I was worried she would have to stand the whole way. When she reached me, I scooted over and smiled. Her glare turned into a big grin, accentuated by two dimples. She sat down beside me. She told me her name was Ivy and said I should get a dress just like hers so we could be twins. Even then I knew my mom wouldn’t buy me a million-dollar outfit. When it was time to board the bus back home, Ivy saved a seat for me. She gave me her pink sparkly bangle bracelet. When I said I couldn’t accept her gift, she insisted I take it. “I have five others at home,” she said. I still have the outgrown tiny bangle in my jewelry box.
As we grew up, Ivy was interested in the ABC’s — accessories, boys, and credit cards. She continued to be obsessed with fashion just as she was the first day we met. While she modeled clothes in dressing-room three-way mirrors for her mom, I sat cross-legged on the store bench doodling in my journal. I spent more time daydreaming and picturing myself in designer jeans than buying them.
In the eighth grade, Abby Kensington moved next door, or as I like to say, “next acre,” to Ivy.
Ivy and I were swimming in her in-ground pool when a moving truck pulled in next door. A girl with a dark ponytail hopped out of the car. When she saw us, without hesitation she came right up and said, “Hi, I’m Abby Kensington. I know we’ll be great friends.”
I thought it was odd, since she didn’t know a thing about Ivy or me. But it turned out Abby was right. She inserted herself into our twosome and we became an inseparable threesome.
Abby was athletic, with olive skin and black hair that waved like the sea, while Ivy was wiry and had alabaster skin and blade-straight blond hair. I fall somewhere in the middle.
At first, I was jealous of the new girl. Since Abby moved next door to Ivy, I was convinced they’d hang out together behind my back. They also shared a passion for designer clothes that I lacked. Abby was just as interested in scoring pristine high-end sports gear as she was winning a game. But Ivy never let anything sever our relationship.
Another attribute that my friends shared was accusing me of being too nice because I was cordial to everyone. Just because students were from various parts of the community didn’t make us that different, I tried to tell them. We are all united by the same town and the same school, I reasoned, but Ivy and Abby preferred to hang out with Eastsiders. I tell them they aren’t outright snobs but, rather, inward.
Juliette was of the same snooty mold. Two years older than me, she was cover-girl pretty. I was always in her shadow. Juliette did her best to make me a miniversion of herself, but it just didn’t take. She took modeling classes, and as much as I tried to follow in her footsteps, I couldn’t walk in a straight line even without a stack of books on my head.
While I ran around with Ivy and Abby, Juliette always kept company with one of the many adoring guys pursuing her.
Now that Juliette was a freshman in college, I was the only young adult in the house. I received more attention from my parents than normal and the house was much quieter with her absence, but I secretly did miss her. She didn’t seem to miss home, though, since she was super busy dating college guys with Greek letters on their sweatshirts.
Unfortunately, my love life wasn’t as glamorous as my sister’s, until one day when I was approached by a guy I had had a crush on since first grade — Nash Hamilton.
Nash, Dylan, and Jake have had consecutive numbers on their football jerseys for as long as I can remember. Ivy and Abby had been dating Jake and Dylan since ninth grade. Since the three of them were best friends and two of them dated my best friends, it was always assumed that Nash and I should be sweethearts. But Nash always had a girlfriend.
It was at the end of sophomore year when Nash broke up with Heidi Rosen.
Ivy, Abby, and I were at a football practice when the team had a break. My friends chatted with their boyfriends, and I was writing ideas for future stories in my notebook. I went to the water fountain, and Nash approached me.
He leaned toward me and asked me out. I thought I didn’t hear him correctly. When he repeated his request for a date, I almost laughed.
“No,” I said, and walked away.
“Hey, come back.”
It was then, I think, he really noticed me. Not as one of the popular girls, but as someone who was different. I don’t think a girl had ever said no to him before. And I know he never chased after one.
