The Amazing Wolf Boy

by Roxanne Smolen

  Down the street, a Volkswagen Beetle pulled into a shopping center. I noticed it because Beetles weren’t common anymore and because it was painted lime green. The car parked and a girl got out. She wore black and white striped tights, a purple miniskirt, and a black tee cut to reveal her midriff. Her hair was short and angular. She was the most interesting thing I’d seen in this backwoods town. She went into Video Stop, a store where you bought and traded used videos.

  My uncle wrenched open the driver’s side door. It startled me. He flipped his seat forward and piled some bags into the backseat. I glimpsed a box of Cap’n Crunch cereal and a jug of chocolate milk.

  He climbed in and started the truck. “Anywhere you want to go while we’re out?”

  “No, sir,” I said, my thoughts still on the girl.

  “Then we’ll head home.” He beamed at me like it was a special treat.

  We took a different route back. This time, we passed through orange groves. Fruit filled the trees. Their branches drooped. It smelled phenomenal, like perpetual breakfast. Then we reached a patch with the trees picked clean. They appeared diminished somehow.

  Uncle Bob slowed to get around a pair of horses. “We’ve got some nice stables here. That’s how the Council hopes to lure more residents. Like it isn’t crowded enough.”

  I looked in the side-view mirror at the girls riding the horses. They wore shorts and tank tops in spite of it being winter.

  There were worse places to be exiled. But none of the girls were for me. I was the amazing wolf boy. Astound your family and mystify your friends. I wasn’t the kind of kid anyone would date. I thought about Video Stop girl.

  Minutes later, we pulled onto the gravel drive of my uncle’s house. Trees rustled in the breeze. Birdsong filled the air.

  “Do you own this place?” I asked.

  “No. I rent. You know how it is. I don’t want to be bogged down if I have to move on.” He pulled the bags from the back. “Get the door for me, will you?”

  I skipped up the steps and opened the front door. Unlocked again. Bob carried the bags into the kitchen and set them on the table. He’d gotten other things to eat—Spaghetti-Os, bread, peanut butter. He also bought a dozen coat hangers and a couple of twenty-six inch bicycle inner tubes.

  “You’re probably used to a live-in housekeeper to cook and clean for you,” he said as he put the food into the cupboard.

  “No,” I said. “Mom handled everything.” I didn’t add that we had a cleaning service come in three times a week.

  “We don’t have anyone on staff here, either.” He looked at me. “We don’t even have a dishwasher. So here’s the thing. You clean up after yourself or you don’t. Whatever. But the rule is, you don’t complain about it. The place gets to be a mess, you don’t complain. You want something, you either get it or you don’t complain. You need help, you ask or—”

  “Don’t complain,” I said. “Got it.”

  “Good.” He clapped me on the back. “Let’s go get the rest of your stuff.”

  We went to the truck where he loaded me up with clothes, towels, and bedding. The blanket made my nose itch, and I wondered if its last owner had been a horse. I carried everything inside. But as I reached my room, I stopped.

  Evidence. That’s what I held in my arms. Physical proof that I lived there. If anyone saw this, I would be lost. I sat on the edge of the bed, afraid to set the stuff down, and thought about running away. My dad always gave me my allowance via a debit card. I had enough in the account for a bus ticket home. I could live in the bathhouse. My parents would never know I was there.

  Until my friends came calling.

  I groaned and thought about my friends, all of them enjoying holiday break with families who didn’t want to send them away, all of them looking forward to nighttime without worrying about what kind of monster they might become. This was a nightmare. How could anyone turn into a wolf? It was impossible.

  I sat up straight. Yes, it was impossible. This couldn’t be real. And if I was stuck in some sort of dream, all I could do was keep moving forward until I woke up. In the spirit of my new resolution, I made my bed with the Scooby sheets and placed the thick, red horse blanket on top. I stared at it and hoped no one would ever come into my room. Then I went outside to look for my uncle.

  I found him in the backyard by a tool shed. The bike was upside down. Uncle Bob knelt beside it. He grunted as he tightened the chain. He’d repaired the tires. I also noticed his shed was better stocked than shop class when I was a kid. There were three cabinets on wheels, each drawer labeled, and racks of wrenches on the walls.

