Part 33 (1/2)

For five years I lived a shadow life with shadow parents and never knew the difference.

Except that I did.

I just couldn't admit it to myself.

But they never admitted it either. They abandoned me.

Who's the bigger liar?

Me or them?

Isn't lying about love the worst lie? Isn't that worse than anything I've ever done?

HISTORY OF ME.

I've told you all the important moments between me and Zach. All the memories I go over again and again and again.

I fear I will wear them out. Break them by thinking of them too long and too often. But maybe doing so is what keeps them fresh and alive.

That first day in the park when he came up and kissed me out of nowhere . . . Me, who he'd never looked at before. Why did he choose me? How'd he know we'd be good together?

Did he know?

Or did he kiss all the girls? Like the princess kissing all those frogs. I was the frog. He made me into a real girl. A human girl.

When I was with him I wasn't a frog, wasn't a wolf. I was me. Micah.

I worry that I will forget Zach. Forget his face. Forget the feel of his lips against mine. His hands on my skin. The feel of us naked and wrapped around each other.

Forget what it was like running by his side, matching strides, breaths, heartbeats.

I'm alive.

He's dead.

He'll always be dead.

I think about joining him.

But I can't.

The wolf inside won't let me. It wants to live. Even without him.

AFTER.

Lurking outside the school waiting for Yayeko Shoji to leave is not as great a plan as I thought. There's not much cover and I don't want anyone but Yayeko to see me.

I narrowly avoid Brandon spotting me. He slouches out of school with a backpack over one shoulder. Alone, of course. The scowl on his face has spread to the rest of his body. He looks up, and for a moment I think he sees me, across the street, crouched behind a car. Why didn't Pete kill Brandon instead of Zach? But then Brandon turns his gaze back to his feet where it belongs.

I should have disguised myself. Gotten a wig or something. Mom has one. I should have grabbed it along with my DNA result.

I finally opened it. The proof I need. It says the blood I sent in isn't human. Yayeko watched us take blood samples, seal them, and she sent them. She'll understand what the test means: I'm not human.

If I knew where Yayeko lived, I wouldn't have to wait outside school. But she's not listed.

I watch Tayshawn come down the steps, basketball in his hands. He's heading for the court down the block, Will at his heels. I am tempted to join them. Tayshawn wouldn't mind and Will does what Tayshawn says. But I don't, because, well, what would I say?

By four o'clock no more students drift down the front steps, just teachers. A bit before five Yayeko Shoji, lugging a shopping bag overloaded with papers and a heavy backpack, takes the steps. I wonder if the papers are the ones we did on plant systems. I handed mine in last Friday.

I follow her from across the street until she turns onto West Broadway, then I scamper over.

”Yayeko,” I say.

She turns and almost drops the shopping bag in her surprise.

”Micah!”

”It's me,” I say.

”But your leg. Your face. You're alright!” She puts the bag down.

”Why wouldn't I be?”

”Your parents said there'd been an accident. They said your leg was broken in ten places, your face a mess. I tried to find out which hospital, but they didn't get back to me.”

”They won't.” I can imagine Dad going into details about the accident, easy for him to imagine since that's what he wishes had happened. I wonder if he mustered a tear, let his voice break to be more convincing.

My eyes sting. I am not going to cry in front of Yayeko. ”There wasn't any accident. My parents threw me out.”

”Threw you out?” Yayeko says. The shock widens her eyes. ”But your parents seem so nice.”

”Yes. No. It's a long story. Can I tell it to you?” I say, trying not to sound as desperate as I feel. ”Do you have time now, I mean?”

”Where are you staying?” Yayeko asks.

”Nowhere. They threw me out. There's nowhere else for me to stay.” I realize how pathetic this sounds. I don't want to beg, but that's what I'm doing. ”I don't have any money.”

”They didn't give you any?”

I shake my head. They hadn't. I searched the suitcase thoroughly, but there was nothing.

Yayeko looks at me closely. She's weighing her options. I'm realizing just what a big deal it is I'm asking for. I have always been her favorite student, but is that enough for her to let me into her life? It could be nothing but trouble. It will be. I concentrate on not crying.

”Yes,” she says at last. ”But only until we can find somewhere better. Okay?”

I nod, pick up her shopping bag. I try to say thank you even though those words are nowhere near as strong as I need them to be. I'm quiet for a while. I have to wait until the tears stop threatening to leak out. When I can speak, my thank you is so quiet Yayeko doesn't hear.

AFTER.

Yayeko Shoji's apartment is a six-story walk-up in Queens. Like mine, or, rather, like my parents'. But her apartment is bigger, nicer, too. More rooms, and the kitchen/living room is big enough for a couch and two comfy chairs and a big table with no bicycles suspended above it. Yayeko lives with her daughter and her mother, neither of whom are home. Her daughter plays basketball and is at practice. Her mother is a lawyer who works late.