Shifting (13 page)

He laughed under his breath and shook his head. “Wrong.
You
didn't want to be seen with
me
. In fact, you couldn't get away from me fast enough.”

I thought back to my first day of school and looked Bridger square in the eyes. “I didn't want to be seen with you because you were looking at my wet hair and torn jeans like you'd die if you had to walk in with me. I was sparing you the embarrassment, and me the insult.”

Bridger shook his head. “Actually, I was checking you out.”

My face started to burn. I looked out the window.

“I learned the hard way not to judge a person by appearance. In elementary school, I could tell a lot of the kids and some of the teachers detested me because I was an O'Connell and wore nicer clothes to school,” Bridger said, his voice somber. “I'd never done anything to deserve their prejudice, yet I felt it all the time. And the two times I took Danni Williams out to dinner, I could feel her greed, and just knew she only wanted to date me because my dad is wealthy. So I never asked her out for a third date. Sometimes …”

I turned to look at him.

“Sometimes I can feel the violence in people,” he continued, “and sometimes it scares me, like tonight. I thought I was the one who wanted to pound our server's face in, and it freaked me out until I realized your feelings were overpowering mine. I can feel evil in some people, too. That is the worst thing about my ability.” He shuddered and closed his eyes for a minute. When he opened them again, he looked at me. “The first time I saw you, you radiated fear so strongly my knees almost buckled.”

I frowned. “When did you first see me?”

“In the school parking lot, right before you gave me the shaft. You were terrified and didn't want to get out of Mrs. C.'s truck. But then you got out. I've never met anyone as brave as you,” he said, leaning closer. I could feel his breath on my face as he continued. “The morning after prom, I could feel how much I'd hurt you. I've never regretted anything more.” He leaned closer. “You like it when I hold your hand. I can feel the heat rise under your skin when I get a little too close to you. And the fear. And the mistrust. And I know that if I kissed you right now, you'd
probably
kiss me back.” He stopped talking, slid his hand under my hair and against the bare skin on the back of my neck, and leaned even closer. Our noses almost touched. “But I also felt how scared you were in the restaurant a few minutes ago when I said you're captivating,” he whispered. “And right now fear is your strongest emotion. I don't mean to scare you.” He pulled his hand away, turned, and started the car. I started to breathe again.

“And now, I feel your relief,” he said and smiled, though his eyes were dark and stormy.

We ended up eating fried chicken from the local KFC. And while I enjoyed Bridger's company way more than I should have, I worried that I might accidentally give something away to him, like the fact I didn't want the night to end, or that he made me really happy. Or that I kept wondering what his lips would feel like against mine.

I tried to feel nothing.

When he brought me home, he didn't turn off the car engine or attempt to walk me to the door.

“Maggie,” he called out his open window as I made my way through the moon-bright yard. I paused and looked at him. “How about I drive you home from work tomorrow?”

“All right.”

“And don't be afraid of me,” he said, running a hand through his dark hair.

“I'll try.”

18

I was awake long before my alarm went off, my body too wound up in Bridger O'Connell to go back to sleep. It was like I'd been eating bread and water my whole life, and then one day someone gave me chocolate cake. Bridger was the cake. And I liked how it tasted so well, I never wanted to go back to bread and water. But bread and water was safe. Chocolate cake? Totally dangerous.

What if Bridger could sense how I craved him?

Yesterday had been a big mistake. I was getting attached … again. No, that was a definite understatement. I was beyond attached. I groaned and pulled the pillow over my head, forcing myself to think Bridger-free thoughts, like how much fertilizer the chickens could produce in a week.

A knock at my door woke me. I pulled the pillow from my head, blinked my bleary eyes, and tried to remember why I was thinking of chocolate cake and chickens. Someone knocked again.

“Yeah?” I called.

The door opened and Mrs. Carpenter peered at me. “You've slept late,” she said.

I sat up and looked at my watch.

