Under My Skin

  "I'd think," Elzie says, "that you'd end up embracing whatever your animal spirit was."

  Marina nods.

  "Because no matter what it was," Elzie goes on, "it would still be a gift. It wouldn't make any difference how small or insignificant your animal shape might seem from the outside. Or what kind of a bad rep it has in terms of how people look at you."

  That's when I remember that I have no idea what kind of Wildling Elzie is. I keep meaning to ask her, but I only think of it when she's not around. What if she's something small like Laura was and somebody takes a potshot at her?

  "Do you really think it's a gift?" Cindy asks. "Wouldn't it just make your life a complicated mess—and I'm not talking about what happened to poor Laura. I mean the general day-to-day business of living."

  "Life's probably always going to be complicated," Marina says. "It doesn't matter if you're a Wildling or an ordinary teenager."

  "I suppose," Cindy says, but she doesn't look convinced.

  Marina

  What happened to Laura changes the whole weekend. Where normally we practice at least a couple of times—we've had some of our best practices on Sunday afternoons—we don't take our instruments out again. We don't go skateboarding or even hang out together. I think Desmond spends at least Saturday night with Cindy. I don't know what Josh does. He's probably hanging out with Elzie.

  It's not like I was best friends with Laura, but the shock and the senselessness of how she died really gets to me.

  On Saturday I spend most of my time alone in my room. Mamá has tried to talk to me about what happened to Laura, but nothing she says helps. I know she really believes that God called Laura home and now she's up in heaven with Our Lady of Grace and Los Santos—but you can't tell me that this wasn't way before her time. I keep going back and forth between being really angry and really sad.

  A few of my blog subscribers knew Laura pretty well, so they're a mess, just trying to deal. I wish I could say or do something concrete to help them. I wish I could turn back time and save Laura.

  In the end, all I can do is monitor the comments—listen, sympathize and remind people to try to stay safe. It doesn't seem like enough.

  I wake up just before dawn on Sunday and decide to check out the waves with my board. I walk down the street away from my house, heading for the boardwalk. I feel as though a mental fog is lifting. I love this time of day. It's so full of possibilities. There's just me and the other early birds—a handful of joggers, a few surfers on the far side of the pier, people walking their dogs, the old Chinese man who does his Tai Chi on the beach every morning, no matter what day of the week it is.

  I'm wearing my wetsuit with the top unzipped and rolling my surfboard behind me. I go south, as far as I can get from the pier without trespassing on government land. The swells are small, but I just want to get out into the water and be by myself.

  It's going to be a beautiful day. There's still a bit of the night's coolness in the air, but I can tell by the sky that it's going to be clear and sunny. And hot. But right now I need my wetsuit. I zip up and kick off my sneakers. The sand is cool and grainy against my soles. I'm just about to head down to the water when I hear footsteps behind me.

  "Hey, sweetcheeks."

  I turn around to find Chaingang crossing the beach toward me and I have to shake my head. Only he would be wearing a pair of shades at this time of day. If I didn't know he was a Wildling, I'd be wondering how he can even see with those on in this poor light.

  "Don't call me that," I tell him when he reaches me.

  He pauses, then smiles. "Why not? You don't think you're some tough chica like your sister, do you?"

  "How would you know?" I'm acting like a jerk, but I can't seem to help myself.

  He lowers his shades and studies me for a long moment. I know it's just one of his poses, but I can't help but feel like he's giving me his full attention all the same.

  "You're right," he says. "I don't."

  "Maybe I'm just as tough as her. Maybe I'm tougher."

  He nods. "Yeah, you probably are."

  "What are you doing here anyway?"

  Another pause. "I thought we should talk."

  "About what?"

  "Me reaching out to Josh. I started to think later that maybe you might've wanted to do that yourself."

  When I shake my head, he lifts his eyebrows.

  "You're not planning to tell him, are you?" he says.

