Wicked Hungry by Teddy Jacobs

happening to me, but one thing is clear.
    Gary should have stayed in the gym.
    “Just an accident, right, Stanley?”
    How can he use the word “just” together with “an accident?” The pills gave me a second chance to run. Would I get a third one?
    That’s when it happens. My teeth, loose already, fall out of my gums, filling my mouth. I spit them out onto the floor with a gasp, my mouth full of blood.
    But that’s not all. Great pain rips through my shoulders, my legs. My skin itches all over like I’m covered with sores that are about to burst. I feel this terrible pain in my feet, like my shoes are suddenly way too small. There’s a ripping sound and I flex my toes.
    “What the—” Gary gasps.
    I turn around, ready to punch Frumberg, all one hundred and eighty pounds of him.
    But he is nowhere to be seen. He’s flown the coop. The room is empty.
    What the hell is going on? I turn and look at the mirror on the wall.
    My face is covered with hair. My mouth is full of sharp teeth. My whole body is covered with dark, coarse hair. Dark, coarse fur.
    This can’t be happening.
    But somehow it is. And the pain just makes me want to tear the room apart.
    My gym shorts are ripping, my shirt is tearing, and I want to do nothing else to drop to all fours and run out and find Gary. Rip his fricking head off.
    Something tells me that’s not a good idea.
    I let my fists relax and look down. There are torn gym shoes next to my...feet?
    They look more like monstrous paws. I look down at my hands. They still itch and I feel the need to hit something.
    I walk gingerly and awkwardly on my hind feet into the shower. The plan is to grab the shower handle and turn it, but my paws bend it instead, almost ripping it off. My claws rake the shower wall in anger and there is a loud crash. The tile is scratched and cracked.
    Oh shit. What have I done now?
    I need to calm down or soon the whole school will be in here, with our assistant principal calling on his radio for backup.
    I reach out a paw again, gingerly, and try to turn the knob.
    Cold water sprays out on me. My left hand is still clenched into a clawed fist.
    I let it loose, let the water run over my fur, calming the hot blood that flows through my veins.
    “Stanley?” someone calls.
    My skin, my bones, my body shrinks and twists. I want to black out, but I stay standing. The water turns warm and I realize maybe it never was cold. My blood was just that hot.
    I look down and I’m naked.
    But human.
    The fur is gone.
    Talk about one crazy psychotic episode.
    But I look at the wall, and there are the cracks in the tile next to the bent faucet.
    “Stanley Hoff?” someone is calling again.
    “I’ll be right there!” I call out in a panic.
    There’s a cart full of towels next to the shower and I cover myself.
    I reach up my hand to my face, but where is the blood? Where’s my split lip? Did I imagine that, too?
    My face doesn’t even hurt.
    My clothes and shoes, though, are wrecked.
    Somehow it was real.
    I am a monster.
    But I’m also a boy.
    A boy who’s about to be in a lot of trouble if he doesn’t think quickly.
    I gather up my torn shoes and my torn shirt and grab a towel and throw everything else into a pile at the bottom of my locker.
    Good thing I have a second pair of shoes.
    “Stanley?”
    I turn around.
    Gary Frumberg is staring at me. His face has gone white.
    “What happened to you?” he asks.
    “What do you mean?”
    As freaked as I am, it’s still nice to see the smile wiped off of his face.
    Somehow I doubt that Gary Frumberg will intentionally piss me off again. Ever.
    “You played some fricking trick on me. And now you’re smiling at me like nothing happened. What are you playing at, Stanley?”
    “Nothing,” I say honestly. “I’m not playing at anything.”
    “I’m going to find Coach,” Frumberg says.
    He stumbles out of the room as I start getting dressed.
    Suddenly all I can think of is that my mother can’t know. She’d go