This Is Not a Werewolf Story Read Online Free PDF Page A

Everyone likes her.
    Everyone. Including me. Most of all.
    She has long hair that hangs in curls that look like the tops of small waves right before they break on the sand. If I carved a mermaid, I’d make it look like her. Blech. Mary Anne makes me as sappy as a pine tree. If it hasn’t happened to you yet, it will. One day you’ll look up and see someone who makes your heart feel like hot pudding and your mouth feel like the Sahara Desert.
    Right now her face is pale. “We didn’t find the snake,” she says.
    Prison break. Gollum at large. Mildly venomous snake on the lam. The words run through my mind, but I don’t say any of them. I just nod.
    â€œAnd who sits here?” I hear the new kid’s mom ask.
    I look back out the window. Straight ahead. Please don’t introduce me now. Please. Not in front of Mary Anne.
    â€œChildren of all ages sit here; it’s a question of temperament.”
    What he means is that the weirdos sit here. We’re the ones who look at the water.
    Most mornings it’s silver and blue like the moonlight that has just said good-bye to it.
    We don’t mind being called weirdos. Nobody says it mean, except Tuffman. Everyone calls us that, even Dean Swift, who a second later, says, “ Freedom from constant adult supervision, the bane of the modern child’s existence! That is the soul balm we offer these broken winged babes: personal liberty, independence, the wonders of the forest. Because our property extends into White Deer Woods, students can fish and explore as much as they like, which makes even the weirdos here at the counter happy.”
    The new kid’s mom gasps. “The last thing any child needs is to be labeled a weirdo ,” she says. Her voice is so sharp it hurts my ears. “This is precisely the kind of bullying we dealt with in the public schools.”
    From the corner of my eye I see the new kid shake his head. For a second I hate him. I’d give my teeth—all of them—to hear my mom chew someone out for me.
    I hear the dean gulp. I wait for one of his lies. They are always so unbelievable that whoever he’s lying to usually feels sorry for him and pretends to believe him. It’s what I used to do whenever he’d try to explain to me why my dad wasn’t coming to get me for the weekend.
    â€œI didn’t say ‘weirdos,’ ” Dean Swift finally says.
    I give him points for using a very hurt voice. Nice touch, Dean.
    â€œI said ‘Werewolves’ because that is what the students who sit here call themselves. They are wanderingwonderers and wondering wanderers with a future in the sciences.”
    Mary Anne covers her giggle with her hand. I don’t think it’s funny, though. The dean can call me pretty much anything he likes, just not that. I’m no werewolf.
    Dean Swift walks toward the back of the dining hall. “I’d like to show you the kitchen, where our residents help with meal preparation.”
    â€œCome on, Mom.” The new kid turns to follow the dean.
    Pretty Lady steps toward the window. She looks like she’s about to cry. My mom would have hated leaving me here too.
    I don’t want this lady to think it’s true.
    I’m not a werewolf. I’ve read about them. Werewolves are humans who got cursed. I’m not cursed. They have unibrows, and if you cut their skin you’ll see fur, not blood. Two fingertips fit between my eyebrows. I bleed. Werewolves attack people in the woods and eat them. I wouldn’t do that. Not even to Tuffman, and not just because he’d taste like old cheese and toe jam. Werewolves run with two feet and one hand and push their other hand back like a tail. That’s just awkward.
    So I turn around on my stool and shake my head at Pretty Lady. I mouth the words to her, “I am not a werewolf.” I am not a monster.
    She swallows and walks away fast, pretending likeshe’s afraid