Wolfhowl Mountain

by Dian Cronan

  “Thanks!” She swings the door closed and pushes several wild strands of hair out of her face. “The wind’s really picked up. I guess we’re about due for a storm.”

  “I love thunderstorms!” Liam shouts, his angelic voice loud in the small cab.

  “Me too!” Letta gives Liam a high five and he giggles. “So, how’s it going?”

  “Erm...” I say.

  “Aah...” says Beckan.

  “I got locked in my room!” Liam shouts with such exuberance one might think he actually enjoyed it.

  Letta smiles at Liam, then looks at me and then Beckan, while we both concentrate on the road. Sensing the sudden tenseness in the air, she changes the subject. “Um... So have you decided about cheerleading tryouts? They’re only a day away...”

  “Crap!” I smack my forehead. “I didn’t talk to Mother about it yet. Maybe tonight.” The cheerleading tryout information has been on the announcements every week since school started. I’ve been meaning to ask Mother for weeks, but don’t know how to bring it up. With all the excitement last night, I’d completely forgotten about it.

  “Cheerleadin’?” Beckan sounds surprised. Or disappointed. I can’t tell which, and I’m bothered.

  “Yeah. Why? Are Port Braseham’s cheerleaders really bad?”

  He shrugs. “I’ve no idear. They’re like cheerleaders anywhere else, I guess: shallow, dramatic followahs. They’re just pretty attention hogs with too much makeup. You don’t seem the type.” He couldn’t have sounded more condescending if he tried.

  “Tell me how you really feel,” Letta laughs.

  I prickle, careful to keep my own heavily painted face blank, if only because everything Beckan says is true of my experience as a cheerleader. But cheerleading is more than that to me. It’s a sport; it requires talent and adrenaline, practice and determination. It makes me feel alive, being tossed into the air and flipping across a field like a skipped stone.

  “Not all cheerleaders fall into your neat little stereotype,” I snap. When our eyes meet as he glances away from the road, anger flares up inside me. “It’s a sport, like any other.” I’m not about to admit to him I’d been every bit of the stereotypical cheerleader he describes. I’m almost more determined to join the team now, just to spite him.

  He snorts. “Maybe back in Texas. I just don’t think you’re goin’ tah like it as much heeah.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that if you don’t mind.” I cross my arms and look away from him. From the corner of my eye, I see Letta stifling laughter.

  The frosty silence becomes another passenger in the crowded cab. The truck comes up on three figures stalking along the edge of the road. They huddle together, trying to protect themselves from the wind, gusting so that it’s pushing the truck on the road.

  “Hey, it’s Shane, Eileen and Patty,” Letta says. “Wave at the icicles everyone!”

  We wave at the three red faces scrunched close together. Shane smiles and gives us the finger.

  “They’re sooo jealous,” Letta laughs.

  A moment later we’re turning into the school’s parking lot. Liam is the first one out as Beckan screeches to a halt, crawling over Letta in his unapologetic and monkey-like manner. I grab the hood of his jacket before I let him totter off. I double-check his jacket is zipped and advise him there’s no reason to go telling everyone he was locked in his room last night. The last thing we need is more strange stares from people who feel their beliefs in ghouls are confirmed by my brother’s exaggerated version of events.

  I pointedly ignore Beckan as he waves us off, and we quickly take shelter from the stinging wind inside. Letta saves her attack until I’m bent over inside my locker.

  “Alright, spill it!”

  “Huh? Spill what?” I try to concentrate on my schedule. What do I have today? History or math? Both?

  “You made out with Beckan didn’t you!” Letta shouts.

  I smile awkwardly at a couple of other early arrivals, looking curiously in our direction. “First of all, keep your voice down. Second of all, I most certainly did not!” I feel the heat of a blush coming to my cheeks as I stuff a binder into my bookbag.

  “Well something’s going on,” Letta insists with a jabbing finger. “There was way too much tension in that truck for there to be nothing going on between you two. Don’t tell me he’s finally melted that icy exterior of yours.”