“Crap!”

I sprinted through empty halls to the deserted locker room and put on my running clothes.

Class had been in session fifteen minutes by the time I left the locker room. I pushed through the door to the track and found Bridger staring at me. As if he knew I was coming out at that very moment. A smile softened his worried face.

“Nice of you to join us, Maggie Mae,” Coach said, looking at his watch.

I walked to the gathered students, careful to keep my distance from Bridger, and dug my toe against the track. A pair of running shoes stopped beside mine, but I didn't look up.

“Are you all right?” Even his voice made me hungry.

“I slept through my watch alarm,” I blurted, not taking my eyes from my foot.

“I guess I kept you out sort of late.”

I dug my toe harder against the track, as if watching my gym shoe rub the dirt from it was the most amazing thing I'd ever seen.

“Maggie?” His voice was so gentle, so full of concern, I had to grit my teeth and dig my nails into my palms to keep my eyes from wandering to his face. He reached out and put a finger under my chin, tilting my face up. When I met his gaze, warmth flooded me and time stopped. So much for not letting him know how much I liked him. “Sooner or later you've got to stop letting fear be the ruling emotion in your life,” he said.

I caught my bottom lip in my teeth and stared back at him. And then I nodded.

“Maggie Mae, Bridger, I hate to break up your precious moment,” Coach said. Bridger's hand left my chin. “But since you were tardy, Ms. Mortensen, you're running laps.” The whole track team was gawking at Bridger and me, and my face felt so hot it probably glowed. But before I could say a word Coach blurted, “There's no use arguing with me, Ms. Mortensen.”

I ran.

That night, Yana and I worked the dining room at the Navajo Mexican. It was too busy to talk much, but when we were both refilling drinks at the soda dispenser, she managed to say, “Why are you being such an idiot?”

“What are you talking about?” I asked.

“O'Connell. The story is he practically kissed you in front of the track team—
during class
—so Coach made you run laps. Have you forgotten he walked out on you at prom? That's totally unforgivable.”

“I know, but he's …”
As tempting as chocolate cake.

“He's what? Hot? Rich? Smart? Smells really good?”

I groaned. He was all of those things. But something more.

“You need to ask Naalyehe about his family,” she said, and strode off with her refilled drinks.

When the evening turned to night and all the customers had gone home, I went to the kitchen.

“Naalyehe?” He looked at me. “Yana says you know the O'Connell family. She said I should ask you about them.”

Naalyehe frowned. He turned his back to me and began chopping. All right. Guess he wasn't big on gossip. I turned toward the dining room but stopped, straining my ears. Because it sounded like he said something. Maybe my imagination was going wild?

“Never be out past dark with Bridger O'Connell,” he said again. Nope. My imagination wasn't going wild. Was he joking?

Totally confused, I went back to the dining room, pondering Naalyehe's warning.

“You'll never guess who's here,” Yana said, voice full of sarcasm. I glanced around the empty dining room. “Speak of the devil and he appears.” She nodded toward the window. A big black SUV was parked out front with its parking lights on.

My heart thrummed beneath my ribs and I wasn't sure if it was the effect of Naalyehe's warning or Bridger's appearance.

“I'll finish up—you go on,” she said. “Don't want to keep O'Connell waiting. But don't say I didn't warn you.”

I crossed my arms and stood beside the door, Naalyehe's warning hovering in my brain. The window came down and Bridger peered at me from the dark car interior. His car smelled just like him. I took a deep breath.

“So, are you getting in?” he asked. And smiled. A smile that instantly overrode Naalyehe's warning. What harm could a ride home do? I returned Bridger's smile. He leaned over and opened the passenger door. “Get in.”

I glanced over my shoulder at the lamp-lit sidewalk, then back at Bridger, and climbed into his car.

“Does Naalyehe know you walk home at night?” he asked, putting the car into drive.

“No. Why?”

