Vixen (The Fox and Hound Book 1)

by Catherine Labadie

  of doors… and 45 means expulsion!

  I’m glad I’m surrounded by a few people who would call themselves my friends. The human seniors in this class generally ignore us half-breeds, but at random I notice the nerd girl Katrina and her boyfriend on the other side of the room. I don’t know her boyfriend’s name, but I recognize him, and I certainly don’t want to know him any better. Their presence makes me restless, and the boy in particular makes my fur stand on end from the creepy vibes. He’s been watching me for at least fifteen minutes, and I’m even more certain he was involved with the vandalism that went on here at school last night.

  Mutt, my thoughts whisper as a reminder of what he called me.

  I feel like a freak, and part of me is reconsidering my decision to not hide my animal features. I give in to the bad habit of clutching my tail too tight as it rests in my lap; Harold always laughed at me for doing that, and said one day I’d have bald patches on my tail if I kept squeezing it so tightly. It wouldn’t make any difference if you did start hiding, I think as a bleak encouragement. They’d recognize you anyway.

  Class draws to a close. My eyes drift towards the digital clock hovering at the top of my SMARTpad; I concentrate on the time so intently that someone's sneeze startles me. Out of idle curiosity, I turn around to find who sneezed, and my eyes catch a glimpse of red hair and freckles on a long nose at the back-middle of the room. Somehow I know those features belong to

  Duncan, and I wish I hadn’t turned around. I slowly face the front of the room again, hoping he won’t look up to catch me staring at him. It’s ironic to me that the one human I like is in this class with me alongside two of the people here I want to stay away from.

  At least he’s not a monitor, I reassure myself, telling my brain the only reason I’m glad to see Duncan is because he seems like a decent guy. During the discussion with my friends about monitors yesterday at lunch—and whatever else I’ve picked up on during the morning—I heard no mention of any monitor named Duncan. Somehow I find this reassuring.

  Finally, the bell rings, and I’m up and heading towards the door before the shrill tone ceases to echo in my ears. Almost against my will, my eyes follow Duncan as he exits the room; he’s joined another small group of friends, and from this distance their conversation looks easy, carefree.

  "Sierra, wait!" Morgan calls right as the other students pour out of classrooms and into the hallways in pursuit of lunch. She and Lyle are right behind me, although Lyle loiters to talk to Ivar and one other

  senior half-breed who has what appears to be crocodile DNA. “I thought we could try a slightly different spot for lunch today, since it rained last night and the ground will probably be soaked and muddy where we were yesterday,” she tells me. I shrug, shouldering my school bag and continuing with her out of the classroom.

  My mind is still on Duncan, and we’re barely out of

  the classroom door leading into the pristine human senior hallway before another voice calls my name.

  “Hello, Sierra.” I could recognize Katrina’s snide tone anywhere, and I don’t acknowledge her presence. However, I see her and her boyfriend and their “popular” group of friends leaning up against their lockers with an air of casual, predatory glee.

  “What did you bring for lunch, Morgan?” I ask my antlered friend as we pass them. I’m nervous, and my voice sounds too loud. Morgan drops her gaze and nearly stumbles, clearly very uncomfortable with this situation. Thankfully she plays along.

  “Oh, the usual: sandwiches for me and Lyle, and a nice, tart salad with tangerine slices—” Her descriptions are nice under pressure, but I don’t wait for her to continue.

  “Come on, Lyle! Let’s go!” I sound needier than I’d like, but I want Lyle and the guys to catch up with us.

  But Lyle isn’t paying attention.

  “Lyle? Is that your boyfriend?” Katrina laughs cuttingly, peering around behind us until she sees the rest of the senior half-breeds catching up. Lyle,

  responding to the sound of his name, looks up. “You mutts breed without having the same DNA mutations? That’s disgusting!” Katrina’s smile is toxic as she laughs, and the temperature in the hallway seems to rise.

  Several replies pop into my head, all of them extremely amusing to me and very unwise to actually say. Bullies like attention, I remind myself as I grit my teeth and keep walking.