  “It’s personal.” I want to tell Letta what happened, but I don’t want to tell her in front of all the prying eyes and ears of my classmates. When I finally close my locker, Letta’s wearing her best puppy-dog-face, withering away my resolve.

  “Alright, come on.” I grab Letta’s arm and drag her into the nearest girls’ bathroom.

  “Out with it,” Letta says the second the door falls shut, “or I’m going to die of impatience.”

  “Don’t repeat this okay?” Letta nods encouragingly, pretending to lock her lips with an invisible key, which she then places in a pocket.

  “Remember the file I told you about a while ago?” I say. “There was an article in there about a woman who died in my house several years ago, but there weren’t any details. I asked Beckan about it last night, and he told me it was his mother.”

  “Shut up!”

  “Yeah. Anyway, so I dunno, I had a moment of sympathy I guess.” I roll my eyes. “A moment of weakness.”

  “And you kissed him!” Letta hisses. “I knew it!”

  “What? No! No. What’s your obsession with making out with Beckan?”

  “You have to ask?”

  “Anyway,” I continue, “after he told me what happened to his mother, I told him...” I sigh. Am I really about to talk about Dad’s suicide to another person in the same twenty-four hour period? “I told him what happened to my dad.”

  In a hushed tone, I tell Letta about Dad and the conversation between me and Beckan. Once I start, I can’t stop, and I tell Letta all about the argument with Mother and my near death of embarrassment that it happened in front of Beckan. I tell Letta how my room was ransacked, how Liam was locked in his room, and last of all, I relate my dream and the open doors in the middle of the night. Letta frowns and gasps and throws her hands over her mouth in all the right places.

  “Well, you had a quite a night,” she says when I’m finally done.

  “That’s an understatement.”

  “Do you really think a ghost ransacked your room and locked Liam in his?”

  “Ugh! I wish I knew what I believed! Every time I’m determined to believe it’s just a drafty old house, something crazy happens and I question reality. What am I supposed to believe?”

  Letta shrugs. “What about the doors? Your dream?”

  I shrug back. “I know I locked the doors. I’m positive. How they opened–”

  “After a creepy dream about something trying to get in...”

  “–I have no idea.” I stifle a shiver. “I don’t know what happened and I don’t know what to do.”

  “Obviously, it’s time for a more thorough investigation,” Letta says.

  “What do you mean?”

  Letta begins to list off items. “Search the house from top to bottom. Research. Ouija Boards. A séance or something. A conversation with all the superstitious old people living around here. They’ve gotta know something.”

  I remember the cool hand on my shoulder my first week in the house. It still feels fresh. “I don’t know, Letta. What if we stir something up?”

  “That’s the fun part,” Letta says. “Come on. I’ll help. We can do it this weekend. It’ll be like an episode of Ghost Hunters!”

  I can’t help but laugh at Letta’s enthusiasm, but as I do, I notice I’m not the only one.

  We turn around to find Mary Donovan exiting the last stall. She smiles at us with mock sweetness, her perfect teeth nearly blinding me. “Ghost hunters? Not enough going on in your social life, huh Ghost Slut? How sad.” She’s distracted by her reflection, admiring it in the dingy mirror. Not a
hair, eyelash, or eyebrow is out of place.

  I hate her.

  When Mary’s finished congratulating herself on her own beauty, she eyes me carefully, as if evaluating me from head to toe, and I feel naked.

  “Have a nice day, ladies,” Mary says sweetly, brushing by us, bumping into my shoulder on the way out. I glare after her.

  “Well,” Letta says. “Shit.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  The Sullen Boy

  I slink to homeroom and sit as far away from Mary as possible. Unfortunately, this doesn’t hide the giggles and stares of Mary’s girlfriends, whom she’s obviously told what she overheard in the bathroom. I can only imagine the rumors she’s starting.

  Ghost Slut loves the O’Dwyre boy.

  Ghost Slut thinks she’s a detective.

  Ghost Slut thinks she can get rid of the ghouls.

  Ghost Slut, what an idiot!

