I’d be lucky to be shipped to the male version of a nunnery.
“If you were a chick?—”
I mimed my hand speaking. “You’d have bent me over the nearest flat surface as you rode my ass off into the sunset. Yeah, I know.”
“Well, you got what most chicks don’t.”
A deep sigh rolled out of me. “It’s very misogynistic to call women ‘chicks’.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I do, and it’s degrading. How you ever get them to let you touch them is beyond me.”
He slid his hand down to his crotch. “The legends of this bad boy keep them coming back for more.”
I rolled my eyes. “You’re a pig. I hope you realize it.”
He smirked. “Oink, baby.”
“Oh my god, you’re disgusting.”
His features softened. “I apologize. I don’t think of women as conquests. I’m always very respectful of the girls I’m with. I talk shit with you because… well, because you’re my best friend.”
“What about the rest of yourcrew?”
He sighed. “They want to be friends because I’ve got the reputation of a stud. They keep asking me for stories of thegirls who they think put out, because they want a shot at them when I move on to the next one. I never tell them anything.” He stared at me so hard, I thought he might bore holes into me. “Why do you think I asked you to go to school with me? You, my man, are my one true friend in this whole shit show school, and I couldn’t ask for a better one. So I need you to know I’m always chill with the women I go with.”
And that was the truth. I’d heard the stories. He’d always take them out for a nice dinner—well, that meant the Applejack diner, which was the nicest place we had in our town—but he paid for the food, then they went dancing at the all-age club, The Funky Fiasco. The owners were refugees from the seventies and were trying to recapture a disco vibe. It kinda worked. Kinda. Still, we flocked there for the cheap sodas, the weird dancing, and a chance to get handsy with a date.
Kip was a gentleman during those outings. He didn’t do more than dance and pay for unlimited sodas, though at times they might order some fries or onion rings if they were splurging. And it obviously worked for him. The girls he dated hung on his every word because, they said, he treated them like a princess.
So sure, he talked a big game, but he was by and large a decent guy who got laid. A lot. I dunno, it could have been my jealousy talking. I didn’t get to go on dates. In fact, I had a pretty strict curfew, so being out late at night was a no go.
Now, about my parents… They were watching out for me. Even if half the town was in the same boat, I was the one who couldn’t control himself. I was always the one who was a threat to others. It was me who would shift if he got worked up.
Yes, I said shift. Yes, I know how that reads
My family and I, along with a bunch of others in town, were werewolves. It was meant to be a guarded secret. And me? I was the threat to it. So no going out at night. In by six. No sports—even though I was an awesome runner, the fastestin the pack—and absolutelynodating. If it wasn’t for Kip talking to them, I doubt I ever would have been allowed to try.
To them it was a major concession I got to hang out with Kip. I guess they were afraid our teen hormones would get the best of us, and we’d tumble into bed together. But as much as I liked Kip, it was as a friend, nothing more. Which I always thought was weird, because he was my ideal of what a man was. Beefy, brawny, hairy, with a deep, rich laugh, dark blue-black eyes that flashed like a storm when something interested him, and a caring, passionate nature—at least judging by the hickeys some girls displayed proudly.
And no, Kip didn’t know what I was, or that werewolves even existed. It was a big no-no for us to let others know what we were. In fact, any time someone saw a wolf, it was a pretty good chance one of us was out for a run. Initially, people had been worried about the slavering beasts stealing their pets or children, but for the most part we were just eager to get home to have the Wednesday Rotisserie Chicken special from Cost Cutters.
Many was the day that I ate second dinner with Kip’s family. They were hilarious. All prim and proper, saying please and thank you. You’d never hear any of them belch at the table without a huge outcry from their parents about manners. My house? Belching was expected, mostly because my parents had long ago given up on making me into a proper young man.
One night I heard my parents whispering to each other, their tones uncertain and filled with what I could only describe as fear.
“What is he going to do?” Mom asked.
“I wish I knew. We lost four other families when they moved out to Los Angeles. Our population is continuing to decline, and even letting the humans in hasn’t helped to stabilize it.
I knew things were bad. All we had to do was look aroundtown and see. A couple of businesses had shuttered operations, and storefronts sat empty with hugeFor Rentsigns in the window. The prices they were asking were a pittance, because they were hoping to get something out of the property. I knew, without a doubt, we’d soon be one of the families who left.
So… Imagine my surprise when, on my seventeenth birthday, my parents called me to the dinner table. They were buzzing with nervous energy, which made my neck hairs stand on edge. I could feel my wolf clawing, wanting out so he could run from whatever was about to happen. I needed to learn to listen to him.
“So, Mason….” Dad coughed.
“We need to talk to you,” Mom continued.
