Page 101 of Such Sharp Teeth

Listening to a song that reminds me of you.

I instantly relax into sweet happy wooziness. Yeah? What is it?

“Mad World.”

There was this moment at our junior prom. He took Kelly and I went with Jay Coker or Tommy Haskins. I forget. I was hot from dancing, so I went outside, and Ian was there. I remember being really excited to see him. I had this sudden, overwhelming urge to run to him. I dismissed it as lingering dance floor adrenaline.

“Look who it is,” I said. “Mr. Too Cool to Dance. Where’s Kelly?”

“Bathroom. If they played good music, maybe I’d dance.”

“Maybe. What would you want them to play? Ska?”

“Yeah, actually,” he’d said. “That would be great.”

“What do you think would be the worst song to play at prom?”

“Uh, ‘Tears in Heaven’? Or maybe ‘Mad World’?”

“Should I go put in the request? I’m chummy with the DJ.”

“Don’t doubt it.”

“Would you dance with me?” I’d asked. “If they played one of our songs?”

“No. You know that would cause trouble,” he said.

I knew what he meant. Kelly would get mad. Jealous. And she would have had good reason. She knew. Everyone knew that Ian Pedretti had always had a thing for Rory Morris, and that Rory Morris was a man-eater. Future Class Flirt.

“Me? Cause trouble?” I gave a wry smile and turned to go back inside.

I set my pepperoni stick down on the counter and stare at my phone, stare at his last message. I don’t want to cause any more trouble.

But I am trouble. And this is trouble. Big trouble.

Will you dance with me? Next time I see you? I ask him.

Maybe.

Yes, of course I will dance with you to our depressing prom song. When can I see you next?

I lean into myself and take a whiff of my animal reek. I slip my fingers underneath my shirt and find the trace of the bite, the subtle scarring. To unknowing hands, it’d be nothing. The rise and fall of skin so slight, barely a whisper.

It’s a miracle and it’s a curse, the secrets our bodies keep. The ability to carry the invisible burden of these secrets.

I’ll let you know, I tell him, dread like a shadow sewn to my heel.

I take my pepperoni stick upstairs and spend the rest of the afternoon glued to my computer. I can’t be the only one dealing with this. I know I’m not. Someone bit me. And someone probably bit them. There are others out there. Somebody must have answers, and I’m committed to finding them. Committed to hope.

—

After hours of frantic research, I find an occult shop about an hour away that specializes in “supernatural phenomena.” I’m not too keen on revealing my werewolf status to a complete stranger, especially one who will likely just try to sell me crystals, but if I want my life back, I don’t really have any other choice.

It does have good reviews on Yelp. And where do I get off being skeptical? I’m a fucking werewolf.

I plug the address into my phone, get in the car, and drive before I have a chance to talk myself out of it.

The shop stands alone on the side of the road. It’s . . . very sketchy. I pull into the parking lot. I want to leave, to turn around and go home, but I close my eyes and see Ian. I see Scarlett. I see my niece. I have to try this.