Simon Thorn and the Wolf's Den (3 page)

“Hi,” he said. “I'm Simon.”

“And I'm reading,” said the girl without looking up.

His
cheeks warmed. “Sorry.” She must have known about him after all. But while he busied himself with pulling the crust off his sandwich, she spoke again.

“I'm Winter,” she said. “But I'm still reading.”

She glanced up, and Simon noticed that her eyes were the lightest green he'd ever seen. He wanted to say something else, to show her that he was reading the same book, but he didn't want to scare her away. For now, he stayed quiet.

Opening his own copy, he noticed a piece of paper stuck between the pages. It was a note from Darryl. His uncle never wrote him notes, but there it was, written in his familiar sharp scrawl.

Good luck today. Proud of you. Don't forget to show them your teeth.

Simon reread it twice. It wasn't much, but it was enough to make him smile, and he tucked the scrap of paper back between the pages of his book.

“Whatcha got there, Psycho? A love letter from your boyfriend?”

Bryan Barker snatched the book from his hands. Simon protested and made a grab for it, but Bryan held it out of reach. Flipping through the pages, he found the note and pulled it out.

“Dear Psycho,” he read loudly enough for the entire lunchroom to hear. “I love you more than the moon and the
stars.
Thinking of you. Hugs and kisses. Love, your boo bear.”

Bryan's gang roared with laughter. Colin, who stood behind Bryan, turned bright red, but no one was laughing at him. Just Simon.

A knot formed in his chest. It grew hotter and hotter until he almost couldn't bear it, but he didn't move. Anything he said would only make it worse.

“Oh, look, he drew you a bunch of hearts and flowers, too. How sweet.” Bryan grinned down at him, and Simon clenched his fists. “Upset, Psycho? Gonna show us your teeth?”

“Would you jerks shut up and go back to whatever hole you crawled out of?” snapped an irritated voice. Winter set down her book and glared at Bryan.

He shoved the note into Simon's book and tossed it to Colin. “What do we have here? Cheating on your boyfriend with another freak, Psycho?”

“Leave her alone,” said Simon.

Bryan poked him hard in the ribs. “Or what? You'll go home crying to your mother? Oh, wait. You don't have one.”

There it was: Bryan's favorite taunt. Simon refused to react. He concentrated on his breathing instead—in and out, in and out, until the burning knot in his chest started to cool. “Colin, can I have my book back?” he said.

Colin glanced back and forth between him and Bryan. “Sorry, Simon,” he mumbled.

Bryan
snorted with laughter, and Simon's vision narrowed. Colin didn't matter. Bryan didn't matter. None of this mattered. Someday he would be Darryl's size, and no one would bother him again. Someday he would be far away from here, and—

“Are you going to give it back or not?” said Winter. When Colin didn't move, she stood and snatched the book from him. “Jerk. And you—” She rounded on Bryan. “Is that the best you can do? Coward.”

Bryan turned pink. “You want to see what I've got?”

Winter stepped closer. “Go ahead and show me, Ape Face. I dare you.”

Bryan's mouth contorted with anger, and to Simon's horror, he shoved her backward. Winter hit the chair hard, and the crack of elbow against metal echoed through the cafeteria.

Simon didn't stop to think. By the time he realized what he was doing, he had already tackled Bryan to the ground and socked him in the soft spot below his ribs. Bryan cried out, and Simon pulled away, dumbfounded. Where had that come from?

The lunchroom went silent. Simon scrambled to his feet. The other boys closed ranks around them, forming a tight circle and chanting “
Fight! Fight! Fight!
” But Simon didn't want to fight. It had been an accident.

“You—are a dead man,” gasped Bryan.

Simon's head buzzed, and he couldn't think of anything
to
say. Instead, he stupidly offered Bryan his hand. “I'm sorry.”

Bryan grabbed his wrist and yanked him to the ground. Using his knees, he pinned Simon's legs to the cold floor, still panting. “You think—you can hit me—in front of everyone—and get away with it?”