  "It's awkward. How am I supposed to explain why I didn't tell him earlier?"

  "The longer you wait, the harder it's going to get."

  "You think I don't know that?"

  He holds his hands up, palms out.

  "I didn't come to fight," he says. "Or point a finger. I just came to apologize if I stepped over the line."

  I really don't get Chaingang. He's done time, then went right back to the gang when he got out of juvie. Yet, when he talks to me, all of that seems to fall away to reveal some sensitive guy and it just doesn't compute with that other stuff. Plus I can't seem to bury this weird resentment that he's going all sweet and sensitive with Josh, too. I know I should be okay with it, but I'm not. I don't know why.

  "You didn't," I tell him.

  "So we're good."

  "Sure. Now I'm going to catch some waves."

  I turn without waiting for his reply and head for the water. I can feel him just standing where I left him, watching me go, but I don't look back. I paddle out to where I can catch one of the little swells. When I turn around and look at the beach again, he's gone.

  Josh

  The aftermath of the shooting seems to leave a pall over all of Santa Feliz. Elzie is restless, so we do a lot of walking. She says it helps ground her. I find it does the same for me, too.

  On Sunday evening we've wandered up as far as the old Santa Feliz Beach Boardwalk, which is an abandoned amusement park north of the pier. We sit on a bench and look through the chain-link fence at the old rusting Ferris wheel, the Tilt-a-Whirl and the other rides. There's something both sad and fascinating about the place. Every kid who lives in Santa Feliz has snuck in at one point or another, but once you're inside, it's a bit of a disappointment. The rides are small, everything's broken down and there's scrap lying around everywhere. It's only when you're looking at it from the outside that it holds on to any of its faded glamour. Especially at night, when it's all just dark shapes against the sky.

  "I'm not sure of the protocol here," I say to Elzie, "so don't get mad at me if I step out of line."

  She gives me a curious look.

  "I was just wondering what kind of animal you are," I say.

  "Why? Are you afraid I'm a rat?"

  "No, no. I'm with you and Marina on this. I think we appreciate whatever we get—once we get over the shock of it happening in the first place. But it's going to be more dangerous to be some shapes than others, don't you think?"

  "Because of what happened to Laura Connor."

  I nod. "When you're her size, how are you supposed to defend yourself against a guy with a gun?"

  "So you're worried about me."

  "I know you can take care of yourself. It's just ... yeah, I guess I'm sort of worried."

  "I think that's sweet."

  I sigh.

  She bumps her shoulder against mine. "There's nothing wrong with being sweet."

  "I thought girls liked the bad boys."

  "Not me. And since you asked, I'm a jaguarundi."

  "A jaguar-what?"

  "A jaguarundi. I'd never heard of it before, either. It's like a big cat that likes to swim. Sort of a smaller version of a mountain lion—except for the swimming part."

  "My animal shape is a mountain lion."

  She smiles. "I know."

  "So we're compatible."

  "We're compatible on a lot of counts—don't you think?" she says with a wink.

  "I ... yeah. Yeah, I do."

  Except I'm still confused about how she doesn't want to actually call our rel
ationship a relationship. Though maybe that's my fault, too. I haven't actually said anything to her since she first told me she didn't want any kind of commitment and then it turns out she wants to hang around with me every day. Right now doesn't seem like a good time to get into it.

  "What happened to Laura," she says. "That was just a horrible, tragic fluke. It's hard to accept it happened, but I don't think those boys were deliberately going after Wildlings."

  "I guess not. It's weird. I'm the Wildling and Des isn't, but I think he's more pissed off than I am. I'm just sad. A little freaked out, but mostly sad. I mean, she was our age and she had the whole Wildling thing thrown at her, which is tough enough. But then this happens."

  She squeezes my hand. "Sad's exactly what it is."