“He's Navajo.
Traditional
Navajo. He's got superstitions about the dark.”

That's not the only thing he's got superstitions about.
“How do you know?” I asked.

“He's my dad's third cousin.”

“Really?” That bit of info made Naalyehe's warning even more bizarre.

“Is something bothering you?” Bridger asked.

“Um … yeah. If you're Navajo, you're not very tan.” I lied. I couldn't bring myself to tell him what Naalyehe had said. “At least not compared to Naalyehe and Yana.”

Bridger laughed. “I'm also part Irish. And English. But believe me, I'm more Navajo than anything else. My great-grandpa …”

His words lost meaning. I pressed my face to the window. A man stood on the side of the moonlit road. He was staring at Bridger's car with eyes that glowed like an animal's. The stoplight changed and Bridger eased the car forward. I squeezed my eyes shut and a warm hand came down on the back of my neck under my hair.

“Maggie, what's wrong?”

“Did you see that guy?” My voice trembled.

Bridger slowed the car.

“No! Don't stop!” I peered out the window again, but the sidewalk was empty.

“What did you see?” Bridger asked, kneading the muscles in my neck.

I studied his shadowed profile. “There was a guy standing over there. And his eyes glowed.”

“His eyes glowed?”

“Yeah. Like an animal's.”

Bridger laughed. “You must have imagined it.”

“Gee. Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

He took his hand from my neck, trailed it down my arm, and found my hand. His warm fingers intertwined with mine. Instead of pulling away—my first instinct—I held on. “So what other nights do you work this week? I'll pick you up.”

“Wednesday and Saturday, but Saturday I get off early for graduation.”

“What are you doing after graduation? Wanna hang out?”

I looked at him. His hand tightened on mine, and my heart seemed to grow inside of my chest, pressing against my throat and making it impossible to talk.

“You know what hanging out is, right?” he said. “We could get hamburgers and fries and
hang out
at the mine. I'll bring my telescope and we can look at the stars.”

“Yeah. That sounds … nice.”

“Really?” he asked, glancing at me. “I don't have to talk you into hanging out with me this time?”

I shrugged. “I guess not.”

We pulled into Mrs. Carpenter's driveway and Bridger stopped in front of the porch. He let go of my hand and turned off the car. And unhooked his seat belt. He turned to me, where I sat frozen in my seat, my eyes glued to the windshield. “Maggie.”

I licked my lips and looked at him. And practically had a heart attack when his phone rang, shattering the moment.

He pulled the phone out of his pocket and looked at it. “I've got to take this,” he said and answered. “Hi, Dad.”

I unhooked my seat belt and put my hand on the door handle.

“What? Right now? At this very moment?” Bridger said, glancing at me, his eyes uncertain. “No, I
am
excited. That's great. I'm on my way home right now.… What am I doing out at this hour on a school night? Just out running an errand.… Yeah, a late errand. I'll see you soon.” He hung up and put the phone back in his pocket. “Hey, sorry about that. About Wednesday—my family's home. I'm not going to be able to pick you up.”

“That's okay,” I said, struggling not to feel disappointed. I opened my door and got out, and he pulled out of the driveway before I had Mrs. Carpenter's front door open.

19

Bridger was different at school the next day—nice as always, but nothing more. It lasted all week.

Saturday came. I worked my butt off at the Navajo Mexican, and when my shift ended, I got a ride home from Yana.

“See you tonight,” I said as I climbed out of her car.

“Yep. No more homework, no more books, no more teachers' dirty looks. Ever!” Yana waved and drove down the driveway.

My aching feet thumped on the front porch. I stepped through the front door and my mouth started watering.

“Surprise!” Mrs. Carpenter said, spreading her arms toward a table covered with way more food than she and I could eat in one sitting. In the middle of the table sat a giant cake with thick chocolate frosting. “Thought I'd whip up something special for your graduation,” she said, laughing. “I even called Bridger to see if he'd come and help us eat, but he said he already had dinner plans.” She clicked her tongue and shook her head. “That boy doesn't know what he's missing.”

