by Yara Gharios
"So? I still had fun."
I see an opening and take it with a sneer. "I know I did."
They all groan.
"Not at the table," Mom begs.
"Please tell me you're not into Sadie's sister now?" Mickey pleads.
My window of opportunity is fleeing. I laugh humorlessly, playing it off like I am into Zoey. "Please. I just think she's hot."
His frown speaks volumes about what he thinks of that. "She's fifteen!"
"Ew, dude," Connor complains.
"Boys," Dad warns. "Your mother said not to have this kind of talk at the table."
Mickey and I share confused looks. "But we haven't said anything," he protests.
"Not yet, but I know my own children, and you're this close," Dad tells him.
Mickey rolls his eyes almost imperceptibly, but then, a far-away look crosses his face, and he slowly drifts out of the conversation. Mom and Dad ask us what we did, and we each tell our version, in a way that makes the others look bad. I remember Mickey saying something about my friends crashing the party, and I tell my family about that too, just to make someone else look worse than I feel. This little piece of information takes Mom by surprise and confuses Dad.
"How did they get home?" Dad wants to know.
Since none of us can answer that, we all turn to the only person who was sober that night.
"Logan and I drove everyone home, including these clowns," he answers, gesturing to us.
Too late, he realizes what he's said and how he put himself in the center of everyone's attention. That's when the conversation turns into an investigation, and everybody starts talking all at once.
"Did he seem friendly? Did he suspect anything?" Dad starts.
"What did you talk about?" Connor asks.
"Are you starting to be friends with him?" Mason demands.
"Is he still acting all mighty and shit?" Nathan questions.
"Language Nathan!" Mom warns.
The poor guy can't even get a word in, although he sure tries to. After a while, he can't take it anymore.
"Guys!" he yells. "Would you stop making such a big deal out of this? It was just a ten minute car ride! Geez! No, he didn't suspect anything, Dad; there was nothing to suspect. Yes, he was still a bit cold, but he seemed friendlier than before. And I don't know what we talked about; family and packs and stuff. Now will you all just stop interrogating me already?"
We throw him apologetic looks and don't say anything for a full minute. That must have been the longest we have ever been quiet. However, we all could have guessed that Dad won't be able to hold it in for too long.
"In all seriousness now, Mickey," he goes on saying. "You will try to behave... decently with Logan, won't you?"
I'm not really sure how to interpret Dad's definition of 'decent' behavior. Neither do my brothers, and we stare at each other quizzically. Mickey is more confused than all of us.
"What's that supposed to mean?" he says, deliberating on whether or not he should be insulted.
"I just don't want you to forget that he is an alpha after all, and he's letting us stay on his land," Dad replies. "You owe him your respect and gratitude. I know how you get with authority figures."
"Well you don't have to worry about that, I'll be on my best behavior," Mickey assures him sarcastically.
Dad ignores the mockery. "Good. So do you have plans with Sadie or anyone next week?"
I sense another opportunity and seize it before Mickey can answer.
"Actually," I say, "Zoey told me about this bonfire camp they're having tonight in the forest."
My evil twin pretends to be shocked. "Oh my God, you were separated from her lips long enough to have a conversation?!"
I raise my hand to flip him off. But then I remember where we are and focus on Dad, which makes Mickey grin like he's won some sort of victory.
"Anyway," I go on, "she said we should come. Even Logan said it was okay, and I think the pack's half expecting us to show up now."
"That's wonderful news!" Mom exclaims. "What time will you need to be there?"
Play it cool.
I shrug naturally. "Around six, according to Zoey. I guess we have to set up camp first."
"That's decided, then," Dad says with finality. "You're going."
I internally sigh in relief. Thank God.
"Hey Dad?" Mickey suddenly calls out. "Is it alright if after lunch I go to the store to get a new tent and a sleeping bag? My old ones are too old for use anymore."
"Sure," he agrees. "Do you need someone to go with you?"
