Raised by Wolves

Chapter 82

CHAPTER 82

MY WHOLE BODY goes rigid. My brain even seems to shut down. I struggle to focus as Howells calls Principal Simon to the stand. She says something about our “incredible intelligence, matched only by an equally incredible belligerence” and says we need much more supervision and support than we’re getting—I catch that much. Then there’s Arlene Pettibon, talking about Holo’s violent tendencies, and Mrs. Hardy wiping away tears about how we bullied her two giant sons.

None of it is true, and none of it is fair.

Holo is gripping both Lacey’s and Wendy’s hands, looking whiter than snow. The chief just looks furious.

John Adkins’s cross-examinations don’t help, either. Ms. Pettibon and Mrs. Hardy keep insisting that we’re wild. Not just uncivilized— dangerous .

“Don’t worry,” Adkins says as we break for lunch. “You have to think about a court case like a basketball game. You’re down in the first half, but you come back in the second.”

“We’d better,” the chief says darkly.

Arlene Pettibon passes by him. “Lovely day, isn’t it, Chief Greene,” she trills.

Why can’t he arrest her for her stupid, simpering smile? I can’t stand Arlene Pettibon, and I can’t stand being in this courthouse any longer. Mumbling “I’ll be back” to Wendy, I practically run outside, where the sun’s shining and the birds are chirping and it looks like any other stupid beautiful spring morning.

I want to kick something and scream at someone. Instead I collapse down onto a bench and dig my fists into my eye sockets.

All of this is my fault.

“Hey you,” says a low, gentle voice.

I look up, blinking and squinting against the sun. It’s Waylon Eugene Meloy, wearing a pair of new Levi’s and a sport coat that looks like it’s been kept in a trunk for forty years.

I try to unclench my fists. “Came to watch the show, huh?” I ask flatly.

“I came to see you,” he says. “You haven’t been in school.”

I nod. Shrug. I hadn’t gone back to Kokanee Creek High School after the dance. I couldn’t see any reason to.

“I guess I wasn’t feeling much like a Cougar,” I say.

Waylon sits down on the bench next to me. “That’s because you’re really more of a wolf,” he says, taking my hand. He brings my fingers to his lips and kisses them.

A sob I can’t let out lodges painfully in my throat. Waylon doesn’t know what happened with Beast and her family. My family. Waylon doesn’t understand what’s at stake for all of us.

I can’t be the one to tell him.

Oh, Beast—Bim—Ben—Harriet—I miss you.

Why didn’t we follow you? Why didn’t we run when we had the chance?

I know the answer to that, of course: Because we trusted the chief when he said that everything was going to be okay.

Waylon digs the scuffed toe of his boot into the sidewalk. “School’s not nearly as fun without you,” he says.

I push thoughts of Beast and her pups from my mind. Fake a small, wry smile. “Are you having trouble finding someone to pass annoying notes to in ELA?”

Waylon nods. “Yes. It’s very depressing. But on the bright side, I’m pleased to report that, thanks to you, Mac Hardy has two extremely black eyes.”

“Good.” I wish I’d knocked his eyeballs right out of his head.

Waylon kisses my fingers again and desire fills me—desire mixed with fear and grief. I pull my hand away.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “It’s too much.”

“You’re smart enough you could go straight to college. You know that, right?” Waylon says, with a sudden urgency in his voice. “You could take a test. Get your GED this summer. You could go to the University of Idaho, too.”

“Uh-huh,” I say, as if this is a possibility, which it isn’t. I don’t even know if I would want it to be. Right now I don’t know anything at all.

Waylon says, “You don’t mean that, I can tell.”

I twist the silver bracelet that Lacey fastened onto my wrist this morning. “Who’s to say what’ll happen? It feels like ever since I came out of the woods, everything in my entire life has been a surprise.” I look up at him. I feel suddenly shy. “Especially meeting you.”

Waylon grins. “Yeah, well, I certainly didn’t expect to meet a feral hottie with a bunch of canid siblings—”

I put my finger over his lips to shush him. I know he’s just trying to lighten the mood, but I realize that I have something serious to say to him. “Shut up and listen,” I say. “Because right now I need to thank you.”

He looks at me quizzically. “What for?”

“Thank you for being so reckless that you ended up in jail that day. Thanks for saying hi to me. And for being such a weirdo that you don’t mind hanging out with other weirdos.”

“Well, honestly, I—”

“I said shut up,” I tell him. “I’m not done yet. Thank you for terrifying me on your motorcycle and for teaching me how to dance so badly. Thank you for my rites of passage.” I take a deep breath. It’s hard to say all this, but it feels good to do it. “Remember back when we were in jail, you said that being your friend might just change my life?”

“Yes, and—”

“What part of shut up do you not understand? You were right, though. It did change my life. So thank you, Waylon Eugene Meloy, for being my friend, and for being funny and gorgeous and maybe just a little bit dangerous—”

Then Waylon’s hands are on my cheeks and his warm, soft lips are against my own. We kiss for a long time. And when he pulls away, he looks like someone is ripping the heart right out of his chest.

“I just want more time with you,” he says. “You can’t let them take you away.”

“I won’t,” I say.

Being with him makes me believe it.