The school building had been completely aired out by the next morning, so every last trace of garlic was gone. Everyone resumed their usual routine, but luckily, Duran was absent for the day. Maybe he got intimidated and finally decided to leave me alone. If so, my prayers were answered.
Since school was cancelled yesterday, I was finally able to attend Lycanthropic Lore for the first time. The class was on the second floor, so I made my way up the stairs with my new lycanthropy pamphlet. Of course, the entire room was filled with werewolves, so I was actually pretty relieved. Fido and Sparky sat in the front, but to my surprise, Rusty was reclining in the back with his boots propped up.
Of course, I hurried to the empty seat beside him. Now that I was able to get a closer look, the class was decorated with all sorts of quirky posters featuring the lunar cycle and the psychology behind a werewolf's "ear language" (which was actually pretty useful). There was even a PSA poster advertising flea collars.
Say No to Fleas!!!
If you or someone you know has been struggling with fleas,
find instant relief with FleaZap!
The new low-voltage collar instantly zaps those tiny pests
with just one push of this tiny button!
CAUTION: DO NOT WEAR NEAR WATER
Er, zapping your own neck with electricity seemed a little dangerous . . . but who was I to question it? The other posters on the wall advertised silver-free jewelry, squeaky toys, and protein bars packed with the essential nutrients for a teen wolf boy.
"Alright, boys." The door opened, and a plump werewolf lady with greyish-brown ears and a tail waddled inside. She must have been the teacher. Her greasy hair was rolled up into a bun, and her clanky beads and bangles jangled as she walked. "Last time, we left off on mange prevention. Today, we'll be discussin' the birds and the fleas."
Whaaa?
"You're just tryna embarrass us in front of Millie!" Fido yelled. "I don't have fleas!"
"Of course, you don't. You take mah class, so you don't have fleas. Anyway, it's a well-known fact that the werewolf birth rate is plummetin' faster than lemons off a cliffs. And you wanna know why? Well, 'cuz y'all stank and girls don't want non-bathers. So, if you wanna wife one day, you need to get with the times and start learnin' how to use a shower."
"But our fur gets wet!" Sparky whined.
"That's why you can't get a girl. Y'all nasty. Plus, ya whine. Anyway, as you may notice, litters have become a thang of the past. More she-wolves are givin' birth to only one wolf. It ain't like the olden days when five puppies would pop out at a time."
Five puppies?!
She then pointed at a chart of birth rate statistics hanging from the wall. A red line plummeted to the bottom.
"See dis? Now that lycans are becomin' more civilized and familiar with human television, litters just ain't possible anymore. They're findin' more and more she-wolves would rather be alone than be with you."
"What?! That's not fair!" the guys sulked.
"It's not my fault I have fleas!"
"It's not yer fault you stink?" She raised an eyebrow, revealing her blue caked-on eyeshadow.
"Well, I mean . . . nature just rubs off on you when you're rollin' around in the dirt. It's cool down there."
"Exactly. What female of any species wants to kiss a pair of lips covered in dirt? Anyway, Rusty, you stand up. I need an example."
Rusty sank into his chair. "Oh, great."
Nevertheless, he begrudgingly stood up.
"Now, git over here. Don't be shy."
He shuffled to the front of class, facepalming.
"Fido, stand beside yer cousin," the teacher ordered. "I need a comparison."
Fido's ears perked up, and he jumped to his feet at Rusty's side.
"Now, as you can see, class, we got a mangy mutt and a proud poodle."
Rusty nearly erupted in anger as the entire class burst out laughing.
"Hey! What's that 'sposed to mean?!"
"Now, if you remember, boys—last year, Rusty was just as bad off, not bathin', brushin', or anythang. But now, he's taken an interest in girls."
His face turned redder than a tomato, but the other students howled with laughter. Some nearly keeled out of their chairs.
"I've always bathed!" he retorted.
"Now, who's the teacher and who's the fool? I've seen the metamorphosis. Anyway, speakin' of human influence, look how much he's changed since a certain human girl came into his life."
Rusty was right. These she-wolves had no filter.
"How so?!" Sparky egged on.
