Green-Green everywhere. Trees grow around the winding dirt road in rows so thick that I can barely see the gray of the world around me. It's November: the sky is flat and empty, the color of ashes and icy slush on the sides of the road. My teeth clench at the slightly numbing chill that is settling into my legs-our car has a crappy heater.
"Oregon? Seriously?" I mumble bitterly. Mom slides me a look and I cross my arms tighter across my stomach. "This isn't even civilization-it's a mountain with cabins. How do people even manage to survive here?"
"You can be angry all you want, Shylah. You brought this on yourself," she says tightly, hands tightening momentarily on the steering wheel. I roll my eyes.
"Right-because it's my entire fault that the teachers decided I was better off in home school." This isn't an entire lie-I was expelled from RoyalGroveHigh School because I went off on every teacher I came across until they finally just got rid of me because I was too much trouble to deal with. I can hear the sigh from the other side of our big black truck as easily as I'd be able to if I was pressed into her side.
"It is when you tell your teacher you'd rather be six feet under than ever go to that school again," Mom replies. I press myself harder against the passenger side door and bite together to hold back a snide remark. This argument is old, practiced-we've been over these lines so many times that I really just don't want to bother going over it again.
"Well, I only have one more year," I say. "And then I'm done with high school and you don't have to worry about it anymore."
She sighs again and presses her lips together in a mimic of what I'd done. I almost grin in success when she has nothing to say in response and look outside. It's cold here, the road dark with moisture, and I shiver. And I have another year of living here, I think grimly. Fantastic-can't wait to get started.
It's another hour and a half before we pull into a driveway and I see a small clearing leveled out with a house. It's not new, not by any sense, but it's a step up from our tiny apartment in California, if only a tiny inch of one. It's a small two-story with green trim, and sadly, doesn't look much bigger than our previous home. I sigh and climb out of the car, getting my backpack out of the backseat before slamming the door shut and stalking to the front door. It's hard to stomp away appropriately when your legs are dead asleep and the same temperature as ice, but I try my hardest anyway.
Mom comes to the door a few seconds after I get there with her roller suitcase and I don't pause when the door opens to find my room. I grimace when I find it: the air is scented with dust and stagnant air, and everything looks like it's too hundred years old. My nose wrinkles when I see the bed, but I'm too cold to do anything yet-I change into thick black sweats and a really heavy feather-grey long-sleeve and tie my thick hair into a pony-tail. Now ready to tackle the room, I get started.
The first thing I do is open the windows-cold, clean air is better than dusty, soupy, warm air any day. After that, I go out to the truck and grab my pitiful two boxes of stuff and strip the bed. As expected, I raise a cloud of dust doing so, but my black comforter looks much better than the Army camouflage that had covered the mattress before. The next thing I do is take stock of what I have here already. These are the things I see: a bookshelf filled with wolf behavior books, a door that leads to a bathroom, a dresser that has nothing in it, and an empty closet.
I take the wolf books off the shelf and take them outside to dump them in the trash, and replace them with my own massive music collection (full of awesome bands like Evans Blue, Five Finger Death Punch, Gemini Syndrome, Icon For Hire, and Rise Against) and my books. I take my clothes and hang them up, pleased that I actually have enough to fill it. My shampoo and conditioner, along with soap and everything else related to bathroom necessities, are unpacked and put away. But it's so quiet in the room, that I can't stand it anymore, so I turn on Evans Blue's Graveyard of Empires CD and rock out to This Time Is Different while I put up my posters.
Mom comes in when I'm half-finished furnishing my room. "Hey," she says quietly. I roll my eyes and turn to face her.
"I'm sorry-do I actually exist now?" I ask sarcastically. "Must be my birthday. Or am I just in trouble again?"
She sighs and runs a hand over her dark hair. I don't know how I managed it, but I got all of her good traits and all of the bad traits from my dad-who I never knew, except from pictures that Mom doesn't know I've looked at. I have her thick, hair that's red in the sun but chocolate when in the shade, her green eyes, but I have my dad's battle-ready, cold attitude and his ability to eat anything but still stay a tall twig.
"I just wanted to see how you were holding up," Mom tells me softly. I almost feel bad-but then I remember that she's the reason I'm here in the first place.
"Fine," I shrug. "Haven't been here long enough to start suffering yet."
"Shylah, about earlier in the car--."
