Uncontrollable (The Nature of Grace, Book 2) (3 page)

My teacher claps to take everyone’s attention off me. “Class, listen up. Agent Sweeney is here with what I call an amazing
opportunity
for you to take advantage of.”

I quietly exhale, realizing he’s not at school for me. However, any
opportunity
to a teacher is either a scholastic trap to a kid or a death sentence to a grade. It’s like when Mom says I have an
opportunity
to clean my room, or I should
take advantage
of hauling out the trash. It’s usually a clue to head for the hills.

Agent Sweeney removes his signature navy-blue blazer, revealing a white USFWS shirt and jeans. He sits on top of Ms. Cox’s desk, and she frowns at the sudden attack on her esteemed pile of education. She discretely slides the graded papers out from under his left buttock. I can’t help but hide a smile with one hand.

“As Laura mentioned, I’m Agent Sweeney.” Ms. Cox blushes when she hears her first name.

I must admit, Agent Sweeney seems to have a way with the ladies. I guess I can see why, brown-eyed, animal-loving, nature-agents with guns can be hot. I can relate. I can’t help but miss Mo.

Sweeney glances around the room slowly, as if he’s waiting for us to recite his name in unison like a class of four-year-olds.

He motions to our teacher. “Laura and I have been discussing a special project.”

A short kid in my class named Seth whispers, “I bet they’ve been working on a special project together.”

His buddies laugh as I roll my eyes, wondering why boys only have one thing on their minds. I start doodling on my paper while I process the word
special
. This project is only getting worse.
Taking advantage of special opportunities
is not something I’m interested in, thank you very much.

Ms. Cox nods. “I think this project is very timely for this class, especially considering the sensitive topics we are studying.”

This time, Seth blurts out his bad joke for everyone to hear. “You mean
sex
?”

The class breaks into laughter as Ms. Cox stares down Seth with her “I’m not joking, I’ll give you an
F
” face. He quickly submits and mumbles, “I meant
prokaryotic
sex. Geez.”

She frowns. “Of course you did. Seth, see me after class.”

Agent Sweeney can’t help but smile. “As interesting as
that
sounds, this project is about something much bigger. Much more important.”

He stands up and shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans and plasters a serious look on his face. It’s the same one I’ve seen in court a hundred times. He clears his throat and stares straight at me.

“The U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service is attempting to recover wolves that were reintroduced into this area last summer. With the winter getting worse, we need to ensure their safety. And we want your help.”

I stop drawing and drop my pen. A buzz starts to rumble throughout the room.

Ms. Cox puts her finger to her mouth like we are toddlers. “Listen up, or you’ll miss something important.”

Agent Sweeney walks back to the desk and sits on top of Ms. Cox’s flowery nameplate. She stiffens but doesn’t attempt to move anything. Though knowing her OCD tendencies, I’m pretty sure she’s totally freaking out on the inside.

He clasps his hands together. “Now, the exciting part is we are looking for six students to help us with this project. It will consist of some fieldwork, in which you will locate the wolves for data collection. This will help us decide if we need to extract them before the bad winter sets in.”

He holds up his hands. “Before you say anything, let me explain exactly what the study will entail. You will be trained to help us with our field research by tracking and studying the packs’ behavior. If you are lucky enough to find their dens, you will be responsible for carefully documenting all of their behavior, from their hunting patterns to pack dynamics to mating.”

A few boys giggle in the back as Skyler holds up her hand. “So this will be an outdoor project?”

Agent Sweeney smirks. “Yes. That’s usually where wolves prefer to hang out.”

The class cracks up. Skyler’s face turns pink, but she holds up her hand again. “So… when you say
field
study, do you mean out in the actual woods or at the reserve?”

Everyone snickers again, and Agent Sweeney gives a short answer. “In the grand outdoors.”

“But it’s winter.” Skyler pulls her hair to one side and nervously plucks at her split ends. No doubt a fry job from her dye job.

Agent Sweeney raises his eyebrows. “Yes, well, unfortunately for us, wolves love the cold. I won’t lie to you. This study will not be easy work. This is definitely a job for people who prefer the outdoors and are good with details. It will also be over winter break so you won’t get to relax much.”

Ms. Cox interjects quickly before my classmates start a ruckus at the thought of no vacay, “That’s why I’m giving extra credit. The six people chosen will receive an
A
just for participating and doing what is required. This will replace your midterm exam; therefore, you won’t have to take one. That’s worth forty percent of your grade.”

A few kids cheer, while a few others shake their heads, obviously still not up for the challenge of remaking
Dances with Wolves
, not to mention braving the coldest winter in North Carolina history. This is the first year we’ve had a snowy Thanksgiving. Of course, Mom and I don’t celebrate, so it didn’t matter to us. But I hear the wild turkeys weren’t especially happy. Now it’s early December, and we’ve already had flurries and freezing temperatures. Weather we usually don’t see until late January.

Ms. Cox glances around the room. “First, let’s get a show of hands from the students who are interested, then we can figure out how to choose who gets the honors.”

Without even hesitating, my hand shoots up first. Dad’s face flashes in my mind, which makes me smile. He was always the first person to volunteer for stuff like this, so he would want me to step up. This way I can continue some of his work, even if it’s just logging numbers. Not to mention, hanging out in the woods with a
Rufus canus
is much better than sitting in class watching my ex-boyfriend wear his fancy new coat named Skyler Stevens.

Agent Sweeney points to me. “Thank you, Grace.”

Wyn spins around and stares at me for the first time in months. A confused look is plastered on his perfectly shaved face. I smile quickly, but he abruptly looks away. A few seconds later, his hand slowly rises into the air like it’s being pulled up by a helium balloon.

