Raised by Wolves

Chapter 72

CHAPTER 72

THE CRAZY THING is that I go back to school the next day as if everything’s totally normal. As if our whole world hadn’t been taken away from us by a posse of dudes with guns and a couple of uptight FBI agents.

At the door of room 112, Ms. Tillman greets me with a smile. “How’s your brother doing?” she asks. “I miss having him in class.”

Hmmm, let’s see. He spent more time in jail, he’s lost his childhood home, and he’s probably going to be put in foster care.

“He’s fine,” I say. Why upset her when she can’t do anything about it?

Waylon comes in just as the bell rings and flops down next to me. “That scene in the woods was crazy,” he whispers. He scoots his desk a few inches closer. “When they put you in that chopper, I was afraid I was never going to see you again.”

“Pretty soon you might not,” I say grimly. Bartsville. Where the hell is Bartsville?

“What did the FBI want with—”

“Waylon Meloy,” Ms. Tillman warns. “Please close your mouth, open your notebook, and start working.”

“Sorry, Ms. T,” Waylon grumbles.

He starts dutifully scribbling. I assume he’s working on the figurative language essays we’re supposed to be writing, but a few seconds later, a note lands on my desk.

Remember when I stopped that guy from shooting you? Want to go to the dance with me?

P.S. “Yes” is the correct answer to both of these questions.

I get the same feeling in my stomach that I used to get when I jumped off of high river banks in the summer. A queasy giddiness. A thrilling panic.

Of course I remember how he stepped in between me and a gun. And how he kept me from running away.

I remember every moment I’ve spent with him, ever since that day I saw his slow, teasing smile for the first time.

But underneath his messy cursive, I write: I thought the dance already happened.

He scribbles back. I got the date wrong. So… what do you say?

I don’t want to say no, but I’m scared to say yes.

Then another piece of paper lands on my desk.

It says: Well?

I ignore it. A few moments later, another note skitters across my page.

Well???!!!

I can’t help smiling. I look over at him and shrug. He rolls his eyes. Gives up on me for the rest of the period.

But when the bell rings, he leaps up and says, “Okay, now I’m demanding an answer.”

I’m nervous and grinning as I slip into the hall. I don’t know why I can’t just say yes. Or no. Or anything .

Even though his class is in the other direction, Waylon hurries along beside me. “Do you want me to beg?” he says. “Because I will totally beg.”

And then he falls on his knees in the hallway. My cheeks flush hot as fire. He’s going to make a scene when all I want is to be as invisible as possible. Which—let’s be real—has never been even close to invisible.

I start to walk away from him. But he follows me, still on his knees. “Kai, wait!”

I turn around. “You’re making a fool of yourself!”

“You know me well enough by now to know that I don’t care. You and me,” he says, “are iconoclasts.”

“I always thought of myself more as an outcast.”

Waylon shakes his head. “You can’t be cast out of anything that you never truly tried to get into,” he says. “Look at you. You were always too interesting for this school.”

Well, I might not be here much longer.

“Get up,” I say. “Please.”

“Say yes.”

“Will you get up?”

He nods.

“Fine. I’ll go to the dance with you. For ten minutes.”

When he stands up, his smile’s so big and bright I can hardly bear to look at it. “I’ll pick you up at seven,” he says. Then he blows me a kiss and runs off to class.