Of course there isn’t. I didn’t say there was.”
“I remember when you pretended to be a boy, Micah.”
Yayeko keeps saying my name. She doesn’t usually.
“Micah, I know things have been hard for you, but you don’t have to take it out on your own body. You have to stop suppressing the girl parts of yourself. Is that why you keep your hair so short, Micah? Why you never wear skirts or dresses? Why you don’t have any girlfriends?”
“No!” I scream. Yayeko moves back in her chair. “Sorry,” I say quickly. “My hair’s short because it’s easier—I’m not trying to be a boy. I’m a wolf.”
“And what’s more masculine than a wolf?”
I groan. She’s never going to believe me. “I don’t know. Lots of things! Half of all wolves are female!”
“Micah,” she says, “you’re not a wolf. Rejecting your own body isn’t the answer.”
“I’m not!” I jump up, knocking my chair over. It clatters loud on the tiled floor. Yayeko winces. “Sorry,” I say, righting the chair. “I’m not rejecting my body or being a girl or anything like that. I’m trying to tell you the truth.”
As soon as I say it I know I shouldn’t have. Yayeko looks at me with such sadness I know there’s no hope for me here. I’m a liar, even when I tell the truth.
“Micah, taking a pill every day is not going to turn you into a boy. It’s not going to make you into someone you’re not. You’re seventeen years old. Who knows what all those hormones are doing to you? Elevating your risk of stroke, of some cancers. When I talked to your mother I thought you had a problem with your body, but now you’re telling me this is in your mind . . .”
My mind? She’s saying that I’m crazy.
“It’s not good for you, Micah. It’s not helping. You’re overwrought,” she says softly, like she’s soothing a small child.
I’m calm.
“I think maybe you should lie down.”
I nod, realizing how hopeless this is. The cotton curtains at the
window move slightly in the breeze. Light floods in, golden fall light. The plates and glasses drying by the sink glisten. It’s a beautiful, sunny, normal kitchen. My life doesn’t seem real in this kitchen. It makes me feel as if I’m lying.
“I’m a wolf,” I say again. I can’t help myself. I’ve finally told the truth and gotten . . . this.
“I’m a scientist, Micah.”
“I can prove it. Send my blood to another lab—”
“You believe you’re a werewolf.” Yayeko’s voice is flat. She thinks she understands why my parents threw me out. I have to convince her otherwise.
“I am a wolf, Yayeko. Go ask my parents to let you into my bedroom. There’s a cage. A big metal cage with a cloth over it so it looks like a desk. It’s the biggest thing in my room.”
“A cage? Micah, what are you talking about?”
I don’t even try. Mom and Dad would never let her in, never show her.
“Is this because Zach was killed by dogs?” Yayeko asks.
“No!”
“Do you think you did it? This is guilt about your boyfriend’s death, isn’t it?”
“He wasn’t my boyfriend,” I say automatically. “I didn’t kill him. This is not about Zach. This is about who I am. What I am. I know it sounds . . . I know how it sounds. That’s why I’ve never told anyone. But I can prove it to you.”
Yayeko looks at me. I think she’s scared, but not because I’m a wolf.
HISTORY OF ME
Telling the truth gives you strength.
Telling Yayeko gave me strength. Even though she didn’t believe me it made me feel more real, more like someone.
I used to think I was nothing: not black, not white; not a girl, not a boy; not human, not a wolf. Not dangerous, but not exactly safe. Not crazy, but not entirely sane.
I felt like nothing at all.
I thought that half of everything added up to nothing. I was a nonperson who belonged nowhere. Not in the city, not with the Greats.
I have never known what I was. If I’m not completely any one thing, then what am I? Who am I? Something in between?
Or nothing?
I don’t think that now: half of everything is something, not nothing.
Lots of somethings.
Liar Page 23