  The news spreads like a wild fire, and like a game of telephone, none of the rumors will remotely resemble the truth by the time Mary and her friends are finished. The only blessing so far is Ms. Brennan’s lack of comment suggests she approves of my skinny jeans and long sleeved t-shirt. After attendance and announcements, I bolt from the room and head straight to English.

  The sullen blonde boy from homeroom and history – Adam – sits by the window again. Every day, he gazes out as if lost in the midst of a bad memory he can’t escape. He’s an outcast, never interacting with anyone, although I can’t be sure if his status is voluntary or not. I really don’t feel like being surrounded by people who keep staring at me or treating me like I have something contagious today. Maybe Adam will let me sit near him and I can some have peace for once.

  “Is it okay if I sit here?” I ask, pointing to the seat in front of him. I’m not sure why I’m asking his permission. Texas Rose would’ve just sat down, flung her hair in his face and ignored him. Who am I turning into? Adam doesn’t answer me, doesn’t even acknowledge me. The room is filling up with other students, so I take the seat.

  I make it through English easily. I even raise my hand and offer my thoughts during a discussion on the greatest authors of all time. Of course I found a way to bring up Jane Austen and Shakespeare. Another girl raises her hand to say Suzanne Collins, a modern author who’s changing the face of young adult literature, should be considered for the list. It starts a fun little debate and Mrs. Clancy seems to appreciate my contributions, which makes me feel a little better.

  I’m gathering my things after the bell when Adam mutters behind me. I have no idea if he’s talking to me or to himself because he stares at the floor, like he’s talking to his shoes.

  “I don’t talk to anyone and no one talks to me.” His voice is so soft and quiet I barely hear him. “And that’s the way I like it.” He zips out of the room the second his mouth closes, leaving me confused.

  Chemistry is about as boring as it can get. Mr. McLoughlin presents information about stoichiometry in a mindless drone so monotonous that he nearly lulls me to sleep.

  I’m glad to see Letta and the others at lunch. The wind outside has picked up and the temperature has dropped, so I can’t hide from Mary or Ronan outside today.

  “Uh-oh.” Shane has a French fry perched on his bottom lip. He’s peering over my head from his seat between Eileen and Patty. “Make sure you get him in the face this time. Heeah, take my cherry cobblah.”

  Letta turns. “Oh, great.” I don’t have to turn around to know who’s approaching, but I do anyway.

  Ronan strides across the cafeteria with Mary strutting on his arm like royalty. He looks good today. His shaggy hair has a little gel in it and it’s combed just right, so it looks like he’s just rolled out of bed and styled it perfectly at the same time. Mary, of course, is stunning standing next to him. Obviously, they’re a couple. How could they not be? Zeus and his Aphrodite. Darcy and his Elizabeth. The certain Prom King and his Queen.

  They’re both throwing fake smiles at me, and I’m immediately wary. I haven’t talked to Ronan since I painted his shirt with my lunch. They’d let me rest for a few weeks, but now it’s their turn in this little game of high school politics we play.

  “Hi, Rose,” Ronan says. “Mind if we sit?” Asking is a formality; he’s already sitting as he asks, shoving Patty into Shane and Eileen, who’s forced to scoot down to make room for Ronan and Mary, looking perturbed.

  “How are you today?” Mary asks with a knowing smile.

  “What do you want?” I ask bluntly. I almost cross my arms, but remembering how Beckan mocked my body language, keep my hands in my lap.

  Ronan laughs. “Straight to the point,” he says. “I like that.” If I hadn’t been carefully watching Mary, I would’ve missed the tiny daggers behind her big brown eyes.

  “Really, Ronan,” Letta says. “Spit it out before we vomit over all this fake sweetness.”

  “Shut up, Anne Frank,” he says so venomously, I’m a little taken aback. He checks himself quickly, and the ugly anger that had suddenly overcome his features relaxes into a serene calm.

  “Look,” Ronan smiles again. “Let’s start over okay? I’ll forget about my dry cleaning bill if you forget about my rude behavior. There’s no reason we can’t get along.”

  “Wanna bet?” Shane whispers under his breath.