  We sit for a while, looking at the shadowed rides on the other side of the fence. The roller coaster's like an old Mario Brothers video game compared to the Halo of the roller coasters they have in amusement parks today, and the Ferris wheel only has fourteen or fifteen cars that don't go much higher than thirty feet. But I remember climbing to the top one time and sitting up there in a chair, rocking back and forth, the whole beach spread out before me all the way down to the pier and beyond. I may not have been very high up, but I felt like I was on the top of the world.

  "I bet this place was cool in its day," she says. "Cheesy, but cool."

  "My mom says we came here when I was a kid," I say. "When I was five or six."

  "Do you remember it?"

  I shake my head. "Not really. I get confused between my maybe memories of it and similar places I've seen in movies and on TV."

  She smiles. "I never went, but my dad has a photo album of when he worked here as a teenager."

  She sighs then and I realize that talking about her dad reminds her of how her family turned their back on her.

  "So this whole business of shifting from one shape to another," I say, to change the subject. "How do you think it works?"

  "What do you mean? You just decide which you want to be—human or animal—and there you go."

  "No, I mean the physics of it. Cory told me that if you don't concentrate on what you're wearing, when you change back to your human shape, you're buck naked."

  "That happens to all of us at first."

  I nod. "But how does it all work?"

  "I don't think science has anything to do with it," she says. "The government researchers think it must have something to do with genetics, but apparently they can't find anything unusual in our DNA. Cory talks about old bloodlines, but I don't think he means that literally—it's more that we inherited these animal souls or whatever. Auntie Min says it must be a gift from the Thunders—you know, the old-time mystery gods.

  "Me ... I think something magic came here to Santa Feliz," Elzie continues. "Some spirit or force decided to connect a bunch of us with our animal brothers and sisters. And now it's our responsibility to share what we learn with the rest of the world."

  "How does that fit in with getting rid of all the humans?" I have to ask.

  "You're never going to let that go, are you?"

  She doesn't look mad like she did when we first met on the pier, but I still feel the need to let her know I'm not starting an argument.

  "I'm just trying to understand," I say. "That's all."

  "Me too," she says. "I know things are messed up and I know we have to fix them, but I don't know how we're ever going to do it."

  "I get that," I tell her.

  "At least the ferals are trying to do something about it," she says.

  "I know. I just don't think their plan is necessarily the best way."

  "I have my own reservations."

  I wonder how people let the world get to where it is now. Greed, power and religion, I guess. Even the hippie generation managed to screw it up, most of them ditching their peace, love and flowers ideals in favour of personal wealth and comfort. I'd like to say I'd do better, but my carbon footprint's nothing to be proud of.

  This is depressing, so I change the subject again.

  "The first time I met Cory," I say, "he did this thing where he was still human, but he had a coyote's head."

  "I've seen a hawk Wildling do that, too. It's kind of creepy."

  "Yeah. But I wonder if we can do that."

  She laughs. "You are such a boy."

  Okay, I've managed to change the mood, but I'm not sure I want her laughing at me.

  "I just think it's interesting," I say. "And being able to freak people out with a Wildling head on a human body might give you an advantage if you were cornered or something."

  "So long as they don't have a gun."

  "Sure. But it makes you think, what else can we do? If it's all about magic, then it seems like anything's possible."

  "There are probably rules."

  "Yeah," I say. "There are always rules."

  She nods. "Like having to eat after a change. I can't believe how hungry I get."

  We fall silent again. The traffic from town seems very far away. There's just us and the deserted rides in the amusement park. Waves lapping against the shore. I love that sound. It's the soundtrack to my life. Lying in bed with my window open at night, the beach is close enough that I can hear them roll in as I fall asleep.

  "Do you want to know the only magic I know?" Elzie says.

  I turn to her. "Sure."

  "You and me."

  She slips her hands around my waist then onto my butt and pulls me in for a long kiss.

  "How's that for magic?" she murmurs.

  "The best kind," I tell her.

