Daniel hadn’t shown up at lunch, either too scared to face them, or maybe, after his secret was out, he just didn’t care enough to explain. The pack had panicked, though, certain he’d spilled everything to Mr. Fine. Even after Misty told them the police weren’t about to swoop in, they still felt betrayed.
“I told you he wasn’t like us.” Eric’s face was dusky red. Tendons bulged from his neck. “But the pouty basketball star winks, and you get all stupid. ’Oh, of course we can trust him, look how pretty his hair is.’”
“Screw you!” Misty snapped back. “I wasn’t the only one who got stupid over him, was I? ’Gee, Daniel, thanks for saving my butt in the school. Let’s have a big, manly hug now.’” Turning, she hit Marc. “And quit nodding along with him. You’re wearing the same damn body spray as Daniel, dumbass.”
Marc rubbed his arm without answering. Eric punched the roof of Val’s car, but he didn’t say anything else.
Misty could almost smell the boys’ admiration curdle. Daniel was quick-thinking and confident. Everything seemed effortless for him. They’d all let themselves pretend they could be a little like him.
Daniel had never been part of the pack, though, just slumming. Once the game lost its thrill, he’d intended to leave them and their grimy city behind.
Misty had never felt more trapped by her crappy job than she did that day. Her world might be collapsing, but people still needed their panini Italianos and smoked turkey breast on ryes. All afternoon Misty punched the wrong buttons on the cash register and gave the wrong change.
One woman became personally offended when Misty didn’t take the cheese off her vegetarian pizza. She hovered around the counter after Misty ordered up a new one. She’d told Misty she didn’t want any cheese. She was lactose intolerant and couldn’t eat cheese. She’d told Misty that.
Misty cracked. “Okay! I’m sorry, but I’m not trying to poison you.”
Ilie took her off the register, sticking her in the back doing prep work. But she started thinking again while slicing up tomatoes, dropping them in a dirty bucket with half an inch of jalapeno pepper juice still in the bottom. Ilie, who usually bore her goofing off with Eastern Bloc stoicism, noticed the eye-watering smell, and it was his turn to crack.
“Throw this out, start over, do one thing right!” He stormed off, shouting, “I hope your mother dies on your birthday!”
Misty threw the bucket against the wall. Pulp splattered everywhere. Val and another deli drone froze, staring at Misty with wide eyes. Watching tomato slices ooze down the cinder blocks, Misty considered kicking in Ilie’s office door, cussing him out, and quitting. Instead, she leaned against the prep table, burying her face in her arms. Without a word, Val got a towel and started washing off the wall.
Somehow, Misty stumbled through two more hours of slicing, stocking, and cleaning without collapsing into a sobbing heap. By eight, there was only one couple in the deli. Older, they were new to each other. She listened to them laugh. When the man finished his potato chips, the woman shared hers. Misty wanted to hit them. Instead, she finished scraping the brown gunk off the soda fountains, then went to poke her head in Ilie’s office.
“Need anything else?”
Ilie was making changes to the week’s schedule. Iron Maiden played on the little stereo on his desk. Shaking his head, he said, “Remember to clock out.”
“All right.” She lingered in the doorway. “Hey. Sorry about everything tonight.”
“You got problems outside? So does everybody, okay? But in here, I pay you to work, okay?”
“Okay. Good night.”
She turned to leave, but Ilie called her back. “Misty?”
“You’re very pretty today.”
“Huh?”
“You never come in without the dead girl eyes anymore. You’re very pretty today.”
Misty washed her eyeliner before coming to work, afraid she’d start crying again. Ilie told her she was pretty in the same hurried tone he told her to mop the floor. Still, it made her smile for the first time that night.
“Thanks. You’re looking good yourself.”
He let out the soft grunt that meant he couldn’t tell if she was making fun of him or not. “Don’t worry about Softhead. You’ll find a new boy, no problem. And that thing about hoping your mother dies, I didn’t mean.” He shrugged. “It sounds funnier in Russian.”
“Forget it. Good night, Ilie.”
