Mr. Worthington was my favorite resident at Pine Tree Village. For a gentleman who was eighty-nine years old, he was quite cute. Mr. Worthington was alert, mobile, and in shape. We walked the hallways or outside commons areas together. He always dressed in khaki pants and a cardigan sweater and kept his fuzzy white hair neatly combed.
Every time I visited Pine Tree Village, I was always greeted by the receptionist, who had me sign in and pointed me to an area where the staff could use an extra hand. Today’s visit was extra special. It was Halloween and I’d dressed as Little Red Riding Hood. I wore a red hoodie, the arms loosely tied around my neck and the body as a cape, along with a black bodice, white T-shirt, and red flippy skirt. I finished off my fairy-tale look with white folded socks and a pair of Juliette’s black pumps she’d left behind in her closet. It wasn’t a good idea to pass out candy to the residents, so I came with “Happy Halloween” pins I’d made instead. I grabbed a small basket my mom used for magazines and stuck a loaf of bread in it.
The normally hospital white lobby was decorated with black and orange streamers, cotton-candy-like spiderwebs, and ghost, mummy, and black-cat die cuts. A sign posted in the lobby read: HALLOWEEN DANCE AT 7 P.M.
I teetered over to the reception desk, where I was welcomed by a very friendly witch.
“You look great,” Sally said through blackened-out teeth. I could barely hold my laughter inside as the straitlaced receptionist offered me a tray of pumpkin cookies.
“I’ll grab one on the way out,” I said.
“Little Red,” I heard a man’s voice call.
I didn’t even respond to my new name until I heard it called again.
“Little Red, over here.”
An elderly man wearing werewolf fangs, a brown-tipped nose, and a fluffy brown wig was standing a few yards away in the lobby next to a grand piano. I almost didn’t recognize Mr. Worthington at first, but his brown cardigan sweater and khaki pants gave him away.
“Happy Halloween,” I said, handing him a button.
“It’s Halloween?” he asked. “No one told me.”
I laughed at the elderly werewolf. I really adored Mr. Worthington. His youthful spirit was like a chandelier illuminating a darkened room.
“Let me help you,” I said, pinning the button on his sweater. “I’m not sure I should be seen with a wolf, much less a werewolf. The residents will think we planned this.”
“Let them think what they want,” he said. “I’ve never seen a prettier girl in red.”
I blushed to match the color of my hoodie.
“Well, I’ve never seen such a kind-looking werewolf,” I commented back.
“So you’ve seen one?” he asked seriously.
“The closest thing I’ve seen to a werewolf was when my sister, Juliette, tried to perm her own hair.”
Nurse Bridget, the head nurse on the first floor, walked by. Overhearing the final part of our conversation, she stepped over.
“Charlie, are you going on about werewolves again?” she asked, putting her arm around him. “You don’t want to frighten Celeste away. She’s our only steady volunteer.”
“I haven’t said a word. No one wants to listen to an old man, anyway.”
“That’s okay,” I assured Nurse Bridget. “I promise I won’t be too frightened.”
“Every Halloween,” she said, “Charlie tells us about the Legend’s Run werewolf. Someone says they saw something furry in the woods years ago and people can’t stop talking about it. It’s like the Loch Ness Monster. A big hoax.”
“My boyfriend was just telling my friends and me about that recently.”
“So you already know?” Mr. Worthington asked.
“I guess as much as anyone else knows. But I’d love to hear about it from you.”
Mr. Worthington brightened, knowing he finally had a captive audience.
“Celeste,” Nurse Bridget said in an apologetic tone, “I’d love it if you could visit with some of the other residents. I’m sure they would be delighted. Mr. Worthington, can you tell her the story later?”
“Of course,” Mr. Worthington said. “It’s one thing I never forget. Now, where I left my glasses—that I can’t remember.”
“I won’t be long,” I said. I didn’t want to abandon Mr. Worthington, but I had a number of pins I had to pass out and was more worried about upsetting Nurse Bridget.