  That night I Google jaguarundi. I look at pictures and they do look something like a mountain lion. They have short legs, long bodies, long thick tails and flattish heads with small rounded ears. None of that says Elzie to me, but when I look in a mirror, I don't see a mountain lion—except for that one time when I watched myself change, and that's not the same thing at all. Jaguarundis are good climbers, great swimmers and they're active during the day. They're also an endangered species, which brings back my nervousness.

  I remind myself of what Elzie told me—that it was just a fluke that Laura got shot—but it's not particularly comforting. I mean, how do you prevent something so random? The only way you could fully protect yourself would be to never leave your house. That wouldn't work for Elzie because she doesn't have a house and she wouldn't stay in it twenty-four/seven if she did.

  That gets me wondering about where Elzie does stay. She's always clean and dresses with style—thrift shop style, but she looks good. How do you manage that if you live on the street?

  So where does she live? How can I not know where my sort-of girlfriend lives? What does she do when we aren't together?

  I could drive myself crazy with these questions. I know that. But I also know myself well. Now that they're on my mind, I can't let them go.

  I switch from the Google window to check my email. All the usual spam. The only interesting thing is an update from my Wild Surf subscription telling me they have a new demo up on their site, but I don't feel like listening to it at the moment.

  I'm about to shut off my computer when I remember what Marina said about using the Internet to find some more info about Wildlings. I type "Wildlings" into the Google window and about a million entries come up. Most links on the first few pages are about what happened to Laura. That's the last thing I need to read right now. There's got to be something about Wildlings that doesn't focus on the shooting or link to that hawk video. I try adding "blog" to the search and my screen still fills up with way too many entries. They all seem to be about Laura, too.

  It's late. I should just go to bed. I glance down the screen, scanning until a LiveJournal link makes me stop. The title of the blog is My Life as an Otter, which is just charming enough to catch my attention, so I click on it. The profile picture shows a pen and ink drawing of an otter. It takes me a moment to recognize it. I go over to the handful of books I've had since I was little and pull out a wel
l-worn copy of The Wind in the Willows.

  Sitting on my bed, I flip through the pages until I come to the image I'm looking for. I glance at my computer screen. The profile picture is a detail from the illustration in the book I'm holding.

  The blogger's user name is Nira. If I were Sherlock Holmes, I'd deduce that somewhere in Santa Feliz, there's a teenager named Nira who's an otter Wildling and likes The Wind in the Willows—the original, judging from the illustration she used for her profile picture. Judging by the name, I'm guessing the author's a she, but I suppose Nira could be a guy's name, too.

  There are links to other blogs. "Wildling Words." "Where the Wild Things Dream." "Cousins' Corner." "I Am a Teenage Wildling." I opt to stay on this page and read through Nira's post.

  This will sound terrible, but as sad and horrified as I am about Laura Connor's death, one of the first things I thought afterward was here we go again. Yet more focus on the negative aspects of Wildlings.

  The news media and blogosphere are already rampant with it:

  When did Laura Connor become a Wildling?

  Did anyone close to her know?

  Why would she "choose" to be a rat?

  Does this mean there are other Wildling vermin out there?

  Why didn't she turn herself in to the government? She could have prevented this tragedy.

  Should the government step in and put them all in camps?

  And only later, questions more specific to this tragedy:

  Did the boys know Laura was a Wildling?

  Why would parents let teenagers out with a .22 rifle?

  Could this be part of some gangster war—a settling of accounts between rival Wildling factions?

  It's always bad stuff that makes the news. An attack, a tragic death, or more fear and speculation on the danger/cause/weirdness of it all.

  Nobody ever talks about what an opportunity it is.

  This is our first real chance to get some understanding and insight into the animal world. But lots of people don't want to see that happen. I'm not just talking about the religious Right and all those nut jobs that can't stand change. There's the whole meat industry, for starters. If you can have a conversation with an animal, can you really then turn around and eat it? Or the NRA. Give up hunting and fishing?