"Nah, it's fine, I can make a trip on my own."
We wait for him to get back before we head out together to the forest, hiking to where Zoey said they would be. They're gathered in a clearing almost in the middle of the forest. The river is only a few feet away, even the humans would be able to hear it. The ground is covered with grass that was obviously cut short. Tree logs lie here and there, mostly around the campfire site. The plant life surrounding the clearing creates a wide circle of bushes and trees. I'm guessing they do this often and have arranged the place themselves.
When we get there, at least seventeen tents are being set up all over the grass. That must make about twenty tents in total, if you count ours. I don't really recognize any of these people, except the ones I've met at the diner. Mickey does, however, and he acknowledges some of them with a nod. Then he joins the Creeds almost immediately after he spots them. I'm left with the rest of my brothers to set up our tent.
Secretly, I'm glad to be on tent duty, because it gives me an excuse to avoid facing Zoey for just a bit longer. I'm proven correct in thinking that when she comes over twenty seconds later.
"Hey guys," she greets us all at once, sounding nervous.
They look at her curiously, trying to determine what a girl they've never met before is doing talking to them.
"Hi," Mason replies.
"I'm Zoey," she introduces herself.
Recognition crosses all three of their faces at the same time, and they throw me amused glances.
"Oh, hey, you're Sadie's sister, right?" Nathan asks, discreetly snickering and winking at me.
His sneer evokes a strange reaction out of me; an impulse to slap him on the back of the head and tell him to behave himself in front of a girl. It's almost like I'm offended on Zoey's behalf, even though she doesn't seem to notice. But I know my brother, and I can tell what kind of thoughts are going through his head right now. I may hate the girl's guts, but she's still fifteen, too young to be subjected to Nathan's very presence.
She smiles timidly, blissfully unaware of anything running through his head, or mine. "Yes, I am."
"Nice to meet you," Mason continues, ever the friendly one. "I'm Mason, this is Nathan and Connor, and of course you've already met Daniel."
We make eye contact for a brief second. "Yeah, we did," she confirms. "So, how's that tent coming up?"
"Kind of tricky," Connor says. "We don't do this very often."
"I think it's good," I reply with difficulty, as I'm trying to insert the bars into one another without breaking them. The last thing I want is her offering to help and having an excuse to stick around.
She does wait a few minutes before she catches on to what I'm doing. Instead of subtly reminding me of what she had threatened me with, she just goes right out and asks, "Danny, can I talk to you for a bit?"
Her tone, although sweet, makes it clear that the question entails only one answer, which is proven when she walks away without a backward glance, like she expects me to follow. Nathan again starts winking and grinning at me when her back is turned. Even Connor does this, though there's less innuendos in his stance. Only Mason looks apprehensive. I play along and force myself to look eager to follow her.
"Sorry guys, you're on your own."
I try to make it sound as though I'm glad to be free from tent duty, and I must have succeeded because they all find some way to manifest their complaints, either by groani
ng or voicing it.
Zoey marches deep into the forest, far enough away from the clearing that no werewolf will be able to hear us, even if we start arguing. At least she's keeping her word, I'll give her that. She could have kept us in a more public spot, where I would be forced to go easy on her, but she doesn't. I don't know whether to call that confidence or stupidity.
Finally, she halts her footsteps and spins on her heels to face me. "Thanks for doing as I said," she tells me dryly.
"Whatever, now why don't we get back to the point? What's it going to take for you not to say anything?"
She holds her palms one underneath the other at stomach level, and faintly smiles. "Nothing. I'm not going to tell anyone."
My eyebrows fly up with shock and relief. "Then why are we even having this conversation?"
"I need a favor," she slowly says.
"A favor," I repeat skeptically.
She nods. "Look, I don't care what you think of me, and I am not the least bit interested in getting you or your sister in trouble-"
I cut her off and shush her. "Don't ever use that word," I hiss.
She rolls her eyes. "Nobody's going to hear us."
