Once in a Full Moon

  “I know. I had to leave,” I said with indifference.

  “So if you don’t think it’s important to stay at my games, how are we going to get back together?” he challenged.

  It was our typical fight—he wanted me in the stands cheering him on at his practices and games. But there wasn’t more to our relationship. We didn’t have the same interests, and his always won out. It wasn’t like he ever came to the nursing home and volunteered with me.

  At the moment I had bigger issues to deal with than a grumpy ex-boyfriend. “I—don’t feel like talking about that again,” I began.

  “You should be kind to her.” Ivy butted in. “She just ran into another wolf.”

  “A wolf?” Fear shot through his eyes. “Maybe if you stayed at the game the whole time,” he said, “then you wouldn’t be running into wild animals.”

  I was encountering wild animals, all right. I just wasn’t sure how it had happened.

  Beware of a kiss under the full moon. It will change your life forever. Dr. Meadows’s words echoed in my mind. Not only had that moonlight kiss possibly transformed Brandon, but it had definitely transformed me. I wasn’t adhering to my usual schedule, nor was I centered on studying, homework, and my friends. I wanted to know more about Brandon, where he was, and, most important, if what I saw last night was real.

  But I wasn’t getting any answers. Only heartache.

  The moon looked full again tonight. Mr. Worthington was right. I jotted this revelation in the back of my notebook and began keeping a log of what I’d just experienced. The full moon. Brandon’s bizarre behavior, his physical change, and how afterward I was riveted by this suddenly tormented soul.

  The following two days Brandon wasn’t at school. On the third day, when he didn’t show for English class again, I was really starting to panic. I couldn’t focus on our lesson, and when Mrs. Clark called on me, I was in another world. I really didn’t know what was going on with Brandon or what to think. I hoped he wasn’t sick. Then I feared he might have moved back to Miller’s Glen. What had happened on the hilltop to change his appearance? Why couldn’t he come to school?

  I was zoned out on my way to my locker to get my lunch when someone yanked me into the crawl space underneath the main building’s side stairwell.

  Brandon was hanging on to me. He appeared frazzled and tired but as handsome as I’d ever seen him.

  I could feel my whole body light up just being in his presence.

  I wanted to hug him with all my might, but even though we were out of sight of passing students, I was afraid someone might see us.

  “I wanted to talk to you about the other night,” he said.

  “Me, too. Are you okay? You haven’t been to school for days.”

  “I know. I haven’t been feeling well.”

  “Are you better now?”

  “I think so . . . I’m not really sure. But about the other night. I want to know something.”

  “Yes.”

  “After we kissed . . . something happened.”

  “Yes, I know,” I said sheepishly. “I was there.”

  “I’m sorry—” he began. “For anything that happened . . .”

  “So it was a joke?” I asked. “I kept hoping it was.”

  I was relieved but totally embarrassed for getting so carried away with my paranormal thoughts and overactive imagination. I replayed my interpretations and feelings of the last few days. I started to laugh. I’d wasted so much time jumping to outlandish conclusions. I was so gullible.

  “What do you mean?” he asked, almost confused. “You and me? You thought it was a joke?” His expression softened. It was as if I’d just insulted him.

  “No. Not us.” I melted inside. Brandon was so handsome standing before me in the secrecy of the stairwell. “I meant after.”

  “That’s what I want to talk to you about. There’s something I want to ask you,” he said earnestly. “I got home and didn’t have some items.”

  “What do you mean?” I pressed.

  “My shirt. My shoes.”

  “I know. I have your shirt,” I confessed.

  “You do?”

  “Yes. I kept it as proof.” I showed him his folded shirt sandwiched in my bag.

  “Proof?”

  “That our time together wasn’t a dream. I know . . . you must think I’m a dork.”

  “No—I think it’s really cool.” He smiled his gorgeous smile. “Speaking of dreams. I had a weird one that night.”

  “Yes?”

  “When I woke up . . . I had dirt all over me. I just want to know . . . But I’m ashamed to tell you . . . Did we?” he asked in an honest and heartfelt tone.

  Brandon wasn’t referring to being a werewolf. He was referring to something else.

  “No—” I assured him. “We didn’t do anything like that.”

  “Really?” He was more disappointed than relieved.

  “You really don’t remember . . . anything?”

  “Just us together under the moonlight. And that awesome kiss.”

  This time I smiled.

  “But then I remember feeling weird. I think I might have had a fever and blacked out. I was hoping you’d tell me the rest.”

  I paused. “You really don’t remember?” I repeated.

  He shook his head.

  “I’m not sure I can tell you the rest.”

  “Why not?”

  “If I told you what I witnessed, you’d certainly think I was insane and never want to see me again.” Besides, there was still the chance that I’d misinterpreted what I saw. There were no visible signs on Brandon that he was a werewolf. No scratches, no stubble, no wolflike fangs.

  There had to be a third explanation. Brandon had a fever and the moonlight distorted my view of him. All I knew was that I couldn’t wait until another moon to see him again.

  “So, can you tell me what happened?” he asked sincerely.

  “I’m not sure—”

  “Of what?”

  “That I really saw what I think I saw . . . and if I didn’t, then you’ll just think I’m crazy.”

