Page 34 of Wicked Hungry

She nods. “Rabbits. Squirrels. Raccoons. Is there something you haven’t been telling me, Stanley?”

All of a sudden I wish I could answer that question. But I can’t bring her into it. Just mentioning the Slim Jims would destroy her. She may think she’s some kind of witch, but to me she’s just the hippy artist with a flower in her hair, listening to the Cocteau Twins while cooking a big pot of organic kosher vegetarian chili.

So I don’t say anything. I don’t want to lie to her.

She shrugs and sniffs the air once more. “You do smell strange. You even look strange. Were you playing with a dog or something? Teasing Max again?”

“Max won’t come near me.”

“I’m sorry to be so suspicious, Stanley. I’m just scared.”

“Mom, we live in Lansfeld. Nothing ever happens here.”

She shakes her head, biting her lip. “I’ve told you more than I was supposed to. And we’re having a birthday party here.”

I am suddenly exhausted. “It’s not a party, Mom. It’s just a little get-together.”

“Your friends are still coming over, right?”

“I think so. But Karen can’t come. At least not until full dark. Her skin.”

My mother’s eyes narrow.

“She’s got a skin problem. It gets worse in the sun, Mom. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s not like she chose to have an allergy or something.”

She just chose to take a pill. And after that, her choice was taken away.

“Sorry, honey. I’m just nervous.”

“Can I go take a shower?”

She nods, giving me one last searching look that I do my best to avoid. Really, she doesn’t want to see the secrets hidden in my eyes.

I almost make it to my room when I double over. Josh stares at me.

“You okay, Stanley?”

I nod. He’s got Max in his arms and I try to smile. But Max jumps down with a little hiss and runs off into Josh’s room.

“Sorry,” I say, straightening up.

“It’s okay,” says Josh. “He gets nervous sometimes. He’s been like this a lot lately.”

“Not just with me?”

Josh shakes his head. “Not just with you.”

“You coming to my party?” I ask him.

“Am I invited?”

I can’t help smiling over the pangs in my stomach. I nod my head.

“Then I’ll make you a present,” my brother says, and goes back into his room.

As soon as I have my own door shut behind me, I pull out the beef jerky from under my bed. My fingers throb and want to change; my palms itch, and I want to growl and howl as I tear into the dried meat. It’s tough and too salty compared to what I ate in Mr. Piper’s office. But for me, right now, it’s heaven.

But then I look down. A black glass bottle is clenched in my shaking hand. How did it get there? What if my mom and Karen and Mr. Piper, what if they all were right to warn me?