  The boy speaks next. “What did you think of the new decorations in your hall?” I don’t know his name, but I hate him. I stop before I can remind myself again to ignore anything these petty humans say.

  “If I said it was lovely or that you are an excellent interior decorator, would you leave me alone?” I ask him, sighing as if I’m bored with his jibes. It’s hard to believe he’d all but admit to being part of the graffiti fest last night…but then I remember who I'm talking to, and I'm no longer surprised. Morgan's vice-tight grip suddenly clamps onto my arm, and I resist the urge to shrug her off. She’s smart, back off, my thoughts urge me.

  “Careful with that attitude, Vixen,” he says, glaring at me. Katrina grins, too amused for this scene, and suddenly I realize that everyone else in the hall is observing this scene too.

  Not again! I think, annoyed. I can’t believe I got caught up in more drama. I turn away without saying anything. It takes a lot more strength of will to back off than I imagined it would.

  There you go, Harold, I send my brother a

  disgruntled mental message. Morgan follows me, a little tentatively, and I sense Lyle and the others following too. That’s right, come on, let’s get out of here…I encourage them in my mind.

  “Mutts like that don’t actually hate humans, which is part of the problem,” I hear Katrina’s boyfriend begin telling; I resist the urge to turn around because I don’t need to see them to know they’re following me and

  my friends. I satisfy myself by picturing a volcanic crater opening up between me and my enemies, and it does make me feel better for a split second to imagine them tripping spectacularly before falling into the abyss. My ears swivel backwards, twitching from all the hostility. This must be the part in movies where the audience urges the person to keep walking, to ignore the trash talk and not get in trouble. I can already tell I'm not going to listen.

  “Really, Bryan?” Why?” Katrina asks. I want to gag at the bland spite in her sugary tone.

  “I’ve heard fox bitches in heat can be a little feisty, so Sierra must be ready for—” I warn the human—Bryan—to stop, but my warnings remain trapped in my head. They dissolve into red fury as he finishes the statement with a vulgar description of what he thinks “fox bitches” want when they’re in heat.

  I’m so disgusted and so angry I think I could spit fire, and I stalk back up to Bryan before I can clear my head and return to being cold and distant. More sarcastic, burning replies queue up at the corners of my lips, pressing to be said, but I’m too angry to choose

  among them.

  The half-breed boys nearby who heard what he said growl with unmistakable animal snarls…and also approach Bryan. One of them is a very young half-breed, but he’s growling and actually rolling up his sleeves in preparation for a fight. I'd be touched by their willing defense of my honor, however old-fashioned, but my focus is elsewhere.

  Smacking Bryan with all the strength in my arm is a surprisingly therapeutic feeling; it’s a back-hand, too, not some weak, girly slap that this incredibly stupid human would laugh at. Bryan staggers, falling against the lockers behind him, his head turned and a red mark blooming on his face. I take satisfaction in knowing my superior animal strength hurt him.

  I can’t imagine what my expression looks like, but it must terrify Katrina because she backs off, placing Bryan between me and herself. Bryan, to his credit, didn’t cry out when I slapped him, but he flexes his jaw tightly, and I know I left a mark.

  I hope his face swells up like a balloon, my mind whispers savagely.

  "Not even us 'fox bitches' would pay attention to a cr
eep like you," I say icily. He seems surprised, very surprised I hit him; his shallow blue eyes glare up at me, but there’s something else in there besides anger and heat. It makes me shudder, and I turn away.

  “Sierra!” Morgan yells at me as she grabs hold of my arm again. Her brown eyes, deep and caring, are worried as she tugs on me, trying to pull me away.

  “Let’s go, he’s not worth it…”

  “Fine,” I say. My voice sounds colder than my flushed cheeks, and I don’t even realize I answered her. My hands clench into fists at my side, there’s a ringing in my ears, and it’s only at her instruction that I walk away, my tail straight and bristled. Everyone around me is frozen, even the half-breeds who were so keen to attack Bryan just a few moments ago. The tension still

  boils in the air, but I stalled it for a few moments by acting first. This hallway scene feels like it’s gone on for days, but the bell only rang a few minutes ago.

