Page 2 of Fool Moon First Aid

“Well, he’s in for a wild time. He’d better find a bonded pack,” he says, his words garbled by a mouthful of ice cream. “Or a clan.”

Yuck. “You shouldn’t talk with your mouth full,” I scold, echoing Mama’s words, although I do the same thing.

“That’s what bothers you?” He rolls his eyes, looking both amused and puzzled. “You know, I could bite you and turn you into a wolf, like, right now.”

“So do it,” I dare him, puffing up my chest like I’ve seen superheroes do in comics. “Bite me.”

His eyes dart around like he’s a scared rabbit, and he looks all over the ice-cream shop, where colors swirl and laughter bounces off the walls. “I shouldn’t even be here,” he mumbles, his voice shaky. “My papa will tan my hide if he finds out I sneaked here again.” He shakes his head, his hair flopping like a puppy’s ears, and slides out of the booth, his legs jittery and unsure.

“Are you afraid?” I ask, my voice teasing. I’m curious, like when I poke at bugs with a stick to see what they’ll do.

“Of what?” he retorts, sounding like he’s had enough of my games. Mama always says I push the limits of fun.

“To bite me,” I answer, realizing I might have pushed the fun button a little too hard, but then he surprises me by scooting right next to me.

“No, I’m not afraid to bite you,” he says, but his hand is all wobbly like jelly. “I’m Ethan.”

“Ava,” I tell him, and I can’t help but reach over and taste his ice cream because it looks so yummy.

“Hey!” he complains, but he doesn’t really sound mad, just pretend mad. “That’s mine.”

“And what’s yours is mine,” I retort, remembering how Mama teases Daddy when she takes his cookies.

He makes a funny noise, like a laugh but not quite, and pretends to bite my hand. It’s all make-believe, like when we play pirates at school. I’m not scared of pretend pirates, and I’m not scared of pretend bites either…except maybe Mr. Rodriguez next door, who smiles all the time like a Cheshire cat. That’s spooky.

“I’m not going to bite you,” he finally says, swinging his legs that don’t touch the ground. I wonder if that’s fun. Maybe I’ll try it later.

“It’s just as well,” I mutter, glancing over at Mama, who’s at the counter, talking to the lady who makes the best sundaes. An idea pops into my head like popcorn. “One day, I’m going to be a veterinarian and take care of wolves like you.”

“That’s not how it works,” he says, all serious like a teacher. “Hospitals are for everyone.”

“But vets are for pets,” I argue, trying to sort it out in my head.

“I’m not a pet,” he argues, munching on his ice cream like it’s a crunchy snack. Who chews their ice cream? Crazy people do.

“You could be my pet,” I suggest, just to see his funny reaction.

He looks at me with eyes that shine weirdly for a second. “What?” he squeaks out, and it’s funny, like a cartoon.

“Be my pet,” I tell him, feeling brave and smart, like when I won the gold star in class.

He leans closer, and there’s that weird shine in his eyes again. “I’m not anyone’s pet.” Suddenly, he nips my finger with his teeth, but it’s more ticklish than painful. “There, I bit you. Now you are mine.”

I look at my finger, and there’s a tiny dot of blood. “You drew blood,” I remark, more surprised than anything.

“I did,” he replies, hopping out of the booth like a kangaroo as Mama comes over. “Now you’re my pet,” he proclaims with a grin and scoots away.

“Ava,” Mama scolds, giving me my ice cream, but she’s watching the boy leave. “Who was that?”

“My new pet wolf,” I say, digging into my ice cream and ignoring her questions. She’s the one who said no puppies.

I got a wolf instead. I just hope he knows how to use the potty.

Ava

“Boomer, down!” Eloise’s voice, a striking blend of stern command and barely contained giggles, pierces through the solid oak door of my cluttered office. Boomer, our resident snack obsessed Bernese mountain dog, is rumored to possess the spirit of a mischievous ancient wolf. Despite Eloise’s, my colleague and a seasoned vet tech who has worked alongside me for years, earnest efforts. Her tone lacks the ironclad firmness required to curb his mischief.

The ongoing ruckus in the hallway pulls my attention away from the cluttered desk, where charts and papers from today's hectic schedule are piled up. Should I step in to help Eloise with Boomer, or does she have it under control? Lost in thought, I pick up my once steaming cup and take a contemplative sip.

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