"Well, fer one thang, his protective instinct has been kickin' in, which naturally bathes the fur in fine oils. Page eleven describes it as Alphacium. It's the natural pheromone that emits when a werewolf feels protective over his mate, and it smells like sugar water. It has a calmin' effect over the one bein' protected. That's why she's always so radiant." She smiled a sweet smile. "Now, Scruffy, stand up for a minute."
"Why?" he panicked.
"Pull out a picture of yer girlfriend fer the class to see."
He gulped nervously, stood up, and pulled out his wallet to reveal a picture of a wolf girl.
"See how she's all bug-eyed and her ears are droopy? That ain't love. That's gas."
"Aunt Wolfsbane!" Scruffy cried.
"That's Ms. Wolfsbane to you," she huffed.
"It was rainin' that day when she got her picture taken!"
"Well, if you loved her, you woulda invested in an umbrella fer her a long time ago. Now, sit down, boys."
Rusty flew back to his desk and avoided eye contact with me. But part of me wondered if the Alphacium thing was really true.
"The test is gonna focus heavily on the different pheromones that a werewolf emits. So, be sure to read chapter four through five and answer the questions in section ten of your lycanthropy pamphlet. Now, I got a hot date with my human boyfriend Steve, so I gotta cut class short. If the Headmaster asks, just tell 'em I fainted from the smell reekin' off you young'uns."
She then picked up her monster purse and clacked down the hall in her leopard-print stilettos.
Somehow, I could tell that this wouldn't be a hard class to pass.
. . . Until I was wrong. That night, I found myself struggling with my lycanthropy homework. Usually, I could just skim through a textbook and find the answers myself, but the questions in the pamphlet were foreign to me. And it wasn't like I could find this information on the internet. It was all top-secret!
Here I was, in my little tower, agonizing over the stupidest questions on earth.
How often should a teen wolf brush his or her tail to prevent fleas?
What is the average age of first transformation?
Truth or Hoax: Wolfsbane cures lycanthropy.
Truth or Hoax: It isn't possible for a werewolf to have a human soulmate.
What are some of the benefits of having a pack rather than being a lone wolf?
How was I supposed to know the answers to these questions? Finally, I called up Rusty and begged him for his help once more.
"Rusty! I need you!" I wailed.
"Huh? What's wrong?" he worried.
"My homework's too hard. Can you help me?"
"What? Biology? Math?"
"No, lycanthropy."
He nearly snorted. "Wait, you're serious? Oh, sorry, wasn't tryna be rude."
"I'm being serious! I can't answer any of these questions, and I don't want to look like a total idiot. So, will you come over?"
"Of course. Be right there."
He hung up, and several minutes later, he knocked on my door at the bottom of the staircase. I quickly let him in and ushered him to my cluttered desk. He sat down on the stool beside my chair.
"So, what's the problem?" he asked.
"I can't answer any of these questions!" I pointed at my blank piece of notebook paper. "And I can't find anything on the internet."
"'Cuz those answers aren't on the internet. Our teacher made 'em up. Her granddad wrote the book. Her family's, like, the historians of wolves or somethin'."
I slumped my shoulders. "Made up? So, the information's not even gonna help me get to know you better?"
"Okay, she didn't make 'em up. It's accurate," he grumbled. "Don't worry about it. Nobody makes an A for her. She never passes any of us."
"Yeah, but I don't wanna slack off! I need to make a good impression while I'm here."
"You're human. You're still here. It's the best impression you can ever give."
I let out a disappointed sigh.
His ears flopped. "Aw, c'mon, don't do that to yourself. Y'know, look sad." He then rubbed his forehead and moved the paper to see better. "Ugh, okay. How do I give you a crash course of what it's like to be a werewolf? Okay, first question: how often should a teen wolf brush his tail? That's easy. How often do you brush your hair to prevent lice?" he quizzed.
"Several times a day. And lice is kind of rare. But otherwise, it gets knotted."
"Wow, that must be why it looks so shiny." He then froze. "Wait, did I say that out loud?" He shook his head. "Never mind. If it applies to you or your dog, then that's probably the answer."
"You said you didn't want me to compare you to Beanie."
"Okay, then just think of me. How often do I brush my tail?"
"Every day?"
"Okay, then. That's the answer. Y'see, the more we get to know each other, the more naturally these questions will come to you." He then cleared his throat. "Anyway, next question. When's the average age of first transformation? Well, think of when a boy can grow a beard. Or his voice changes. Same thing. It's just puberty."
