“It wasn't your fault I let myself get attacked,” I tell Dad. His feelings of guilt over the incident have etched new lines into a face that isn't old enough to be wrinkled yet. His sigh brings his shoulder back to push into his seat, and his eyes hang around the speedometer. They're the same shade of hazel as mine, although his are partially shielded by glasses.
“Maybe not,” Dad says, as close to admitting he wasn't to blame as he's gotten. “But what I've done since then is my fault.”
Huh? I squint at his profile, at a loss. “What you've done since then? What do you mean?”
“I've tried to be there for you, but obviously I'm doing something wrong, Mike.”
An affronted sound of disbelief rushes from my lungs. “You're not doing anything wrong! You have gone above and beyond the call of duty, Dad!”
He shakes his head, then ignores my words. “Your mother and I...” He turns into our subdivision, a characterless little community of cookie-cutter dwellings and white picket fences. “We've been talking. Before today.”
“I do not want to go live with Mom,” I state in the adamant tone I always say this in. “I belong with you.”
The faintest of smiles crosses Dad's thin lips, deepening the faint lines around his mouth. “Thank you for that. But...”
“There's no but about it!”
“Micheala...”
It's never a good sign when he calls me by my full name. Never.
We make a left onto our street, and I see a massive SUV sitting the driveway. Jet black and with tinted windows, it looks like it could hold an entire secret government organization, though the mud on its tires and the dust coating its side suggest it might be tougher than that.
No one in my family owns an SUV. Not even my mother's obnoxious fiancé. He has a cherry red BMW convertible. Its roof would come up to the bottom of this thing's license plate.
My dad curses. “I thought I had more time than this.”
“More time for what?” I ask, a feeling of dread inching toward me from the distance.
The door of the SUV opens and a woman hops out, sticking a perfect landing despite being far too short for a vehicle as tall as this one. Red hair glistening in the sun, she beams at us, her freckles adding a level of cute she's never tried to hide behind makeup.
But what is Vivianne Fox doing here? Like my father, she works for the National Forests. Unlike my father, she spends most of her time actually in National Forests rather than typing data into the computers at the regional headquarters office. She should be wandering somewhere in the North Cascades right now, not sitting outside my house. Even if she's heard her co-worker was having a family crisis, why would she care?
Oh.
“You and Vivianne!” I blurt. “You're dating!”
Dad looks at me like I'm crazy, almost as if I'd just told him I was a werewolf. “We're not. We're just friends. She's here because...” He takes a deep breath, refusing to meet my eyes as he shuts off the engine. “You're going to boarding school.”
My first impulse is to laugh, the statement is so ridiculous. “Yeah, right. Of course I am.”
“I'm serious, sweetheart.” Now he does meet my eyes, and I wish he wouldn't because the anguish in them cuts me.
“No.”
He just looks at me, his lip trembling ever so slightly.
“What's that have to do with her?”
“Her kids go to the school you're going to.”
“No, they don't.” I saw them at the department minor league hockey night two weeks ago. They looked like a pair of mini-Vivians, though one was a boy.
“The younger two still live at home,” Dad clarifies. “The older two... The older two go to North Sky Academy.”
I stare at him, realizing he honestly means to send me away. The tears that have managed to stay away all morning start to swell in my eyes, accompanied by a healthy dose of panic. "Daddy?"
“This isn't about today.” He's not looking at me at all anymore. Dad could never stand to see me cry. “Like I said, your mom and I... We've been discussing this for a while now.”
“And it didn't occur to you to ask my opinion?” How could they make a decision about this without talking to me about it? “This is my life!”
“I planned to talk to you about it soon, but then this morning...” His hands spread helplessly.
“Then this morning,” I repeat. “I guess I finally gave you an excuse to get rid of me, huh?”
“Mike!” He grabs my hands with moist palms. “It's not like that. You know I love you. But this is what's best for you. You have to believe I think that."
There are so many things I could yell at him right now, so many hurtful words right there on the tip of my tongue. But I let the air flow from my body and wall the hurt away to deal with later. “Of course you love me.” He does. I know. Mom, I'm not so sure about, but I've never doubted Dad. “So, what is this North Sky place? Military school in Siberia?”
“No. It's a really nice place.” He's trying to get someone to believe that, but I don't know which one of us it is. “Vivianne is an alumna and, like I said, her own kids go there. She vouched for the place when the principal called us.”
“Called us?” I ask, my nose crinkling up. “Why would the principal call you? Private school principals don't recruit, Dad. At least not students who aren't worth millions.”