I really thought it was a joke. Nash was known for pranks around school — gum on chairs, funny sayings on blackboards, sticking naughty pictures in textbooks — and I’d yet to be picked as his victim. I was sure that at any moment the school photographer was going to jump out from the bleachers and claim he’d captured the whole thing on video.
But more than that, I wondered why a hotshot like him would want to go out with me.
Ivy and Abby hung by the bleachers with a “What are you doing?” look on their faces.
I realized, then, that Nash wasn’t kidding. It wasn’t a prank, a hoax, or a hazing. Nash Hamilton was really asking me out.
Nash was a great catch — literally. He was the star running back on the football team.
I stopped in my tracks, and he came over to me with a surprised expression.
“Where are you running off to?” he asked.
“Uh… to look at my calendar,” I said flippantly.
A smile crept across his face. He knew he’d met a challenge as big as competing against a 10-and-0 team.
“I may already have commitments,” I said.
“What could be more important than a date with me?” he said seductively.
It was hard to resist him. He was very charming and charismatic. I did my best not to fold or quickly kiss up to him.
“I can think of a few things, but not many,” I teased.
“Volunteering at a nursing home?” he wondered. “I’ve heard you are quite the humanitarian.”
I wasn’t sure if he was being sarcastic or sincere.
“In fact, yes,” I said defiantly, and continued on.
“Hey, wait a minute,” he said, stopping in front of me. “Then what about Saturday?”
I liked his tenacity, but I’d have been a fool to keep pushing him away.
“I’ll cancel my plans,” I said, knowing I wasn’t busy.
“Good,” he finally said. “Then mark my name in bold letters for Saturday night.”
My stomach filled with butterflies. I caught up to my friends, who cheered and jumped higher than two caffeinated cheerleaders. Not only were we a threesome, we could be a sixsome.
I was as stunned as I was excited.
My sister was the one who always had the doorbell ringing for her. Now it was finally my turn.
Nash and I spent our first date at one of his football practices. My friends and I watched from the bleachers as the jocks did push-ups and sprints and caught passes. It wasn’t as intimate and “get to know you” as I thought a first date would be. Since then, most of our dates had been spent with me on the sidelines, except for the occasional times he drove me home.
While I spent the games jotting down ideas for stories I hoped to write, Ivy primped for Jake, and Abby jumped on the bleachers cheering for Dylan.
For some reason — or many — Nash and I didn’t click together as easily as our counterparts. But I enjoyed the time we did share together. At day’s end, though, when I shut down my computer, I often gazed out my bedroom window and up at the moon and wondered if, like my friends, I’d ever find true love.
Chapter Three
The New Guy in Town
When a new student first arrived at Legend’s Run High, their entrance didn’t go unnoticed. Though everyone at Legend’s Run High didn’t hang out together, we all knew one another. It was odd to see a strange face.
It was late October, just after the campfire and werewolf-scare outing, and I was taking notes in government class when something caught my attention. Outside our classroom window, I saw an olive green beat-up Jeep pulling into an empty space in the stude
nt parking lot. I had to squint but noticed a WWF sticker on the front bumper. The driver-side door opened and a guy got out, wearing a vintage brown leather motorcycle jacket, torn jeans, and black hiking boots. He walked into the school building. A few moments later, the bell rang to change classes.
When I arrived at English class, I found my desk occupied. The guy in the vintage leather jacket was riffling through his backpack and placing a notebook on my desktop. In Mrs. Clark’s class the students weren’t seated in alphabetical order, or any other order for that matter, but rather we elected to take a desk where we wanted. Since school began, I sat in row six, first chair from the window. Abby sat next to me and Ivy next to her. Their boyfriends and Nash sat along the row nearest to the door.
When I noticed the stranger sitting in my seat, I didn’t know what to do. I preferred to sit by my friends, but he was a new student and I wasn’t about to tell him to move — I just didn’t think it was polite. Instead, I chose an empty chair in the back.
Ivy spotted the stranger sitting in my seat and took it upon herself to confront the situation.