I pinned, hugged, and took pictures with as many residents as I could find.
When I returned to the lobby, I found the elderly werewolf sleeping on a sofa. I was tempted to sit down and take off my painful pumps, since I was exhausted, but I knew I’d have as difficult a time getting up as he would.
I grabbed a small blanket from an adjacent chair and placed it on his lap.
“Is it time for dinner?” he asked, suddenly stirring.
“Yes, and it’s time for me to go—”
“So soon?”
“I’m sorry it took so long,” I said. “But I can walk you to the dining room.”
“What did I do to deserve such a beautiful escort?” he asked kindly.
“You were going to tell me your story,” I replied eagerly.
“Oh yes. You remind me of my wife when she was very young. We met here in Legend’s Run.”
I nodded. I’d heard that story many times but tried to pay attention as if I were listening to it for the first time.
“When we were young, Legend’s Run was still a farming and mill town along the river. Not like now, where custom homes dot the landscape.
“But in the last fifty years the mill closed and people moved away from the town and came from the neighboring cities and developed the eastern side of Legend’s Run. The Westside farmers continue to maintain their land. The east side became too congested and Riverside’s commercial property too vacant. We moved away to New York, and eventually the rest of the Worthington family moved on, too.”
My eyes had half glazed over and I tried my best to listen, as I’d heard this story countless times. “Did you miss it here?” I asked when he paused.
“Yes. And so did my wife. I promised her we’d return to Legend’s Run to ride out our years that remained. I am a man of my word,” he said with a grin.
There was one story I hadn’t heard from Mr. Worthington. “And the werewolf? Did he live on the Westside or the East?”
The elderly man perked up even more. He was poised to tell his tale.
“The creature calls the woods his home. Where he can hide from curious people and most importantly from the threat of the full moon. Since the moon can appear to us as full for several days, it makes the werewolf that much more tormented. It was many years ago when he was first spotted in one of the tree-filled areas along Riverside,” he whispered. “But you must never go in the woods alone, a girl like you.”
We reached the dining room, and a staff member approached Mr. Worthington.
The dining room was full of residents and staff wearing my handmade pins.
“It’s the Legend’s Run werewolf,” the aide announced. Several residents clapped.
I watched as the elderly resident was treated by his peers as if he were a celebrity.
“Please remind him to remove those fangs before he eats,” I said to the aide as I made a weary exit.
That night Ivy hosted a Halloween party at her über-house—five bedrooms, a three-car garage, and a basement that could entertain our entire school.
Ivy opened the door dressed like a runway model, in a black-and-white minidress and white patent-leather go-go boots. Abby stood next to her brandishing a big smile, two pigtails, and a borrowed cheerleading uniform—complete with an “LR” letter and spirit buttons. I felt worse for the wear in my homemade costume.
“I want to go back and change,” I said, still standing on the stoop.
“What gives?” Ivy said. “You look so cute!”
“I . . .”
“Get in here,” Ivy said.
“No, I think I’d feel better
if I changed into something else.”
“Your outfit is ten times more creative than ours,” Abby said.
“But—”
“No buts! Just get yours in here.” She took my wrist and dragged me inside.
There were already a few of our classmates milling about her home, trying to talk over the pounding music.
“Have the guys arrived?” I asked.
“Not yet, but I can’t wait until they do. I’m sure their costumes will be killer.”
“How was Pine Tree?” Abby asked. “I bet one of those old men might leave you something when . . .”
“That’s morbid—” Ivy said. “That’s not why Celeste volunteers there.”
“I know,” Abby said, “but it could be one of the perks.”
Just then the front door burst open and we could hear Jake and Dylan’s voices.
“They’re here!” Ivy called. My friends eagerly headed for the door, swishing their miniskirts, and I followed, trying not to scrape my heels on her pristine hardwood floors.
Dylan raced around the grand entryway, dressed as Superman. He picked up Abby and she squealed as he pretended to save her.