  I crouched at his side. “How’s it going?”

  “Almost done,” he said.

  I tried to picture myself wheeling up and down Southern Boulevard. “Maybe we should have bought a bicycle lock.”

  He smiled. “No one’s going to steal this beauty.”

  I thought he was probably right.

  He set the bike erect and bounced it a couple times. “Want to take it for a spin?”

  “Maybe later,” I said. “It’s not really my thing.” I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been on a bike.

  He turned away with a sigh. I recognized the sound—I’d stretched his patience. I wasn’t being the appreciative guest.

  Keep moving forward, I told myself.

  He wiped his hands on a shop cloth and put away his tools. Then he locked the shed with a heavy padlock. It figured he would lock his tools but not the house.

  “I keep the key here.” He showed me a notch in the roof. “In case you need anything.”

  “I don’t know much about tools,” I said. “But I’d like to learn.”

  “I’d like to teach you.” His face eased into a smile. “Are you hungry? I make a mean grilled peanut butter sandwich.”

  I nodded. “Sounds good.”

  We ate our sandwiches in front of the television as we watched women’s volleyball. I didn’t know they televised that sport. Despite the spectacle of bounding booties, however, I couldn’t keep my mind on the game.

  I worried about the coming dark. Would I change again? I thought werewolves only changed during the full moon, but last night was the day after. Would I change every night for the rest of my life?

  I needed more information. If I had my computer, I could surf the Web. But, no, I was out here in the Everglades with nothing and no one. I would have to do research the old-fashioned way. Tomorrow, I would look for a library.

  First things first. I couldn’t risk shape changing with my uncle around. I had to either find an excuse to leave the house or get him out of the way.

  So it was a relief when, later that afternoon, Uncle Bob said, “I’m going out tonight. Would you like to come along?”

  “Ah, no. Thanks,” I said.

  “Come on. It will be great. I’ll show you a good place to fish.”

  “No, really,” I said. “I think I’ll hang out here and relax.”

  “Another time, then.”

  And just like that, he was in the truck and down the driveway—and I was alone, sitting before his flickering black-and-white TV as I awaited the night.

  FOUR

  I rocked on the creaking porch swing until the sky turned purple and the crickets came out. It was like waiting for a bomb to drop. I was scared, and the more scared I felt, the angrier I got. I was not going to change into a wolf. I didn’t deserve this.

  I stomped into the house, made a cold Spaghetti-O sandwich, and ate it over the sink. The kitchen window was open. It let in a variety of smells I wouldn’t have noticed before, from night blooming jasmine to the garbage can behind the shed. I faced the growing darkness as if to stare down an enemy.

  My muscles itched to move. I wanted to burst out the door and run as fast as I could, feel my legs stretch beneath me, feel the wind in my face. But I figured that was the wolf in me, eager to get out. So I compromised—I walked. I walked from the kitchen to my bedroom and back again. I turned on every light
I could find. Occasionally, I checked to see that hair hadn’t sprouted from my knuckles.

  I’d left the television on and soon heard the beginning of a football game. Purdue and Central Michigan. I tried to watch but couldn’t hold still, so I turned up the volume and paced. It was a maddening game. Central Michigan scored four times in the third quarter and still lost. I yelled at the referees, yelled at the sportscasters, tore at my hair, and shredded my uncle’s newspaper. I don’t think I ever felt so angry in my life—and I’m not even a CMU fan. With my rage barely in check, I kept walking.

  Sometime after midnight, exhaustion set in. I collapsed face down on my bed, aching and sweaty. The horse blanket itched where it touched bare skin. I didn’t mind. At least, I still had bare skin. It filled me with intense pride. I was human. I had beaten this thing.

  With a tired grin, I sat up, pulled out my cell, and called my mom in France.

  My father answered. “Hello, Cody.”

  “Hi, Dad. Where’s Mom? Is she okay?”

  “Yes, she’s…” he hesitated, “taking a shower.”

