Liar (38 page)

After we scrape the plates into the bucket I wash, Pete dries (slowly), and Grandmother puts away. Great-Aunt sits at the kitchen table peeling and coring apples. Pete nudges me and whispers, “See? I didn't eat
all
the apples.”

“You ate enough,” Grandmother says, taking the now-dry plate from his hands.

Pete jumps and I laugh.

“Wolves,” I say, “have really good ears. You might want to remember that.”

Pete nods. “Good ears, fast legs, sharp teeth. Like me.”

“Because you're a wolf,” Grandmother says. “You're strong, too. But you be careful about eating so much. Keep going like you're going and you'll puke it all up.”

“Won't.”

“Can't fit that much food in such a skinny human. When you're a wolf, eat as much as you can. But you're human for the next few weeks. Got to act like one.”

“Why are we wolfs?” Pete asks.

“We come from wolves is all. Most people come from monkeys.”

I try not to groan. Then Great-Aunt launches into the tale of the man and the wolf and the deal they made.

Pete believes every word.

I want to say that none of it's true and launch into my theory of horizontal gene transfer, but they won't understand. I doubt any of them knows what a gene is. Pete can't even read. Besides, I don't have any proof. It's an untested hypothesis.

If I stay here I will never get to test it. I might be able to gather more data but what will I do with it?

I can't stay.

I can't stick around till I run out of pills. Till my body is no longer my own.

It doesn't matter what I promised Pete.

I don't care if I have to hitchhike back, or ride a freight train, or walk. I'm going back to the city.

AFTER

But I don't have anywhere to go.

No home, no money, no nothing.

My parents don't want me. They cut and ran without looking back. If my own parents don't want me, who in the city does?

Tayshawn?

I have to laugh. His parents are as broke as mine. Tayshawn's on a full scholarship. There's no way his parents could afford anyone else in the house. Especially not someone who eats as much as I do.

Sarah?

Well, she's rich. Or at least her parents are. But no. I embarrass her. What happened between us embarrasses her. Having me in the house, giving up one of her rooms? Not likely. And if she said yes? I wouldn't be comfortable in a place like that. I'd be afraid of breaking something, doing things the wrong way, saying the wrong thing. I'd never belong there.

Besides, what would I tell them? My parents threw me out because . . . because they don't want a wolf in the house anymore. Oh, yeah, that's right, I'm a wolf. You didn't know? Well, it's like this . . .

I don't think so.

How I could prove it to them? The only convincing proof I have no one wants to see.

My DNA test. The one I never opened. What if there's something there?

But that won't mean a whole lot to Sarah or Tayshawn or their parents.

Then I realize who it would mean something to:

Yayeko Shoji. My biology teacher.

FAMILY HISTORY

My parents stopped loving me long before they dumped me at the Greats'.

Their love was already tempered by the fur I was born with, by the way I run, because those were both signs of what I was going to become.

Then, after my first change at the age of twelve, their love was gone completely.

That was the year Jordan died.

My parents still said they loved me, still kissed me good night, still let me live in their home and eat their food, but it was pretend: they were waiting for the right time to get rid of me.

For five years I lived a shadow life with shadow parents and never knew the difference.

Except that I did.

I just couldn't admit it to myself.

But they never admitted it either. They abandoned me.

Who's the bigger liar?

Me or them?

Isn't lying about love the worst lie? Isn't that worse than anything I've ever done?

HISTORY OF ME

I've told you all the important moments between me and Zach. All the memories I go over again and again and again.

I fear I will wear them out. Break them by thinking of them too long and too often. But maybe doing so is what keeps them fresh and alive.

That first day in the park when he came up and kissed me out of nowhere . . . Me, who he'd never looked at before. Why did he choose me? How'd he know we'd be good together?

Did he know?

Or did he kiss all the girls? Like the princess kissing all those frogs. I was the frog. He made me into a real girl. A human girl.

When I was with him I wasn't a frog, wasn't a wolf. I was me. Micah.

