Secrets of the Sleeper: True Nature Series: Book One (8 page)

I laughed weakly.

He grunted. “What did you do? Steal their lipstick?” His eyes crinkled at the corners.

“I know. Really. Military school would be too good for them.”

“Girls are so weird,” he smirked. “Why can’t you just have a good clean fight and make up like us guys? You are so complicated.”

“Hey, I’m with you!” I agreed. “I hate that stuff. It’s not like I’m trying to be Miss Popular, anyway.” Inside, I cringed because that’s exactly what I was doing this year with Ruthie’s help.

“That’s probably why bullies do what they do. When someone else has something they want, they get jealous and strike out.”

“Ha! I don’t have anything anyone else would want!” I rolled my eyes at his absurdity.

His face was so close. “Oh yes you do.” I forgot about Zena, Mr. Mac, and the rest of the chattering kids in class as we shared a long glance. Was that admiration in his eyes? My heart flip-flopped.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I whispered, breathlessly.

“Really?” he said doubtfully. “You do have mirrors in your house, right?” He gently let go of my hands and brushed a thick wave of hair from my eyes. I felt the lack of warmth around my hands like a coat removed in a blizzard, and shivered. At least that’s the reason I told myself I shivered. I was still processing his subtle compliment. He reached for his backpack and rummaged in it until he came up with a small tube.

“You carry antibiotic ointment with you,” I stated. “Very prepared. What are you? A Boy Scout?” I felt my lips curving up at one corner. Suddenly, despite high school rivalries and my own numerous inadequacies, I felt happy.

He smiled. “I’ve been known to get into a few scrapes, myself, so I learned to be prepared. Here, let’s see your hands again.”

I laid them open, still drinking in his face. His eyebrows pushed together in perplexity, and I followed his gaze to my hands. The scratches were gone, the skin totally healed as if it had never been injured. Only the blood and dirt remained. I realized they didn’t hurt anymore.

“What?” I gasped. We looked at each other, amazed. “I don’t get it!” I was shocked. Was I losing it? “You saw them, right?”

Zander ran his hands over mine, turning them over and over.

“All right, class. Back to your seats,” ordered Mr. Mac.

Zander and I pulled apart slowly. He looked warily at me. I wondered what he was thinking and hoped he didn’t think I was making it up, because I was just as mystified. If I didn’t have dried blood and dirt smeared all over my hands, I would not have believed that they had ever been hurt. I pulled out my notebook and peeked at him. He was turned forward, rubbing his face with his hands as if tired. He blinked his eyes a few times and then squished his eyebrows together in concentration. He looked confused, but no more than I did. I started to turn back and noticed him skillfully hiding a cell phone to one side, out of sight for most people. He was texting someone.

A shiver went up my spine. Something really miraculous had happened, I thought. My hands had healed or I was hallucinating. I felt like an idiot just thinking it. Did someone slip me something? Did I imagine it? No, Zander seemed just as confused.

Could Zander have caused it? I recalled the warmth of his hands as they held mine. Or did I do something? Did he think I had been lying about them? Great. Now I was a lying psycho.

When class ended, Zander walked me to the door. Again I felt Zena’s hate laser. Again I ignored it.

“Tru,” he said, “do you have time to, uh, talk today?”

“I don’t know what happened, you know,” I said defensively.

“Yeah, I got that.” He paused as several students pushed their way past us, out of the classroom. “That was…weird, but I had some other questions for you.”

Questions
, I thought. Alarms were going off in my head. I doubted this was about homework, but…

“You mean about the assignment? We didn’t get to talk, but did you want to partner up for the project?” I asked, a sliver of hope in my voice.

He hesitated, then said, “Yeah, I get the feeling you are one of the smart kids, and being your partner is definitely in my favor.”

Oh great! Now I’m the nerd who helps the beautiful people with homework.
I cringed inside.

“But that’s not the only reason I want to be your partner.” He leaned against the doorframe, looking down at me with a drool-worthy smile. I was totally unprepared for that kind of charm. So I said the first thing that came to my mind.

“Sure! When do you wanna start working on it?”

His smile widened. “Well, what about after school today? Say in an hour or so? I have something to take care of before I can meet you.”

“Okay.” The word was delivered in such a breathy and girly voice, I’m ashamed to admit it ever came out of my mouth. I cleared my throat and continued. “Where should we meet?”

“Can I come over to your place? I’m in an extended stay hotel until we find a house, so it’s not very private.”

