Not Your Ordinary Wolf Girl (17 page)

While I waited for him to return, I removed as many layers of clothing as possible. Being comfortable was my only concern, so my inner wolf wouldn't decide
to reveal herself. When the opening act played I chilled beneath an overhead vent, drinking my ice water, snacking on chicken, and generally psyching myself up. Jules and Mali took off because the room was too cold, but they didn't complain. At least not to my face.

Soon enough, it was our turn. I stuffed cold packs in my bra before pulling on my T-shirt, and tucked a couple under the waist of my miniskirt, knowing my body must look ridiculously lumpy. I carried my bowl of ice and bottles of water out onto the small stage. Despite all the prep, I started sweating the second the lights hit me. I clamped my eyes shut. The roar of the crowd rose as I stumbled blindly to the stool where Janis waited faithfully and set my stash on a table. My eyelids felt glued together. I pried them open and attempted to smile. I was pretty sure it looked ferocious.

We'd played here dozens of times. I knew half of the people, whose collective scent was overpowering me with perfume and deodorant and hormones and body odour. Bottle caps popped off, glasses clinked, and voices rose and fell each time one of us did something like, say, pick up an instrument.

Jules made it all look so easy. She flirted with the crowd, teased them, and dared them to respond. Meanwhile I perched on my stool, staring down at my
feet, breathing rhythmically and praying I could keep myself calm. The cool air shooting at me helped. So did chugging a frosty bottle of water until the lights signalled the beginning of our first song.

I put down the empty bottle and began to pick out my bass line. Beside me, Malika's sticks flipped and bounced on the drums. Jules's hands slid along her keyboard and then her silky voice joined in. My shoulder muscles loosened and my feet started tapping. I stood up and danced. I never dance!

After the third song, I chugged another bottle of water. It felt like honey sliding down my throat. Playing live was a natural high. I couldn't remember the last time I'd relaxed and enjoyed myself so much. Jules and Malika stumbled more than usual, but I lived and breathed the bass line, setting the pace and increasing the tempo to a fever pitch in the fast numbers. When the lights dimmed, the crowd hushed and I floated off the stage. Blood rushed through my veins.

Once the door to the hallway shut, I turned to Jules and Malika, grinned—and came thudding back down to earth. Jules was furious again. Malika looked kind of upset, too. She wouldn't meet my eyes.

“What was that?” asked Jules.

“What's wrong?”

“You sped up every single song,” said Malika softly.

“Yeah, but they sounded great—I'm so over the top ten garbage Vinnie wants us to play these days.”

“Are you on crack?” said Jules.

“No!”

“You're not a goddamned solo artist! Yet. I'm sorry you're going through rough stuff these days, but you made us look like assholes out there. Why didn't you bother to check if we could keep up?”

“Bass is much easier to play fast than drums,” added Malika.

“My hands are
on fire,
” said Jules. “I think I've got tendonitis, thanks to you. We sounded like shit. What a mess!”

Malika stared sullenly at the wall. I'd royally screwed things up. Again.

“You must be high,” Jules continued, throwing her hands in the air. “There's no other explanation.”

“I just didn't realize. I thought we were having fun.”

“Fun? You also stomped all over my space on the stage. Dancing or whatever you want to call it. I couldn't do any of my routines because you were everywhere! A total spaz.”

“Listen, I'm really sorry!”

Jules's face was tight. Like she was about to cry. “Everyone already knows you're the talented one in this band. The genius who writes the songs but hides
in the background. Guess now you want to be in the spotlight, too. I don't even blame you.”

“That's not true,” I protested. “You guys are amazing. It won't happen again.”

“We couldn't keep up,” muttered Malika.

Any remnants of adrenalin left my body. It was a lot easier to deflect Jules's anger than Malika's self-doubt. Had I really been that selfish and made my bandmates look bad?

“Oh, great. They're clapping for more,” said Malika, opening the stage door a crack.

“Didn't they notice how horrible we sounded?” grumbled Jules.

“You up for trying ‘Not Your Princess'?” asked Malika. “It's what they want.”