The more he talked, the more it started to click. We really weren't that much different thinking about it now.
"For the third question, nothing cures lycanthropy 'cuz it's not a disease or curse. And there's not such thing as biting or spreading it. It's not like a vampirism, which is actually a fang-transmitted disease, otherwise known as an FTD."
I snickered, but kept my mouth shut.
"But no, we're born this way. I can't bite you and turn you into a werewolf. That's just gross."
"Wow. That's good to know."
His ears shot up, and he blushed. "What? Were you worried about it?"
"Huh? No, actually, I never thought about it. But it's good to know."
He let out a sigh of relief. "Okay. Next question. Truth or hoax: it isn't possible for a werewolf to have a—" Suddenly, he paused and stiffened in place.
"What's wrong?"
He flipped through the pamphlet. "Wait, where did you get this study guide?"
"Ms. Milky gave it to me. She said she put it together just for me."
"Yeah . . . I see where this is goin'."
"You don't have a pamphlet?"
"No. We already know this stuff. Except for . . . wait, what are all these 'soulmate' questions down here?" He scanned the bottom of page twelve.
I tilted my head. "I don't know. Isn't that a thing in your culture? Don't you, like, bond yourselves to each other?"
"No! We're not dogs! We don't have 'soulmates' like that." He cringed. "Not like the vampires and their stupid thrall system. That's bondage, not a bond."
"Well, all the books back where I come from talk about werewolves having soulmates."
"I don't go around claimin' whoever I want like a barbarian. And I don't mark my territory like a dog! If one day, I fall in love, I hope that person feels the same." He then blushed and looked away. "Man, it's hot in here. Is there even an AC in this room?"
"No, it's usually kinda chilly."
He shot up from his stool and swung open the diamond-lead window to the starry night. His hair wavered in the breeze. He then paused. ". . . Hey, wanna go for a walk? It'd be easier to tell ya more about wolf stuff if I just tell ya more about myself in my family. You can ask me anything."
I grinned. "Sure!"
With a smile, he held out his hand, so I shyly took it. He led me down the spiral staircase, and we took a stroll down a polished sidewalk on schoolgrounds. Soon, we reached a hickory bridge that curved over a leaf-dusted pond. The dazzling sea of stars reflected in the turquoise water.
Rusty propped his arms on the dark railing so he could watch the rippling water. The blonde tufts of his soft ears and tail glowed under the moonlight. For some reason, he almost looked sad.
"So . . . do you hate being a werewolf?" I quietly asked.
"What? What kind question is that?"
I immediately regretted the question. He must have sensed my embarrassment because he turned to me. "Oh, sorry. I guess it's only natural for you to wonder since humans don't even know we exist. I mean, the tail's kinda obnoxious and gets in the way all the time. And the double ear thing just looks ridiculous. And then there's the moon thing. And the fleas . . . but nah. I'm okay with it. I mean, it's not like I turned into a werewolf. I've always been like this. And you're the first human I've . . ."
He hesitated. "I mean, I see how we're different, Millie, but we got a lot of same in us, too," he answered. "I swear, the werewolf in me doesn't make me dumb. I just get tongue-tied lately. A lot." He then sighed and looked up at the sky. "Y'know, the full moon's comin' up soon. Then you'll see us for who we really are."
I gazed into his eyes. "But I already see you for who you really are."
He smirked. "You're really somethin', ya know that?" He then changed the subject. "So, what about you? Do you hate being a human?"
I quickly shook my head. "No way."
". . . Do you wish you were one of us?"
How could I answer that without offending him?
"Don't answer that. That was stupid." He then hesitated . . . and gazed into my eyes with earnesty. "Do you wish I was one of you?"
"I can't imagine you without the ears and the tail!" I blurted out loud.
In a way, he looked relieved. Still, I wondered what he meant by that?
"Why? Do you wish you were?" I asked.
He just sighed. "Y'know, since knowin' you . . . I don't know. I've been wonderin' a lot lately."
"What about?"
"How this friendship between us shouldn't work. But for some reason, it's perfect."
My heart skipped a beat.
Suddenly, he blushed furiously and looked down. "Sorry, this probably won't be on the test."
I just laughed. "Yeah, but I'm learning more about you. And I can't wait to meet your family."