  “How can I think that?” he asked. “You are popular, studious, and one of the kindest people I’ve ever met.”

  I swooned inside from his compliment.

  “Because what I saw wasn’t . . .” I trailed off.

  “Wasn’t what?” he pressed. Then suddenly he was concerned. “Did I hurt you?”

  “No—of course not.”

  He sighed with relief. “Then don’t you see—I can’t remember. You have to tell me.”

  “I know you’ll think I’m crazy—and you won’t want to hang out again.”

  “But, Celeste, I want to see you. Again and again. Please tell me so tonight I won’t continue to have weird dreams. I can dream about you instead.”

  I smiled. His words were like Cupid’s arrow shooting through my heart. But I was still reluctant. I might lose Brandon—no more texting, calls, passing glances, or amorous kisses. But as Brandon gazed at me now, so worried and confused, tormented by not knowing what happened, I was torn. If he felt I was keeping something secret from him, maybe I had more to lose by not telling him.

  “I need to know why I didn’t have my shirt,” he insisted. “Why I was covered in dirt. Why I dreamed I was a . . .” But he didn’t finish.

  I paused. Then I pulled him toward me so my lips were close to his ear.

  “Because it looked like you turned into a werewolf.” It slipped out in a whisper.

  His suddenly sad blue eyes blazed through me. I was waiting for him to laugh or chew me out for being crazy. But he didn’t do either.

  The bell rang.

  We lingered underneath the staircase, both shaken and confused. I didn’t want to go to lunch and be apart from Brandon any longer, especially now, when I’d just revealed something so bizarre to him. I was hoping he would kiss me, but our secret romantic moment was ruined. The tapping of boots and the squeaking of sneakers on the vinyl floor
were approaching us.

  Suddenly the students began exiting through the stairwell, and we were both forced to leave separately.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Sisterly Advice

  Winter break was usually one of my favorite times of the year. Not only did everyone in town decorate their houses with festive, twinkling lights and their yards with snowmen, penguins, and reindeer, but it meant two weeks of vacation. Free time to do whatever I wanted. And Ivy, Abby, and I had sleepovers, all-night gabfests, and endless laughs. I could sleep in as long as I’d like to and be my own boss.

  But this year, winter break was torture. It meant two torturous weeks without seeing the guy who had stolen my heart. Practically every moment was spent thinking about him—him saving me, the first time I held his wounded hand in mine, the kiss of a lifetime. And when I wasn’t dreaming about him, I was worrying about him and the strange condition I found him in underneath the full moon. Instead of relishing my days of freedom, I longed for the ringing of first bell and the start of English class. But winter break crept along without him, monotonously.

  I continued to wonder if what I saw that night was real and agonized over how I’d handled the situation. If I had to give advice to the lovelorn about what to say when seeing a guy again after sharing a spectacular kiss and hoping for another date, it would be to say one of these three things: “Had a blast,” “Hope we can hang out again,” or “Here’s my number.” The one thing I’d never advise saying would be, “It looked like you turned into a werewolf!”

  How did I expect Brandon ever to call, text, or contact me when I’d told him that?

  I was so confused about my feelings toward Brandon. Maybe it was time to turn back and not continue down this uncharted road I’d been traveling on. When Nash returned from vacation with his parents, it would be my chance to reconcile with him, put all this Westsider fascination to rest, and move on in the direction my life had already been taking. But I cared for Brandon so deeply, it just wasn’t something I had control over. And I assumed Brandon was mixed up as well. He was the one going through something—strange dreams, not remembering the nights, and missing school. If I contacted him, I’d only be adding to his already suddenly complicated life.

  Having Juliette home during the break only added to my angst. She was in and out of our front door with different guys, laughing and giggling and staying out until the wee hours. All I wanted to do was see one guy, be near him, touch him, and kiss him. My skin hurt without Brandon’s touch, my mind raced with thoughts of him. I realized there was only one person I could turn to in my time of need, who knew more about love, romance, and hot guys than anyone I’d known—someone who might have the answers for my obsessive romantic feelings and how to cure them.

  I knocked on my sister’s bedroom door. When she didn’t respond, I opened it to find her putting the final touches on her makeup.

  “Don’t you knock? I could have been undressed,” she argued.

  “But I did knock, and you aren’t undressed.”

  “Well, I could have been.”

  Juliette was so pretty she didn’t need to wear makeup. But still she spent endless hours in front of the mirror painting her face with whatever colors were in that particular season.

  Juliette’s room was in stark contrast to my own. Mine was filled with books, DVDs, and trinkets. Where other teens had band or movie posters hanging on their walls, my sister had framed pictures of herself with her friends and various boyfriends.

  “Jules, I need to ask you something,” I said, sitting on her bed. “How do you know if you are in love?” I asked, fiddling with the frame on her nightstand.

  “You’ll know.”

  I sighed. I didn’t want a vague answer that I could get from anyone. I wanted someone to speak to me about specifics.

  “Why, are you in love with Nash?” she asked. “He is really hot.” Juliette turned away from her mirror and toward me. “Is he trying to pressure you?”