Dad looks thrown by that, as if it had never occurred to him something was strange. “Viv says they're on the level.”
Great.
“Her kids go there.”
Yeah, this is the fourth time he's said that. If he repeats it often enough, will I accept it as proof that North Sky's an academic version of Disney World and that every student in the world is dying to go there? “And where is there?” I ask again.
He takes another breath before answering, giving me time to brace myself for an answer I'm not going to like. “Alaska.”
“Alaska!” I shriek.
"Don't freak." Dad looks at me now, his eyes widening at my expression. Freaked is understating my condition. "I've already applied to jobs up there, and the house will be on the market as soon as I can get the yard cleaned up some. I'm not exiling you. We're both moving. I just won't be going to the school."
He tries to smile at the little joke he slipped into his mad declaration, but it does nothing to calm me. Who picks up and moves without even having a discussion about it? Doesn't he see this affects me at least as much as him? I throw the door open. “Alaska!” I yell at the short little redhead, who doesn't seem half as adorable as she did a few minutes ago.
“Michaela, stop.” Dad rushes out of the car after me, but I ignore him and advance on his dear friend Viv.
“So, what? You want me out of the way so you can put the moves on my dad or something? Because he's coming too.” I grind out. She meets my eyes, not intimidated in the least. Oh, if only she knew how I destroyed my stupid text book. Then she'd be intimidated all right! “Alaska!” I bellow again in the face her calm, sympathetic, regard.
“It's a beautiful country,” she says as Dad walks up behind me. Her voice is gentle, but it does nothing to soothe me.
“It's frozen!” I yell back.
“Not all the time. It's not as cold as people think. It's really hot in the summer.” She starts reaching a hand toward me, and I let out a wordless scream of outrage, swatting her arm down.
“I do not want your comfort,” I growl.
Her smile is sad as she nods. “That's understandable.”
With a little cough to clear his throat, Dad commands, “Let our guest inside, please, honey. I'll get your stuff.”
Our guest.
The same trembling anger I felt earlier shakes my body. The fingers that dig into my pocket for my house key are aching, starting to shift into weapons.
“Let me get that.” Vivianne takes the key chain from me the second it's visible. She has to have noticed my hand is malformed now, but she remains cool as she slides the key into its hole. “Get inside before you shift in front of the neighbors, and your dad's forced to spend his last weeks here avoiding the National Inquirer.”
In an instant, the shock of her words halts my changes and returns my fingers in a flash back into those a completely normal American girl. My nails become their regular chewed-to-the-quick selves, which are about as capable of ripping someone apart as a plastic spork.
“What did you just say?”
She glances back at my father before answering. “The school is for weres, Mike. Weres. Like you and me.” Her brown eyes flash for just a second, their shape shifting to something that isn't human.
Mind spinning, I let her into the house before me. “Weres?”
She holds out the keys with an apologetic air. “The thing that attacked you wasn't a dog.”
“I know,” I whisper back. “It was a werewolf.”
Her teeth press down on her lip in hesitation. “I don't know. You don't smell like a wolf. We should know next full moon.”
“No.” I shake my head again. “I don't change at the moon.” Last time the moon was full, I waited locked in my bathroom all night, but the only thing that came of it was that I failed a math test because I was so exhausted from sitting awake in the tub.
“Third moon's the charm,” she says, her eyes behind me. “You'll change next time. But your dad can't know. That's important.”
“What?” I stumble. “Why?”
But she doesn't answer me because he's made it to the foyer. “We should let Mike go pack,” she tells him. “Michael's office faxed me the forms you need to sign. We can get a start on those while we wait for him.”
“Wait for who?” I want to know as Dad hands my box of stuff over to me.
“Micheal Atherton,” Vivianne tells me, her voice tinted with fondness. “He's the principal at North Sky and a good friend of mine. You'll like him. All the kids think he walks on water.”
Gritting my teeth, I go up the stairs without bothering to acknowledge her any further. It's rude and bratty, I know that. But she's not going to tell me anything important with Dad around, and she's not exactly acting like my best friend in this if it was her idea to ship me off. Besides, her perfume wasn't doing my churning tummy any favors.
My brain struggles to catch up with the morning's events. Just to recap, today I lost my boyfriend to an evil bitch who hates me, grew claws, was expelled for bringing a weapon I didn't have to school, exiled to Alaska, and outed as a werewolf. Or... What did she mean about me not smelling like a wolf? Are there other options?