  I heard the lie in his voice. She didn’t want to talk to me. I let it slide. “I’m calling with good news. It’s the middle of the night, and I haven’t turned into a wolf.”

  “That is good news.”

  “I can come home now.”

  He hesitated again. “That’s a little premature, don’t you think, son?”

  “Come on. I can control it. I promise it won’t happen again.”

  There was a moment of silence as my life flitted across my eyes.

  Then my dad said, “It would be better if you stayed in Florida for a while. Spend some time on your own. How are you getting along with Uncle Bob?”

  A crushing disappointment hit. They didn’t want me. It had nothing to do with my turning into a wolf. They’d waited for an excuse to get rid of me.

  “Cody? Are you there?”

  “Yeah. I’m here.”

  “Is there anything you need?”

  Why did everyone keep asking me that? I rubbed my eyes. “My computer. I need my computer.”

  “I’ll see to it.” His voice was cheerful. “Hey, thanks for calling. It’s good to hear from you.”

  “Yeah. Enjoy your vacation.”

  “We’re cutting it short, actually. Going home today.”

  Home. I winced. A lump grew in my throat.

  “Goodbye, son.”

  “Yeah.”

  My shoulders sagged. I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the phone. Call ended. It might as well have said life ended.

  What had I done to make my parents hate me? I got decent grades. Never been arrested. Of course, there was the time Mickey Martin and I said we were spending the night in his tree house, and we really went to a party. They were angry about that. But hate?

  Maybe I was just no good.

  I lowered my face to my hands. I ached all over. Sweat poured from my body and chilled me. Feverish. Over the past year, I’d gotten unexplained fevers. Missed a lot of school because of them. I peeled off my shirt, crawled under the scratchy blanket, and fell into a fitful sleep.

  I awoke to the sound of slurping. Sunlight poured through the window. The blanket and sheets lay in tangled heaps on the floor.

  My uncle stood in the doorway, drinking coffee. “Morning. Tough night?”

  “Guess so.” I sat up, yawning and rubbing my face. My hair felt stiff and stuck up all over. But the fever was gone.

  “I need to go to work,” Uncle Bob said. “I have my own business, the Fix-It Guy. Home repairs, light carpentry, that sort of thing. Maybe you’d like to come along. We can make a day of it.”

  “That’s really nice, but I kind of planned on biking into town today. I need to learn my way around.”

  “Oh. Okay, then. I’ll be back around five.” With a nod, he left.

  I listened to him rinse out his cup. Then the front door slammed, and his truck backed down the gravel drive.

  I climbed out of bed and stretched, feeling pretty good. Feeling very good, actually. Strong enough to pull the ears off a gundark. I went over my plans for the day. My dad was right—I wasn’t clear of this thing just because I beat the wolf for one night. I needed information. I needed the Web. The library should have Internet access. I showered, ate, and hopped on my bike.

  By the time I pedaled out of the neighborhood and reached the paved road, I felt like I was back in the shower. My hair dripped into my eyes, and my shirt clung to my back. I wasn’t used to the bike, wasn’t used to the humidity. My newfound energy had all but left me. But the land was flat. The road was smooth. I made good time the rest of the way into town.

  Southern Boulevard was busier than the previous morning, but still not up to big city standards. As I merged with the slow-moving traffic, I set landmarks in my mind. I passed the Coffee Café and the street that led to Howard’s place. To my right was the Walgreens we stopped at. Across the way, I saw the Crestwood Shopping Center. A lime green Beetle sat in the parking lot.

  Video Stop girl.

  I copped a left so fast, a driver honked at me. My bike coasted as I glided up the driveway and onto the sidewalk. The car was parked near a light pole. I leaned my bike against a wall, wiped my palms against my jeans, and stepped toward the store.

  A bell dinged as I opened the door. Cool air swept over me. I stood in the entrance and looked around. Movie posters covered the walls, and racks of used DVDs stood in rows.

  From behind an Entertainment magazine, a girl said, “Welcome to Video Stop.”

  The girl I saw before. She had black, spiky hair and wore a T-shirt with Spear Britney printed across the front. I wanted to stand there and stare at her.

  But that would be too weird.

