the tension. “But I’m still driving.”
He laughed and
nodded, and as we walked out of the creepy graveyard, the gray headstones
staring us down, I felt a small sense of relief.
Back at the house, Mac put on the tea kettle and we sat
around in the living room around the old, beat-up coffee table that they had
bought from Goodwill a few years ago. I curled up on the couch next to Trent,
trying to feel calm and casual while I watched Brandon shake his leg nervously,
his eyes flitting around the room. Allison looked unhappy, but she kept still
and quiet. She was an unusually stoic girl, with long blonde curls and thin
lips that seemed to be perpetually glued together.
“Here we are.” Mac broke the silence with a silver tray
balanced on his right hand, a kettle, sugar bowl and several mismatched mugs on
it, the tags of the tea bags hanging down the sides of the brightly colored ceramic.
“They only have Earl Grey,” Mac said, shaking his head as he
placed the tray down on the coffee table. It was pretty amusing, seeing such a
buff, rugged man like him placing down such homey, domestic things. I couldn’t
help but smile—I appreciated his uniqueness.
He sat down in the chair directly across from us, between
Allison and Brandon. “Well, help yourselves,” he smiled kindly, a sadness still
twinkling in his blue eyes. “I don’t care for tea myself.”
“Thanks,” I cleared my throat as I leaned over to pour
myself a cup. Trent and Brandon followed suit. Allison didn’t stir.
“So, that woman…” I said once we settled with our mugs of
piping hot tea. “How did she know my name? Or Brandon’s, for that matter?”
Mac grimaced. “Do you want to explain this one, Brandon?”
“Not really,” Brandon sighed, blowing on his tea. “But I
will. I met Lark way back when I started middle school. She was one of the
older chicks who would hang around the rock venues. I thought…I thought she was
super cool,” he admitted, looking down into his mug. “I mean, I was really
impressionable then, so it’s hard to blame me. But yeah, she’d talk to me,
throw me a bone and stuff. Then one night…” he took a sharp breath, and I could
feel Trent tense next to me.
“One night, I was hanging out after a show by myself, like
an idiot kid, waiting for her to bum me a cigarette. And she came with a
werewolf friend of hers. They took me behind an alley and…well, you know.” He
finished quietly. I could hear the fear and hurt in his voice, like the trauma
had scarred him, and still ran deep within him.
No one spoke for a minute. I looked down into my tawny
colored tea, and finding it unappetizing, took a hesitant sip. I could hardly
feel the hot liquid running down my throat—instead I was imagining a young,
middle school Brandon being attacked by a wolf in an alley. It just wasn’t
fair, and while I knew that life wasn’t fair, that it couldn’t be, I couldn’t
help but be absolutely horrified by it.
“Is she a wolf?” I asked.
“No,” Brandon replied. “Her friend was the wolf. She’s a
vampire.”
“So…” I processed the bizarre information, “she could have
sucked your blood, but instead had someone else attack you?”
“Yeah…” Brandon looked up at me, resentment on his normally
gleeful face. He wanted revenge—it was palpable. “She’s twisted. For her
drinking someone’s blood isn’t nearly as pleasurable as watching someone’s life
be destroyed. For her, it was just as interesting to see a thirteen-year-old
get beat up as it was to imagine the possibility that I would live and be
cursed with this.”
The bitterness in his voice took me by surprise. For some
reason, I guess because it seemed (with the exception of Trent and Lola’s
drama) that they were pretty well-adjusted to being werewolves. I had forgotten
that this was a curse.
And I suddenly became hyper-aware that I was a part of it.
‘ No wonder Trent feels
so guilty ,’ I thought.
“The big
He laughed and
nodded, and as we walked out of the creepy graveyard, the gray headstones
staring us down, I felt a small sense of relief.
Back at the house, Mac put on the tea kettle and we sat
around in the living room around the old, beat-up coffee table that they had
bought from Goodwill a few years ago. I curled up on the couch next to Trent,
trying to feel calm and casual while I watched Brandon shake his leg nervously,
his eyes flitting around the room. Allison looked unhappy, but she kept still
and quiet. She was an unusually stoic girl, with long blonde curls and thin
lips that seemed to be perpetually glued together.
“Here we are.” Mac broke the silence with a silver tray
balanced on his right hand, a kettle, sugar bowl and several mismatched mugs on
it, the tags of the tea bags hanging down the sides of the brightly colored ceramic.
“They only have Earl Grey,” Mac said, shaking his head as he
placed the tray down on the coffee table. It was pretty amusing, seeing such a
buff, rugged man like him placing down such homey, domestic things. I couldn’t
help but smile—I appreciated his uniqueness.
He sat down in the chair directly across from us, between
Allison and Brandon. “Well, help yourselves,” he smiled kindly, a sadness still
twinkling in his blue eyes. “I don’t care for tea myself.”
“Thanks,” I cleared my throat as I leaned over to pour
myself a cup. Trent and Brandon followed suit. Allison didn’t stir.
“So, that woman…” I said once we settled with our mugs of
piping hot tea. “How did she know my name? Or Brandon’s, for that matter?”
Mac grimaced. “Do you want to explain this one, Brandon?”
“Not really,” Brandon sighed, blowing on his tea. “But I
will. I met Lark way back when I started middle school. She was one of the
older chicks who would hang around the rock venues. I thought…I thought she was
super cool,” he admitted, looking down into his mug. “I mean, I was really
impressionable then, so it’s hard to blame me. But yeah, she’d talk to me,
throw me a bone and stuff. Then one night…” he took a sharp breath, and I could
feel Trent tense next to me.
“One night, I was hanging out after a show by myself, like
an idiot kid, waiting for her to bum me a cigarette. And she came with a
werewolf friend of hers. They took me behind an alley and…well, you know.” He
finished quietly. I could hear the fear and hurt in his voice, like the trauma
had scarred him, and still ran deep within him.
No one spoke for a minute. I looked down into my tawny
colored tea, and finding it unappetizing, took a hesitant sip. I could hardly
feel the hot liquid running down my throat—instead I was imagining a young,
middle school Brandon being attacked by a wolf in an alley. It just wasn’t
fair, and while I knew that life wasn’t fair, that it couldn’t be, I couldn’t
help but be absolutely horrified by it.
“Is she a wolf?” I asked.
“No,” Brandon replied. “Her friend was the wolf. She’s a
vampire.”
“So…” I processed the bizarre information, “she could have
sucked your blood, but instead had someone else attack you?”
“Yeah…” Brandon looked up at me, resentment on his normally
gleeful face. He wanted revenge—it was palpable. “She’s twisted. For her
drinking someone’s blood isn’t nearly as pleasurable as watching someone’s life
be destroyed. For her, it was just as interesting to see a thirteen-year-old
get beat up as it was to imagine the possibility that I would live and be
cursed with this.”
The bitterness in his voice took me by surprise. For some
reason, I guess because it seemed (with the exception of Trent and Lola’s
drama) that they were pretty well-adjusted to being werewolves. I had forgotten
that this was a curse.
And I suddenly became hyper-aware that I was a part of it.
‘ No wonder Trent feels
so guilty ,’ I thought.
“The big
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