Part 23 (2/2)

My body is hollow.

The end of rumors about Zach and his death brings another kind of relief. I was sick of people, like Chantal, who'd hardly known Zach, acting as if they'd been best friends. As if his death was her own personal tragedy. Now she's forgotten all about Zach and is all gossip about Erin all the time. She's newly best friends with Kayla so she can stay up on juicy Erin gossip. She shakes her head and tsks as she pa.s.ses along each new sc.r.a.p.

Chantal's a hypocrite and every bit as big a liar as I am.

It makes me want to tear out her throat. How can anyone forget about Zach so easily?

But at least he's more mine now. Mine and Sarah's and Tayshawn's.

Though it's me who has to avenge him.

LIE NUMBER FIVE.

I don't have a brother. I made Jordan up.

What did you think? That after having me, the wolf girl, my parents would risk a second child? A second freak? Two cages in the already overcrowded apartment? Even if the kid wasn't wolfish how would you keep it from blabbing about its monster for a sister?

Not likely, is it?

Good-bye, Jordan. Imaginary or not, he sucked. Vile, sticky-fingered, foulmouthed, nasty, smelly brother.

But you want to know why, don't you?

Why did I lie about having a brother?

I wanted to see if I could do it: invent a person. Make them believable. Real. Whole. I wanted to see if you would buy it. And you did.

You buy everything, don't you?

You make it too easy.

BEFORE.

I found Zach high up a tree in the North Woods in Central Park, not near any of the paths. The tree had wide, thick branches and plenty of leaf cover. He did a good job of keeping still. I couldn't hear or see him, but his scent gave him away. It was everywhere.

The branches started a few feet above my head. Zach was using his height against me. He is-he was-over six foot four. I'm not. He could jump and touch the lowest branches. Not me.

I prowled around the tree, quiet. I couldn't feel the telltale p.r.i.c.kles of someone looking at me. Zach was high up. Maybe he'd fallen asleep. It happened. He trained so hard, worked such long hours keeping up with homework that he was often coasting on two or three hours of sleep a day. I'd seen him fall asleep in cla.s.ses, at lunch. Sometimes when we ran together he'd be close to falling asleep on his feet. If he'd gone for a ball scholars.h.i.+p he could've gotten the sleep he needed, but he wanted a full ride courtesy of his brains.

Zach wasn't crazy.

He'd seen what a sports scholars.h.i.+p can do to you. He'd seen what happened to his brother. Shredded knees and back leaving him too crippled to even walk right. No pro career for him, but his grades were only so-so, and he'd never figured out anything else he wanted to do.

Zach wanted options.

The trunk wasn't that wide. I spread my arms around it and slipped my shoes off, gripping with the soles of my feet. I was going to climb it like a coconut tree.

It was harder than it looked, but I was strong and didn't care about cutting up my hands and feet.

”Hey, there,” Zach said, leaning down from halfway up the tree. I'd reached the first branch. ”Want a hand?”

”Nope.” I grabbed the branch over my head and hauled myself up to straddle it with my legs. Wolves might not be wild about climbing, but I like it fine.

”Well done, shorty.”

”Thanks.” I wiped my hands on my pants. ”Told you I'd find you.”

”You did. You are a superhero.” He climbed down to my level. ”Strong and brave with magical tracking skills. I'll never doubt you again.” He was grinning to undermine his words, but he meant them. ”How'd you do that?”

”Do what?” I asked, playing dumb. ”Climb the tree?”

He snorted. ”Find me, stupid. The park's I-don't-know-how-big. Must be thousands of trees. You can't have seen me from down there. It's not possible . . .” He stopped, leaning in, looking at me closely.

I could see the pores of his skin, tiny hairs, a few blackheads nestled against his nose.

”You're not like anyone else. What are you?”

That could have been the moment. I could have told him. I almost had a few weeks before, but, well . . . we were distracted before I could get the words out.

”There's something, isn't there?” Zach said.

What would have happened if I'd told him? Would he have laughed?

I ran my fingers over his cheek, over the light stubble.

”Tell me, Micah.”

Instead I leaned forward, kissed the tip of his nose, and then his mouth. We made out, tentative and cautious, because we were up a tree, and gravity isn't kind.

When we climbed down it was getting dark.

”Run home with me?” he said. I did. More than a hundred blocks side by side, backpacks bouncing. We'd done it before. I figured we'd do it again.

We didn't.

Outside his building we stopped. Zach wiped sweat from his forehead, his upper lip. We kissed again.

”Tomorrow,” he said.

I nodded.

”Will you tell me then?”

”Maybe.”

He laughed.

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