Not Your Ordinary Wolf Girl (21 page)

I gaped at her, then realized she'd solved my problem for me. If I allowed people to think Wanda had figured me out, they'd leave me alone. For now. The hair on my hands disappeared.

“You know, it's really not okay,” I said. “If I was a girl with less confidence, or with a mom who isn't amazing like mine, that might have destroyed me. Enjoy your ratings, but you are a horrible person.”

Then I tore off my microphone and stomped off the stage. Let her explain my disappearance however she wanted. She'd already done enough. I nabbed my bag from Words of Wonder—hopefully, nobody had peeked inside—and left the building, simultaneously calling Mali and waving down a cab.

She answered with “Sam, we need to talk!”

“I know.”

“Get over here. We'll talk in person.”

In the taxi, I got a text from my mom:
SAW SHOW.
HORRIBLE WOMAN. BUT SO PROUD OF U BABY. I LUV
U NO MATTER WHAT. HOME TOMORROW. DINNER?!?

Thank god for having the weirdest, best mother ever invented. I had a whole new appreciation of her these days. But I wasn't ready to discuss my sexual identity with her. Or my wolf identity either. I sent a quick note back:
LUCKIEST DAUGHTER EVER. LOVE YOU. RAIN
CHEQUE ON DINNER, K? GOT BAND MEETING
.

Malika let me in and led me to her kitchen table. She'd made hot tea, which I loaded with four sugars. I sucked in a gulp, steeling myself for what I had to say. “Look, Mali, I know it's hard to believe that stuff I tried to tell you last night. About being a … werewolf. But I need you to try, even though I can hardly believe it myself.”

“Oh, don't worry. I totally believe you. Marlon proved it to me.”

I spilled my tea. “He
what
?”

“You should have seen him, Sam. It was amazing. He came staggering back into the Cake Shop after you ran off, bleeding from the head and looking like he was about to pass out. He wouldn't let me call for help. He said it was his responsibility to make things a little easier on you right now.”

“Easier?”

“Yeah. Jules was on the other side of the room, flirting with some groupies. He made me go outside into an alley so he could show me how he turns hairy.” She swiped at the air like a cat. “His claws made my brain explode.”

“Oh,” I said. My head couldn't process her words. Malika
knew
.

“You can do that, too?” she asked.

I nodded. “Uh, sometimes I can't stop it from happening. It's kind of awful. And I have all these urges. I'm worried I might hurt someone.”

“You would never,” she said. “I know you.”

I exhaled—a big breath I hadn't realized I was holding. “Thanks.”

“I mean, it's kind of cool. You're like a female wolverine. Anyone picks on you now, you can go monster on their ass!”

I couldn't help but smile. Marlon had revealed his biggest secret to her. For me. It made his whole family vulnerable. And he'd done it
for me …

“Marlon thinks you need someone you can trust,” Malika went on. “He's worried that you don't have enough support … and that you might get hurt. Sam, you can talk to me. Any time. About anything.”

“Thanks,” I mumbled. My brain was playing a loop: knocking Marlon unconscious in the alley, smashing
the guitar store's window, getting hit by the taxi. I swallowed hard. Marlon was right. I did need a friend I could trust.

“Well, just know I'm here for you, Sam. I won't judge. I know what it feels like to live with a shadow hanging over your head. You are who you are, and that's natural and beautiful.”

“
You're
amazing, Mali. I'm so lucky to have you as a friend.” I realized she was trying to tell me something, and I had a feeling I knew what it was. “You don't have to hide anything from me, either.”

She hesitated. “I have a crush on someone.”

“You do?”

“It's killing me … Marie, okay? Harris's Marie. Well, his ex-Marie.”

I jumped up to give her a hug. “That's great. I mean, wow! Good for you! It's been so long since you dated anyone.”

“Yeah.” She blushed.

Neither of us had to mention that the last person Malika had dated was a guy. Or that her ultra-religious family was going to flip out over this. I hoped they could be supportive, eventually.