Zoey doesn't understand what it's been like for us to keep this secret, how long it took us to even stop thinking of Michael as a girl. She's treating it too lightly, and that's dangerous.
"You have no idea what it's like, so don't pretend to be so smart," I retort.
"You're being paranoid," she argues.
"Oh yeah? Try living with my parents for as long as I have and tell me that you won't get scared when you get the slightest doubt that you put someone you care about in danger," I snap.
Taken aback, Zoey blinks several times before she finds something to say. "In danger?" she repeats. "From me?!"
I roll my eyes. She is such a child.
"From anyone who knows," I reply angrily. "Maybe you won't do anything about it because you're human, and a girl, and you're fifteen, but there are some people who would literally kill to get my brother if they ever found out his secret. Now I don't know you, so I don't trust you to keep this to yourself, but I more importantly don't trust that you won't slip up and let the wrong people know."
She stares at me with such a helpless look on her face, and I know that none of this occurred to her before. "Oh," she says after a long silence. "I didn't... I didn't think about that."
"No of course you didn't," I snap again. "Because you don't understand what it's like. You just assumed that you can use this to blackmail me into getting whatever it is that you want from me. You didn't think that lives could be at stake, my family."
With shame, Zoey averts her eyes and nods slowly. "I see," she whispers, her voice quivering. "I'm sorry, I was wrong to do that. I won't bother you anymore, and I won't tell anyone about... about Michael. Sorry. Bye."
Abruptly, she walks away. She tries to hide it, but I know she's on the verge of crying. And then I realize what an ass I am. Her initial idea was not to blackmail me; she was nice when we spoke on the phone this morning. She was even concerned for me. She only got defensive and brought up my brother's secret when I threatened her. I stare after her while deliberating what to do. She's getting farther away by each passing second.
"Wait!" I suddenly hear myself calling.
She stops but doesn't turn around.
Don't do it!
I grimace and decide to ignore my better judgment. "What's the favor you wanted?"
She shakes her head and resumes walking. "Nothing. Sorry to bother you."
"Zoey stop!"
She stiffens in place. Slowly, I approach her like a wounded animal. I don't want her to run away. Now that I know she's not truly a threat and that I am actually being paranoid, I feel bad. It doesn't matter whether I trust her or not, she's only a fifteen year old girl. I shouldn't have treated her like a criminal, especially since she didn't show any signs of wanting to hurt my family until I verbally attacked her.
"I'm sorry," I genuinely tell her. "Can you please tell me, what is the favor you wanted?"
That's when I walk around her and come face to face with her vulnerability. Her big green eyes look ever greener in the middle of the forest, and they brim with the tears she's holding in. Guilt stabs me in the chest. When I told her that I had made girls older than her cry before, I meant it, but it was never intentional. Now it is, and I feel disgusted with myself.
"I was being a jerk," I offer as comfort. "Tell me what I can do."
Zoey takes a deep breath and lets it out heavily. She wipes the corners of her eyes until they're dry. In a matter of seconds, all of her vulnerability is shoved back inside, and she stands before me with a challenging stance.
"I won't say a word about Michael," she promises. "But I won't ask for anything in return."
I know where she's going with this, and I interrupt her. "You're not asking, I'm offering."
She frowns skeptically. "Why would you do that? It's not like you'll get anything out of helping me."
I shake my head once. "No, but I have to make it up to you," I say. "I don't want to be a jerk again."
She stares at me for a couple of seconds, gauging my honesty and deciding whether or not to trust me. It's funny how the tables have turned suddenly.
"Alright," she finally agrees. "Do you remember what I told you yesterday?"
I frown. My memory of last night isn't very reliable. The first thing that comes to mind is how I spilled the beans about Michael. I can even recall the exact words I used and how I had leaned over close to her face to say. I may have also tried to kiss her. Before that, it's a blank. I rack my brains for the answer. It comes in pieces.
