Raised by Wolves

Chapter 77

CHAPTER 77

KOKANEE CREEK’S TINY downtown is quiet now, its old-fashioned streetlights lit, and moths dancing in their glow.

“Maybe we should get another beer,” I say. “There’s a bar just down the street from the jail.”

Waylon snorts. “The bartender there knows exactly how old I am, and unlike the good folks at Ruby’s Roadhouse, he cares .” He pulls into a parking lot behind Kokanee Creek Elementary School. “Anyway, we’ve already checked first beer off the list. But what about all those super classic childhood things you haven’t done? Like swinging on a swing or sliding down a slide?”

“Are those things prerequisites for drinking beer?” I ask. “I really hope you didn’t just screw up my human education!”

Waylon laughs, and the sound seems to ripple down my spine. “They’re not prerequisites for anything. They’re just fun. Come on.”

I sink into the rubber seat and wrap my hands around the chains. The swings are designed for people much smaller than we are.

“Lean back,” Waylon says, “and then you’ll pump your legs like this—see?”

I watch him arcing smoothly back and forth. Okay, Kai, little kids can do this. So can you. It’s awkward at first, but I get the hang of it eventually. I rise up to the black sky, and then I fall down to earth. Rise up, fall back down, rise. I start laughing, and Waylon does too.

“Isn’t it great?” he says.

I don’t know, is it? My stomach feels like it’s doing somersaults. I may or may not feel like barfing. After another minute I scuff my feet and come to a stop. “I can’t tell if I love it or hate it,” I admit.

“Slide next, then?” he says, grinning.

I look at his face, beautiful and shadowed in the darkness. I don’t really care about another children’s toy. I want to be close to him. I want him to whisper into my neck again. I want—

“Or,” Waylon says, “we can try this.” He’s holding up a lighter and a funny-looking cigarette. He sees my blank look. “It’s a joint,” he explains. “Which I also borrowed from my mom, along with the car. But she doesn’t know that part.”

I look around the empty playground like I’m expecting the chief to pop out from behind a tree or something. “I hope this isn’t on your list of ‘classic childhood things,’” I say.

“No, you did so well on the swings that you skipped a bunch of grades.”

“Is it a good idea?” I ask.

“Depends on who you ask,” Waylon says. He lights the joint and inhales. The exhale comes several seconds later. “According to me, yes, it is.” He holds the joint out to me.

I take it. The end is smoldering, and the smell is vaguely skunky. “I guess it’s another rite of passage, huh?”

He nods. “Totally. And if we’d done this before the dance, maybe you wouldn’t have smashed Mac’s nose into his brains.”

“You think I shouldn’t have done that?”

When under attack, an animal uses all its strength to defend itself.

Rival wolves will fight to the death.

“On the contrary, I think you should do it daily. Mac’s personality has nowhere to go but up.”

A thin line of smoke from the joint spirals upward, and a reckless feeling surges inside me. I know I’ll be suspended from school for hitting Mac. I’ve lost my home. I don’t know what the future holds, so I might as well stop asking questions. Stop worrying and live .

I put the joint to my lips. Waylon lights the end again, and I inhale. Immediately I cough a white burning cloud right out of my mouth.

“Agh,” I gasp. “It hurts!”

“Take a little at a time. Hold it in. Then let it out. Like this.” Waylon demonstrates again.

I’m nervous as I take it back from him. I feel stupid and innocent.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he says.

“Yeah, I know ,” I practically growl. “Just… give me a minute.”

I put my mouth right where his lips were. I inhale, and the end grows more red. The paper crackles. The smoke stings my throat, but I don’t let myself cough. I take it deep into my lungs and hold it there for as long as I can before exhaling.

I look at Waylon. “Did I do it right? I don’t feel anything.” I start coughing.

He hands me a water bottle. “Give it a minute.”

I take a sip, then drain the rest of it in giant gulps.

“How about now?” Waylon says a little bit later.

I think about this. I cock my head, and the world seems to slowly tip sideways. I slide off the swing and walk very deliberately—it seems to take more effort than usual—over to the grass. Suddenly it becomes extremely important for me to lie on the ground. I let my knees go soft. I melt into the cool grass. There’s barely any moon, so the stars above me seem especially bright.

Waylon comes to lie down beside me. “How’re you doing?” he asks.

I blink. My eyelids are heavy. Blinking is weird, I think. And eyeballs are weird. They’re wet spheres sitting inside two holes in your face. Which is really gross if you think about it.

“Hello?” he says.

“What?” I say.

“I asked you how you were doing.”

I giggle. “Sorry. I forgot.” Between the question and my answer a black hole had opened up. A black hole where I was thinking about…

What was I thinking about? I can’t remember.

I’ve never felt the grass against my back like this. Never felt how delicately the wind can ruffle my hair. I actually don’t need to think at all. What I need is to scoot closer to Waylon, until the whole side of me is pressed against the whole long, warm side of him. I listen to the sound of his slow, steady breath.

My hand finds his in the darkness. Our fingers intertwine.

Just kiss me , I think.

Waylon rolls to his side so he’s facing me. With his other hand he traces the line of my cheekbone down to my lips. My skin melts under his touch.

He says softly, “Would it be all right if I ki—”

I don’t let him finish. I’m already grabbing him and pulling him toward me. Our lips meet in a hot, desperate crush, and the world starts spinning for real now. I didn’t even know how much I wanted this. Needed this.

His hands are in my hair and mine are sliding up the smooth skin of his back. He says, “Kai,” and his voice comes out ragged. I give his neck a little nip and he sighs, smiling, and then he bends down and kisses me again and again and again.