“I guess,” I said.

I trudged behind them, back onto the stage. I didn't dare raise my bass until Jules gave me a cue. Once I began playing, it was actually difficult to hold myself to the tempo. To rein in my desire to speed up, I had to play like a robot. The crowd was bopping and singing along. We played a second encore, and then a third. People seemed happy with the show. But I felt sick by the time it was all over, and I was sweating rivers. What was I going to do next time?
If
there was a next time.

FOURTEEN

I
n my dressing-room closet, standing beneath the a/c vent, I used the breathing exercise Françoise taught me to keep from changing. The stress of upsetting Mali and Jules was triggering my wolf 's fight-or-flight instinct in a serious way.

As soon as I went out into the bar, wearing my hooded sweatshirt just in case, camera flashes exploded in my face. People mobbed me, asking questions and telling me how awesome I was. I mumbled polite responses, ignored the photographers as much as possible, and scrawled a few signatures as I scanned the room for my bandmates.

Jules and Mali were sitting at a small table in a
bright, elevated corner that gave the illusion they were still onstage. Harris was with them.
Perfect.

As I picked my way through the crowd toward them, someone put a hand on my shoulder. I spun around and smacked the hand away. But it was just some girl who looked about twelve holding out a concert flyer, a
New York
magazine interview we'd done, and then, inexplicably, a baby's onesie.

“Sam Lee! Ohmigod!” she gushed. “You didn't leave! Ohmigod, ohmigod. You always leave! Please … oh, dear goddess, sign these … sign?”

I signed them all, grateful she didn't make a big deal about my mini panic attack or launch into the story behind the baby clothes. Then I pulled up a chair beside Mali and hunched over the table with my back to the room, hopefully giving off the vibe that everyone else should leave me alone.

Tanis wandered over to take our order and pointed the severely underaged girl toward the door.

“What do you want?” she drawled, cutting slitlike eyes from me to Harris and back again.

“Coke,” said Jules.

“Checker Cab Blonde,” said Harris. He'd clearly had a head start on everyone during the concert, and was very happy to see me—
too
happy. He was leering drunkenly. A repeat performance.

“You want anything?” she asked me and Malika.

“Coffee,” said Mali.

“Lemongrass mint tea,” I said. “And anything you have that's meat.”

“Meat?”

“Yeah. Tuna salad, hold the bread, or chicken salad with no lettuce. Whatever.”

“We don't sell meat. We have cupcakes. And pumpkin whoopee pies.”

“Forget it.”

She grimaced and huffed off, probably planning to lace my tea with arsenic. I slouched even more. “So,” I said, “I guess I should tell everyone that I am, in fact, eating meat again. The gossip is right, for once.”

“Well, there goes your deal with that PETA public service announcement,” said Jules. “It was great free promo.”

“I made tofu bacon for you this morning!” said Malika.

“And I really appreciated it. I'd still be vegetarian if, uh, the doctor didn't tell me my body needs more protein and, uh, iron. Doctor's orders, right? What can you do? It will help me feel better.”

Mali looked away—a telltale sign that all was not well.

“She ate enough sashimi for three people on our date,” slurred Harris.

“You two went on a date?” said Jules. “What about Marie?”

“Broke up,” he said. “Through. Finished. Ka-put!”

“So that's why she's hovering near the bar, staring at us,” said Jules.

We all turned at once. When Marie saw us looking she turned to the bar. My favourite waitress handed her a shot of what looked like vodka. Marie slammed it down, then wiped her mouth.

“Maybe all that meat is what's making you sick,” suggested Jules.

I could've used a gushing fan right then to distract them. I scanned around, hoping one of the familiar faces would come save me. My eyes skipped back to Marie, who was staring again, then landed on another person nearby who was also staring.
Marlon?
As soon as we made eye contact, he shoved off the bar and wound his way toward us. He was wearing a soft grey T-shirt, purple pants, and black high-tops. He moved through the crowd so lithely, I could see his inner wolf.