After dinner, I put on my—thanks to Mrs. Carpenter—freshly ironed white graduation gown, brushed through my hair, and touched up my makeup. Then I was ready to go.

The dogs were restless, whining from inside the barn and scratching at the door as we walked to the truck.

“It's just us,” Mrs. Carpenter called. Shash yelped and scratched the door again. Duke howled, a hoarse, guttural sound that had me peering warily toward the edge of the property. “I swear. Those dogs have taken to you like you're their alpha.” She looked at me sidelong. “Speaking of dogs, tomorrow is the full moon. What can I do to help?”

“Lock me in the barn,” I said, wiping sudden tears from under my eyes before they could ruin my fresh makeup. I had help. For the first time in my life, I wasn't doing this alone. And it felt amazing.

We got into the truck and drove to Silver High. The school parking lot was packed, every space taken. We parallel parked two blocks away, in front of a stucco house with a cactus growing in the yard, and arrived at the ceremony five minutes early.

“You can go home after the ceremony,” I said as Mrs. Carpenter and I walked toward the outdoor bleachers.

“You have plans?” she asked, a gleam in her eyes.

“Yeah. Bridger and I are going out for hamburgers.” I couldn't help but smile as I said the words.

She grinned and started humming. “You have fun,” she said. “And speaking of Bridger, why don't I take a picture of the two of you in your gowns?”

I blushed and nodded.

We made our way to the O section of students, and Bridger stood out like a tree among shrubs. “My goodness, Bridger looks handsome in traditional Navajo garb. That's what Navajo men wear for formal ceremonies,” Mrs. Carpenter explained, looking him up and down.

He wasn't wearing the navy-blue graduation gown all the other guys wore. And he wasn't alone. A stunning girl with silky black hair, an oversized leather shirt with fringe, skintight jeans, and high-heel boots was tugging his head forward. She ran her black-polished nails through his hair, and then slipped a red headband around his head so it fit snugly on his forehead. Next she adjusted the shoulders of his bright blue velvet shirt, then fiddled with the chains of turquoise hanging around his neck. Bridger's eyes flickered to me and he winked.

The girl must have seen it. She turned and looked at me, her ice-blue eyes wild with curiosity.

I stood where I was, frozen with confusion, staring. Someone bumped me and a warm hand clasped my elbow.

“Excuse me,” a deep voice said. I turned and looked into a pair of dark, semifamiliar eyes. The man continued past me, a blond woman dressed in a suit-dress at his side, and stopped beside Bridger and the girl. The man took a palm-sized camera from his suit pocket and snapped a photo of Bridger and the girl.

“Go on over there,” Mrs. Carpenter said, nudging me forward. Bridger grinned at me and motioned me over.

“Hey,” he said, clasping his hands behind his back. “I want you to meet my family. This is my sister, Katie.” He nodded to the girl with slick black hair.

“Kat, not Katie,” she said, her eyes taking in my every detail.

“My mother.” Bridger nodded to the blond woman. “And my dad.”

The man who'd bumped me a moment before studied me with curious dark eyes. He held his hand out and I shook it. “Nice to meet you …”

“Maggie Mae,” I said.

“And how are you and Bridger acquainted?” his mother prodded, her eyes never leaving mine.

“She's my friend, Mom. From school,” Bridger said hurriedly.

One of Kat's black eyebrows slowly rose, and aside from having pale blue eyes, she looked just like her brother for a second. “Nice to meet you, Maggie Mae—Bridger's friend,” she said with a mischievous grin. She gave Bridger a look.

“Hello, Aidan. Vivienne. Nice to see you again,” Mrs. Carpenter said.

Bridger's mom nodded at Mrs. Carpenter, a slight bob of her head. His dad smiled and said, “Opal. How are you?”