"Your dad cheated on your mom?" I guess. "Wait, I know you're adopted by your stepfather, so... your birth father cheated on your mom?"
She spares me the trouble and tells me, although she looks very uncomfortable saying it out loud to a perfectly sober person. "Yes, he cheated on her when they were engaged and had a son who is a few months older than my sister. And none of us ever knew."
My face falls. "Oh." I pause. "That's... pretty bad."
She nods sadly and sighs. "Yeah."
"How did you find out?"
"Um," she hesitates, "it was by accident. When we were packing for the move here, Mom suggested that I go visit his grave before we leave. She thought I needed it. I said I wanted to go alone because I figured it would be easier that way, you know, no pressure... He was there."
"Your brother?" I presume, since I'm assuming she doesn't mean her birth father.
She winces. "Uh, yeah, I guess that's what he is. Anyway, I thought he was visiting someone else at the cemetery because he had flowers in his hand, so I asked him about it, and... he said my father's name. Trenton Brock. Then he said he was his son John, and that he comes to see him once a year, because they didn't really get to know each other when he was alive."
That must have been really hard for her. "What did you say?"
Zoey shrugs in response. "Nothing. I left running."
I frown. "Are you sure that was a good idea?"
She looks up at me like an angry little kitten. It's too adorable to think much of her anger. Actually, no; she's a little more than just 'adorable', although she's certainly cute. It's hard not to smile when she looks at me like that. I wasn't completely drunk when I tried to kiss her yesterday. Given the chance, I would try again sober.
"I was in shock," she protests. "I couldn't very well say something like, 'oh that's a funny coincidence, he's my dad too, nice to meet you bro', now could I?"
I raise my hands up in surrender and allow an amused smile to slip. "Sorry, I didn't mean it like that."
"Are you laughing at me?" she objects, getting angrier, which in turns makes her even more attractive.
I attempt and fail to hide a chuckle. "I'm sorry, it really has nothing to do with you said, I swear."
"Then why are you laughing?"
"It's just- you're cute when you're angry."<
br />
Her anger dissipates into embarrassment. She blushes and brushes her hair behind her ear, looking down. As if I need another reason to find her attractive.
"That's... you're... that's completely irrelevant," she stutters. "And don't try to distract me by changing the subject. I still don't know why I'm telling you this, and if you keep this up, I'll just walk away now. I don't even know you. I don't even like you. This was a bad idea. It's a horrible place to talk anyway. Forget this ever happened."
My head is spinning. How does one person go through that many stages in under thirty seconds and not get dizzy? But when she actually does walk away, I have to snap out of it and go after her for the second time. I grab her hand and spin her toward me again.
"Whoa whoa, slow down," I say. "It's okay, you can trust me. I think we can agree I'm a great secret keeper."
She frowns at me. "Uh, actually, I think we can agree you're not."
I dismiss the thought immediately. "That's different; I was drunk when it slipped. Besides, I've kept it for years before that. And trust me, even drunk I'm not going to tell anybody your secret."
She almost succumbs but then shakes her head. "It's still a bad idea to talk about it here."
I hold her other hand before she decides to leave again. "Then let's go out, and talk about it," I suggest, already thinking about places to go to.
Zoey doesn't immediately answer. "You mean like... like a date?" she asks.
I nod encouragingly. "Exactly like a date, and we already have a topic of discussion."
She pauses. "You want to go out on a date with me?" she repeats.
My ego does not take her unwillingness to go out with me well. I lift up one eyebrow and force a grin. "Would that be so bad?"
She wavers uncertainly. "I don't know if I'm allowed to date," she admits.
That's actually a relief to hear. "Then we won't call it that until you're ready to come clean to your parents about everything," I propose. "We can just say we're going on study groups. Is there something you're not good at that I can pretend to help you with?"
Her offended look gets the message across loud and clear.
"Or maybe we're on separate study groups," I immediately fix that. "In any case, we can use an excuse for now."