“And look at your hot outfit!” Jake said with a twang. He had a piece of straw in his mouth, carried a stuffed cow, and was barefoot.
Ivy appeared disappointed and confused.
“What are you?” she asked.
“Duh, I’m a Westsider,” he proclaimed.
I rolled my eyes.
“You’re so ignorant,” Ivy whispered, half horrified. “You’re going to embarrass me at my party.”
“Have you been to the Westside?” he asked.
“I know they wear shoes,” I said, shaking my head.
I looked to Ivy for help.
She reached into my purse and pulled out my eyeliner. She grabbed Jake’s chin with one hand and with the other drew several circles on his face and quickly colored them in.
“What are you doing?” Jake asked, annoyed.
“Now you are as you should be,” Ivy announced. “A cow!”
Everyone laughed—except, of course, for Jake.
“Where is Nash?” I asked, anxious to find him. I was looking forward to seeing what he wore.
“Parking the car,” Dylan said.
I imagined at any minute Nash would be running into the house dressed as a superhero, swooping me up in his arms and carrying me off to safety, or a knight taking me as his princess and challenging any guest who vied for my attention to a duel, or even a rock star who’d get down on one knee and serenade me with a love song.
Instead, Nash entered Ivy’s foyer as he always did—in jeans and a long-sleeved polo.
“What are you?” I asked.
He checked me out—eyeing my short skirt, bare legs, and high heels.
“I guess I’m the Big Bad Wolf!” Nash said as he grabbed me around the waist and pulled me to him. “Grr,” he said with a growl.
The partygoers around us broke out in laughter, as if Nash were a headlining comedian. But I didn’t think his joke was funny.
I felt awkward and even let down, but I didn’t want my true feelings to spoil the party. I did my best to disguise my disappointment by making myself busy and handing out drinks in Ivy’s airplane-hangar-size kitchen.
I watched as Abby and Ivy talked, giggled, and snuggled with their boyfriends. I was excited and flushed and giddy many times when I was with Nash, but I felt something was lacking that my friends had.
“What’s with you?” Nash asked. “You seem aloof.”
“I’m not, I’m just helping Ivy out,” I said.
“Ivy’s making out with Jake. The only thing you can be helping her out with now is giving her an oxygen tank.”
It was odd; Nash and I seemed to sense each other’s feelings when those around us weren’t as in tune.
I was attempting to refill the ice when he took the silver monogrammed bucket from me.
“What’s up, Parker?”
“Nothing,” I said with a forced smile.
“You’re mad that I didn’t come in costume?” he asked.
“I’m not mad . . .”
“But disappointed.”
I shrugged my shoulders.
“I didn’t know it meant that much to you,” he said.
I gazed down at my shoes.
He took my chin and raised it so I was facing him.
“I guess I should have . . . it just seems so silly,” he said. He glanced at the crowd, then back at me. “I don’t want to wear a clown wig or Darth Vader mask. You’d think I’d look ridiculous.”
“You’re afraid of what I’d think?” I asked, surprised.
“I guess. You and everyone else.”
“Nash, you are gorgeous,” I said. “No matter what you wore, no one would be laughing at you.”
It was funny to me that deep down inside, the all-star athlete of Legend’s Run High still was insecure.
“Are you just charming me?” I asked.
“Did it work?” he wondered aloud.
I couldn’t help but smile.
But before I knew it, Nash kissed me and I was quickly lost in his lips. At that moment I no longer cared how he was dressed.
Chapter Five
Love and the Library
It was mid-November, and a few weeks had passed since my friends and I were circled around a campfire in the woods and Nash had told us his frightening werewolf story. Footballs, goalposts, and grass were replaced with basketballs, hoops, and hardwood floors. The red, gold, and orange autumn leaves had fallen or been blown away and now many trees stood naked. The temperatures fell, too. There was just a dusting of snow on the ground.