  “What he’s trying to say,” Mary says, finally breaking her curt silence, “is we’d like to invite you to the Storm Party.” I notice Mary and Ronan don’t suffer from the same accent as everyone else around here. Each word is carefully enunciated, like the automated voice telling you not to leave your bags unattended at the airport. Mary sounds like the realtor, Mrs. Carroll. I wonder how many diction lessons she’d needed. I’m betting the reason has something to do with beauty pageants. She’s probably Miss Maine Maple Moose three years running.

  “Storm party?”

  “We throw a little party every year just before the first big storm leading up to Christmas,” says Mary.

  “We?”

  “The kids in town,” Ronan says. “The adults always treat the storms as some kind of bad omen, but we use it as an excuse to throw a wicked party.”

  I look at the others and see they’re nodding, confirming this isn’t a trap for Stephen King’s Carrie, as I’d suspected. “Alright,” I say. “Where and when is this wicked party supposed to be?” The thought of attending this party nauseates me, but it’s the perfect place to be seen. Hopefully, it’ll help others realize I’m normal and not a leper.

  “Midnight Friday,” Mary says, “but the location stays secret until right before so the parents don’t find out.”

  Ronan pulls out his cell phone and my face immediately flushes. “Give me your number. I’ll text you the location Friday night.”

  “I don’t have a cell phone,” I say, embarrassed. Mary finds this humorous, but Ronan smiles.

  “An old fashioned girl,” he says. “Ain’t that cunnin’.”

  “Here.” Letta throws a balled up napkin at Ronan and Mary. “There’s my number. Text me. We already have plans,” she says as she puts an arm around my shoulders, “but we’ll try to make it if we can. I assume all of the kingdom’s subjects are invited.”

  “The more the merrier,” Mary says with a bright fake smile. Her tone clearly indicates the opposite.

  “Lookin’ forward to it.” Ronan stands and takes Mary’s hand.

  “Oh, by the way,” Mary says as she gets up, “rumor has it you were a cheerleader in Texas. True?”

  “Yes,” I say confidently.

  “I assume I’ll see you at tryouts tomorrow? Should be…interesting,” she says, eying me critically. “Don’t forget to hide your cankles.”

  They strut back to their table, but Ronan chances a smile and a wink back at me.

  “Chumps.” Shane says, curling his lip in disgust.

  “You don’t want tah go tah the party?” Patty asks, disappointed.

  “Oh, of course I’m goin’,” he says simply.
/>   “Have you guys been before?” I ask.

  “Of course,” Eileen says with a wave of her hand. “It’s not that exclusive. It’s just a bunch of kids partyin’ in someone’s barn. Anyone can go.”

  “And what plans will I be breaking to attend said storm party?” I turn to Letta with a raised eyebrow.

  “Oh I dunno,” Letta says. “I just didn’t want him to think you were so easily available.”

  “And?” I say, sensing there’s more.

  “We thought Friday night might be a good time tah play detectives at your house,” Patty says. “What’s more fun than a ghost search the night of the first storm?”

  “Ah,” I say as the other shoe drops. “Sure. I guess. I’m sure Mother’ll be out. I don’t know what to do with Liam though. I don’t want him around for that.”

  “Let me talk to my parents,” Letta offers. “I bet I can get them to babysit. They love kids.”

  And just like that, I’m ready to celebrate a weekend in Port Braseham with my new friends, a few ghosts, and maybe a party. I’m finally starting to feel a little less out of my element. About damn time.

  ***

  Walking home with Letta, Shane, Eileen, and Patty, I remember the sullen boy, Adam, and what he said in English.

  “Hey, do you guys know that blonde boy, Adam? Looks kinda sad all the time?”

  “The lost puppy?” Shane says. “What ‘bout him?”

  “What’s his story?”

  “What do you mean?” Patty asks.

  “Well, he’s a little odd, isn’t he?” I say. “Today in English, I asked if I could sit next to him.”

  “And he ignored you right?” Eileen says. “That’s normal. He keeps tah himself. Kids used tah bully him a lot, but then he just stopped respondin’ and ignored them completely. The other kids got bored. I guess he figured it worked so well, he’d ignore everythin’ all the time.”