  So I walked slowly up and down the aisles, one eye on her. I decided I could get information here as easily as I could at the library. I picked up a copy of Teen Wolf with Michael J. Fox and took it to the counter.

  “Hmm.” She tapped the cover. “You know, if you’re interested in werewolf movies, you might like the Ginger Snap series.”

  She came around the counter and brushed by me. She smelled like fresh mangoes. Maybe her hair gel. I followed her, feeling self-conscious. She plucked a DVD from the wire rack and held it out.

  “I just like to watch movies about werewolves,” I said. “I don’t really care about them or anything.” I took the movie from her without looking at it and backed smack into the shelves behind me, which caused an avalanche of DVDs.

  “Hmm,” she said. She knelt to pick them up, and her miniskirt rose up her thighs.

  I tore my eyes away and knelt beside her to help with the mess. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.”

  “That’s a relief.” She pursed her lips as if holding back a laugh.

  “Uh, I’m Cody. What’s your name?”

  “Brittany.” She stressed the tany as if I might get her mixed up with the other one.

  “You’re really knowledgeable about movies. You must like working here.”

  She shrugged. “I only work on school breaks. My mother thinks it will keep me out of trouble. Of course, she didn’t know you were coming in today.”

  She cocked a brow at me, but her eyes sparkled, and I knew she wasn’t angry. Together we restocked the upper shelves. Many of the movies didn’t have their original cases, which made it difficult for me to spot their titles. Brittany was a lot quicker at alphabetizing than I was.

  She stood back to look at our handiwork. “So, do you want to buy Ginger Snap or not?”

  “Yeah. Sure.”

  She breezed past me again, and I breathed in her scent. “Cash or credit?” she asked.

  I felt a sinking sensation. Were my parents angry enough to cancel my debit card? Brittany stood behind the counter, brows raised, looking at me.

  I handed her my card. She swiped it, watched the screen, and then handed it back. The transaction went through.

  “Come again.” She smiled.
<
br />   She had a perfect smile.

  I took the bag with the two movies and backed toward the door. “Sorry about…” I gestured with my thumb, “all that.” I bumped into a rack labeled New Arrivals. This time, I only dislodged one movie. As I bent to pick it up, I knocked over a life-sized cutout of Darth Vader.

  “It’s all right. I’ll get it.” She hurried toward me. “Just go.”

  “Sorry,” I murmured and slipped out the door.

  I walked to my bike and leaned against the wall. As far as first impressions went, I’d done worse. Like the time I was shooting baskets and wanted to show off in front of Meredith Taney by hanging from the hoop. Only I missed, seeing how I’m not that tall, and my watch tangled in the net. I just swung there until the backboard came down on my head.

  At least, Brittany didn’t seem to think I was a total dork. Closing my eyes, I thought about her smile. She wore purple lipstick. I wondered what it tasted like. Then I looked at the bag with the movies and realized I had no way to play them.

  Dork. I shook my head, pulled the bike around, and rode into the street. The Café looked good for lunch. It was busy, but Anne remembered me and gave me a hug. I sat at the counter with a turkey sandwich—fresh sliced, not that pressed stuff—and declared it my new favorite. She seemed pleased.

  Anne gave me a milk to go, and I headed back to my uncle’s house. The afternoon was hot—probably in the mid-seventies. I was used to snow. But I kept Brittany’s smile with me as I pedaled, and it passed the time.

  When I reached the neighborhood, I decided to tour around. It was tough going. The dirt road was full of small rocks and seashells. The homes were back from the street, some big, some small, some with immaculate lawns, others not so much.

  As I approached one house, a dog yapped. An old lady tended a flower garden. The heavy floral scent hung in the humid air. Beside her, the tiny dog barked like he wanted to take my leg off. I frowned. Dogs usually loved me.

  I leaned on my pedals to pick up speed when the little dust fluff darted out. I stopped before I ran over him.

  “Oh, dear.” The lady hobbled toward us, one hand on her hat. “Roscoe, come here. You naughty boy.” She caught the dog in her arms. His growl sounded like a wind-up toy. His black eyes glared from a mound of tan fur.