Shifting. Part 11

I started the gliding sprint toward home and arrived long before I was ready to stop running. The desert night called to me, begging to be explored, but exhaustion clawed at my muscles and hunger gnawed my feline belly. If I kept running, I would find a wild animal to track and eat, raw and b.l.o.o.d.y and still alive as my teeth tore into it. The thought made me queasy. It was definitely time to change back.

The transition from big cat to human was so easy, I lost my balance and fell to my knees on the front porch. Not bothering to get dressed, I got my clothes from the swing, unlocked the door, and stumbled inside.

13.

Over the course of that week, I discovered three things.

First, it was better being invisible than the main attraction at school. Everywhere I went, girls whispered about me behind their hands and boys whistled and leered. The male half of the freshman cla.s.s thought I was something pretty special, daring each other to ask me for my panties, or out on a date, or standing as close to me as they dared while someone covertly snapped our picture with a cell phone.

Second, Bridger O'Connell treated me like we were perfect strangers, like I'd asked. And it was miserable.

Third, I could change into almost anything.

By the time Friday rolled around eleven different boys had asked me if they could have a pair of my panties. Seriously, even if I'd had a pair or two to spare, there was no way they'd be getting them.

I went directly to work after school, so by the time I walked out of the Navajo Mexican, I was dead on my feet and aching to get home fast so I could fall into bed until noon the next morning. The last table I'd waited on was a group of cowboys wearing sweat-stained cowboy hats who'd talked nonstop about their horses. Horses were fast.

Behind a screen of scrawny bushes that grew in front of a bank, I stripped down to my birthday suit and thought of a beautiful black horse-black to blend with the night. I told my body to change, felt my long hair start to grow longer, my front teeth lengthen ... then I hit a brick wall, metaphorically speaking. Nothing else changed. With my tongue, I prodded my very horsey teeth. My fingers trailed through my new waist-length hair. The change had definitely started.

I tried to change into a horse again, forcing my feet into heavy, rock-hard hooves, even though they didn't want to change. Again, I got stuck. I thought myself out of horse shape, back to me, but my hooves did not turn into the soft human feet I was born with. And my teeth didn't shrink back to normal, or my hair-as if I'd tried so hard to s.h.i.+ft, I was stuck that way permanently.

I forced myself not to freak out and started getting dressed. But when I tried to shove my hooves into my jeans, they got stuck.

"You've got to be kidding me." I whistled through my horse teeth.

I slung my jeans and useless tennis shoes over my shoulder and clopped along the road, praying no one would stop to offer me a ride. I couldn't have explained walking home with hooves. Or wearing nothing but a T-s.h.i.+rt and panties while carrying a perfectly good pair of pants. Where were the freshman boys with their cell phone cameras now?

Finally, I reached Mrs. Carpenter's house. My hooves echoed like thunder on the front porch. Inside, I stomped to my bedroom as fast as I could. My feet shook the whole house-you can't tiptoe with hooves. I worried Mrs. Carpenter would wake up and investigate. But she didn't.

I didn't bother showering; I was too upset. And besides, I didn't know how stable horse hooves would be on the shower floor. Instead, I stared at my face in the dresser mirror for hours, watching my buckteeth slowly, millimeter by millimeter, shrink back to their normal size. My hooves grew into regular human feet again, too. And by the time sunlight was squeezing into my bedroom window, my hair was its normal length, halfway down my back.

Mrs. Carpenter went to church on Sunday while I slept in, still exhausted from the horse incident. After church she planned on doing service at a soup kitchen by feeding the homeless, so I had the house to myself all day. I folded laundry. Did homework. Worked in the garden. Cleaned the bathroom. The day wasn't half over, and I was stuck in a house with no TV, no computer, and a bookcase filled with western romance novels older than me.

I lay on my bed and stared at the ceiling, listening to the lazy tick of a clock, and fell asleep.

I jumped awake, pulse hammering, as if someone were standing over me, breathing on my face. The cot groaned beneath me as I struggled to sit. My room was nearly dark, the only light a pale evening glow squeezing into my room through the closed blinds. And the room was empty.

"h.e.l.lo? Mrs. Carpenter?" I called out. The ticking clock was my only answer. I pulled the purple quilt under my chin and wondered what had woken me-until I heard the hoa.r.s.e, raspy howl of a hound.

"Duke?" I whispered. As if they'd heard me, Duke and Shash started barking b.l.o.o.d.y murder, like there was a fox in the barn. And I was the only one here to chase it out.

I scrambled up off the cot and jammed my feet into shoes, then ran through the shadowy house and out the unlocked front door. But when I got out into the long-shadowed evening, I realized my mistake. It wasn't Duke and Shash barking-the barn was silent. The noise was coming from the woods that surrounded Mrs. Carpenter's property.

I stood frozen in her driveway, listening. Evening wind ruffled through my hair and danced through the pine boughs, and the barking stopped. And then, as if my animal instincts tapped momentarily into my human brain, I understood what was happening. The dogs that had attacked me were trying to track my scent. And they were close.