When he said the word “hotel” and “private” in the same sentence, I almost choked. (What do you expect? I was a hormone-driven teenager, after all. And I watched way too much TV smut with Ruthie.) I wasn’t sure where he was going with this line of thought. What was I doing? I hardly knew him.

I couldn’t help blurting out, “My dad will probably be home, but it should be quiet enough. He spends most of his time working in the garage. He may come in and out a bit, but…uh…we should be able to…uh…study…” I was rambling. Did he get that I was emphasizing that I had a chaperone? Did he see that I was kind of freaking out about it? I felt like such a moron. He seemed to realize what I was thinking, and backtracked quickly.

“Oh, yeah, I didn’t mean…well…I just…if you want to meet at the library instead, that’s okay, too.”

Alrighty
, I thought. Talk about jumping to conclusions. He wasn’t hitting on me—why would he be hitting on me? He liked Phoebe. All that “you’re special” stuff was just him being a nice guy. I mentally smacked my head a few times. He really did want to work on the project. Fortunately, I loved Shakespeare and wouldn’t embarrass myself. I could do this.

In a much calmer voice, I said, “No. That’s okay. My place is easier since I don’t drive yet.”

I wrote down my address and phone number for him and said good-bye, happy that he seemed to have forgotten about that weird hand episode.

My heart fluttered nervously as I walked to my locker, where I knew Ruthie would be waiting. I was thinking about studying with Zander when I stopped suddenly. Wait a minute. What was I doing? Yesterday I agreed to go to Homecoming with Isaac, and just now I had agreed to meet with another boy in my home to work on our project. What was the protocol for this? If one went to Homecoming with one person, did that mean they were “exclusive,” that they couldn’t see another person even for homework? What did that mean, exactly? Would Isaac be offended? How did my life get so complicated?

All too soon, I arrived at my locker. The lunch gang was there, too. Val had his arm around my best friend. I gave him a sour look.

“What happened to you?” Ruthie demanded. Her fashionista senses had zeroed in on my ripped jeans. In the last five minutes I had forgotten my fall before class. Was there such a thing as temporary ADD?

“Zena’s minions,” I stated simply.

Isaac stepped up to examine me. “Are you hurt?” he asked.

I paled, not from pain but from acute guilt. He looked so concerned about me. If I were a good person, I would have thought about how he might feel before agreeing to meet with Zander. At least I should tell him. Maybe. No. He’d want to be there and then it would be Awkwardville again. Or was I just blowing this out of proportion? What did I know? I had never dealt with this sort of thing before. Ugh! This sucked!

“Just my pride,” I replied with chagrin. “I also got to be Mr. Mac’s poster child for tardies.”

“Zena!” Ruthie muttered between clenched teeth, like it was something disgusting you stepped in on the sidewalk. Val seemed surprised.

Phoebe looked confused. “Zena Taylor pushed you down, and you got a tardy?”

“No, I got sideswiped by Juliana and Summer—Zena’s minions. Then Zena made sure Mr. Mac noticed me sneaking into class late—seconds late, I might add. She’s up to her old tricks again.” I looked back to Ruthie. “She gave me the hate laser.”

Val wailed dramatically, waving his hands. “Oh, not the hate laser!”

Ruthie smacked him in the shoulder. “Not cool, dude! You have no idea.” She turned back to me sympathetically. “So, here we go again. I guess it’s going to be one of those years…I thought she was going to move to L.A. or something.”

“She wishes,” I said.

“
We
wish,” we both said together.

“I get the feeling she’s done this sort of thing before?” asked Isaac. “Why doesn’t she get into trouble?”

Phoebe answered, looking at Ruthie and me, “She’s good at it, isn’t she?”

“Zena, aka Cruella de Vil,” said Ruthie.

Val piped in. “I don’t get it. Because Cruella totally looks evil. Seriously, how did they not know she was the bad guy?” Everyone ignored him but Jake.

“Dude! I know, right? Disney villains are so obvious!”

I sighed. “She always gets her way—and I don’t know how. It’s like all the teachers are on her side. I never figured it out.”

“Is this an ongoing feud? You and Ruthie against Queen of Evil and her sidekicks?” said Isaac.

“Pretty much,” I answered. “She doesn’t strike every year, at least not that often, but I have a feeling this year is her big comeback.”

“Well,” said Isaac, “this year you’ve got backup—us!”

Phoebe smiled alongside her brother. Val and Jake didn’t seem to be taking the situation seriously, playfully punching each other, their conversation having already moved on to the upcoming football game.

“Well, vámanos, mis amigos!” Ruthie led the way to her car.