“Good night.”
Val was already outside waiting on the sidewalk. Misty raced up to her. “Ilie just gave me a compliment.”
“What?”
“He goes, You’re very pretty today.’” Misty mimicked Ilie’s gruff accent. “Then he apologized for wishing Mom would die.”
“The nicest thing he’s ever said to me is, ’At least you don’t steal.’”
“How pathetic am I that Ilie feels sorry for me?”
Val hugged her. Misty rested her chin on Val’s shoulder. “Did I really throw a bucket of tomatoes?”
“Just a small one.”
Misty laughed, then Val said, “Hey. Let’s go prowl.”
“No.” Misty pulled away. “The guys are ready to maul Daniel.”
“Well, maybe not maul him. But we could make sure he knows you’re not just sitting around feeling sorry for yourself.”
Misty grinned but shook her head. “Come on, Val. We have to be at school in twelve hours.”
“You’re going to be in ISS. You need a full night’s rest for that?”
“Or a shower?”
“So you’ll stink. After everything else, you really care?”
Misty had wanted to quit prowling altogether. But if she went home, she’d lay awake all night in the empty apartment. Through the dark hours, the way Daniel smiled, the way he touched her and spoke her name would crush Misty. The wolf, though, would shake those fragments of dreams off like droplets of water. Misty couldn’t escape who she really was.
“Screw it,” she said. “Call Eric and see if he’s up for it.”
I was a gutterfuck.
Daniel stared at a blank page in his notebook. He’d tried to explain at school, but Misty had been too furious to listen. As soon as he’d gotten home, Daniel locked himself in his room to write her a letter. He couldn’t let Misty think she’d been nothing but a piece of tail.
He started a line, scratched through it, started over, tore the page out, and started over again. The sun sank through an orange-and-purple sky. Fischer called him to dinner from the foot of the stairs. Daniel ignored him. Darkness fell before he got past the second sentence. He stared at the debate medal hanging on the wall above his desk, remembered it was for persuasive speaking, and sneered at himself.
Daniel paced the room. He started talking to an imaginary Misty. He tried opening with apologies, then with compliments. He told her she was beautiful, so full of heat and life, he’d felt more alive being near her. He could never forget her, but this was his one chance to become someone great. He had to take it.
Misty never said anything except, I was a gutterfuck. That silent answer smashed every pretty, spun-glass phrase Daniel came up with. Yanking the debate medal off the wall, he whipped it across the room.
Finally, hours after his parents and brothers had gone to bed, Daniel had nothing left except the sickening realization that Misty had been right.
She was full of heat and life, and Daniel had fed off her like a tick. He’d loved watching her build castles in the air but had no plans to stick around once they came crashing down. He would be taking his place among the real towers of Cornell by then. Misty had opened herself to him, revealing wonders and gentle enchantments, but Daniel had been too cowardly and obsessed with his own hungers to appreciate them.
“You weren’t anything but a gutterfuck to me,” he whispered. It was the most vile sin Daniel had ever confessed.
He unbuckled his boots. Leather straps and black rubber stripped away, his feet seemed fragile. Daniel studied them for a long time, then finished getting ready for bed. He was reaching for the light switch when howls pierced the quiet.
Daniel had never invited Misty to his house, but she knew he lived below Vulcan Park. Standing in his underwear, Daniel pushed back the window blind. Nothing moved on the street outside.
The unseen wolves let their pitches rise, then drop sharply. It was an instinctual trick, making it sound like Daniel was surrounded by dozens of hunters instead of four.
He forced himself to stay calm. If the pack had come to hurt him, they would have kept as silent as shadows. They only wanted to rattle him, have a little fun. Still, Daniel crept barefoot through the dark house, into bedrooms, and past his sleeping parents and brothers. He made sure every window was latched and both doors were bolted.
For close to an hour, he sat listening to Misty’s mournful baying in chorus with the others. They wanted him to know, We are still here. Our pack is still strong. You’ve made your choice. You don’t belong on our streets anymore.