“I'm doing real good. Thought I'd take a picture of Maggie Mae with her friend Bridger.” There was an icy tone to her voice.

Kat moved away from Bridger without a word and looked sideways at me. I stepped to Bridger's side, yet he eased away from me, making sure there was a good gap of space between us.

“Say ‘cheese,' ” Mrs. Carpenter said. Before I had a chance to smile, the camera flashed. Mrs. Carpenter patted my shoulder. “I'll see you later tonight,” she said, and got lost in the crowd.

I looked at Bridger's family, all staring at me as if I weren't good enough to be his friend, and I needed to get away. “Good luck. Don't trip when you get your diploma,” I muttered to Bridger and walked toward the M section of graduating seniors. I could feel his family's eyes boring into my back the entire way.

The sun set and I sat through two speeches and a choir performance. When the principal started reading the names for diplomas, all the graduating students stood. I got to my feet and took a deep breath of evening air. I'd been waiting for this moment since my first day of kindergarten.

The students at the front of the line started walking toward the stage, but paused, whispering and looking around, pointing toward the darkening skyline. The whispers traveled back, eventually reaching the M section.

“Did you hear it?” someone whispered.

“Hear what?” someone else replied.

“I don't know!”

“Shh!” someone behind me hissed, and everyone fell silent and still, staring up at the purple sky. And that's when I heard it. A shiver of ice trilled down my spine as the low, lonely howl of a wolf carried through the dusky air. Everyone started whispering again.

“It was a coyote,” someone behind me said.

“Coyotes yap, not howl,” another student answered.

“But there aren't wolves around here. There haven't been for years.”

“No, that's not true. They tried to reintroduce them into the mountains a while ago. Maybe one or two survived?”

Mrs. Tolliver walked down the line of students, glaring at us. Everyone shut up as the line began to crawl forward. I took a deep breath and forced myself to relax and forget about the wolves and Bridger's family.

I made my slow way with the other students toward the podium. And then Dr. Smith was reading my name. “Maggie Mae Mortensen, a new student who set a new Silver High fifty-yard dash record.” Coach stood and started cheering. Bridger and Mrs. Carpenter followed, along with Yana and Ginger. And then the male half of the freshman class joined in. Their cheering seemed contagious, as eventually the majority of the stadium was cheering for me.

My cheeks started to burn and a smile tugged at my mouth. I took the diploma from Dr. Smith, blinked against the flash of a camera, and hurried from the stage. I'd done it.

When I got back to my seat, a long, low howl echoed through the dark night. The students sitting beside me glanced around nervously. Dr. Smith stuttered through the name he was reading. When he got to Bridger's name, I stood and cheered along with every other person at the graduation ceremony. The noise was incredible. Dressed in full Navajo garb, he took his diploma and waved to the crowd.

Within minutes it was over and everyone was throwing their caps, a snowstorm of white and navy-blue squares silhouetted against the almost dark sky.

I made my way to Bridger, excited about the prospect of having him all to myself for the night.

“Congratulations,” he said when he saw me, but he was distracted, looking over the tops of graduates' heads. “I'm so sorry—I know we were going to hang out tonight, but my mom's made other plans. I've got to cancel. So … I guess I'll see you around. I'll call you sometime. Or drop by and help you with the garden.” He smiled and then wandered away.

My jaw dropped open. “But … I … don't have a ride.” My voice was swallowed in the noise of the crowd. Bridger never looked back. He found his family and left with them.

I stood for a long time in a mass of ecstatic graduates before I had the energy to pull my gown off and put it in the massive bin marked W
HITE
G
OWN
R
ETURN.

I wandered toward the place where Mrs. Carpenter had parked her truck. Of course it wasn't there. Surely she was long gone.