"Oh, mom's been goin' crazy all week cleanin' the house and bakin' apple pie."
"Apple pie?"
"She said it's, like, a human favorite." He then paused. "Do you like it?"
The thought made me feel warm inside. "It's one of my favorites."
His face turned red again, but this time, his tail wagged on its own. "Ugh! This stupid tail." He quickly stopped it midair. "Millie, can I ask you a question?" he seriously asked.
"Yeah?"
"If human guys went to this school . . . would you have ever . . . talked to me?"
"Huh? Of course!"
"Sorry. It wasn't a fair question. It's just that . . . the full moon's comin' up. And I know you saw me phase the other day, but I did that by choice. We don't have any control over phasin' under the moon."
"Well, you're still yourself. So, that doesn't matter," I reminded, remembering what he had told me.
"Well, yeah, my mom made sure we learned how to behave. She didn't let us run around like idiots or scratch furniture since she said that feeds into it. Y'know, like my cousin. So, I'm really grateful she's my mom. I'm just . . . worried about the future, I guess. I don't want this friendship to ever end," he admitted.
I beamed. "Me, neither."
His tail wagged, and it was so adorable. I just wanted to pet it again, but I knew he felt self-conscious and didn't like it when people stroked his fur. I wasn't sure why, though. I mean, I liked it when people brushed my hair. Well, not creepy weirdos, but it was nice. Like being at a hair salon.
"Well, anyway, I want you to meet me at the gym tomorrow after school," I cryptically stated.
He raised an eyebrow. "Okay. Why?"
"Dance lessons!"
"What? Dance lessons?" He raised an eyebrow. "Uh, I mean, when you say 'dance lessons,' what exactly do you mean by that? I mean, I've seen movies. So, are we talkin' Footloose, Dirty Dancin', or Thriller?"
"Those are all from the eighties! Do you even know what's appropriate at a ball?"
"Well, I've never been to the Mystic Moon Ball before. I mean, it's pretty much a rave."
"What?! It is not!"
He laughed. "Gotcha."
I rolled my eyes and punched him in the shoulder, but he still cracked up.
"Just show up tomorrow. Okay?" I insisted.
He let out a sigh. "Okay. Well, I'm starved. You want somethin' to eat?"
"Yeah, can you dig up that cooler for me while you're here? The cafe's closed."
He groaned. "Ugh. Do we really have to resort to dirt food?"
"There's no dirt in it! I'm really craving a sandwich."
"Okay. Hold up." He took a whiff of the air and went straight for the new dig spot behind my tower. He then crouched into the grass, and dirt flew into the air as he shoveled the earth with his hands.
"How deep did he dig this hole?!" he complained.
Finally, we heard the familiar thump of a hard object, and he found his prize. For the next five minutes, we both enjoyed the turkey sandwiches that were already prepackaged. It was the perfect meal before bedtime.
•❤•
The next day, I waited for Rusty in the gym after school with a pink boombox on the floor. Ms. Milky had let me borrow it for my dance lesson, and it was pretty vintage, but luckily, I had brought along my handy-dandy pop CDs.
Eventually, Rusty showed up with his duffel bag slung over his shoulder. I cheerfully waved at him.
"Hey, Rusty! Are you ready to dance?" I asked.
As soon as he saw me, he did a doubletake. "Woah! What're you wearin'?"
Oh, yeah. The drama teacher let me borrow a ballgown so I could dress accurately for my lesson, and I quickly changed into it in the gym bathroom without anyone noticing. It was a blush chiffon gown with a skirt that poofed to the floor.
"Why? Do you like it?" I twirled around and clasped my hands together.
"What? Well, yeah. But is that what you're wearin' to the ball or somethin'?"
"No! This is just for rehearsal. I wanted you to get used to dancing with a girl in a poofy dress."
"Oh. Okay . . . if you say so." He plopped his duffel bag on the floor and approached me, so I popped a CD into the boombox that played Take My Breath Away by Berlin.
"Okay. Just put your hand on my waist."
My words stunned him. "What?"
Without a word, I took his hand and pressed it to my waist.
"If we're gonna dance together, you gotta pretend that you like me," I teased.
He grinned and pulled me closer. "Who says I'm pretending?"
My face turned red, but I slipped my other hand into his palm and squeezed it gently. "Just hold my hand in the air. And now, move like this."
