Page 1 of Wicked Hungry

Chapter 1: THE WRONG BEGINNING

She said she’d always be there for me, but she’s gone, and it’s all my fault. Is she watching over me now? Or resting easy in her grave?

But that’s not the beginning. Not the right beginning, anyway. I need to start at the very beginning, right?

Sometimes I get confused. I’m not a normal boy. The only thing normal about me is my growing appetite, and a thirst to match.

And at night, I like to stare up at the moon.

Chapter 2: THE RIGHT BEGINNING

The air blows in cold and clean, but New England wet, through my open window. I pull up the screen and stick my head out. Up above me the moon is huge and bright. It gets bigger every night, and now, with it just a few days from full, I want nothing more than to jump out the window and run. Run down the empty streets.

But I can’t. Can’t jump out the window, obviously, but can’t run, either.

From down the street comes the even sound of feet gliding smoothly through the night.

Enrique. It’s got to be Enrique. These days he does nothing but train. We used to be best friends. Back when I was a middle school cross-country star and he had just arrived from Tampico, Tamaulipas. Maybe we still are best friends, but we’re moving apart fast. Well he’s moving fast, and I’m just standing still. Or limping along.

Enrique’s going to make the team. Varsity, maybe, as a high school freshman.

Good for him.

Me, I’ve got enough problems getting down the stairs.

I strap on my brace, grit my teeth. What’s up tonight? Is it the humidity? The moon? Or just that this is when I used to run?

Some questions just lead you down dead-end streets.

I’m distracted by paws padding across the wood floor.

Max. Maximilian. Josh’s kitten.

“Get out, Max!” I tell him.

Max just purrs and rubs against my leg. Why do cats always want to be friendly just when you want to be left alone? I look down and meet his eyes.

My stomach rumbles. High above me the moon pulls, waxing full. It grows incredibly slowly, but it’s still too much for me. My eyes narrow; my nostrils flare; my hands bunch into fists.

Max freezes, arches his back, and bolts into the corner.

“Max?” I ask him, shaking my head to clear it. “What’s the matter?”

He crouches in the corner, hissing.

“Josh, come in here and get Max!”

“Coming!” my brother calls. “Max? Max!”

Josh runs in to find Max still in the corner, staring at me, his back arched. He scoops him up. “What did you do to him?”

“Excuse me?” I say. “He just looked at me and started hissing.”

Josh shakes his head and heads out the door. “Mom!” he calls. “Stanley did something to Max!”

The house phone is ringing, but it’s never for me. I make it down the stairs, and I’m at the screen door when my mother calls me.

“Stanley!”

“Mom?”

“It’s for you.”

“For me?”

“Some girl from school, I think. I told her you were resting, but she insisted on talking to you herself.”

I come into the kitchen. My mother’s eyes are big and bright, her face is flushed, and her long fingers grip the phone tight.

“It’s late, Stanley. Tell her you can talk to her later.”

“Cut it out, Mom. You make it seem like I’m some kind of invalid.”

She shakes her head, shrugs.