  Only Morgan and I hurry out of the hallway and down the stairs to get outside, and suddenly my clarity comes back. I can’t wait to get away, outside of this horrible place.

  I hear people yelling upstairs, a signal of the dam breaking to release a few good minutes of violence. My heart, still racing from the adrenaline, stutters erratically as I hear the sounds of feet running and the THUD of a body slamming into one of the lockers upstairs. Morgan glances at the ceiling before her eyes flicker back down to me. I know who she’s worried about.

  “It’s okay. Go…I’ll be fine,” I manage to say, my face folding into the familiar lines of a false smile.

  “Try to keep everyone out of trouble; it’s not worth it. And by everyone, I mean Lyle.” She smiles back at me gratefully, and I appreciate her friendliness even though I might have caused a whole pile of trouble for all of us.

  She departs, and I’m left standing in the mess of the downstairs hall wondering what the hell I got myself into.

  8

  I don’t want to eat anymore because my stomach churns from what happened upstairs. I can’t believe I snapped like that, especially after all the warnings for caution from my brothers and friends. I wander around the school grounds, completely alone and hoping to stay that way. I’m glad I’m outside, at least, because I don’t want to know what I caused back in the school.

  At least my claws weren’t out, I think as I roam across the school grounds. There wasn’t any blood. Some of the students who probably missed the drama are outside, eating their lunch and talking without paying attention to me. At first I was planning to head towards the area where I ate lunch with my new friends yesterday, but I remember what Morgan said about the mud, so I change my mind and head in a new

  direction.

  The new soccer field—fixed up and made presentable with a shiny green lawn—looks promising…rather, the tiny forest around the field looks like a promising destination. I avoid the realization that me going for this little secluded area seems a lot like running and hiding, but I don’t know what else to do.

  Eisen would come get me if I called him, I recall. I

  love the idea of calling my brother, especially since he would be the most understanding of the situation. It would be wonderful to leave, and leave on my own terms instead of waiting for the principal to expel me without bothering to hear the entire story. I shouldn’t have hit Bryan, but a normal principal might understand events in a fairer light and I could get away with a few detentions or something. Belinda won’t be so sympathetic to a half-breed she already dislikes; plus, it’s unlikely Bryan will get any punishment at all for provoking me.

  But I won’t leave or transfer. I know I won’t even if I’m entertaining the happy idea of Eisen coming to pick me up, my big brother defending me from the stupid humans and their ridiculous system. I need to stay, mostly because Harold would be so disappointed if I didn’t at least try to stick it out.

  But you did try, my thoughts hum in dissatisfaction.

  “Sierra?” Someone calls my name right as I reach the edge of the little forested area. Only when I stop do I realize how rapidly I’ve been power walking. That probably didn’t look at all suspicious, I think sarcastically. Sighing, I slowly turn around to see who followed me.

  “Yeah?” I ask with more hostility than I intended, and I regret it when I whirl around and see Duncan Ledford was concerned enough to follow me. “Oh…hi,” I add lamely.

  “Hi,” he says, standing aloof with his long legs poised to step back; he holds his hands out, and I look away from his curious green eyes down to the few calluses lining his palms. It’s an odd but weirdly

  reassuring thought at the moment, but his hands look gentle as well as strong. He’s warier than yesterday, I can sense, but that’s probably because I snapped at him…or because I almost knocked Bryan out. I still feel like running away; Duncan wouldn’t find me if I didn’t want to be found, not once I got into the trees. Then again, I don’t really want to leave without giving him a chance.

  “Um…” I say when the silence drags on a second or two longer than necessary. “Do you…need something?” I feel awkward because we’re just standing here, and he hasn’t said anything else. He starts, and I realize he was staring at me; the realization is confusing. I think of how I must look right now: slicked back fox ears, flushed cheeks, rigidly tense posture except for the swishing of my bristled tail...everything about me screams UNWELCOME. Why wouldn’t he stare? I think.

  “Sorry…I just saw you running away from the building by yourself and wondered what was up,” he says.

