My Mother Runs With Wolves

Chapter 7

Classes the next day are mostly uneventful. Trevor and I ignore each other in European History, which is a relief. I say mostly uneventful, however, because that cease-fire doesn't last through P.E.

They have us playing racquetball in pairs, hitting rubber balls with little rackets against a concrete wall. Not surprisingly, a couple of balls fly in my direction from somewhere else. I have really good peripheral vision. I mean excellent, as in nothing moves through it without me noticing. It's a wolfy thing. But I remember what Dad said about not making my abilities too obvious. Since I don't want to give them the satisfaction of hitting me, I sidestep in ways that seemed accidental. Maybe tie my shoe, or stretch or something. It's actually kind of entertaining.

Then a ball smacks me square in the back. There's nothing accidental about it. All the students are facing the same wall. Someone would have to walk directly behind me, where my peripheral vision doesn't reach, and hurl the ball at me. It was very precise. Right between the shoulder blades.

I whirl around and—what a shock—Trevor is standing a few yards away, laughing. I grip my racket hard, anger propelling me toward him. I'm not sure what I'm going to do, but he isn't getting away with that.

I've already halved the distance between us. He sees the murderous look in my eyes and squares his shoulders, readying himself for a fight, smirking with anticipation.

"Maddie, what are you doing?" Lydia hisses as she grabs my elbow.

I stop advancing, but don't take my eyes off him. "About to teach an asshole a lesson," I growl.

"Are you crazy?" Her grip on my arm tightens. "Fights will get you suspended. Especially fights with the star pitcher of the baseball team. The coach loves him."

I sigh sharply. No wonder the ball was so accurate.

I let Lydia drag me back to the racquetball court while Trevor makes crybaby faces with his fist.

"Stop looking at him," she says with exasperation. "He wants you to get suspended."

"I've been here for two freaking days." I rub a hand over my face. "What does he have against me?"

"Maybe you intimidate him?" she suggests.

"How? All I did on Day One was show up for class."

She shrugged. "Maybe he likes you."

"Gross! Don't make me throw up."

"I don't know," Lydia says as she bounces a rubber ball. "You are kind of hot."

"What? No I'm not."

She shrugs again. "If I were a guy, I'd do you," she says with a teasing grin.

"Shut up." My tone is bashful and my cheeks are flaming as I grab the ball from her. Before she can say anything else, I smack the ball with my racket and resume the match.

***

At dinner, I can tell Mom is excited. Her tawny eyes are all sparkly and she practically dances around the house. She always gets this way the day of a pack run. The air in the house seems to crackle with the electricity of her excitement.

Dad and I smile at her enthusiasm—it's hard not to—but deep down, we both are a little sad that we can't go with her. Shifter families get to share this with each other. Mom has to share it with strangers. If it bothers me a little, I can't imagine how much it bothers Dad.

Mom is humming and bouncing on the balls of her feet as she washes the dishes. I'm drying them and putting them away. She seems oblivious as I watch her, so finally I ask, "Mom, what's it like? Shifting into a wolf?" I've asked her this before—many times as a child—but never tire of hearing about it.

She stops bouncing and looks at me, a kind smile on her face. She knows I've probably memorized all her answers, but she indulges me anyway. "It feels like your body is stretching, but way better than a normal stretch. Almost painful, but also good. You know how it feels when you've been sitting too long—"

"Like in any math class," I interject.

"Yes!" She points the dish sponge at me. "And then you stand up and take that first good, long stretch? It aches, but you also feel that pressure being released and your limbs feel like they're alive again? It's like that. Sort of."

"So it feels good." I try to imagine the most amazing after-class stretch. I'll bet it doesn't even compare.

"Oh, yes." She squeezes the sponge and looks far away. "There's nothing like the freedom of being a wolf."

I nod, then turn away with the pretense of putting a mug back into the cupboard so she can't see my face. I don't know why I keep asking her about this. It sounds utterly amazing, and utterly out of my reach. Envy writhes through my heart, and I try to push it away.

I fail.

"Mom, why can't I be a wolf? Why do I have these overactive senses and weird urges if I can't shift?"

She looks at me peculiarly. "Weird urges? Maddie, do you mean..."

It dawns on me what that sounds like. "Oh, Mom, no! Gross. Not that. Like I would bring up sex when talking to my parents. I mean the need to be a part of something. The overwhelming urge to protect things. To run. To be physical. All that. Normal people aren't like that, are they? And normal people can't hear others gossiping about them from across the room. Why can't I be normal?"

Mom regards me for several long moments, unsure what to say to her angst-filled daughter. Finally she asks, "Maddie, are you afraid of your wolf?"

I stare at her for an incredulous moment before responding. "Mom, I don't even have a wolf! I can't change like you do. I'm not a Shifter, but I'm not a Stalker either. I—" I hear the whine rising in my voice and stop myself. I'm not anything, I was about to say. My eyes sting a little.

She dries her hands and enfolds me into a hug. "Oh Piglet," she breathes into my ear. "You are far more special than either of us."

I squeeze her tight, wishing her words were true. I don't feel special. I just feel like an outsider.

"And if you had no wolf inside you," she continues. "You wouldn't have my eyes. You wouldn't carry the wolf scent. You wouldn't be you."

I want to ask what that means. If calling me special is just a nice way of saying I'm a freak. But I don't press her for more answers. I don't think she has them. I don't know if anyone does.

Instead, I say, "I hope I didn't dampen your night."

She pulls me away just far enough to look into my eyes. "No, I'm glad you told me what's on your mind. Sometimes it's hard to read you. You're a lot like your father sometimes."

"Hopefully without the stubble," I mumble.

She laughs softly and says, "I love you, Maddie. Don't ever forget that."

It's hard trying to figure out your place in the world. Let's give her a vote.