Silver Claws: Blood Twins

Chapter 11

11.

“I can’t walk in this!” Rhea said, grabbing a fistful of her pink dress. “It’s. . .awkward.” Her mind said a swear.

We were on the way to school. At daybreak, Wilf had thrust his head in the cubby hole--I guess it was a room that we slept in on saddle blankets--and said Hannah had decided we needed to go to school. There was no arguing about it. I didn’t want to spend the day with human kids. But it became clear we had no choice. Johnny was gone, not a word to us. And here we were walking down the dusty road.

We no sooner got out of the house than two hens scratching in the chicken yard next to the forge started clucking about the ruffles on Rhea’s dress. She snarled at them and sent them scurrying into the coop.

“You have to wear the dress,” I said. “Remember, Father told us to fit in. If every other human girl wears a dress then you have to, too.”

“But they don’t all have hairy legs like me.” And she lifted the skirt a bit, to show the dark hairs on her legs. “I want my overalls, not ruffles.”

“Well, don’t go showin’ your legs. You’ll give someone a heart attack.” At least the skirt was long enough to cover her up.

I still limped a bit, but my leg was getting healed. In a few days it’d be like it had never been broken.

The school was at the end of the street, a one room building that looked like they’d used planks from a coffin to make it. One good huff of wind and it’d fall right over. We were supposed to go right in, introduce ourselves to the teacher, and tell her Hannah sent us. The story we’d made up was that we were her sister’s kids from Arkansas. Her sister was sick with consumption, so Hannah was looking after us until she got better. Until Ma got better, I corrected myself.

School had already started. I opened the door and it creaked loud. No need to stomp off our feet because there was a dirt floor. Hard packed and shiny looking, like you could sweep it, but a dirt floor. The smell of children, sweat, chalk and mice overwhelmed me. There were about twelve kids packed like cattle in a stall and they turned and stared. Curious as cows and calves. Rhea went first, staring right back and a low growl reverberating in the back of her throat. I jabbed her in the ribs and we went up to the front, to the teacher.

The teacher looked at us and smiled and I must admit, I did melt a little. Not too many humans looked this beautiful. Her odor was sweet, like she’d been eating flowers. “So who are you?”

“I’m Rom and this is Rhea. We’re Hannah’s nephew and niece. Were from Snake Rapids, in Arkansas.”

“Our ma’s sick,” Rhea added. “That’s why we’re here.”

“And what are your last names?”

I swallowed. Last names? I’d forgotten humans have last names.

“Lupus,” Rhea said. “Rom and Rhea Lupus, that’s us.”

“Well, welcome, you can call me Miss Tern.”

Tern, Ravens, Crows. What’s with these birds? Rhea blasted her thought into my head.

“Have you two ever been to school before?” Miss Tern asked.

“No,” I said, “but my ma and pa taught us lots.”

“Oh, no proper schooling. Then you’ll start with the first group.” She pointed to the right side of the room. Five children sat on benches. Four were younger than seven, probably and one was a huge boy that might be fourteen. The left side of the room giggled.

“But we---”

“Please take your seat. We do not argue with the teacher here.” Miss Tern’s lips pursed. There was no reasoning with people in this town.

Rhea and I sat with the big older boy on the front bench in front of the younger children. Miss Tern passed out slates and chalk. “You children practice printing your ABC’s while I work with the other group.”

Rhea stiffened and sniffed.

Miss Tern walked to the left and passed out books to the seven other students. “Charlie, begin on page seven.” A boy with a shock of blond hair squinted at the words. “The. little. dog. ran. a...a...a”

“That’s ‘after’ Charlie.”

Charlie nodded. “After. The. Yell. O. Cat.” He stopped and sighed as if he had just finished hauling twenty bales of hay.

“For pity’s sake!” Rhea said. She stormed to Miss Tern’s desk.

“What are you doing?” Miss Tern demanded. “Sit down immediately.”

Rhea picked up a book from the desk and opened to the first page. “Your parents must have money for you to own this book in translation,“ she said. She began reading. “In the middle of the journey of our life, I came to myself in a dark wood, where the direct way was lost. It is a hard thing to speak of--how wild, harsh, and impenetrable that wood was, so that thinking of it recreates the fear.”

Miss Tern’s mouth dropped open as my eyes closed. So much for fitting in. Werewolves were blessed with strength, speed, agility. We could mindspeak. And we have strong minds. We learned easily, quickly and we learned a lot. We had learned to read early and we, like wolves, read voraciously.

“Recess!” Miss Tern said.

The classroom was empty in seconds.

Rhea placed the book gently on the desk.

“You...” the teacher sputtered.

“You wouldn’t take the time to listen. Listen to me now!“ Rhea said.

Rhea! I mindspoke but she ignored me.

“You haven’t gotten past the second page of that book, Miss Tern. Maybe you should take a seat on one of the benches and I should sit at the desk. But, I’m not coming back.”

I followed Rhea out the door. The children gathered to see. “You wear your hair like a boy!” One of the older girls yelled the taunt in a sing song voice.

“Show off,” the big boy shouted.

A small rock whizzed through the air and plonked against Rhea’s shoulder. She whirled.

Don’t! My mind shouted to her. Don’t Change!

Rhea’s eyes blazed but she kept her human shape. She strode through the crowd pushing two children aside and grabbed a boy that probably outweighed her by twenty pounds by the front of his shirt.

“You almost made me mad,” she said. “I don’t think you should ever make me mad.” She shoved the boy and he flew back about ten feet before he landed on his back with an big, loud thud. He started crying.

“That’s more like it,“ Rhea said. She walked off. Nobody said another thing.

I followed her because I didn’t know what else to do.