Simon Thorn and the Wolf's Den (2 page)

“I can't lose. I know,” muttered Simon, stabbing at his pancakes with his fork. “Colin said he wanted to join the wrestling team this year because he thinks it'll make the popular kids like us.”

“Keeping your enemies close isn't a bad strategy.”

“Not when it gives them an excuse to beat us up every day.” Simon had spent all summer hoping he would be able to spend seventh grade in the background, unnoticed and left alone. But with the way Colin was avoiding him now, his only hope of keeping his friend was to join the wrestling team, too. “Tryouts are next week. You might want to buy some frozen peas just in case.”

“After I show you a few moves, they'll be the ones needing frozen peas.” Darryl frowned. “This year
will
be better, Simon. Trust me. I know things have been rough lately, especially with your mom, but—”

Simon stood suddenly. He was nauseated enough already without bringing his mother into it. “I have to finish getting ready. Thanks for the pancakes. I'll eat the rest in my room.”

“Simon . . .”

“It's fine. Really.”

Ignoring Darryl's protests, Simon carried his breakfast back into his bedroom. Closing the door, he set the plate
down
on the desk and sank into the chair. On the wall in front of him, he'd painstakingly hung the one hundred twenty-four postcards his mother had sent since she'd left him with Darryl. They arrived once a month from cities across the country, boasting colorful pictures of all kinds of animals—wolves, eagles, rattlesnakes, honeybees, bears, dolphins, everything he could think of and more. He had memorized the words on the back of each one, written in a loopy handwriting he knew better than his mother's face. She was a zoologist, so most of the time she wrote about whatever animal was pictured on the postcard. But every now and then she told him how much she missed him, too. Those were his favorite postcards.

Simon and Darryl never talked about his mother. She traveled all the time for her job, so she had dumped Simon with his uncle in the city, and Darryl had become the closest thing Simon had to a parent. Sometimes his mother made it home for Christmas or Simon's birthday, but only for a few hours, and she always seemed distracted. Lately her visits were less and less frequent. The last time Simon had seen her was a year ago, the week after he'd learned he could talk to animals.

More than anything in the world, Simon wanted her to come home. He could put up with all the taunts and bullying if she were there. He would eat lunch alone every day for the rest of his life if he got to eat dinner with her. She would understand his weird ability to communicate with animals.

She
wouldn't think he was crazy.

No longer hungry, Simon dropped some bacon and a piece of pancake underneath his desk for Felix and then tossed the rest of his breakfast onto the fire escape, where the waiting pigeons fought over his leftovers as he numbly finished getting ready for school. The eagle hadn't returned.

His uncle was waiting for Simon when he emerged from his bedroom, and Darryl handed him his brown-bag lunch. “I have time before work to walk with you if you'd like.”

There was nothing Simon could think of that would be worse than showing up on his first day of seventh grade with his uncle at his side. “I'm supposed to meet up with Colin,” he said. Or at least he thought he was. They had always walked to and from school together the year before.

To Simon's relief, Darryl didn't argue. Instead he knelt in front of Simon, the scar on his cheek wrinkling as he peered at him. His uncle was so big that they were nearly eye level. “Nothing lasts forever, no matter how it might feel. Just remember, you'll be my size someday. No one's going to mess with you then.”

“Today isn't someday though,” muttered Simon.

“No, it's not. But in the meantime, do your best and be yourself. That's all any of us can do.” He stood and pressed a scratchy kiss to Simon's forehead. “Do good, kid. Make me proud.”

Simon stuffed his lunch into his backpack and left the apartment, trudging down the steps in silence. Their
building
was across from Central Park, and Simon gazed at the trees lining the street as he waited on the corner where he and Colin had met up the year before. Colin wasn't there yet though, which only made Simon more nervous. He was usually the one who was running late.

Simon checked his watch. Ten minutes. If Colin wasn't here in ten minutes, then he wouldn't be coming at all.

He tried to act casual, leaning against a street sign and pretending his palms weren't sweating. He checked his watch again. Nine minutes and thirty seconds. Colin lived down the block—he had to come this way to get to school.

