The Emerald Mask

Run.

It was the only thought on Gabriella Rivera's mind; the thought that played again and again, over and over, as she darted down the soccer field.

Run.

Somewhere, deep down, Gabriella was probably aware of the world beyond the field: the golden autumn sun slicing through a clear, blue sky; the cheerleaders practicing a new routine on the track; the late buses rumbling in the parking lot, waiting to take everyone home from their after-school activities. But in the moment, all Gabriella cared about was:

The goal at the end of the field.

The tattered practice ball at the tip of her foot.

And the pounding of her heart, strong and steady, as she ran at top speed.

Run.

Other players? What other players? Gabriella had left them all in the dust—except for Trisha, who was practicing her goalie skills across the field. A sudden alertness washed over Gabriella as she fixed her eyes on Trisha. Trisha was poised, ready to block any goal Gabriella tried to make. It was totally obvious that Trisha was trying to predict Gabriella's next move. Gabriella could tell from the way Trisha's shoulders were tensed; from the way her eyes followed Gabriella, watching for a sign, a tell . . .

No way, T,
Gabriella thought.
Not this time.

An extra burst of speed—Gabriella didn't know exactly how she channeled it, but she had a pretty good idea . . .

The thud of her foot making contact with the ball—

Her toes reverberating inside her cleat—

The solid leather ball sailed through the air as free and weightless as the fluff from a dandelion.

I did that,
Gabriella marveled.
I did it.

What choice did Trisha have but to drop to the ground, face-first in the grass? Better than a soccer ball to the face, there was no doubt about that.

Time shifted, somehow, and the seconds between the ball tearing through the net and the piercing shriek of Coach Connors's whistle slowed, stretched while Trisha lifted her head and locked eyes with Gabriella.

Something in Trisha's eyes made Gabriella flinch, and the spell was broken. Sound came rushing back: the whistle, the cheers from the rest of their teammates, the voices of kids heading to their buses. All the ordinary noises one would expect to hear at Willow Cove Middle School on a Tuesday afternoon.

“Great work, girls. Excellent practice,” Coach Connors was saying. “You play like that on Saturday and the Middletown Marauders don't stand a chance.”

Trisha was already lifting herself out of the dirt, but Gabriella reached for her arm anyway.

“Trisha, I am so sorry,” Gabriella said as she helped Trisha to her feet. “Are you okay?”

“Sorry? Are you serious?” Trisha asked, ignoring Gabriella's question. “What you did—that move—it was
incredible
! I've been playing goalie for years, and I have
never
seen anyone score like that.
Ever.
Coach is right. If you play even half that good on Saturday, we're going to win for sure.”

Gabriella grinned. “If we win on Saturday, it's because you'll be blocking the goal,” she replied. “The Marauders better get ready for a big zero on the scoreboard.”

Secretly, Gabriella was relieved Trisha wasn't angry with her. Last month Gabriella had finally cut ties with her popular friends, Daisy Park, Katie Adaire, and Lizbeth Harris. It was tough, and Gabriella still took a lot of flak from them, but the girls on the soccer team were quickly becoming Gabriella's new friends. The best part was that her soccer friends didn't put her down or pressure her to be mean, and that was like a breath of fresh air to Gabriella.

Coach Connors approached them with the ball bag.

“Blew another net, Coach,” Trisha reported.

Coach Connors shook his head as he examined the ragged hole where the ball had blasted right through the net. “I can't get mad,” he said. “We've never had so many consecutive wins before. The team is on fire this year. But, Gabriella,
try
to take it a little easy on the
equipment, would you? I don't know how I'm going to ask for replacements if this keeps up.”

“Sorry, Coach,” Gabriella said. “I got a little carried away.”

“I know,” Coach Connors replied. “But save it for Saturday, okay?”

Then he tossed the ball bag toward Trisha; as team captain it was her responsibility to gather all the soccer balls that had been used for drills.

“Here,” Gabriella said, reaching for the bag. “Let me help.”

“Thanks,” Trisha replied. They split up for a while, crisscrossing the field as they gathered several soccer balls. Soon there was just one ball left—the one that Gabriella had kicked through the net. Only hitting the side of the school had stopped it.

“You go,” Gabriella said to Trisha. “I know you have a bus to catch. I walk home, so I'm not in a rush.”

Trisha glanced over her shoulder at the buses idling in the parking lot. “This is my responsibility,” she began.

“And it's my fault the ball is all the way over there,” Gabriella said, laughing easily in the sunshine. It felt good—
so good
—to be at the top of her game, to be unstoppable on the field, to have such good friends playing by
her side. She couldn't
wait
for Saturday's game.

Then Gabriella noticed she was laughing alone.

“What?” she asked self-consciously as Trisha stared at her. “Is there grass in my hair or something?”

“No,” Trisha said slowly. “It's your eyes. They . . .”

“What?” Gabriella repeated, anxiety quivering down her spine.

“It's just . . . They're brown, right?” Trisha asked, peering at Gabriella. “They look brown now, I mean. But on the field . . .”

Gabriella fought the urge to look down; to cover her eyes and sprint away from Trisha.
Act normal,
she ordered herself, which was easier said than done.

“I thought they were yellow!” Trisha continued excitedly. “Like a cat or something! Isn't that weird?”

Gabriella forced herself to laugh. “So weird,” she said. “My eyes have always been brown. Maybe the sun was in them or something.”

“Yeah,” Trisha said. “My mom always says that light plays tricks and stuff.”

“Go,” Gabriella said. “Get your bus. I'll bring all the equipment back to the gym.”

“Thanks, Gabriella,” Trisha said. “You really are the best—on the field
and
off!”

Gabriella kept a smile plastered on her face as Trisha jogged past her. She kept smiling as she grabbed the ball and shoved it into the bag with all the others. In the distance she could hear the afternoon buses starting to leave the parking lot. In just minutes the field had practically emptied. It was safe now, Gabriella knew, to drop the act.

She placed her hand on the rough brick wall and exhaled deeply as she stared at the ground. What Trisha didn't know—could never know—was that there had been no trick of the light. She hadn't imagined those golden, glinting cat eyes in Gabriella's face. The truth was that Gabriella was more than a seventh grader at Willow Cove Middle School; she was more than a star soccer player for the Willow Cove Clippers. She was a Changer—a shape-shifter, a
nahual
, a rare and powerful person who could transform from human to jaguar.

And despite all of Gabriella's best efforts to keep her
nahual
side a secret, it had showed itself on the field—in front of everyone.

The next day Fiona Murphy hoisted her heavy backpack over her shoulder and shuffled out of the cafeteria the moment the bell rang to end lunch. Most other kids were still eating and laughing, balling up their trash and trying to throw it into the garbage can while the cafeteria monitor's back was turned. But Fiona's next class was all the way across school, and she was not the kind of student who got tardies. Ever. And
especially
not when her first big homework assignment of the year, an oral
and
written report, was due.

The report.

A worried frown crossed Fiona's face just thinking
about it. This was the first time in her entire life that she knew, deep down, she was about to get a bad grade. Fiona studied hard for every quiz; she always had her homework neatly completed on time. This report, though, had been impossible. Fiona had done her best, of course. She always did. But even Fiona had to admit that this time, her best wasn't good enough. And that was a very hard thing to face.