Without warning, the howling and yapping started up again, lots of dogs this time instead of two, the noise coming from all directions. The wind had carried my scent to them.

Duke and Shash started barking and scratching at the barn doors. A light shone on me, followed by the sound of something approaching on the gravel drive. I whirled around, certain I was about to be eaten.

Mrs. Carpenter's baby-blue truck crawled along the driveway. She parked it and shut off the lights.

"Maggie Mae, how are you, dear?" she asked, climbing from the truck. Her feet crunched on gravel, the only sound left in the darkening evening. "Maggie?"

"We've got to get inside," I said, my voice trembling. I steered Mrs. Carpenter to the front door and bolted it behind us.

"Is everything all right?" Mrs. Carpenter asked, her eyes wide.

"Yeah. I mean no-I don't want you to catch a chill. It's a bit windy out there." I glanced out the front window. "Have you heard anything from animal control?"

"Nothing new," she said, frowning. "But I'll call them tomorrow morning if you'd like. Have you had dinner yet? I'm famished."

I shook my head. But I had no appet.i.te.

Due to a sleepless night, with Duke and Shash restless in the barn and barking half the night, I pa.s.sed Monday morning in a groggy daze. Students watched me, but their whispers didn't register. Only cobwebs filled my brain. By lunchtime I could hardly keep my eyes open. Instead of sitting with Yana, I wandered outside to the rear courtyard and sighed, for the sun's warmth seemed to soak into my skin and make it impossible to keep my eyes open. I took ten steps and lay down in the sunny gra.s.s.

Like a reptile, I curled up and fell asleep.

I mentioned before that I am not usually a deep sleeper. But I slept like a rock on that gra.s.s. It wasn't until a shadow blocked the sun that I jerked back to consciousness, flinging my arms in front of my face, expecting to smell dog breath and feel fangs.

"Are you all right, dear?" a white-haired man asked, staring at me and holding a rake.

I slowly eased my arms down from my face. "Just taking a nap," I explained, blinking sleep from my eyes.

"A nap during cla.s.s?"

Cla.s.s? It wasn't still lunchtime? I looked around the courtyard and felt embarra.s.sment creep through me. Beneath one of the farthest trees sat a spectator.

"Um ... thanks for waking me," I said to the groundskeeper. I walked toward a shady circle of gra.s.s and sat down, then peered toward the farthest tree to see if I had been forgotten. He was still staring right at me. Well, two could play the staring game.

He sat perfectly still in the shade of the tree. His skin looked unnaturally white against his midnight hair. And even though he'd ditched me at prom, it didn't hurt to look at him. Seriously, he was a visual feast. Pure eye candy.

He raised his dark eyebrows. I felt my cheeks start to flush, so I looked at my watch.

"Dude!" I blurted, shocked. It was almost one thirty, way past the end of lunch. I had been asleep a long time. I stood and started walking toward the school, making a point not to glance at Bridger again. Behind me I heard a shoe scuff cement and then someone fell into step beside me. My heart started to flutter. I knew if I looked up I would be gazing into a pair of black eyes.

Don't get attached, I thought.

"What I don't get is why Danni's so convinced you're a prost.i.tute."

Of all the conversation starters, he would have to pick that one. I stopped walking and looked at him with a smirk, ready to brush him off, but my heart lurched and stuttered. Standing so close, I realized how much I had missed his friends.h.i.+p. I glared into his eyes, eyes so dark a shade of gray, his pupils got lost. A smile danced across his face and I realized I was staring at him again. I blinked and cleared my throat, trying to remember what he had asked me. Oh, yeah-prost.i.tute.

"Well, it's a long story," I said sarcastically. A warm breeze blew my hair across my face and I breathed in the smell of Bridger O'Connell. I took a second deep breath and fought the urge to close my eyes. He smelled ... wonderful, like clean clothes and soap and joy.

Don't get attached!

I took a step backward. He was cramping my personal s.p.a.ce and making it impossible to think.

He took a step forward and leaned toward me. "I could use a good story," he said, grinning. My heart started to patter, like rain hitting a window.

"I never said it was a good story," I corrected.

"So, it's a bad story? Even better."

"It's not a bad story, either. I'm not like that, Bridger. Look, I have to get to cla.s.s," I snapped, turning toward the door. He walked beside me and our fingers touched. I tucked my hands into my pockets.

"I'm really sorry about prom, Maggie. Is there any way I can make it up to you? Any way you can forgive me?" he asked.

I paused and looked at him again. The way the sun hit his hair made it look as s.h.i.+ny and black as a crow's feathers, but there were hints of gold in it, too. He raised his black eyebrows and I realized I was gawking at him. Again.

"Well?" he prodded, the smile gone from his face.

Well what? I wondered, tearing my gaze away from his. "Oh. Yeah. Whatever. You're forgiven." I bit my tongue and groaned inwardly. Had I seriously just forgiven him?

"So, we're friends again?" The breeze was back, stirring the scent of Bridger into the air and blowing my hair into my eyes. He brushed my hair from my forehead and tucked it behind my ear. I had to fight the desire to press my cheek against his hand.

Don't get attached! I mentally screamed.