A loud screech in the street made the hair stand up on the back of Simon's neck, and for a moment he was sure the eagle had returned. He peered over the edge of the curb. Half a dozen rats clawed at what Simon first thought was a balled-up newspaper they'd picked out of the garbage. But when that lump screeched a second time, horror shot through him. The rats were attacking a pigeon.

“Hey—cut that out!” he cried, jumping into the street. “Leave him alone!”

The rats froze. They took one look at Simon and darted into the sewer, leaving the injured pigeon on the pavement. Simon knelt beside it, all too aware that several people waiting to cross the street were staring at him, but he couldn't leave the pigeon there to die.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

The
pigeon cooed feebly. “Fly,” it said, and with effort, it spread its wings and took off into the sky. Simon straightened, trying to track where the pigeon went, but as soon as it rounded the corner, he lost sight of it.

Over the next eight minutes, Simon witnessed several more fights between pigeons and rats: one in which a bunch of pigeons attacked a single rat, a second where the rats once again had the upper hand, and a third that featured an entire flock of pigeons facing off against a large gang of rats, taking up half the sidewalk and forcing everyone to walk around them. Simon did his best to break up each skirmish, but there was only so much he could do on his own. No one else seemed to notice the animals were acting strangely, and Simon heard the eagle's warning echo in his ear. Maybe he should have stayed home.

At last ten minutes were up, and still there was no sign of Colin. Simon's heart sank. Maybe he had gone to school early, Simon reasoned as he crossed the street. Or maybe Colin would be waiting for him in Central Park.

Darryl hated the park almost as much as he hated animals, and he had expressly forbidden Simon to go inside without him there—which naturally meant Simon sneaked inside as often as he could, especially during the summer while his uncle was at work. A thrill ran through him as he darted up a path that cut a full ten minutes from his walk to school. The rustling trees, the green grass, and the smell of damp dirt made his mood brighten, and, since the trail
was
nearly abandoned, he even dared to greet a few of the ducks meandering through the park.

“I see you did not heed my warning, Simon Thorn.”

Simon whirled around. Perched on a branch over his head was the golden eagle from his fire escape. “What was I supposed to do? It's the first day of school.”

“Some things are far more important.” The eagle flew down and settled on a bench featuring a bronze plaque. “You must come with me immediately, Simon—for your own safety.”

“In case you haven't noticed, I don't have wings,” said Simon. “How do you know my name?”

“Because,” the eagle said with a long-suffering sigh, “your mother told me.”

Out of all the things the eagle could have said, this was the one Simon least expected. “You—you know my mother?”

“Indeed,” said the eagle. “If you would come with me—”

A snarl cut through the crisp air. Startled, the eagle took flight, and Simon cursed. “Wait—come back!”

But the eagle had already disappeared. Muttering to himself, Simon glanced into the bushes for the source of the sound. Before he could spot anything, a chorus of snickers started behind him.

“Talking to animals again, Psycho?”

Simon's blood ran cold. Bryan Barker and his gang of eighth graders. They were the biggest, meanest boys in school, and Bryan, with his broad shoulders and towering
height
that had come out of nowhere two summers ago, was the biggest and meanest of them all. He was practically guaranteed to be named captain of the wrestling team, and getting on his good side was exactly why Colin wanted to join. As far as Simon saw it, Bryan had no good side.

Without looking back, Simon hurried down the path, hoping they would leave him alone. But their footsteps grew louder, and he could sense them surrounding him. No matter how fast he ran, they would be faster, and trying to get away would only give them an excuse to turn him into dog meat.

“Answer me, Psycho.” Simon felt something bounce off his backpack—a rock or a stick. “Or did you forget how to speak human?”

Two boys cut in front of him and stopped, leaving Simon no room to escape. He whirled around. “If you don't let me go, we're all going to be late for—”

A pale boy with a round face peeked out from behind Bryan, and Simon wilted. “Colin?”

He was the only boy in seventh grade who was shorter than Simon. He wore thick glasses, and his eyebrows were set high on his forehead, making him look as shocked to see Simon as Simon was to see him. Colin said nothing though, staring at the ground instead.