The burning knot in Simon's chest was back, trying to claw its way out of him, but it had nowhere to go. “Maybe you shouldn't attack girls, Ape Face,” he blurted.

“Don't worry. You're a much better punching bag,
Psycho.
”

Bryan shoved his arm against Simon's throat. His fist connected with Simon's abdomen, and Simon curled into a ball.

Bryan laughed and pulled back for another punch. On the other side of the room, the vice principal shouted for them to break it up, but Bryan still had time to get in a few more good hits before he reached them. Worse, Simon knew Bryan would never leave him alone after this, and no doubt he would also set his sights on Winter, whose only crime was sticking up for Simon.

Show them your teeth.

That burning knot in his chest exploded, and Simon roared. His hand shot out, his fingers curled into claws, and he swiped his nails against Bryan's face. Bright red lines sprouted across Bryan's cheek, and he faltered, his mouth open in shock.

Simon didn't give him a chance to fight back. He bit down hard on Bryan's wrist, letting go before he tasted blood.

Bryan
howled with pain and scrambled off Simon. “He bit me!” he yelled, clutching his arm. “Psycho
bit
me!”

Simon sat up and wiped his mouth. Dread coiled in the pit of his aching belly, and he climbed shakily to his feet. “Are you okay?” he said to Winter. She glared at him.

“Why did you do that?”

“I—” Simon stopped. “Do what?”

“Treat me like I'm some sad little girl who needs protection. I don't need your help.”

Before Simon could respond, the vice principal burst into the circle, his paunch heaving as he wheezed, “My office—both of you—now!”

Taking Simon and Bryan by their elbows, he marched them through the parting crowd. While Bryan shouted that he hadn't done anything wrong, that he was injured and had to see the school nurse, Simon remained quiet. Darryl was going to be furious, but that was nothing compared to what Bryan would do to him now. If he were lucky, it would be fast and painless, but if there was one thing Simon had learned today, it was that luck was most definitely not on his side.

The show in the cafeteria earned Simon detention for a week. With Bryan. Which meant he would have to deal with more of his taunts for a whole extra hour for five days straight. Simon tried to explain that he'd only been protecting
himself
and Winter, but the vice principal didn't seem to have any idea who Winter was.

By the time he was allowed to leave the office, Simon had missed all but his last hour. He stopped in the middle of the hallway. Bryan had gone to see the nurse, and no one else was around to make sure he went the right way. If he didn't go to class, there was a chance his uncle would find out—but Darryl would hear about the fight before the end of the day regardless. Simon couldn't possibly get into more trouble than he was already, and facing the other students would be much, much worse than any punishment his uncle could dream up.

Simon turned and dashed out the front door. Though people passed on the sidewalk below, the concrete steps were clear, except for a few pigeons that lingered on the railing.

“Food?” said the nearest one. Simon cringed.

“I don't have any food, all right? Just leave me alone.”

“You talk to
pigeons
?”

He whirled around. Winter stood at the top of the steps, right outside the school entrance. “Of course not. I was just talking to myself,” he said. His forgotten backpack sat at her feet. “Where did you get that?”

“Lunchroom. Figured you might need it,” she said. “Do they always treat you so horribly?”

Simon climbed back up the steps. “I'm used to it.”

“No one should have to get used to that.”

“It doesn't matter.” Simon dug through his backpack. His
belongings
were all there—even his book with the note tucked between the pages. “Besides, anything I do will make it worse.”

“You weren't half-bad in that fight, you know. If you wanted to, you could take out those worms without a problem.”

Simon stared at the dried blood underneath his fingernails. He could still feel the burning knot in his chest and the rush of dark satisfaction when it had exploded. No matter how angry he became, he had always been able to suppress it before. So why hadn't he listened to his gut this time?

But he
had
listened. That was the problem.

“Why do they call you ‘Psycho Simon,' anyway?” she added. “You don't seem psychotic to me. A little weird, maybe, but—”

“I have to get home,” he interrupted. Winter stepped in front of him, blocking his path.

“Not until you tell me why they call you that.”