We clung to each other in a desperate little hug. Relief over our confessions made us giddy. It hit me again that Marlon had revealed his secret to her—for
my sake. A giggle escaped from deep in my throat. Then it took over, became hysterical, and wouldn't stop. Malika joined in. We ended up dancing around the kitchen like fools.

Eventually the giggle fit died out, and we sank back into our chairs and drank our cold tea. She didn't ask me to change in front of her. I didn't think either of us was ready for that yet. But she asked a million questions about the night I was attacked in the park and what happened after. It made all the difference in the world that Mali believed me. Still, something stopped me from telling her about Owen jumping me at the Lebruns' house, and the weregirls who might be crashing at my place. I was afraid to drag her into all my problems, because I knew she'd want to help. And I didn't want her to get hurt.

SEVENTEEN

Q
ueenie wasn't around when I got back to my place, but she'd stocked up on meat. After shoving an entire package of sliced turkey into my mouth and jamming on my new bass for twenty minutes, I was convinced the songs were going to sound incredible, but that I couldn't live with the bad mojo from my theft. I needed to pay the owner of Electric Avenue, even if he was notorious for ripping people off. I'd psyched myself up to head over there when my intercom buzzed. I pushed the button on the box. “Who is it?”

“Hey, it's Harris.”

“Oh,” I said, disappointed. I knew who I'd been hoping for.

“Can I come up?

“Now's not really the best time.”

“We need to talk,” he insisted. “Just for a minute.”

I sighed. “Okay.” I buzzed him in, tossed a cloth over my table's scarred surface, and boiled water for tea, hoping that would keep us in neutral territory. I didn't need any more caffeine, but I needed
something
to focus on.

Harris knocked and I let him in. He glanced at my band posters for Bikini Kill, My Little Airport, and The Runaways, along with a few of Mom's pet portraits, which together cluttered the walls of my entrance area. He wore a T-shirt with one of Jordan Watanabe's designs on it—two male Smurfs holding hands and frolicking in a field of yellow flowers.

“Jordan's selling T-shirts now?” I asked.

He nodded. “Only at comic book conventions. So … I saw
The Wanda Show
this afternoon. She was pretty harsh.”

“Oh, yeah. And I'm not gay, FYI.”

He smiled with relief.

Before I could say anything else, the electric kettle popped in the kitchen. He followed me in there, noticing my loft bed on the way. His eyes lit up. “Your place is way cool.”

“Thanks.” I tossed a few pinches of jasmine tea into a handmade Chinese pot my mom had given me and filled it with water. “Want some?”

“Sure.”

He'd followed me around the table. His face hovered inches away. I twisted and ducked under his arm, like an awkward dance move, then gestured for him to sit down at the table. I walked around and sat on the far side. He smelled good today. Cinnamony.

I cleared my throat. “How's Marie?” I couldn't help thinking about Malika's confession.

“No clue,” he said. “She won't return my calls.” A pained expression flashed across his face, then it was gone. He sat down beside me. Too close. Damn it. To occupy my hands, I poured the tea. Steam rose from the spout, white and cloudy like fog. It made me realize the apartment must be chilly for him. I still had the a/c cranked up. Sure enough, he hadn't removed his jacket.

“It must be hard to lose your best friend,” I said.

He didn't lift his eyes to meet mine. “Listen, I haven't been single for a really long time, Sam. I'm terrible at it. No clue how to act around girls—around you, especially. The last few days … I have to apologize for, uh, hitting on you the way I did. I was drunk and messed up.”

I shrugged. “Forget it.”

“See, the thing is, I
really
like you.” His voice cracked. “And like I said at the video shoot, it was one
of the reasons Marie and I had issues. But not the only reason. She stopped loving me, too. We were just going through the motions. The breakup was mutual.”

My eyes widened. It hadn't looked mutual when Marie was hating on me across the Cake Shop. I was dying to ask if she fell out of love with him because she was into someone else … one particular girl.

“So maybe I'm not ready for a serious relationship yet. You were probably right about that. And you're obviously going through something yourself right now. But I think we work together. I feel it in here.” He thumped his chest. “I know Marlon's into you, too. He told me you're his mate. Whatever that means.”

I gulped down some scalding tea and ended up coughing it back up. “He's deluded.”