  “I wasn’t running!” I exclaim, but then I notice the flush of pink creeping up to his face from his neck. I feel bad for snapping again; he wasn’t involved with that

  horrendous scene inside. “Sorry. This has been a bad morning,” I say. I feel like I should move towards him a little more, but I don’t; my instincts are still on overdrive, and I don’t want to shock him with any more animalistic behavior.

  “I could tell…you seem to have a habit of ending up alone after bad stuff happens,” Duncan says. His hands rest in the pockets of his well-fitting, if fairly worn

  jeans; his jeans, in fact, fit so well in the right places that I automatically draw my eyes elsewhere and catalog the impression for a later pondering. I wonder how much he knows about what happened. Word spreads quickly, especially in a high school, but I’m not sure if he was at the scene or not.

  “I guess so…I handle stuff better on my own,” I say. I wonder why I'm bothering to talk to him at all, why I'm investing anything other than generic conversation material.

  “I saw what happened with Bryan,” Duncan says. He’s still watching me without directing his gaze away, but he takes a cautious step forward, perhaps waiting to see how I’ll react. Maybe he’s expecting me to lash out again, or just explode with an invective against humans. Both options sound pretty appealing, despite the inappropriateness of such an interaction between me and a guy who isn’t anything but an acquaintance yet. If I was with Hayley or one of my brothers I would just let the anger out. But this situation is totally different, and I don’t really feel any kind of anger or frustration with this one human.

  “Oh?” I say. “Not my best moment.” I remember the brief feeling that jarred through my wrist when I hit

  Bryan, and suddenly I really wish Duncan hadn’t seen any of that. He looks like he’s too kind to say it, but he probably does view me as more of an animal now, I think. My spirits crumple slightly.

  “It wasn’t his either. He didn’t used to be such an ass, but bad choices and old-fashioned American sports can screw anyone up,” Duncan says, surprising me. He takes another step closer, moving towards me

  slowly but surely. Respecting his effort, I inch forward as well, my tail rebelliously switching back and forth a couple of times. We’re close enough so we’re an arm’s length from each other. My head cocks a little to the side as I study him, and my tail relaxes slightly as some instinct within me decides that Duncan Ledford is not a threat. My brain sh
ortly follows what my body is telling me by relaxing, and I hum too softly for a human to hear.

  It’s not much, but it’s a wonderful feeling: knowing that in a world of humans who despise my kind, here’s one who won’t try to threaten or mock me.

  “I guess you’ve known him for as long as

  Katrina?” I ask. Duncan smiles, a small thing a lot of people might not entirely notice.

  “Katrina’s always been in this town, however much she’ll want to talk about leaving and getting a high-end job in the city. Bryan is one of those star football players you won’t hear much about after the graduation ceremony,” he says. “Despite how it looks with all of my loyal fans crowding around me, I try not to get too connected with this place. The people here can be…toxic.” I surprise myself by laughing after he speaks; he spread his arms out a little as he mentioned

  loyal fans, enhancing the sarcasm.

  “So it’s not just me? The people here really are, um—”

  “—bat-shit crazy, yeah.” Duncan bluntly finishes my sentence. “But not all of us are that bad…even the ones who don’t like...um…” He pauses, abashed. I’m still not in the mood to fully smile yet, but I try to look somewhat encouraging.

  “We call ourselves half-breeds too. It’s okay to call us that; or M-DNA people, we’re not picky about those names,” I say. His smile grows stronger, and I come to the realization that I kind of like the way his smiles light up his face. His eyes crinkle a little at the edges pleasantly as the expression reaches his eyes.

  “Even the ones who don’t like half-breeds aren’t as bad as people like Bryan. He’s one of the extreme ones,” he concludes.

  “That was very politically correct of you,” I say, giving him a break.

  “What?” He looks taken aback slightly.

  “The gist of what you said…you basically excused me for hitting a human while at the same time defending your own kind,” I explain. He blinks, as if trying to figure out where I’m going with this. I’m enjoying my new aura of mystery; I grew up in a small area where all of my half-breed associates knew who I was, so it's a new experience for me to be the object of scrutiny.