I got into the backseat with Isaac again while Ruthie said good-bye to Val and Jake. Phoebe chatted up Ruthie, which left Isaac asking about my day. I was a little too close to him to converse comfortably, especially now with the guilt lying heavily in my stomach like too much lasagna. I kept my comments short and concise. Plus, my mind was bouncing back to my disappearing hand injuries, as well; so after enough one-word answers, he gave up and joined Phoebe and Ruthie’s conversation. When Phoebe helped me out of the back, I thought I saw her sniff the air. There was no repeat bathroom request and I said good-bye, noting Isaac’s slightly hurt gaze. More guilt.

“Dad!” I yelled as I opened the front door. There was no answer.

Then I remembered to turn my cell phone ringer back on—there was a strict no-cell-phone policy at school. Principal Fuller had a box full of confiscated phones sitting in a locked glass box you could see through the office window. It was a great tactic because every time I walked by it, I frantically checked to make sure my phone was turned off. There were no second chances, and it only took one phone ring near a faculty member to lose your phone.

Sure enough, there was a message from Dad. He had been called in to the office again, and he was going to be late returning home. Then I remembered that he said he’d be on location a lot this week. He probably wouldn’t be home any time soon.
Perfect
, I thought apprehensively.

That made me a liar. Dad wouldn’t be working in the garage while Zander and I studied. He wouldn’t even be home. Awkward. I should cancel, I thought, because Dad would be angry if he came home and saw me alone with a boy. I knew that much. But I didn’t have his phone number. I would just have to go with it and hope Dad didn’t come until after Zander left.

Mind-whammy

Miraculously, I was able
to get most of my homework done before Zander showed up. It was 4:00 when I heard the doorbell. Nervously, I checked my appearance in the hall mirror before opening the door. I had switched my torn jeans and Converses for a pair of shorts and flip-flops. Very casual, but it was a warm day and we didn’t have AC.

Zander wore the same clothes that I’d seen him in at school—a wrecked pair of jeans, a band T-shirt, and Vans. His dark chestnut hair looked a little windblown, but it just made him look like he had stepped off a modeling shoot where they have all the fans blowing to make you look sexier. Yeah, it worked for him.

“Can I come in?” he asked after I stood there dumbly.

After a mental self-smack, I pulled myself together. “Yeah, come on in.” I gestured toward the kitchen area. “You want to study at the kitchen table?”

“Sure.” He swung his backpack off his shoulder as he headed inside. He took in the whole place with a sweeping glance. It was an outdated one-story home still sporting Mom’s feminine style, but everything looked a bit threadbare. Mom talked about updating everything for years, and it just never happened. But she always kept it clean and organized, two things that were sort of missing these days. And Dad always said he liked it “original,” meaning he didn’t want to replace anything. I was not as good at cleaning as my mom, and Dad didn’t realize that it needed to be cleaned most of the time. I was grateful he liked to cook, although he often left the kitchen a mess. I had tidied up when I got home, but suddenly noticed the dust everywhere. I forgot to dust! I was gaining a newfound respect for my mother all the time, because it was never dusty before and I seriously didn’t remember her dusting.

I may have forgotten the dusting, but Mom’s hospitality lessons kicked in, and I couldn’t sit down without offering Zander something to drink. So, with two sodas we settled at the table.

“Thanks again, Tru, for being my partner. Shakespeare is kind of hard to understand, at least I think so,” said Zander, smiling. He pulled out our textbook. That’s when I really knew he was here for the studying, nothing else, because he was jumping right into the schoolwork. In one respect, I was glad. No pressure and less guilt over Isaac. But on the other hand, I felt a little miffed, both at myself for hoping for more. I was seriously screwed up!

“That’s okay. It’s a group project, so we’re supposed to work on it together anyway. It will probably get easier as we read it.”

Twenty minutes later, I reassessed him. After all of his complaining, he had picked it up easier than I expected. His comments were pretty astute, like he had read this before. I eyed him suspiciously.

“A little young to fall in love, wouldn’t you say?” asked Zander sardonically.

I shrugged off my skepticism. “Yeah.” I laughed. “My biggest challenge at thirteen was how Ruthie and I were going to convince our parents to let us go to a concert in Santa Cruz,” I answered.

“You’re lucky you got to go,” he smiled, “assuming you did.”

“Yeah. Ruthie’s parents are really overprotective, but Ruthie has amazing manipulation skills. She became the model daughter for two weeks before she asked them. She caught them off guard.”

“Ha!” he snorted. “I can see that. She seems pretty crafty. How did you convince your parents?”

