This Is Not a Werewolf Story (18 page)

Solidarity. Mary Anne and I don't say anything to anybody about what Vincent did. Ms. Tern would say that I am
conflicted
. Part of me gets all pumped up whenever I think about it. Cook Patsy taught me to wrestle Tuffman, Dean Swift made me talk to him, but Vincent scared the daylights out of him.

The other part of me knows it was the worst, dumbest, stupidest idea in the world. Obviously Vincent didn't expect Mary Anne to come running through that scene. But Tuffman, a gun, and a piñata full of fireworks? Nothing good's gonna come of that.

Vincent doesn't mention it either. He looks a little worried around Mary Anne at first, but she just tells us her usual stories about Samish princesses married to sea gods and children kidnapped by shape-shifting otters. In the dining hall Vincent sits to my left and Mary Anne to my right. Sometimes Mary Anne's shoulder brushes mine and neither of us pulls away.

Tuffman doesn't know what hit him or who got him. For a day or two he's a shadow of himself. He pulls out a parachute and lets us play popcorn in PE. Every once in a while he calls me “son.” It makes me want to shove him away.
There's only one man who calls me that,
I want to say.
And it's not you.

Ms. Tern has us read informational texts on gun safety. She's not going to help me get the cougar, I've figured that much out about her. But she gives me a little wink every now and then that makes me glow inside.

Nobody hears or sees the cougar. I bet it's gone away.

On Friday morning when it's my turn to help out in the kitchen, Cook Patsy gives me a hug.

“It's nice to see you looking so happy,” she says. “You and your friends.”

I knew she liked me. But I didn't know how much.

“Thank you,” I say. I always mean it when I say that. I hope she knows how much.

On Friday at lunch Dean Swift comes into the dining room to make an announcement.

“I'm sorry, children,” he says. “Due to the high volume of phone calls from concerned parents regarding the cougar, there will be no fishing today. Instead, we will all enjoy an extra hour of free voluntary reading in our rooms.”

All the Cubs moan and stomp their feet on the sticky floor.

I look out the window. The sky is the blue that makes the cedars so green. The air is cold and the sun is hot. There's enough wind to make your blood skip in your veins.

Nobody's heard that cougar all week. It's either long gone or sound asleep.

Vincent leans forward so he can see both me and Mary Anne. “I'm going fishing,” he says. “Are you two in?”

Don't get me wrong. I love to read.

But I'm with Vincent. Mary Anne takes a second longer.

There's hot wet breath on my elbow. I look down. Sparrow. “Me too,” he says.

I smile and mess up his hair.

“But keep your trap shut about it, okay?” Vincent says.

I shoot him a look. Nobody talks rude to Sparrow. Not even Vincent.

We sneak into the equipment room with the key Dean Swift gave me a few years ago. While I'm looking for a pole for Mary Anne, Sparrow shows Vincent the carving I made on his. Vincent traces his finger over the head of one of the wolves.

He looks up at me and whistles. “Wicked cool. This is some quality work.”

“It's not done yet,” I say. “I'm going to paint it, but I have to read a little bit more to make sure I do the colors right.”

“It looks good to me,” Vincent says.

“Dean Swift says there are rules about where you put which colors in Native American art,” I explain. “It has to be authentic.” I'm talking a lot. They all look at me with big eyes.

Sparrow pulls on the pole to take it back, but Vincent holds on to it a minute more.

“Will you make one exactly like it for me?” he asks when he finally lets Sparrow take it.

“No,” I say.

Vincent opens his mouth like he can't believe it.

I try to explain. “I only make a pole once. It takes a long time to figure out the right carving for the right boy. The wood tells me what it wants to become.”

Vincent raises an eyebrow. He's about to call me a weirdo. But instead he just nods.

I glance at Mary Anne. I can tell she likes something I said.

Now if I could just figure out which words, I'd say them again.

It's easy to sneak out the window in Sparrow's room, since it's on the ground floor. After the first bend in the road, nobody can see us from the school, so we slow down and relax.

Vincent has a big surprise for us when we get to the picnic table. “Look,” he says, and opens up his backpack. “Candy feast.”