I worry that I will forget Zach. Forget his face. Forget the feel of his lips against mine. His hands on my skin. The feel of us naked and wrapped around each other.

Forget what it was like running by his side, matching strides, breaths, heartbeats.

I'm alive.

He's dead.

He'll always be dead.

I think about joining him.

But I can't.

The wolf inside won't let me. It wants to live. Even without him.

AFTER

Lurking outside the school waiting for Yayeko Shoji to leave is not as great a plan as I thought. There's not much cover and I don't want anyone but Yayeko to see me.

I narrowly avoid Brandon spotting me. He slouches out of school with a backpack over one shoulder. Alone, of course. The scowl on his face has spread to the rest of his body. He looks up, and for a moment I think he sees me, across the street, crouched behind a car. Why didn't Pete kill Brandon instead of Zach? But then Brandon turns his gaze back to his feet where it belongs.

I should have disguised myself. Gotten a wig or something. Mom has one. I should have grabbed it along with my DNA result.

I finally opened it. The proof I need. It says the blood I sent in isn't human. Yayeko watched us take blood samples, seal them, and she sent them. She'll understand what the test means: I'm not human.

If I knew where Yayeko lived, I wouldn't have to wait outside school. But she's not listed.

I watch Tayshawn come down the steps, basketball in his hands. He's heading for the court down the block, Will at his heels. I am tempted to join them. Tayshawn wouldn't mind and Will does what Tayshawn says. But I don't, because, well, what would I say?

By four o'clock no more students drift down the front steps, just teachers. A bit before five Yayeko Shoji, lugging a shopping bag overloaded with papers and a heavy backpack, takes the steps. I wonder if the papers are the ones we did on plant systems. I handed mine in last Friday.

I follow her from across the street until she turns onto West Broadway, then I scamper over.

“Yayeko,” I say.

She turns and almost drops the shopping bag in her surprise.

“Micah!”

“It's me,” I say.

“But your leg. Your face. You're alright!” She puts the bag down.

“Why wouldn't I be?”

“Your parents said there'd been an accident. They said your leg was broken in ten places, your face a mess. I tried to find out which hospital, but they didn't get back to me.”

“They won't.” I can imagine Dad going into details about the accident, easy for him to imagine since that's what he
wishes
had happened. I wonder if he mustered a tear, let his voice break to be more convincing.

My eyes sting. I am not going to cry in front of Yayeko. “There wasn't any accident. My parents threw me out.”

“Threw you out?” Yayeko says. The shock widens her eyes. “But your parents seem so nice.”

“Yes. No. It's a long story. Can I tell it to you?” I say, trying not to sound as desperate as I feel. “Do you have time now, I mean?”

“Where are you staying?” Yayeko asks.

“Nowhere. They threw me out. There's nowhere else for me to stay.” I realize how pathetic this sounds. I don't want to beg, but that's what I'm doing. “I don't have any money.”

“They didn't give you any?”

I shake my head. They hadn't. I searched the suitcase thoroughly, but there was nothing.

Yayeko looks at me closely. She's weighing her options. I'm realizing just what a big deal it is I'm asking for. I have always been her favorite student, but is that enough for her to let me into her life? It could be nothing but trouble. It will be. I concentrate on not crying.

“Yes,” she says at last. “But only until we can find somewhere better. Okay?”

I nod, pick up her shopping bag. I try to say
thank you
even though those words are nowhere near as strong as I need them to be. I'm quiet for a while. I have to wait until the tears stop threatening to leak out. When I can speak, my
thank you
is so quiet Yayeko doesn't hear.

AFTER

Yayeko Shoji's apartment is a six-story walk-up in Queens. Like mine, or, rather, like my parents'. But her apartment is bigger, nicer, too. More rooms, and the kitchen/living room is big enough for a couch and two comfy chairs and a big table with no bicycles suspended above it. Yayeko lives with her daughter and her mother, neither of whom are home. Her daughter plays basketball and is at practice. Her mother is a lawyer who works late.