Page 11 of Who Let The Wolves Out?

ALICE

We reach the lake just as the last echo of the sob disappears into the trees.

My breath’s already tight in my chest—not from running, but from the feeling. That deep, rattling instinct something isn’t right. Jason moves ahead of me in long, fast strides. Even in human form, there’s something distinctly wolfish in how he scans the shoreline—alert, quiet, coiled.

“There,” he says, pointing.

Just past the canoes, huddled near the edge of the dock, is a boy. Small. Arms wrapped around his knees, head buried. His shirt’s soaked, sticking to his back like he either fell in or sat down in the puddle without caring.

“Nolan,” I breathe, already moving.

I kneel beside him carefully, ignoring the wet soaking into my jeans. “Hey, sweetheart,” I say softly. “Are you hurt?”

He doesn’t look at me.

Jason hovers behind me, breathing hard. He stays back, for once. Watching. Letting me lead.

My heart’s hammering. I glance down and catch sight of Nolan’s name tag, the edges torn, dangling by one corner. A little dragon head sticker half-scratched off.

“Can I sit here with you?” I ask.

Still nothing.

So I do anyway.

It’s quiet for a long time. Just the water lapping against the dock. Somewhere out in the woods, someone’s blowing a whistle. Probably a counselor trying to wrangle their group back for snack time.

I pretend I don’t hear it.

“I’ve had a hard day too,” I murmur, mostly to the lake. “Fell in a mud puddle. Everyone saw. I looked ridiculous.”

That earns a tiny sniff.

“I didn’t think it’d be like this,” I continue. “I thought I’d come here, help kids, make friendship bracelets, you know? And instead... it’s been hard. And messy. And loud.”

Another sniff. “They called me fake.”

I turn, gently. “Who did?”

He doesn’t answer, but I can guess.

The boys in his cabin. The ones Jason had to break up earlier when they started arguing over who got to be “the dragon” in dodgeball. The same ones who whispered and snickered every time Nolan walked a little slower. Every time he flinched at noise.

“They said I’m not a real shifter,” Nolan mumbles. “’Cause I can’t do it. I try and try and nothing happens. I just get this buzzing in my chest and then it goes away.”

“Oh, Nolan.” I want to pull him into my arms, but I wait. Let him lead.

“I’ve never shifted. Not once. And my dad said... he said I should’ve by now.”

He sounds so small. So unsure. My heart cracks a little wider.

Jason moves closer, finally crouching down beside us.

“You know,” he says, voice low and gentle in a way I haven’t heard from him before, “I didn’t shift ‘til I was eleven.”

Nolan lifts his head slightly. Just enough to look at Jason from behind his curls.

“It’s true,” Jason says. “Full moon came, I thought I’d grow fur and claws and rip off the screen door like my brother did. But I just got itchy and fell asleep.”

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