Simon tried to go around her, but she moved with him, and his frustration grew until he snapped, “I don't know, all right? Because they hate me. Because they want to make my life miserable. Because they think I can talk to animals. I don't
know
.”

“So you
were
talking to the pigeon.”

“Of course not,” he said. “That would be crazy.”

He tried to move past her again, and this time she let him
go.
Simon stormed down the steps, silently seething. He didn't need Winter to make fun of him, too.

“Hey, Simon,” she called after he'd joined the crowd on the sidewalk. “You're not the only one.”

He stopped. “I'm not the only what?” he called, his view of the stairs momentarily blocked by a group of tourists.

But by the time the group passed, she was gone. Weaving through the crowd, he returned to the base of the steps and looked around. Winter was nowhere to be found.

Simon thought about her words as he cut through the corner of Central Park on the way home. Had she meant he wasn't the only one who was picked on? A small part of him held out hope that she had meant he wasn't the only one who could talk to animals, but of course that wasn't it. That was crazy.
He
was crazy.

When he spotted the bench with the plaque—the same bench where he'd met the eagle that morning—Simon stopped and sat down. Maybe the eagle would return and explain how he knew his mother. It was a long shot, but he couldn't go home yet anyway, not when a neighbor might spot him and tell his uncle, so instead Simon pulled out his book and waited. It was peaceful in the park, and though a few chatty squirrels stopped long enough to ask him if he'd seen any acorns, for the most part the animals left him alone.

Simon didn't mean to lose track of time, but the pages flew by, and over an hour passed with no sign of the eagle. A chorus of laughter echoed through the trees. In the
distance,
he spotted some of the kids from school, and he quickly gathered his things and stood. If he walked fast enough, he could make it home before anyone caught up to him.

Halfway down the trail, the air seemed to change, and Simon looked up. Perched on a branch above him was the golden eagle. “Hello, Simon Thorn.”

“I'm kind of in a hurry right now,” he said, walking faster and glancing over his shoulder. He could make out Bryan's head bobbing above the others.

The eagle ruffled its feathers. “I thought you wanted to know more about your mother.”

Simon stopped. The eighth-grade boys were getting closer. “Is she okay?”

“For now,” said the eagle. “The longer you stay here, the more danger you are in, Simon. It is only a matter of time before the mammals find you, and once they do, we will no longer be able to protect you.”

“Protect me from what? Chipmunks?” said Simon. One of the boys shouted his name, and he inched down the path.

“From the most bloodthirsty beasts in the animal kingdom,” said the eagle. “They are coming for you, Simon Thorn, and if they find you, they will kill you.”

“
Kill
me?” he blurted. “Why?”

“There is no time to explain. They are closing in as we speak. If you would come with me—”

Another snarl cut through the air, exactly the same as
that
morning. Startled, the eagle took flight. “Run, Simon, before it is too late!”

Simon cursed. “Wait—come back!”

But the eagle flew away, leaving him alone on the path. With the eagle's warning rattling around his brain, Simon hurried away from the bushes and the creature that had snarled. It definitely hadn't sounded like a chipmunk.

Before he could get very far, Bryan Barker appeared from behind a thicket on the other side of the path, flanked by three eighth graders. “You really are crazy, aren't you, Psycho?”

“Leave me alone,” he said, skirting around them. Four pairs of footsteps followed.

“Do the animals talk back? Do they tell you how worthless you are, or are they too stupid to figure it out?” said Bryan, and Simon walked even faster. Short as he was, the gang of four boys caught up to him easily and surrounded him. Bryan pushed Simon backward, and another boy ripped his bag from him. “Answer me, Psycho.”

Simon kept his mouth shut. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction. He glanced around, looking for anything he might be able to use against them. Sticks, pebbles, a bench in the distance—

“No girls here to save you this time,” said Bryan, shoving him again. One of the eighth graders caught him and pushed him forward. Back and forth he went, until he was so jarred that he could barely keep his balance.

Shoving.
He could handle this. Just as long as it didn't get any worse. But within seconds, Bryan made a fist.