I loved the first fresh snow when it blanketed the town and closed the schools, or a weekend snowfall when it accumulated enough for us to stay indoors with a cozy comforter, a good book, and tasty hot chocolate. I loved the sound of the snow crunching underneath my boots or the ultralight snowfall on a silent street. I loved magical moments when the only impressions in the snow were the tiny footprints of a bird. And I cherished the memories of when Juliette and I were younger and dragged our sleds to Hillside or another nearby slope.
We hadn’t had a major snowfall yet, however, only cold weather and occasional flurries. Snow wasn’t nearly as great when it wasn’t enough to close school. Then it was just inconvenient and messy to trudge through, soaking the hallways, and leaving me crossing my frozen fingers that I wouldn’t wipe out and land on my backside in front of the entire student body.
Abby, Ivy, their beaux, and Nash and I were in library study hall keeping warm. In our English class we were studying American folklore and had been assigned a paper on the subject. I kept thinking about Mr. Worthington’s werewolf story. I decided werewolves would be a good subject for my essay. It was one thing to have Nash tell a campfire story to scare us, but I was even more intrigued that Mr. Worthington seemed impassioned by the tale himself. And besides, I could use him as a resource for my paper. Nash’s story was exhilarating and frightening because of the thought a werewolf could be living among us. Though I didn’t believe in their existence, I could only imagine that the early settlers had felt alone like we had been in the woods.
I went to the stacks, scanning the aisles for anything werewolf. I picked up several books. The Encyclopedia of Monsters and Myths and Mysteries. I found The Book of Werewolves and was pulling it off the shelf when it slipped from my hand.
As I bent down to pick it up, someone was already handing it to me. It was Brandon Maddox.
For the past few months I’d only had brief encounters with Brandon or passed him on the way to class. We were in a few classes together but he sat in the back, his head buried underneath his wavy locks. He always ate lunch by himself. I’d never admit to my friends that I thought Brandon was handsome. He had deep, royal blue eyes that shined through his short, shaggy dark hair. If he were an Eastsider, he’d surely be one of the most popular guys in school. But since fate led
him to be on the Westside, he was greatly ignored.
Brandon didn’t say anything. I sensed it was not because he was afraid to but because he was the kind of person who chose his words carefully.
I wanted to say thank you. But as he continued to gaze into my eyes, my words escaped me.
“Celeste! Get over here,” Ivy called. “What are you doing?”
I headed over to my friends, feeling slightly more flushed than I had when I’d left them.
“Werewolves?” Nash asked when he saw me holding my stack of books.
“I thought I could ask you to tell the class the Legend’s Run Werewolf legend. I could score some extra points,” I said.
“Is this my paper or yours? I’m not working on two,” he said, and buried his head in Sports Illustrated. “Besides, I was hoping to buy my paper off the internet.”
“Nash!” I said, horrified by his plan.
“I’m just kidding, Parker,” he said to me. “Lighten up.”
“I’m considering quilting,” Ivy said proudly.
“Quilting?” Jake asked.
“Yes, many people told stories through narrative quilting.”
“Boring!”
“Of course it would be boring to you,” Ivy said. “If it doesn’t involve cheerleaders, you don’t want to hear about it.”
“Were there naked quilters?” Jake asked. “Now, that would be interesting!”
Ivy playfully hit her boyfriend.
“I was thinking of investigating witches,” Abby proudly announced.
“You won’t have to go far to investigate that,” Dylan said.
“Well, thanks,” Abby said sarcastically.
“No—I mean you can ask Dr. Meadows,” he said.
“Who?” Ivy asked.
“That witch doctor in Riverside,” Dylan replied. “My mom went there for acupuncture and said she sells books on everything. I’m sure she has information on witches.”
Abby appeared skeptical.
“While you’re there, maybe you can get your fortune told,” Dylan continued. “See if I’m getting any action from you this weekend.”
“You want me to go to the Westside and talk to a witch doctor?” Abby said. “Are you crazy?”