“That’s okay—” I tried to say, but my words weren’t heard.
“Excuse me, that desk is already taken,” she said abrasively. Ivy got very territorial when it came to breaking up our clique. But it was okay with me. I could survive a day sitting on my own.
The new guy opened his notebook and looked up at the blond girl hovering over him, scolding him as if she were the teacher. I was hoping Ivy wasn’t going to make a fuss. The new student would probably have moved had she been polite, but it seemed as if it was too late.
I hid behind my textbook. For a moment Ivy wasn’t as confident as she was when she first approached him. I hoped this meant she was going to soften and either apologize or just return to her seat.
Instead, Abby joined her. Even though Ivy and Abby were pretty, their temperaments could sometimes leave even the kindest gentlemen challenging them to a duel rather than tipping their hats. Ivy threw her hair back and straightened her stance.
“This is my friend’s desk,” Ivy said, again in a very unpleasant tone. “She sits here every day.”
The new guy didn’t budge. He paused, weighing his words. “Are you two on the welcoming committee?” he asked. “I didn’t see your pictures in the brochure.”
A few skater students around him snickered. I couldn’t help but giggle, too.
Abby tightened her lips. After all, she was used to competition, and it appeared that she wanted to win this battle.
“I understand you are new…” Abby charged, in a strong whisper, “but things work a certain way here, and the sooner you know this the easier it will be for you.”
He sat up and leaned into Ivy. “This is your friend?” he said to her. “You might want to reconsider.”
We all laughed again, even Dylan and Jake, who probably wished they could have said it. Abby and Ivy both folded their arms. It was clear the new student wasn’t going to budge under the pressure of his two bossy classmates.
“No, that is our friend,” they said in unison. Then they both pointed to me.
The new guy turned around. He was completely captivating and model gorgeous. His short hair was dark and wavy, his face as perfectly sculpted as I’d ever seen. He stared straight at me — his eyes a deep, riveting royal blue. We locked gazes and I almost lost my breath. My face flushed red. I was unable to look away, and I didn’t really want to.
I’d never felt such a powerful stare — or witnessed such a handsome student.
He almost broke a smile, and my heart along with it.
The new student turned back, grabbed his notebook and backpack, and rose. He towered over my friends, who were blocking his way. They stepped aside, and he moved to an empty chair in the back of the class without another word.
As Ivy and Abby waved me over, I slunk back to my desk. When Mrs. Clark introduced the new student as Brandon Maddox, I wasn’t about to turn around and make eye contact with him again.
Legend’s Run High School’s lunchroom was a microcosm of Legend’s Run itself. Students stuck to their sides and, like religious sects, were subdivided. The usual gamers, jocks, skaters, and preps each had their own table.
Lunch, for me, was the highlight of the school day. I got to hang out with my friends and talk and eat — two of my favorite things.
When I reached the cafeteria, Ivy pulled Abby and me over to the vending machine.
“I finally have the four-one-one on the new guy,” she began. “I heard he’s a Westsider.”
“Obviously,” Abby said. “Did you see his coat?”
“There was nothing wrong with his coat. I liked it—” I tried. “Besides, you didn’t have to—”
“Do you two want to hear this or not?” Ivy asked.
“Of course we do,” Abby replied.
“He lives with his grandparents,” Ivy began. “I think he’s from Miller’s Glen and was kicked out of his home. He’s a juvie—”
“I heard he’s a runaway,” Abby said, placing a dollar into the machine.
“You did?” Ivy felt challenged that she wasn’t on top of the breaking news story.
“Yes. A runaway,” Abby said. She pushed a cola button and grabbed her diet soda.
“I heard he’s a juvie,” Ivy argued.
“I heard he’s a runaway,” Abby insisted.
“I heard…” I started.
“Yes?” they asked curiously.
“I heard that he’s…”
“Go on…” they pried.
“I heard that he’s a… werewolf!”
They both were aghast. “You did not!”
“That can’t be true,” Abby said. “I didn’t hear that.”