Not wanting to walk home and explain why I wasn't out with Bridger, I rummaged through someone's trash can and found a used grocery bag. Next I located a dense patch of shrubs in front of an adobe house and forced my way into the center of it. I took my shoes and socks off and then unfastened my watch and the
yo-ih
, and set them all into the bag. Next I took off my jeans and T-shirt, removed my bra and panties, and dropped them on top of the watch, bracelet, and shoes.

I landed on all fours and the sounds haunting the night intensified—police sirens, dogs barking, people cheering, howling, laughing, screaming. My heart pounded against my cougar rib cage. I picked the bag up in my teeth and ran from the sounds, ran from population.

I prowled the uninhabited outskirts of the city, as far away from humanity as I could get. When the sounds of sirens and howling finally stopped, I made my leisurely way toward home, making sure to take a long time—as long as it would have taken to eat hamburgers, fries, and a milk shake at the mine, and then look at the stars.

In some bushes across the street from Mrs. Carpenter's house, I shifted back to human and got dressed. When I crossed the street and stepped onto Mrs. Carpenter's driveway, my feet skidded to a stop. Bridger's SUV was blocking it. And so was yellow police tape.

My hands started to tremble. A shadow moved at the far end of the driveway and I leaped into the shrubs hugging the side of the driveway, just in case I was in danger. The shadow solidified into a police officer holding a dim flashlight. I stepped out of the bushes.

“Is everything all right?” My voice quavered. “Where's Mrs. Carpenter?”

“Are you Maggie Mae?” he asked, stopping beside me and shining the light in my eyes.

I shaded my eyes and nodded, suddenly sick to my stomach. Something was wrong.
Really
wrong.

“I have some bad news for you,” the officer said. My windpipe constricted and I could hardly draw breath. “Mrs. Carpenter's in the hospital.”

“What happened?” I gasped.

“Come on. I'll show you.”

I followed him past Bridger's SUV and under the police tape. At the front porch I paused. The porch light was on and something was … different. Deep scratches had been gouged into the red front door. Flakes of paint and wood littered the porch next to the cactus, which lay overturned on its side accompanied by its shattered terra-cotta pot.

Paint and wood chips clung to the soles of my shoes as I walked through the front door. Inside I stopped, too stunned to move. White fluff covered the floor, the furniture, the top of the gun case, even the blades of the ceiling fan—the stuffing from Mrs. Carpenter's brown leather sofa. The cushions had been torn to bits.

I made my legs carry me down the hall to my room. The sewing table looked untouched, but my small dresser was tipped on its side beside my toppled clothes hamper. My clothes, underwear, and pajamas lay shredded on the floor beside them. The cot was bare and ripped down the middle, my two quilts part of the underwear-and-clothes mess.

“What happened?” I asked.

“Seems some wild dogs got into the house.”

Wild dogs?
Demon
dogs was more like it. Instinctively I knew—they'd come for me again.

“Tore everything up searching for food,” the officer explained, running his thumb and finger over his goatee.

I looked at my toppled dresser and questioned the food theory. There hadn't been any food in there. Not even chocolate. And if my bedroom looked like this, what did Mrs. Carpenter look like?

“Is Mrs. Carpenter all right?” I whispered.

“She's been injured, but it's not life-threatening.”

“How'd she get hurt?”

“She tried to shoot the dogs and got bit on the leg. Practically tore her calf muscle clean off the bone. She'll be in the hospital for a few days. In the meantime, do you have somewhere to stay for the night?”

“Um. I … well …”

The floor creaked outside my bedroom. The officer pulled the gun from his belt and pointed it out the door, sidestepping in front of me.

“Who's there?” he barked. Bridger walked into view, his hands up. The officer lowered his gun. “Good gracious, son! I might have shot you! What are you doing here?”

I stared at Bridger, dressed in jeans and a hoodie, red headband still around his forehead, and wondered the same thing.

“I came to get my SUV, but wanted to make sure it was all right if I moved it.”

The officer nodded. “That should be fine.”

“Maggie, you can stay with me tonight,” Bridger said, glancing at my ruined cot.