Kat Lupin: Wolf Girl

I should feel nervous and excited. My pulse should be racing and my heart should be skipping. After all, it’s my very first day as an eighth grader at Silver Rush. Not a sixth grader. Not a seventh grader. But a freakin’ eighth grader. Top of the middle school food chain! And that is a HUGE deal for kids. Not to mention, I have Art 201 next, which is my favorite subject in the world.

But all I can think about is my dog Bizbee… talking.

It had to be my imagination.

I’ve already sat through two classes—Social Studies and Advanced Chemistry. I barely remember a thing about either of them. Now, I’m trudging down the halls, bumping into other kids. I’m numb, like this is all a weird dream. The only thing I really feel is hungry. I was so freaked out hearing Bizbee speak this morning I couldn’t eat my cold oatmeal.

I find my classroom and take a seat in the last row of desks. A minute later, Sarah slides into the chair next to me. We’re back row kind of kids.

“How’s the arm?” Sarah asks. Students are filling up the room, chatting and plopping into their chairs. A few are texting away on their cell phones. Lucky jerks.

I show Sarah the small bandage now covering up the bite. “It’s much better. Thanks.”

“That’s good,” she says. It’s a real captivating conversation we’re having. Sarah doesn’t look at me. She twirls her hair on her finger. Neither of us speaks for a while. It’s super cringy. Finally, she glances at me and says, “I’m sorry about being nosey. You know, back at the hospital?”

“No, I’m the one who’s sorry.” I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that.”

Sarah smiles real big. “Why don’t we call it even?”

“Deal,” I say. “On one condition. Slip that candy bar to me. I’m starving.”

Sarah frowns, looking confused. “What candy bar?”

“The one in your bag. It’s in the top pocket.”

Sarah digs in the top pouch of her bag and, to her disbelief, pulls out a Snickers. “My mom must have packed this as a surprise. I didn’t even know about it? How did you…”

“I could smell it,” I say, snagging the Snicker from her hand. “Do you mind?”

“No, go ahead,” says Sarah.

My stomach growls. I chow down on the candy bar, barely taking the time to rip off the wrapper.

“What do you mean, you could smell it?” Sarah asks. “I couldn’t smell anything.”

I shrug. “I don’t know. It’s like my nose just knew it was in there.” I nod at a boy in a Wolverine T-shirt who passes by us. He takes a seat a few rows ahead of us. “That kid has a ham sandwich in his bag. With mustard.”

Sarah looks around then whispers to me. “Kat, that’s not normal. And it’s kind of creepy.”

Wow. She’s right. I never had such a great sense of smell before. What’s going on?

I don’t have time to think about it, because a second later the art teacher rushes into the room as the bell rings. She’s tall and skinny with a beaky nose and very alert eyes. I see her and only one word comes to mind—FLAMINGO. Her pink dress doesn’t help.

“Sorry I’m late, class.” She flashes a big, toothy smile. The scent of her heavy perfume makes me dizzy. It smells like that one purple flower—lavender. “I’m Miss Chaney. And if you want to create, you’ve come to the right place.”

Miss Chaney then says the usual blah, blah, blahs. No using phones in class. No food or drink. No gum. That kind of stuff. After that, she gives a tour of the classroom, showing us where to find the paint supplies, drawing paper, and the colored pencils. She finishes by pointing out a big, silver cylinder in the corner of the room. “And this is a very special oven used to bake pottery. Can anyone tell me what it’s called?"

“Yeah,” says a boy’s voice. “It’s a kiln.”

“That’s right,” says Miss Chaney. “And you are?”

“Justin,” says the boy.

I lean in my chair to get a better look at him. He sits across the room in a sunny spot by the window. He’s a sporty looking kid. He doesn’t wear a team jersey or anything, but he’s got muscles, like he doesn’t sit around messing on his phone all day. Maybe he plays football or basketball. He wears jeans and a plain black T-shirt. The sun shines in through the window making his brown hair look golden.

Now, I’m not boy crazy like some of the girls in my class. But I gotta admit, this Justin kid is cute. No, cute isn't the right word. Squirrels and kittens are cute. Handsome is more like it. He’s handsome. But there is something else about him…

I’ve seen him before. I’m sure of it. But where?

Just then, the boy named Justin turns his head and looks right at me. His eyes are blue and ice cold. A shiver runs down my spine.

Handsome or not, something about this boy isn’t right. Something about him feels cursed.