Harris's mouth tightened. “Girls are all over him, Sam. I've seen it in our class. Even the professor— seriously. He's got that hair and that tattoo and that Mick Jagger body.”

“Are
you
in love with him?” I teased.

“Maybe a little,” he said, laughing. He reached out, pulled my chair even closer, and leaned forward so we were face to face. His forehead touched mine. His breath was warm and sweet on my cheek.

“How do you feel about me?” he whispered. “I need to know.”

“I don't know,” I said. “It's complicated.” Just a few days ago it wouldn't have been, but now …

He lowered his mouth slowly, about to kiss me but giving me time to bail. It would've been smart to jump back and put space between us, but I liked him when he was sober, and he smelled so safe. His warm, soft lips pressed against mine. When a low, sexy moan escaped from his throat, I melted.

Somehow, we made it up the ladder to my bed. I tore off his shirt. Then mine. He fell back onto my pillows and I straddled him, bent over to tease his lips with mine. I channelled all the pain and anger of the past few days into lust. Maybe I'd figured out the perfect way to satiate the hunger.

His hands slid over my hips. I moved down to lick his neck. Before I realized what was happening, my teeth sank into his skin.

“Hey!” he hollered, jerking his head back.

I pulled myself off him with difficulty, tasting blood on my lips and hungering for more. I'd bitten him! Oh, god. No. Did that mean he was going to become a werewolf, too? I forced his head to one side and peered at the skin. It was smooth and unbroken. Then I realized my bottom lip was throbbing. I'd pushed my teeth into it so hard I broke the skin. It was
my
blood, not his.

A flood of memories washed over me: waking up with Owen attacking me, the fear of unknown stalkers, the exact noise Marlon's head made when it smacked the pavement, the adrenalin rush of smashing Electric Avenue's window, the alarm blaring as I ran off with my stolen bass, the cab whipping into me …

My ears prickled. I backed away from Harris, taking deep, calming breaths. His eyes opened in confusion. His brown curls were splayed across my pillow and his lips were red and swollen. He looked so innocent and so delicious. He pulled the comforter up to his chest. I remembered it was cold in here for a human. Something I no longer was. I sat down, away from him. He propped himself up on one elbow and reached over to cup my knee.

“What's going on?” he asked.

My apartment door slammed opened and Queenie came rushing in.

“That'd be my new roommate,” I said. “Or whatever she is.” I poked my head over the loft to see her taking something out of the fridge. “You all right?” I asked her.

“No!” she yelled.

I turned to Harris. “I'm sorry, you need to leave. I have to talk to her. It's a good idea for us to slow down anyway.”

He sighed and flopped onto his back to peer up at the ceiling.

I nabbed my shirt from where it was wedged between the mattress and the wall and tugged it over my head. I tossed Harris's to him.

“Can you just tell me if this is about Marlon?” he asked glumly. “You called him a stalker, but you're actually kind of into him, aren't you?”

“No,” I said, but I realized I was probably lying. “I don't know.”

He fumbled back into his shirt, then climbed down from the bed. Queenie tore into the living room and flopped onto the couch, out of sight. I could hear her sobbing. She must have turned on my tablet and loaded a video, because the sound blared as she cranked up the volume. Harris shoved his feet into his high-tops without bothering to untie them and headed toward the door, straining to catch a glimpse of Queenie.

I followed him. He paused, then stepped forward and gave me a shy kiss. It was so awkward, it was touching. “I'm not giving up on you, Sam,” he said quietly.

This was the Harris I'd been crushing on for months. And now I was kicking him out. I swung my door open: a not-so-subtle way of hurrying him along.

He left without a backward glance. I shut the door, then ran into the living room and did a face-plant onto a beanbag chair. With a mouth full of fabric, I howled in frustration. Queenie stared at me, gulping back tears. The fur on her cheeks was wet and matted.

I realized the video she was streaming was today's
Wanda Show
. I grabbed the tablet and shut it off.

Queenie didn't fight me. In fact, she hardly noticed. She curled into a ball. I moved to the couch and lifted her head into my lap.