Agent Sweeney points at him. “Wyn.”

I almost laugh out loud, but my brain settles on absolute confusion instead. Why in the world would Wyn volunteer to go outside in the snow when he could hide inside and play house with Skyler? Not only does he hate the outdoors, but it’s not like his grades need any boosters. For me, this project is the only shot I have at earning a
B
.

A few other kids raise their hands. The obnoxious kid Seth, a new girl in town named Madison, and a huge black dude in the back, who goes by the name of Big Mike. The five of us all look around to see what other sucker will sign up for the
special opportunity
.

Ms. Cox waits a few more seconds. “To be honest, I’m surprised there are not more people interested in this rare opportunity, which will now be fifty percent of your grade.”

I smile and look around at all the kids hesitating.

Ms. Cox crosses her arms over her chest. “I need one more.”

Skyler stares at Wyn with a huge scowl on her face. No doubt she’s peeved he volunteered without consulting her highness first. She glances at me and then again at him. Finally, her manicured hand sprouts into the air.

Ms. Cox smiles and points back in our direction. “Great. Thank you, Ms. Stevens.”

Skyler forces out a smile as Ms. Cox continues with the assignments.

She points to the left side of the room. “Seth, you lead Team One with Madison and Michael.” Then she points to our side of the room. “Grace, Wyn, and Skyler, you can make up Team Two.” Then she glares at the rest of the class. “The rest of you will have a pop quiz tomorrow for not even pretending to be interested.”

The class groans in unison as the bell rings. I watch Wyn pick up Skyler’s flowery backpack and toss it over her shoulder as he walks her out.

Instead of getting up, I drop my head into my hands, cradling my brain as it starts to pound.

Just my luck to be on a team with Backwoods Barbie and Camping Ken.

Survival Skill #2

A hiker should always listen to the warnings of the birds, as they can provide warnings of predators
.

T
here was one major thing I didn’t consider when I volunteered for the Red Wolf Project: Mom.

No matter how excited I am or how I explain this to her, she’s going to totally freak when I tell her I’ll be hanging out in the woods again. Winter or not.

On the way home, I struggle to keep my motorcycle steady in the slushy snow. Almost time to let ole Luci hibernate for the winter. Even with her chains, her tires (or her age) are no match for the nasty weather we’re having this year.

As I fishtail down the road to my house, my stomach churns with nerves. Not because I almost crash twice, but because I wonder if Mom’s going to try and stop me from doing this project. The last few months, she’s kept me from the woods, and I’ve let her.

But I can’t ignore the forest forever. This project is the first thing I’ve been excited about in a long time. And I think it’s time to get my waders back in the river as Dad would say. This could be a first step in getting a lost piece of me back.

After turning down my driveway, I slide to a stop. An old, beat-up truck is parked next to Dad’s antique red one. An old birdcage sprinkled with snow sits in the back bed.

I pounce off my bike and race inside still wearing my helmet. I burst through the door and yell, “Mom! Mom!”

She comes barreling around the corner with an apron tied around her waist and a hot mitt on one hand. “What! What!”

I push up the fogged shield so she can see my face and lower my voice. “Is that Birdee’s truck outside?”

She gasps and places one hand on her chest as if she’s about to have a heart attack. “Jesus, Grace, you scared the crap outta me. Thought something happened.”

I pull my helmet off and shake out my damp hair. “No, I’m fine.”

When I give her a hug, I can feel her heart pounding in her chest.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I was just excited.” I search the next room. “So? What’s she doing here anyway?”

Mom blows a wisp of brown hair off her face. Small patches of flour dust her cheek, telling me she’s trying to cook again.

“We can talk about that over dinner.” I raise my eyebrows as she points to the stove. “Macaroni casserole.”

“Hm. Can’t wait.” I wink at her and walk through the living room. “Where is she?”

“Where do you think?” Mom wipes her hands on a dish towel. “She’s out back. Talking to her
friends
.”

I toss my stuff onto the chair and head out the back door. I creep down the steps and through the yard, careful not to make a sound. Birdee gets real cranky when someone interrupts her conversations. At the tree line, I scan the overgrown woods until I spot the familiar straw hat and white hair bobbing above the bushes.

As soon as I see Birdee, Dad pops into my head. He loved his mother more than anything. Mom says Birdee and Dad are the only two people made from the same mold; only he was obsessed with bears and Birdee’s bonkers for birds (or
Aves
as she calls them).

After Dad’s funeral, Birdee was so upset about his death, she traipsed off to Africa on a bird-watching excursion for a few months. We hadn’t heard from her all that time.

I tiptoe toward her, remembering all the times Dad and I would try our darndest to sneak up on her. We loved scaring her. It was so fun to hear her squeal and then cuss up a storm. Sometimes she wouldn’t talk to us for hours.

I’m sure our laughing prevented her pride from fully recovering.

I take a small step forward and scan the path in front of me. It won’t be easy to sneak around with the snow covering every dead branch just waiting to snap. But that wouldn’t have stopped Dad from trying. He would’ve seen it as a wilderness challenge.

I move forward along the sparse trail, careful to avoid any patches of ice and piles of dead branches partially buried under the snow’s weight. As I inch closer, I get the urge to giggle, thinking about how Dad always tried to push me off balance, hoping I’d make the first noise so Birdee would hear me instead of him. I was his unwilling and always-gullible decoy.

Just as I sneak up, a gray bird flies over me and squawks before landing on Birdee’s shoulder. “Intruder alert,” he shrieks.

I yell, “Petey!”

Birdee cackles with her bird. “Ha! I taught him that.” She hands her African gray parrot a sunflower seed. He takes the morsel in his foot and nibbles on it. Birdee pets his feathered head. “Good Petey.”