Simon didn't care that he was surrounded by the four toughest boys in school. All he could focus on was the fact that his supposed best friend couldn't even look him in the
eye.
“I thought you were going to wait for me at the corner.”

“Is it true, Colin? Is Psycho Simon your boyfriend?” said Bryan, and the other boys laughed. Colin turned a deep shade of red.

“He's—he's not even my friend,” he stammered. “He's crazy.”

Colin might as well have punched Simon in the gut. As much as Simon had been dreading it, hearing Colin confirm his worst fear made the world tilt, and he swallowed a hard lump in his throat.

“Don't cry, Psycho. I'm sure the rats still like you,” said Bryan. The older boys' laughs ripped through him as they each shoved him in turn while they passed. Simon didn't fight back. Instead he looked at Colin, who trudged after them, weighed down by five backpacks.

“Colin—” he started, but Bryan Barker made kissing noises, and Colin's face grew redder.

“M'sorry,” mumbled Colin, and he walked away.

Not caring whether he was late anymore, Simon stayed glued to the spot on the path until their laughter faded. He wanted to think Colin would change his mind once he saw how terrible Bryan really was, but he already knew. They both knew. And now Simon was alone.

At last he dragged himself the rest of the way through the park, his head buzzing with their taunts. Over and over he tried to convince himself they didn't matter. Bryan didn't matter. Colin didn't matter.

They
did matter though, and Simon ducked his head as he walked up the empty concrete stairway leading to the school. By now, half the students probably knew what had happened in the park, and he considered not going inside. But the thought of how upset and disappointed Darryl would be made him climb the last few steps. He couldn't do that to his uncle. Bryan Barker would forget about him eventually, and even if he didn't, at least he couldn't get much worse.

“Simon!”

A hair-raising screech rose above the noise from the street, and Simon spun around. The golden eagle perched on a street sign nearby, staring straight at him.

Simon narrowed his eyes. Everything that had happened in the park was the eagle's fault. If he had just left Simon alone, Bryan Barker wouldn't have overheard their conversation, and maybe Simon would have had a chance at a good year.

He turned his back on the eagle and disappeared into the school. If the eagle wanted something from him, he would come back soon enough. Right now the only thing Simon could think about was exactly how bad today was going to be, and how he was going to survive it.

2

ANIMAL INSTINCTS

By the time Simon left his first class, it seemed like every seventh grader at Kennedy Middle School had heard about what happened in the park. Even a group of sixth graders taunted him as he passed, and one boy stuck out his foot to trip him. Simon staggered forward, barely managing to catch himself before he fell.

“Watch it,” said the boy. “These shoes are new.”

“Then maybe you shouldn't stick them in front of people,” said Simon. Before the boy could retaliate, Simon bolted down the hall.

As the hours wore on he felt smaller and smaller, until he might as well have been nothing at all. By the time the lunch bell rang, Simon couldn't walk down the hallway
without
kissing sounds following him, and he sat down at the only empty table in the cafeteria, right next to the trash cans. He pulled out his book and unwrapped the sandwich his uncle had packed, and laughter exploded from Bryan Barker's table. Simon glanced up long enough to see Colin sitting there, eagerly hanging on Bryan's every word. Simon bit his lip and looked back down at his book, trying to ignore them.

Without so much as a hello, a girl with long dark hair sat down in the chair beside him. Simon froze. There were plenty of empty seats at other tables—and at his, too—but she was close enough that he could smell her hair over the peanut butter in his sandwich.

He started to edge away. Before he could move too far, however, the girl pulled a book from her backpack. It was exactly the same as the one Simon held. Opening to a marked page, she began to read.

Simon hesitated. Was she new? He was sure he'd never seen her before. Besides, no one in their right mind would sit with him today—it was social suicide. The kind thing to do would have been to move so that Bryan didn't see them together, but after the morning Simon had had, the possibility of talking to someone who didn't think he was a freak was too tempting to pass up. So before he could stop himself, he turned toward her.