I slowly led him around the dancefloor in soft, circling movements, but he struggled to copy my footwork.
"Just try to relax," I encouraged. "You're pretty stiff."
His ears drooped. "Sorry."
"Why don't you try to twirl me?"
"You mean, like, around?"
"No, just hold your hand up and twirl me in front of you," I explained. "Like this."
I raised his hand above my head and twirled around. He remained frozen the entire time as if worried that he'd make a mistake.
"Erm, maybe we should try another dance," I suggested, noticing his nervousness.
He groaned. "Maybe we should give up. I'm no good at this."
"But you can't go through life not knowing how to dance."
"Why not?" he muttered. "I mean, is it that frequently done?"
"On special occasions!"
He slumped his shoulders.
"I know. Let's just try something easy. How about the Macarena?" I suggested.
"Wait, you mean that internet dance?"
"Well, it's on the internet."
"I've seen it." He smirked. "It looks fun."
"That's the spirit!"
And so, we proceeded to perform the Macarena to some jazzy tunes. Surprisingly, he was actually really good at his hand placements. Maybe it was because he didn't have to place his hands on me. Finally, he started to relax after dancing the awkwardness away.
When the song ended, I took out the jazz CD. "Well, we don't have to practice anymore. I'm sure you can get by with the Macarena."
"Wait, I think I'm more loosened up now. Let's try the other dance one more time."
My face lit up. "Okay."
This time, I popped in a CD with orchestra music so we could both focus better. He slid his hand around my waist and held up my other hand. This time, he smoothly circled around the dancefloor with me, more confident than earlier. He even timed his movements with the gentle melody.
I smiled. "Wow, you're getting it!"
He held me a little closer. "I got a great teacher."
My heart swirled. He then held his hand up and twirled me around with ease. For a moment, I completely forgot all about the gym and the dance lesson. Just being with him made the world disappear.
The song faded out, so we began to slow our steps . . . but his eyes remained locked on mine. Yesterday, he told me that he never wanted our friendship to end . . . but could he have also meant something more?
. . . Was it possible for a werewolf and a human to be together?
I didn't even realize that the music had stopped, but Rusty still held me in a close embrace. For the first time ever, a feeling of belonging warmed me to the core. It was almost like being in his arms was where I was meant to be.
"Ugh, get a room."
We both froze in place, and I immediately jumped away from Rusty. But thankfully, it was only Asher.
"Hey! What're you doing here?" I asked. "School's out."
"I'm lookin' for snakes," he weirdly answered.
"In the gym?"
"You'd be surprised. This place is pretty ancient, and the vampires draw 'em out."
. . . Wait, what?!
"Ingore him," Rusty grumbled. "I've never seen a snake around here."
"'Course, you haven't. 'Cuz I catch 'em."
This was just really awkward—and a little scary! I didn't even know snakes were lurking inside this building!
"Look, snakes hate wolves," Rusty assured. "So, as long as you're with me, they won't bother you anyway."
"What about my tower?" I squeaked.
"Snakes are lazy," Asher explained. "They don't climb that high. So, yeah, don't worry about it. I can smell 'em a mile away."
Oh. I still looked like an idiot in my ballgown, but maybe Asher wouldn't notice.
And of course, he did.
"So, what're you two doin'? Rehearsin' for your wedding?" he wisecracked.
"Shuddup!" Rusty turned bright red.
"No, I was giving him dance lessons," I clarified. "For the Mystic Moon Ball."
"Hey, y'know, you could actually start a dance club. I mean, you'd get tons of guys signin' up for your lessons," he suggested with a smirk directed at Rusty.
Rusty almost seemed to look jealous. "No way! . . . I mean, unless you want to. But I wouldn't advise it. All the vampires would sign up."
He had a point. The thought made me shudder. "No, that's alright. This was more of an exclusive lesson anyway."
Asher raised an eyebrow, his eyes darting between Rusty and me. "Alright, I see how it is."
For some reason, my face turned red. Rusty was probably embarrassed too because he didn't say anything. But . . . either way, I had a lot of fun. However, I started to wonder what would have happened if Asher didn't interrupt our lesson. For a moment, it seemed like Rusty didn't mind holding me so closely in his arms.
The thought made me feel something unfamiliar. Joy . . . but also warmth. Warmth for Rusty.