The Emerald Mask by H. K. Varian Page B

field, but dancing, flying. For Gabriella, it wasn’t a game anymore.
    It was everything.
    And then it all went wrong.
    A sudden pop, like a balloon bursting at a little kid’s birthday party; a swift hiss of air. There was no smooth, seamless arc for the ball; no sail across the clear blue sky. Instead, the ball fell to the ground with a dull thud.
    No one moved.
    It took a few seconds for Gabriella to realize exactly what had happened: Somehow, the ball had burst. But how? she wondered numbly.
    The referee jogged across the field, blowing his whistle. The rest of the players crowded around him as he knelt down to inspect the ball. Even from a distance, Gabriella could see the problem clearly: a gaping, four-inch gash across the soccer ball’s scuffed surface.
    How did that happen? Gabriella mused. As she steppedforward to take a better look, her foot caught in the grass and she nearly tripped. Steadying herself just in time, Gabriella glanced down—and saw a row of sharp claws sticking out of her shoe.
    No, Gabriella thought, her heart pounding with panic. No!
    She’d felt so confident on the field, so in control. But now here she was, her own nahual claws jutting out of her cleats for everyone to see. Thankfully, the rest of the players were focused on the ball.
    But what would happen when they looked up?
    â€œDefective ball,” the referee announced. “Back-up ball in play.”
    I have to get out of this game . One thing was clear to her: that feeling of being in control was nothing but an illusion. A joke.
    After a quick glance at her hands—her fingernails were fine, thankfully—Gabriella jogged toward her coach.
    â€œRivera. What’s up?” he asked.
    â€œI’m sick,” she said breathlessly, staring at the ground, just in case she had nahual eyes. “I’ve gotta sit the rest of this one out.”
    â€œBut—” he began.
    â€œSorry!” Gabriella said in a strangled voice. Then she took off running for the locker room. Gabriella crashed through the doors and locked herself in a bathroom stall, where she closed her eyes and counted backward. When she reached one , she opened her eyes and looked down. The nahual claws were gone. The only traces of them were ten small holes in her cleats.
    Gabriella laughed with relief, the sound echoing strangely off the metal lockers and tile walls. It’s okay, she told herself. You are in control. There’s nothing to worry about. Splash some water on your face, and get back out there.
    Gabriella opened the door, headed for the sinks, and turned on the faucet. She glanced at herself in the mirror.
    Two blazing cat’s eyes stared back.
    No. Gabriella’s heart started pounding. But I counted—and my claws changed—
    So why hadn’t her eyes?
    You’ve got to get control of yourself, Gabriella thought as she gripped the sides of the sink for support. Focus. Focus. Breathe. Ten . . . nine . . .
    But she couldn’t wait. She didn’t have the patience. She opened her eyes.
    Her nahual eyes.
    What if I can’t change them back? Gabriella thought in a panic. What if they stay like this—forever?
    Her thoughts spiraled out of control.
    The rest of her teammates would think—no, they would know —that she was a freak. But that wasn’t all.
    Everyone would know that she was a cheater.
    Because that was the truth, wasn’t it? Somewhere, deep inside, Gabriella had to admit that she’d known all along she was using her nahual powers on the field. Even if she didn’t mean to; even if it had all been subconscious—or even an accident—that didn’t really matter, did it?
    Cheating was cheating, after all.
    And maybe this was the price she would have to pay—halfway transformed, half human, half . . . not. Her shame shining from her eyes, for the whole world to see.
    Her eyes smarting with tears, Gabriella blinked