“Why would I ask you that?!”I’m shouting again.“That is not a normal question!”
“Sweetheart, you know I’m all for dramatics, but I really think you’re overreacting.”
That’s the final push.There is a precarious balance between horrified disbelief and manic hilarity.My mom has always been a master at upsetting my scales.
I laugh.
I laugh as if I were dying and this was my last chance to find something hysterical.I laugh to the point of tears and gasping.I laugh because I can’t contain the unfathomably absurd love I have for my outrageous mother.
She’s too ridiculous to stay mad at.
So, I laugh.
The phone slips out of my hand at some point, probably when I curl into the fetal position to keep my ab muscles from cramping.The device lies on the tree house’s floor, a foot from my head, and I can hear my mother’s voice calling out from the speaker.
“Zoey?Sweetheart, are you still there?”
I reach for the phone, pressing it to my ear.“Yeah, Mom.I’m here.”
“And you swear you’re not hurt?”
“Werewolf saved the day, like I said.”
And now, I’m thinking about Warner coming to my rescue.
Right after he stripped down to his briefs.Guess that last bit of fabric tore off like Hulk’s shirt when Warner shifted.
The replay of the fight flashes through my mind, and my humor fades at the memory of claws and teeth and blood.
I’m not hurt.Not really.But he was sporting some major lacerations.
And what about infection?
Can werewolves get sick?Can they catch rabies?
I open my mouth to ask my mom, but then slowly close it.For some reason, getting intel from her almost seems wrong.
If I want to learn about werewolves, I should go straight to the source.
That is, if he’ll forgive me for treating him like a pariah after he saved my life.
“Well, you were lucky one of the pack was nearby.They tend to only hang around their own kind.”
That spikes my curiosity, but I’ve already made my decision about who to bring my questions to.Maybe if Warner refuses to talk to me, I’ll reconsider pumping my mom for info.
But right now, I have some groveling to do.
“I know.I was lucky.I’m sorry, but I have to let you go, Mom.I need to meet up with someone.”
“Wait …” She pauses for a stretch.“How are you feeling?”Mom clears her throat.“There, I mean.You’re … okay?”
Her hesitation speaks to how worried she is for my mental well-being.
I don’t see a point in rehashing the last few days of my shocked zombie state, so I give her the current truth.“I’m fine.This is helpful, I think.Being on my own for a bit.”
“Oh, okay.Well, I miss you.”
“You already said that.”I smile.