I shrugged and pushed the door open. He didn't follow me into the school.

14.

You would think that after the horse incident I would stop experimenting. But obviously I hadn't learned my lesson.

It started because of my skin. New Mexico is dry-the air, the ground, everything. Including my skin. It was dry to the point of looking a little scaly, and when I looked at my skin, I could almost feel the forked tongue fluttering against my teeth. So I thought, Why not turn into a snake? I have an hour to kill before work.

I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, closed my eyes, and imagined sleek, green, pearly scales instead of skin, a forked tongue, and eyes with long, narrow pupils. Then I tried, very gently, to change.

My tongue thinned and split, darting out between my smiling lips. My skin changed next, turning from dry and semi-pale to metallic green scales that s.h.i.+mmered in layers of thin, translucent disks. I leaned closer to the mirror and studied my eyes, waiting for them to change, too.

They didn't. I was stuck. Again.

"c.r.a.p!" I hissed through gritted teeth, fervently trying to change back into myself. I glared at the freaky scales covering my entire body and tried to visually force them back beneath the surface. They didn't budge. At closer inspection, I realized the problem might be washed away-I was coated in a silky powder, as if the scales were slowly deteriorating into a fine, pearly dust. It floated off me in s.h.i.+mmering clouds and drifted down to the floor.

I stripped and got into the shower.

With half a container of body wash squeezed onto a washcloth I vigorously began scrubbing. Milky white water dripped from me, water that reflected the bathroom light in translucent rainbow colors, like motor oil in a parking lot puddle.

After scrubbing my body at least eight times, my skin looked halfway normal and the slit in my tongue was substantially smaller.

I toweled off and groaned as puffs of opalescent dust wafted from my skin. A bottle of lotion would have been ideal, cementing the powder to me. Unfortunately, I didn't have any; otherwise I never would have gotten into this mess in the first place. I tried applying a thin layer of conditioner to my skin-bad idea-and got back into the shower.

Five minutes later, I got my black T-s.h.i.+rt from the bedroom floor and pulled it over my wet hair. "No!" I groaned, looking at my reflection in the mirror. My s.h.i.+rt was no longer black. It sparkled and gleamed dark bluish silver. Even the A on the front looked rosy pink instead of scarlet. I rolled my eyes. I was such an idiot!

I pulled a brush through my wet hair and slicked it into a high ponytail, grabbed my house key, and went to the living room.

"You ready to go?" Mrs. Carpenter asked, peering over the top of a romance novel. Her eyes grew wide and she closed the novel. "What in heaven have you done to yourself?"

I took a deep breath. "Don't ask," I grumbled, the s in ask coming out in a hiss. Her eyes moved over my entire body and she started laughing.

"Maggie Mae, you have a knack for finding trouble," she said, standing.

"I sure do." I followed her out the front door.

The afternoon sun gleamed, making the snake-scale residue glow in shades of rose, baby blue, and gra.s.s green.

"You are such an idiot!" I whispered.

Mrs. Carpenter peered at me over her shoulder. "Did you say something?"

I shook my head and was blinded by my own glow. And that is when my toe caught on a k.n.o.bby tree root and I crashed to the ground in a giant cloud of snake-scale dust. I sneezed once and climbed back to my feet.

"Maggie Mae!" Mrs. Carpenter clasped my elbow. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine," I muttered. My palms stung and my knees felt bruised. I looked down at my jeans and groaned. This really wasn't my day. My jeans, the only hole-free pair I owned, now had tears over both of my sc.r.a.ped, b.l.o.o.d.y knees, and, yes, even the blood oozing from the shallow sc.r.a.pes s.h.i.+mmered like gold. Brus.h.i.+ng myself off, I climbed into the truck.

As we drove through town, Mrs. Carpenter kept glancing at me from the corner of her eye and laughing under her breath.

"You don't mind if I drop you off across the street from the restaurant, do you? It's hard to make a U-turn in rush-hour traffic."

I peered out the window at the busy road. "No problem." Mrs. Carpenter pulled to the side of the road. "Have a nice night," she called as I climbed from the truck.

I smiled and shut the door, watched her merge with traffic, then walked half a block to the crosswalk and waited for the light to change.

Every single person on that city block stopped what they were doing and pointed at me. Their scrutiny made me sweat, and, with that sweat, dust seeped out of my pores. The sun magnified the effect, giving me a full-body halo. Cars slowed and people rolled down their windows to stare. I pulled my hair out of its ponytail and let it hang around my face, s.h.i.+elding my ident.i.ty from view.

The light changed. I kept my head down and crossed to the other side of the street. And plowed into Yana.

"Maggie Mae!" she blurted. She clutched my shoulders and shoved me into the cramped s.p.a.ce between two buildings, staring at me with wide brown eyes. Scared eyes.

"It's only glitter dust," I began to explain self-consciously, brus.h.i.+ng my arm for effect, but she didn't notice.

"Someone's looking for you again," she said, peering toward the road. "A stranger-same guy that I called you about. He's sitting in a Cadillac parked in front of the restaurant. He's been there all afternoon ... waiting. Naalyehe is nervous."