“Who told you that?” Ivy pressed.
I snickered. “Hello, are you kidding?”
Then we all broke out in laughter.
As we continued to crack up, I spotted Brandon sitting at a back table in the corner, alone. He was eating a sandwich and reading a book. The tables around him were filled, crowded with students gabbing and letting loose on their lunch break. This might have been my favorite part of the day, but for him, it must have been the most lonesome. My giggling subsided. I felt a huge ache in the pit of my stomach. It must be horribly lonely and difficult to come to a new school with no real friends — especially a school as cliquey as ours. And I felt ashamed that my two friends had been so unwelcoming.
I thought about going over to him and apologizing for my friends’ behavior when two strong arms wrapped around my waist.
Suddenly I was lifted off the ground and swung around. I noticed a familiar class ring.
“Nash! Get off,” I cried.
“What are you staring at?” he questioned, letting me down. “You should be staring at me.”
He spun me so I faced him and he kissed me. Nash was a great kisser; for a brief moment I forgot where I was. But then it dawned on me. I wasn’t in the privacy of a moonlit goodnight kiss, but rather I was in the middle of the lunchroom with two hundred hungry gawkers.
I was never comfortable with Nash’s public displays of affection. It always felt as if he was only being demonstrative to prove his bravado to the student body rather than showing the unbridled passion of an amorous boyfriend.
He released me. I was dizzy — not so much from the kiss but from his spinning me. When my double vision returned to normal, I realized I was staring right across the lunchroom at Brandon. I sensed he’d been watching me the whole time.
There was something riveting about him, unusual, and different. I wasn’t sure why I felt embarrassed in front of Brandon more so than the other students watching us. All I knew was that I did. I wiped my mouth with my sleeve, sat down at our table with my back toward the new student, and distracted myself with a low-carb lunch and wonderfully inane conversation.
Chapter Four
Walking with a Werewolf
Pine Tree Village Retirement Community was a nondescript tw
o-story brown brick building that could have doubled for an apartment building. It included assisted living, independent units, and a full nursing wing and was about ten minutes north from my house.
I enjoyed volunteering at the nursing home. If I had a dismal day at school or was struggling with Nash, I forgot my worries. These seniors were very different from the seniors at my school. Most of the residents were happy to see a fresh, young face. And even though many of them told me the same story over and over, it was interesting to hear the tales of past generations in Legend’s Run or cities and countries I’d never visited.
Abby and Ivy, convinced wrinkles were contagious, refused to set foot in the senior community, and Nash was always too busy, practicing, playing, or preparing for sports. I knew it was unlikely he’d come to visit other people’s grandparents. That didn’t make my friends bad, but it would have been cool if I could have shared the experience with them. It was something I’d always done on my own.
Mr. Worthington was my favorite resident at Pine Tree Village. For a gentleman who was eighty-nine years old, he was quite cute. Mr. Worthington was alert, mobile, and in shape. We walked the hallways or outside commons areas together. He always dressed in khaki pants and a cardigan sweater and kept his fuzzy white hair neatly combed.
Every time I visited Pine Tree Village, I was always greeted by the receptionist, who had me sign in and pointed me to an area where the staff could use an extra hand. Today’s visit was extra special. It was Halloween and I’d dressed as Little Red Riding Hood. I wore a red hoodie, the arms loosely tied around my neck and the body as a cape, along with a black bodice, white T-shirt, and red flippy skirt. I finished off my fairy-tale look with white folded socks and a pair of Juliette’s black pumps she’d left behind in her closet. It wasn’t a good idea to pass out candy to the residents, so I came with “Happy Halloween” pins I’d made instead. I grabbed a small basket my mom used for magazines and stuck a loaf of bread in it.
The normally hospital white lobby was decorated with black and orange streamers, cotton-candy-like spiderwebs, and ghost, mummy, and black-cat die cuts. A sign posted in the lobby read: HALLOWEEN DANCE AT 7 P.M.
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