"Don't. Please don't. I'm tired of having this argument. Just let it go. I'm here, alright? Not exactly able to go anywhere for another year, am I?"
She shakes her head. "It wasn't going to be an argument."
"Sure, Mom Whatever you say." I poke around my closet and see a walking stick. I grab it and tug on my black hiking boots, quickly lacing them up. "I'm going out."
"I don't think that's a good idea. I don't know these woods, Shylah. I'm not sure I'm comfortable with you exploring them by yourself," Mom tries, but I just level a look, opening my window wider with a grin.
"Okay," I say. "Try to stop me, then," and I slip through, jogging away. I take pride in the fact that if she calls me, I don't hear her. I don't stop until there's nothing but trees and mountain air around me. Luckily, I'd dressed appropriately before escaping my cell, so I now where black hiking boots and a black leather jacket with wool lining. My pants are thick, dark wash denim blue skinny jeans.
I'm grinning when I turn away, high from escaping. My breath puffs in the air like mist and fold my arms into my jacket pockets. I look around. There's nothing but forest-no trails, no signs, absolutely nothing to tell me where I'm at. It's a marvelous thing to be lost in a world only you know about. I inhale deep and revel in the clean air. Yeah, I secretly enjoy being out here. I only complain about it to let Mom know I'm not happy with her choices.
I travel around for a good few hours, until the sun starts to set and the cold starts to worsen. Voices catch my attention and I look around. There's a group-three boys and two girls, with one guy at the front who's obviously the leader stalking toward another. His expression doesn't look too happy-actually, he looks damn near murderous.
"You did what?" he demands. He has a strong jaw line, chocolate hair, tan skin, and his right arm is covered in black ink. He's obviously pissed off as the one in front of him quickly backs away with a defiant expression, though he's clearly shaking in his boots.
"I didn't-I didn't mean to-I did nothing," he hisses. The leader raises an eyebrow.
"Nothing? You-you set me up, Ryan! I told you, I don't want her or anyone else! So what do you do? You go to the council leaders and make them force my hand!" This guy looks seriously ticked. And he looks ready to lunge. I swallow and back away, but a dead branch cracks under my foot and all six people turn and their gazes land on me. The rest of the group are just confused and surprised, the leader is alarmed and angry, and the one on trial looks wary. I swallow, turning and bolting.
"Hey!" Someone calls. I don't stop running until I'm back at home. Mom is in the living room, pacing. She whirls toward me when I enter the house.
"Where on Earth have you been?" she demands. "I have been worried sick, Shylah! I get that you hate it here already, but that does not give you the right to sneak off wherever and whenever you please!" Her brown eyes glisten and I swallow down my guilt and roll my eyes instead.
"I'm fine, warden. Starving and tired, but unharmed." I frown at the sting at my cheek and press a hand to it. When I pull it away, it's warm and smeared just barely with blood. It takes me a moment to figure out what it's from-there's long scratches from the trees. "Okay, mostly unharmed."
She sighs, rubbing her temples. "Go take a shower and put some disinfectant on those. I'll make you a sandwich."
I shrug and walk off to my room, but relief paints me a different color once I'm under the spray of the water. I close my eyes and the image of the six people I'd seen comes running back-the leader, tall-dark-and-handsome. The girls-one with strawberry-blonde curls, another with a hacked off pixie cut of blue locks. There were two other guys, minus the exile getting creamed. Dirty blonde hair on one of them, shoulder length, kind of shaggy. The other had bleached blonde hair, short and spiky. I guess they could be brothers or something. And then the exile: red hair, medium length, wavy. I open my eyes. The redhead was Ryan, right? Wasn't that what the leader had called him?
I turn off the water and get dressed into pajamas, sighing as I towel dry my hair. Today was okay, but tomorrow...tomorrow is when hell really starts. I hated school in California, and I'll still hate it here. But then a new thought occurs to me-one I don't like.
What if that group I saw today in the woods go to the same school?
Somehow, I really doubt that they'd be welcoming towards the girl who, for all intents and purposes, could have been stalking them. Or something along those lines. I bite my lip and try to change the track my mind is on. But seriously-how the hell do I manage to make enemies without even attending the school in the first place??
When my mind can't seem to take any other turns, I finally give up and just go to sleep. Tomorrow is a long time away and I won't do any good sleep-deprived.
That night, I dream of black wolves.