  Nash always wanted more from our relationship than I was prepared to give. But that wasn’t it.

  “No—it’s not that,” I said.

  “Because if he is, I know some guys in my dorm who will make him wish he hadn’t.”

  “No—”

  “Don’t you do anything you’re not ready to do. You understand? That is the most important thing. Only when you are ready and only when you’re much older.”

  Now she was lecturing me. But I didn’t mind. Almost. It was sweet that she cared about my well-being.

  “He knows where he stands with me,” I said. “Anyway, I’m talking about love.”

  “With someone else?”

  I nodded.

  “Does Nash know?”

  “No, of course not. Besides, we aren’t seeing each other right now.”

  “Great. What did he do now?”

  “It’s no biggie.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Then let’s talk about the new guy! Have you gone out on a date?”

  “No.”

  “So, it’s a crush from afar?”

  “Well. . . . not really . . .”

  “Then what is it?” she asked impatiently.

  “I met him at his house. We went ice-skating.”

  “I’d call that a date.”

  “You would?”

  “Yes! Did he kiss you?” she asked.

  “No. Not then . . .”

  “You’ve kissed him?”

  When I didn’t answer, she put down her makeup and hopped on the bed.

  “You kissed him?”

  “Accidentally,” I said. “I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

  “That’s the best kind.”

  “I mean I was waiting, like forever. But then it just happened!”

  “I love it!” My sister high-fived me.

  I couldn’t rein in my smile if I’d had Botox. I hadn’t told anyone, so it was good to finally girl-talk with someone. Even if it was my sister.

  “What was it like?”

  I was too embarrassed to talk about it.

  “C’mon! Tell me.”

  “It was heaven. Amazing. Like nothing I’ve ever felt in my life.”

  She squealed with delight. Suddenly we were reduced to two giggling girls.

  “So who is this dreamy guy who’s stolen my little sister’s heart?” she asked. “I want names and dates. What does he look like?”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “Describe!” she ordered, pointing her mascara brush at me.

  “Brown wavy hair, royal blue eyes. His lips are full and dreamy. His stare can penetrate your soul.”

  “Wow! Can you introduce him to me?”

  “He’s in high school!”

  “Does he have a brother?”

  “I don’t know . . .”

  “Does he have a name?” My sister was getting frustrated.

  “I’m not giving you names.”

  “Okay. Okay.”

  “Uh, you wouldn’t know him. Besides, I’m not sure if it’s love or the flu,” I said.

  “What are your symptoms?”

  “Come on . . .”

  “Symptoms!” she demanded.

  “All right. I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. I can’t focus on school or even the most menial tasks. And I’m obsessed with thinking about him.”

  “That’s love. Or at the very least lust. Something I prefer.”

  I sighed. “Do you think these feelings could distort my view of him?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Physically. Like the way he looks.”

  “Of course. Some girls fall for the lamest guys but think they’re studs ’cause they are clouded by love.”

  “But like . . . could these feelings make him look more muscular? Grow a goatee?”

  “Guys can get stubble by the end of the day. That’s normal.”

  I mean instantly, I wanted to say.

  “And make his hair appear longer and
his eyes change color?” I asked hesitantly.

  “If you mean going from blue eyes to twinkling liquid blue eyes, then yes, that can be because you’re love-struck. But if you’re talking about blue eyes changing to brown, then no.”

  My smile turned into a frown. I grew worried.

  “What are you getting at?” she asked.

  “Oh . . . nothing.”

  “Love can distort your view of him,” she said, patting my leg. She obviously didn’t know that I was alluding to him becoming a lycan, but I appreciated my sister’s reassurance.

  “When did you first fall in love?” I asked. “Was it with Brad or Jason?”

  “Are you kidding?” she asked with a laugh. “No,” she said as if I must have already known. “I’ve never been in love.”

  I was floored. My sister had had a guy on her arm since kindergarten. How could she not have fallen in love by now? I felt sad that I may have actually experienced the feelings of true love before she had. With all the guys she dated, not one had penetrated her materialistic heart? Of course, we were still young and she had her whole life ahead of her, but I’d figured she’d been in love countless times. That just reinforced for me that I couldn’t ignore the feelings that I had for Brandon—that they were as real as the shirt I had sitting on my nightstand.

  “Are we finished with our chat?” she asked, packing up her makeup.

  “Almost. I’m doing a research paper on folklore. It’s about werewolves.”

  “You would pick the creepy stuff. Why didn’t you pick fairies? I still have my paper somewhere. You could have used mine.”

  “You know there’s a legend here about werewolves?” I asked.

  “Yes, I’ve heard,” she said, as if I thought she was an alien.

  “Do you think the legend is true?”

  “Do I think there really are werewolves lurking in the woods of Legend’s Run, showing their scruffy faces under the full moon? Attacking animals and carrying off women, never to return? It does sound romantic in a weird way.”

  “Yes, it does,” I said, thinking.

  “We always imagine what we can’t understand. Like love.”

  “But love can be real. So does that mean werewolves can be, too?”

  “I’m sure people see things in the dark and then just put a face on it,” she surmised.

  “But you’re not answering my question,” I said impatiently. “Do you believe in werewolves?”