like the water. He's a skater, through and through.
Girls love him. Marina says he's got a glow—a shine that draws like honey. I wouldn't know. I'm sure not the player he is. I've never even had a steady girlfriend.
Marina, on the other hand, always gets mistaken for a skater. Brown-skinned and trim, her wild dark hair tamed under a skullcap, she's wearing baggy pants and a tight sleeveless T under her hoodie. But she only skates because it's what Desmond and I do. Her family may have come from Mexico, but she's an American surfer girl through and through. Her heart's out there with the waves, big or small. I paddle out with her sometimes, but I'm crap at it and I'm always falling off one of her spare boards.
The place where we really come together is our music. We're all crazy about surf and spy instrumentals and have been playing in Desmond's garage for a couple of years. Marina on drums, Desmond on bass and keys, me on lead guitar. We've yet to play out anywhere—we haven't even agreed on a name—but we practice whenever we can.
"What the hell happened to you?" Desmond asks.
Marina nods and bangs her knee against mine. "Yeah, you really had us worried, Saunders."
I'm still trying to decide what to tell them. They're my best friends, so I don't want to hide anything from them. But what if telling them puts them in danger? And what—I hate to think this—but what if this thing I've become turns them against me? Some people obviously have a lot of negative feelings toward Wildlings. When you think about it, it's pretty much the same as racism, which makes me feel kind of ashamed that I've never called my friend Dillon on it. What makes me feel worse is that I've called them freaks myself.
I've thought about Marina and Des a lot since talking to Cory in the diner, how it would go if the roles were reversed and it was one of them instead of me. I'm pretty sure I wouldn't let it make a difference. Sitting here with them, feeling their concern, all I can do is give them the benefit of the doubt.
"Don't look right now," I say, "but did you notice that black SUV parked at the far end of the lot?"
Desmond starts to turn around but Marina elbows him in the side.
"Jeez, Des," she tells him. "He said don't look right away." Then she turns to me. "What about it?"
"I'm pretty sure whoever's in it has been watching me. It showed up just after I got here and nobody's gotten out of it in the ten minutes since."
Desmond laughs. "Paranoid much?"
But Marina gives me a considering look.
"Why would anybody be watching you?" she asks.
I take a breath and let it out.
"That thing that's going around," I say. "It's happening to me. I've become a Wildling."
Desmond grins. "Shut up."
But I'm facing Marina as I speak. I see the flicker of something in her eyes—I don't know quite what—before she drops her gaze. When she looks up again, whatever it was is gone.
"Oh, Josh," she says. She puts a world of empathy into the words.
"Yeah," I say. "I know."
Desmond jumps to his feet. "What's with the 'Oh, Josh'? This is awesome ." He punches the air, once, twice. "So it was really you who laid out Steve?"
I nod.
"I never liked that guy," he says.
"Who did?" I say.
"Well, your mom, for one."
Marina grabs his arm and pulls him back onto the bench. "This is serious, Des."
"I know that. But come on. He can turn into a freaking tiger. How cool is that? I've always been afraid if it happened to me I'd end up like that kid who's some kind of South American tree frog. I mean, how useless would that be?"
"Mountain lion. Not tiger." I say.
"Whoa! Cooler still, dude." Desmond is practically bouncing, he's so excited.
Marina shakes her head and turns back to me.
"How do you feel?" she asks.
"Scared. Confused. A little bit excited."
Desmond grins. "Sounds like a good name for a tune."
"Don't you ever stop joking?" Marina says.
"I'm not. I think it would rock."
"You know what I mean."
Desmond nods. "Yeah, I do. But
Girls love him. Marina says he's got a glow—a shine that draws like honey. I wouldn't know. I'm sure not the player he is. I've never even had a steady girlfriend.
Marina, on the other hand, always gets mistaken for a skater. Brown-skinned and trim, her wild dark hair tamed under a skullcap, she's wearing baggy pants and a tight sleeveless T under her hoodie. But she only skates because it's what Desmond and I do. Her family may have come from Mexico, but she's an American surfer girl through and through. Her heart's out there with the waves, big or small. I paddle out with her sometimes, but I'm crap at it and I'm always falling off one of her spare boards.
The place where we really come together is our music. We're all crazy about surf and spy instrumentals and have been playing in Desmond's garage for a couple of years. Marina on drums, Desmond on bass and keys, me on lead guitar. We've yet to play out anywhere—we haven't even agreed on a name—but we practice whenever we can.
"What the hell happened to you?" Desmond asks.
Marina nods and bangs her knee against mine. "Yeah, you really had us worried, Saunders."
I'm still trying to decide what to tell them. They're my best friends, so I don't want to hide anything from them. But what if telling them puts them in danger? And what—I hate to think this—but what if this thing I've become turns them against me? Some people obviously have a lot of negative feelings toward Wildlings. When you think about it, it's pretty much the same as racism, which makes me feel kind of ashamed that I've never called my friend Dillon on it. What makes me feel worse is that I've called them freaks myself.
I've thought about Marina and Des a lot since talking to Cory in the diner, how it would go if the roles were reversed and it was one of them instead of me. I'm pretty sure I wouldn't let it make a difference. Sitting here with them, feeling their concern, all I can do is give them the benefit of the doubt.
"Don't look right now," I say, "but did you notice that black SUV parked at the far end of the lot?"
Desmond starts to turn around but Marina elbows him in the side.
"Jeez, Des," she tells him. "He said don't look right away." Then she turns to me. "What about it?"
"I'm pretty sure whoever's in it has been watching me. It showed up just after I got here and nobody's gotten out of it in the ten minutes since."
Desmond laughs. "Paranoid much?"
But Marina gives me a considering look.
"Why would anybody be watching you?" she asks.
I take a breath and let it out.
"That thing that's going around," I say. "It's happening to me. I've become a Wildling."
Desmond grins. "Shut up."
But I'm facing Marina as I speak. I see the flicker of something in her eyes—I don't know quite what—before she drops her gaze. When she looks up again, whatever it was is gone.
"Oh, Josh," she says. She puts a world of empathy into the words.
"Yeah," I say. "I know."
Desmond jumps to his feet. "What's with the 'Oh, Josh'? This is awesome ." He punches the air, once, twice. "So it was really you who laid out Steve?"
I nod.
"I never liked that guy," he says.
"Who did?" I say.
"Well, your mom, for one."
Marina grabs his arm and pulls him back onto the bench. "This is serious, Des."
"I know that. But come on. He can turn into a freaking tiger. How cool is that? I've always been afraid if it happened to me I'd end up like that kid who's some kind of South American tree frog. I mean, how useless would that be?"
"Mountain lion. Not tiger." I say.
"Whoa! Cooler still, dude." Desmond is practically bouncing, he's so excited.
Marina shakes her head and turns back to me.
"How do you feel?" she asks.
"Scared. Confused. A little bit excited."
Desmond grins. "Sounds like a good name for a tune."
"Don't you ever stop joking?" Marina says.
"I'm not. I think it would rock."
"You know what I mean."
Desmond nods. "Yeah, I do. But
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