Sour watermelons, candy necklaces, bouncy balls, tattoos—it's all my favorite stuff. There's enough loot for twenty kids. Mary Anne and I look at each other. We're thinking the same thing. We're thinking this is what you get when you gut a lion piñata to make room for fireworks and other incendiary devices.

“And I saved us some sparklers,” he says.

Sparrow is jumping up and down. Mary Anne and I say thank you. Vincent shrugs.

Something tells me Vincent is trying to say he's sorry for almost getting us killed, but without actually saying it.

Mary Anne does a sparkler dance. Sparrow shows us some survival tricks you can do with bubble gum, pee, and some string. Vincent sticks a tattoo on his forehead.

Sparrow polishes off four packets of Pop Rocks and ten candy rings before we even notice him lying under the table singing a weird little song.

It's the best time I've ever had at the lake, even though the fish won't bite. In the end, Sparrow is the only one who catches something big enough to keep.

“It's my lucky pole,” Sparrow says as I unhook the beautiful trout.

I get a glimpse of Vincent's face when Sparrow says that. He looks the way you look when the lunch lady gives the piece of pie you've been eyeing the whole time you're in line to the kid in front of you. Jealous.

It makes me feel bad and happy at the same time. I don't want Vincent upset. But I know all about jealousy. You only get it for the good stuff.

All of a sudden it starts to rain so hard, the ground turns to mud in seconds. With every gust of wind, the trees shake water down at us along with the sky,
and so we all take off running back to the school.

This time I even outrun Vincent. Must be all the gummy peaches. Halfway up the main road I look back and see him standing where the path meets the road. He's hunched over like he's winded, but when he sees me staring he hollers for me to go on ahead.

“I dropped something,” he yells. “I'm gonna go back and get it!”

His voice sounds funny—like it did when he lied and said White Deer hadn't spoken to him.

But why would Vincent lie to me?

After I change into dry clothes, I notice the recipe box sitting on my bedside table. I can't believe the whole week has gone by.

All my wolf worries hit me like a punch. Is White Wolf all right? What if the cougar
isn't
gone? What if it's out there and I did nothing all week but laugh at Vincent's jokes and think about holding Mary Anne's hand?

I can't watch the other kids leave today. I grab my duffel bag, run downstairs, and tell the dean that my dad got here early. Then I slip back into my room, lock the door, and keep the light off. Nobody will know I never left. After I see Dean Swift drive away, I'll sneak out my window and run to the lighthouse.

I lie on my bed and wait. The curtains are open and the light coming through is gray and wet. I'm mad at
myself. Maybe this is what happened to my dad. Maybe he meant to do the things he was supposed to do but would forget right up until it was too late. I wonder if he has this same heavy dragging feeling when he thinks of me.

Ms. Tern said I was the bravest kid she'd ever seen. But I'm not. I'm a little chicken, afraid of a big cat. Why didn't I go after that cougar again?

I open my mom's recipe box. I flip through the cards. She feels more real to me now. I don't like Tuffman. He's a snoop and a jerk. But he did something nobody else did. He introduced me to my mom before she was my mom. I can't explain it very well. But I know her better now.

It's like what Dean Swift said about the mtDNA. Our family is a secret code, inside of us. I wonder if I'll ever crack the code of why my mom and dad did the things they did.

Most of the cards she wrote in blue ink. But right in the middle of the box there's one written in faded pencil.
Tuna Surprise
. I squint to make out the words. There's no tuna in it. But there are muffins. And coconut.

Nobody puts coconut and muffins in tuna casserole.
Everybody
puts tuna in it, though. My mom had to know when she wrote it that it wasn't right. You can't make that big of a mistake.

I get a tingly feeling.

My thought is typed out and italicized in my mind, just like the chapter title in the code book Cook Patsy gave me.
It's a List Code
.

What if my mom wasn't a terrible cook? What if her recipes are codes?

I grab my clipboard. I clip Tuna Surprise at the top. Then I take the inside of a candy bar wrapper and make a chart. For a list code you use the number in the front to tell you which letter of the ingredient to use. You ignore the measurements.