The closer Marlon came, the more I panicked. I scooted toward Harris until our knees touched. He reached over and rested a possessive hand on mine.
Though I was tempted to push it off, I resisted. It felt safer having people—Marlon—assume we were a couple.

Marlon peered down at my hand with a sour expression, then simply reached out and claimed my shoulder. Damn men! I shrugged his hand away. He grabbed a chair and shoved it between me and Malika—creating a Sam Sandwich between him and Harris—and flashed them all a wicked grin. Jules melted a little, I could tell. Traitor! Malika's eyes narrowed. Harris scowled.

“Hey, Marlon,” said Harris, obviously not thrilled to see him.

“Mind if I join you guys?” Marlon asked, although he was already sitting.

“Yes,” I said. “I do, actually.”

He ignored me and looked around for the waitress.

“Why are you stalking Sam?” asked Malika.

“I'm not stalking anyone,” responded Marlon.

“You broke into her apartment!”

“To
protect
her,” he said, leaning over to whisper into my ear. “From my brother. That's why I'm here tonight. I think he might come after you.”

“Why?” I whispered back.

“He's obsessed with you. My parents have decided to send him away. Somewhere he'll get help—a rehab facility for … people like us. But we have to catch him
first. You can relax, though. I'll be here to handle him if he shows up.” Marlon glanced warily around the room, then spoke louder for everyone's benefit. “Great show, by the way. I like how you sped up the songs. Got people dancing.”

“That was a mistake,” said Jules, smiling flirtatiously. I could practically hear her thinking,
I'd like him
to stalk
me
for a while. Ooo-weee.
I stifled a snarl.

Marlon seemed to be oblivious. He was more interested in Harris. “I warned you to stay away from Sam.”

Harris sniffed. “It's none of your business.”

“It
is
my business. It could end very badly for you!”

“That's a risk Sam and I will have to decide on. Alone.”

Thankfully, Tanis showed up with our drinks. She took in the two guys flanking me and shook her head, implying that she didn't understand my appeal. I moved away from Harris, not wanting to upset Marie more than necessary.

Jules was openly drooling over Marlon now. I gave a low howl of frustration, knowing the music would drown out the noise. Desperate for her to back off, I pulled up my sleeve and waved the scar in her face. It didn't get the result I was hoping for—the damn thing was so faded it looked months old.

“What's that?” said Jules.

“His brother did this!”

“Cut you?”

“Even worse, bit me. He may be cute, but he can't be trusted. No one in his family can.”

“You think I'm cute?” asked Marlon.

“Shut up.”

“I don't know why you're telling me that,” said Jules.

“You're totally lusting after him. I can smell it on you.”

“Eww,” she squealed.

“I thought you said a dog bit you,” chipped in Harris.

“Yeah, that's what I thought. But it was his brother!”

They all stared at my healed arm in confusion.

“He's a— He bit me while he was wearing a dog suit.”

“A
dog
suit?” echoed Jules. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Someone shoved a camera into my face, and the flash exploded three times. After the white ball of light faded, I could see it was a photographer from a gossip site. Rage spiked through me. My lips curled back and my skin prickled. My cheeks already felt fuzzy. My nails were growing. I had to calm down. I pulled my hood over my forehead and focused inward, ignoring my friends' stares.

The flash went off again, and again. What if the photographer got an angle beneath my hood? Marlon jumped from his seat. Blinded by the light, I caught only a glimpse of the paparazzo running out the door, followed closely by Marlon.

A growl ripped from my throat. My pointy teeth poked into my bottom lip. I licked away blood.

“I'm really worried about you,” said Malika, staring at my mouth.

“Me too,” said Harris.

“Count me in,” said Jules. “Drugs, and binge eating, and cutting. I had no idea what you were going through.”

“Come on! How long have you guys known me? I'm telling you, this is all because of the changes my body's going through—”

“What changes?” asked Malika.

Jules stiffened. Harris's jaw dropped. Oh, crap. I couldn't win.

“No! Don't you think I'd tell you if I were pregnant?”

“Yeah,” mumbled Malika, though she didn't sound positive.