“Oh, I got to go, but only if they came, too,” I said with chagrin.

Zander hooted. “Sounds like fun.”

“Hmm. It was okay.” I twirled my pencil absently. “So, what was your favorite concert?” I asked.

“Actually, I’ve never been to a concert,” he admitted. “That’s why I said you are lucky.”

“Wow! You’re kidding, right?”

“No, really. My father doesn’t approve of concerts—thinks they are a waste of time—I should make better use of my time, yada yada yada.”

I looked at him thoughtfully, wondering about his childhood. Sounded like a strict household to me. Zander noticed me staring and cleared his throat. I blushed.

“So,” he said, “back to medieval teenagers falling in love… Yay…” He didn’t seem impressed by the epic love story.

I felt I needed to defend the young couple. “You know, back then, their life expectancy was pretty low. So if people only lived to thirty or forty, then Juliet was considered an adult, almost middle-aged. Perhaps they were just making the most of their short lives.”

“I guess you’re right,” he consented. “Don’t they say that you’re only as old as you think you are?” He gazed absently out the kitchen window. “Sometimes I feel ancient.”

“Or, you can live several years in just a few months,” I countered. Last year I had grown up in a moment—when my mother died in front of me. I didn’t know if I’d ever be that carefree girl again, which was good in some ways.

Zander sensed my seriousness and swung his gaze over to me sympathetically. “I heard you lost your mother last year,” he said softly.

I bet that wasn’t all he heard. “I suppose you heard that I kind of lost it, too.” I kept my eyes on our textbook, afraid to see the pity, and maybe the disgust.

But I didn’t feel pity from him, like I did from everyone else. I wondered at that. I finally glanced up. He was staring down at me.

“People who like to talk about that haven’t been through what you went through.”

I blinked back the moisture that suddenly gathered in my eyes. Clearing my throat, I asked, “What about your parents? Do you live with them?”

“Yeah, but we don’t really get along, at least my father and I don’t,” he said. “Mother’s okay, but she always sides with Father.” He looked away uncomfortably.

He may not have lost a parent, but he understood pain. I could see it in his eyes, and suddenly I wanted to take away the pain, whatever it was. My hand automatically reached to cover his, but he pulled away. My face flushed in embarrassment, and I watched him get up from the table and walk quickly over to the kitchen window.

Oh man
, I thought,
I’m such an idiot
. What was I doing?

“Tru, do you have a dog?” he asked.

What was with that? Then I remembered the paw prints in the backyard.

“No, but I saw some paw prints out there yesterday. Maybe a neighbor’s dog is getting in. Why, do you see one?” I got up to look out the window. Something big and furry was just leaping over our back fence, into another yard. Zander ran out the back door in a flash. Before I could follow him, I saw him pursue another giant furball over the fence. My thoughts went back to the wolf I had seen my first day of school. No, it wasn’t possible! Whatever it was, I was pretty sure Zander shouldn’t be chasing it.

Without giving it a thought, I grabbed a knife from the butcher block and headed out the back door. I walked warily around the side of the house to check if the gate was open. It was closed. I stepped cautiously to the other side of the house, a covered area where we kept our trash cans. The knife was trembling in my hand, but I moved forward anyway. Nothing. Where had he gone?

“Zander!” I called out, my voice cracking. A growl vibrated through the air, behind me, behind our fence. Something was on the other side. I knew the Jenkins didn’t have a dog and automatically backed away.

“Tru! Look out!” Zander was leaping toward me over our fence. That alone was confusing, because our fence was hecka tall, and I don’t think even our school’s track team could leap that high. Bewildered, I twisted around too quickly and tripped over a hose.

“Aagh!” I felt the blade sink into my arm, which had to be one of the strangest sensations I’ve ever felt. I lay there crumpled on the ground, the steel of the knife sticking out of my left arm, below my elbow. I sat up because there were now two Jurassic-sized furballs in my backyard, and Zander was facing them both.

They were two of the largest wolves I’d ever seen, standing maybe four feet tall, on all four paws. The wolves I’d seen in the zoo were definitely smaller. The fur on these wolves was raised in bunches, not a happy look. One looked like the animal Ruthie and I had seen the first day of school. It had dark brown fur with gold streaks along its sides. The other wolf was gray with black streaks. And they were both growling at Zander. We had to get out of here.

Biting my lip, I pulled the blade out of my arm. The pain was excruciating, and blood immediately poured from the wound. A ragged and unstoppable whimper erupted from my mouth. I held my arm to my side tightly, biting my lips closed and wrapping the lower part of my shirt around my bleeding limb.

