It was mid-November, and a few weeks had
passed since my friends and I were circled around
a campfire in the woods and Nash had told us his
frightening werewolf story. Footballs, goalposts,
and grass were replaced with basketballs , hoops,
and hardwood floors. The red, gold, and orange
autumn leaves had fallen or been blown away and
now many trees stood na**d. The temperatures
fell, too. There was just a dusting of snow on the
ground.
I loved the first fresh snow when it blanketed
the town and closed the schools, or a weekend
snowfall when it accumulated enough for us to
stay indoors with a cozy comforter, a good book,
and tasty hot chocolate. I loved the sound of the
snow crunching underneath my boots or the
ultralight snowfall on a silent street. I loved
magical moments when the only impressions in
the snow were the tiny footprints of a bird. And I
cherished the memories of when Juliette and I
were younger and dragged our sleds to Hillside or
another nearby slope.
We hadn't had a major snowfall yet,
however, only cold weather and occasional
flurries. Snow wasn't nearly as great when it
wasn't enough to close school. Then it was just
inconvenient and messy to trudge through,
soaking the hallways, and leaving me crossing my
frozen fingers that I wouldn't wipe out and land
on my backside in front of the entire student
body.
Abby, Ivy, their beaux , and Nash and I were
in library study hall keeping warm. In our English
class we were studying American folklore and had
been assigned a paper on the subject. I kept
thinking about Mr. Worthington's werewolf story.
I decided werewolves would be a good subject for
my essay. It was one thing to have Nash tell a
campfire story to scare us, but I was even more
intrigued that Mr. Worthington seemed
impassioned by the tale himself. And besides, I
could use him as a resource for my paper. Nash's
story was exhilarating and frightening because of
the thought a werewolf could be living among us.
Though I didn't believe in their existence, I could
only imagine that the early settlers had felt alone
like we had been in the woods.
I went to the stacks, scanning the aisles for
anything werewolf. I picked up several books. The
Encyclopedia of Monsters and Myths and
Mysteries. I found The Book of Werewolves and
was pulling it off the shelf when it slipped from
my hand.
As I bent down to pick it up, someone was
already handing it to me. It was Brandon
Maddox.
For the past few months I'd only had brief
encounters with Brandon or passed him on the
way to class. We were in a few classes together
but he sat in the back, his head buried
underneath his wavy locks. He always ate lunch
by himself. I'd never admit to my friends that I
thought Brandon was handsome. He had deep,
royal blue eyes that shined through his short,
shaggy dark hair. If he were an Eastsider, he'd
surely be one of the most popular guys in school.
But since fate led him to be on the Westside, he
was greatly ignored.
Brandon didn't say anything. I sensed it was
not because he was afraid to but because he was
the kind of person who chose his words carefully.
I wanted to say thank you. But as he
continued to gaze into my eyes, my words
escaped me.
"Celeste! Get over here," Ivy called. "What
are you doing?"
I headed over to my friends, feeling slightly
more flushed than I had when I'd left them.
"Werewolves?" Nash asked when he saw me
holding my stack of books.
"I thought I could ask you to tell the class
the Legend's Run Werewolf legend. I could score
some extra points," I said.
"Is this my paper or yours? I'm not working
on two," he said, and buried his head in Sports
Illustrated. "Besides, I was hoping to buy my
paper off the internet."
"Nash!" I said, horrified by his plan.
"I'm just kidding, Parker," he said to me.
"Lighten up."
"I'm considering quilting," Ivy said proudly.
"Quilting?" Jake asked.
"Yes, many people told stories through
narrative quilting."
"Boring!"
"Of course it would be boring to you," Ivy
said. "If it doesn't involve cheerleaders, you don't
want to hear about it."
"Were there na**d quilters?" Jake asked.
"Now, that would be interesting!"
Ivy playfully hit her boyfriend.
"I was thinking of investigating witches,"
Abby proudly announced.
"You won't have to go far to investigate
that," Dylan said.
"Well, thanks," Abby said sarcastically.
"No - I mean you can ask Dr. Meadows,"
he said.
"Who?" Ivy asked.
"That witch doctor in Riverside," Dylan
replied. "My mom went there for acupuncture and
said she sells books on everything. I'm sure she
has information on witches."
Abby appeared skeptical.
"While you're there, maybe you can get your
fortune told," Dylan continued. "See if I'm getting
any action from you this weekend."
"You want me to go to the Westside and talk
to a witch doctor?" Abby said. "Are you crazy?"
"Are you chicken?" Dylan challenged.
"Of course not!" Abby replied.
"Going to Riverside," he taunted. "Afraid
you'll want to move in?"
"No. It's just I have volleyball practice."
Abby wasn't one to be pushed around; she had
her reputation to uphold.
"I dare you," Jake said.
"Dare?" Abby asked.
"Yes, dare!" he repeated.
"Fine," Abby said, shaking his hand. "Ivy,
Celeste, and I will get our fortunes told by Dr.
Meadows."
"I don't believe you," Dylan said. "You, in
Riverside? I'm not sure they'll let you in."
"They better," she said. "And I'll prove it to
you. I'll get a reading and then a receipt."
"Whatever you say," Dylan said with a laugh.
"And when I do," Abby continued, "you'll
have to be our servants for a day."
"Aren't we already?" he asked.
"And if you don't, then you'll have to be
ours." Jake smiled.
"I guarantee that won't be happening," I
said.
My friends cuddled and studied with their
boyfriends as I imagined what my fortune might
be.
I gazed outside. I could see the moon
hanging in the cloudless blue sky. It looked
lonely, staring back at me. I wondered if it
thought the same of me.