Without care for its contents, I toss the box on my bed and collapse beside it.
What in the world am I going to do?
My phone rings and for about half a second, I feel joy to think someone is checking up on me. Despite the fact that use of phones is prohibited in school, I would have expected someone, anyone, to have at least texted me by now wanting to know what was up. I would have been hiding in a bathroom stall typing away if any of them had been dragged out of class like I was.
But the ring tone is my mom's. It's the theme song from the old TV show LA Law. To be clear: Mom doesn't work in LA. However, she is a lawyer and she does belong on a drama. She was cheating on Dad with some guy from her firm for years before the divorce. And then she cheated on that guy with the one she's marrying. Not an excellent role model, my mother.
Knowing she'll just call Dad if I ignore her, I straighten my spine and accept the call. “Hey, Mom.”
There's a silence.
“Mom? Are you there?”
“Oh, I'm here.” And clearly not pleased. “I was just wondering if that was all you have to say for yourself.”
“Yes, it is. Is that it, because I have a lot of packing to do.” I pause for a quick breath before screaming, “I'm moving to Alaska!”
The faint sound of her breathing is all I'm met with.
“I'll be sure to send you a postcard,” I assure her, preparing to jab my finger into the disconnect key.
“I'm sorry,” Mom blurts, a crack in her voice. “I'm sorry, sweetheart. I knew things have been rough for you. I wish you'd felt like you could come to me instead of acting out.”
“I didn't do it, Mom.”
“I know how confusing it is to be a teenager,” she tells me, completely ignoring my side of the conversation. “And to have someone you care about treat you that way... It's no wonder you were upset. Troy should have had more respect for you than that.”
“Oh?” That's just too good to let pass. “So you're saying it isn't nice to cheat someone? I never knew you felt that way.”
“That was uncalled for.”
“Was it?”
She sighs audibly. “I know you're just attacking me because you're hurting. You're projecting the anger.” Yeah, she's spent more than her fair share of time in therapists' offices. “And I deserve anger. But I deserve it from your father, not from you.”
“Whatever.”
“Mike...” Hushed voices creep into the edge of hearing. “Just a minute, Eli,” Mom tells her assistant.
“You have an appointment,” I say for her.
“You're more important to me.”
“I know,” I lie.
“I'm going to try to be at the airport to see you off.”
Eli says something I don't catch, and Mom curses. “See if you can cancel it,” she tells him. “Sweetheart, I'm going to try. And if I can't get out of this, then I'll fly up there and see you one weekend. Okay?”
“Yeah, alright.” As if. She may mean what she says, but she's never going to follow through. That's just the way it is.
“Okay. Bye, sweetie. I love you.”
My tone is flat as I mumble back, “Yeah. Love you, too.”
Wrapping my arms around myself, I stare at the floor, and try to think. There has got to be a way out of this. My parents are showing rare solidarity right this instant, but it shouldn't be too hard to find a way to get them to disagree with each other.
I could call my grandparents in. I'm not speaking to my mom's mother, but my dad's folks... They met Troy over Christmas and told my dad he shouldn't let me anywhere near “the delinquent.” They'd probably think Alaska is a great place to be. They probably think I should pick up some frontier work ethic and good old-fashioned values. Come to think of it, I probably shouldn't be speaking to them either.
My uncle told me once I could come to him if everything ever went wrong and I needed him. He meant it, too. But he's in the Navy. He's sitting on a ship somewhere in the Middle East. Not precisely somewhere I'd want to go, even if I could find a way to get there.
With a long expulsion of breath, I lay back on the bed, hoping the ceiling will give me more answers than the carpet did. Its pale face stares back unhelpfully.
Okay... My family either wants to send me away or isn't in a place to do anything about it.
My friends...
I laugh. What friends? The people who knew my boyfriend was cheating and didn't say anything? The ones who haven't bothered to message me since I was dragged out of homeroom, even though they've had plenty of chances to pull out their phones and type something? It's lunch time by now, isn't it? How can no one I know have sneaked somewhere to make a call?
They don't care, do they?
They don't even care enough to be curious, let alone concerned or worried about me.
Maybe going to another state isn't such a bad idea.
Yeah.
With one swift motion motion, I jump up onto my feet.
Screw my friends. Screw Troy. Screw my parents, and my grandparents, and the jerk across the street who keeps complaining about how I back into his driveway when trying to get out of mine. Screw the whole state of Washington.
Bring it on, Alaska.