“Tru!” Zander headed toward me, staring at my arm. But the brown wolf darted in front of him and snapped its jaws with a growl. He was trapped between them. The gray one didn’t seem to know what to do. It kept moving its head from me to Zander and to the other wolf. We were all suspended, waiting for someone to make a move.

“Don’t move, Tru,” ordered Zander. No worries, I wasn’t going anywhere. Slowly the brown wolf backed toward me. Zander looked frantic, but he was going to be dog food if he moved an inch.

The brown wolf turned slightly as it backed up and ended up with all of us in its sights. I could see directly into its golden eyes. They looked into mine,
right into me
, like it knew me, like it was trying to tell me something. Suddenly, I wasn’t scared anymore. The wolf seemed to be urging me to trust it, stretching out its nose toward me, ever so slowly. A warning growl came from the other wolf. But I ignored it and I met the nose coming toward me with my palm out.

“Don’t, Tru!” Zander’s desperate plea flowed over me, but I ignored him, too.

The tip of a warm tongue lapped at my fingers, spreading warmth up my arm and throughout my whole body. It reminded me of something, but I couldn’t place the feeling. It was so good, so comforting. I reached further and rubbed my fingers through its fur along its jaw. A rumble ran through the wolf, and something between a laugh and a sob welled up in me. I knew this wolf, but from where I couldn’t remember. It licked my injured arm, nudging away the material and lapping at the wound. It didn’t hurt at all, and I looked up at Zander in amazement.

He looked just as shocked as I did. The gray wolf still stood between us, its stance protective. I didn’t understand any of this. Suddenly, my wolf (in those few moments, that’s how I had begun to think of it) faltered, dropping its head in my lap. The gray one growled again, moving closer, menacingly. Without hesitation, I ran my hand over the forehead of the beautiful animal in my lap, frantic that it was hurt. This moment seemed strangely familiar, and I desperately wanted this wolf to be well.

“No, no! Please be okay. I can’t lose you, too!” I pressed my face into its warm fur. It felt so good. “Please,” I urged. A soft glow outlined the wolf, its fur swaying to an unknown breeze. And then its eyelids lifted and its jaw widened.

Tears of happiness trickled down my cheeks as I darted a quick smile over to Zander. But Zander was reaching inside his waistband, causing the gray wolf to leap toward him.

This snapped my wolf out of its weakened state. Moving like a blur, it leaped toward the gray wolf just as a shot rang out, followed by a painful whine. The gray went down, but only for a second. It was bleeding, but the injury wasn’t stopping him. Zander had some kind of gun in his hand and was preparing to shoot again. However, now both wolves were coming at him, from opposite sides.

“No!” I yelled at him. It just seemed wrong to hurt these creatures. I jumped up and was at his side in a second, pulling down his arm. My wolf immediately blocked the gray one, who snapped back at it. Just then, tires screeched to a stop in the street and a car door slammed. Running feet headed toward the gate.

The two wolves growled, their heads lowering. Zander’s brother burst through the entrance. In a move that looked practiced, both wolves circled us in opposite directions, bounded onto the garbage cans against the back of the fence, and disappeared into the next yard.

Zander’s brother continued into the backyard until he loomed over us, a gun in his hand.

“What happened?” he barked. Not “what was that?” or “are you all right?” or even “did you get the license plate number?” He seemed remarkably calm for the situation. When he looked around at me, he did a double-take.

“What are you doing here?” G.I. Joe brother gasped at me. Now what did I do?

Zander scoffed and rolled his eyes. “She lives here, doofus. This is Tru, the one I told you about,” he said, turning to check out my arm. His brother pulled himself together with a shake, still peering at me warily.

“About time you got here,” Zander threw at his brother angrily. “I thought you were supposed to be just around the corner!”

“I was. And you seem to be just fine.”

“Yeah, I’m okay, but Tru’s not. Here, let me see that.” Zander turned my arm over while I scowled at their confusing conversation. I had completely forgotten about my knife wound. In fact, my arm didn’t hurt anymore. I allowed him to examine it. He ran his fingers over the wound area. Streaks of blood were still drying, and the cut had closed up, just a puckered line remaining.

“What?” I gasped. Zander’s forehead was creased in perplexity. “What’s going on?” I asked. “You saw it, didn’t you? It was bleeding just a second ago!” I dropped down to the grass, holding my arm. “What’s happening to me?” I said quietly to myself. But they both heard me.