Page 59 of Strays
How’s the first day? You guys okay?she texts.
Yeah. Found a gun. Ate jerky. You?I reply.
So basically you’re thriving,she sends back.
Then:I’m fine, I guess. Just dealing with the fact that word’s getting out about what I am. Since I got here, all I see are people staring at my bite marks.
Shit. I didn’t know the people at the hospital didn’t know what she is.
How bad is it?I text.
Maybe I’ll need a lawyer. But I already went through this in college. People make a fuss, but eventually they leave me alone,she replies.
I’m sorry,I send back.
This is the kind of problem I didn’t anticipate. Something she’d have to face because of our bonding. Because of us.
She answers quickly:Don’t be.It’s not your fault. Anyway, I’m thinking of doing a barbecue once we finish unpacking. Want to show you guys off. I think once people see how amazing you are, they’ll snap out of this stupid prejudice. Just grilling, nothing fancy. What do you think?
The idea that she wants to show us off, like she’s proud of us, makes my chest pull tight. I want to tell her that just seeing her name on my screen makes everything better. That I’ve checked my phone six times today, hoping she’d text. But I don’t know how to say that, so I just type:Sure.
Great! Gotta go. You and Jay talk to Shane. And tell him I’ll buy a new phone and give his back. I want to text him too.
Before I can say anything, Jay slips his phone into his pocket and asks: “Where do you think we can learn how to barbecue?”
After we explain it to Shane, Jay somehow finds an impressive number of grilling videos on YouTube, and we take advantage of the dead air to watch them. By the end of the shift, we’ve learned more than I ever thought possible about temperature zones and meat thermometers.
By five, most of the unit has filtered back in. The room’s louder now with report chatter, chair legs scraping tile, boots crossing the floor.
When Wilsbone steps in, the room quiets. “Alright. Brief end-of-shift.” He crosses his arms. “Recon sweep turned up something. Glock. No serial, no prints. Could be nothing. Could tie to the Bay Seven calls. Either way, it’s logged.”
He pauses, then looks at us and nods once. “The new aegis unit caught it. Clean work.”
This is the first time we’ve ever been given credit in front of a room like this. I don’t know what to say, so I just nod back.
We head to the truck and drive home, stopping at an electronics store on the way to buy Jo a new phone. Same brand she had, just a newer model.
When she finally gets home after her shift, we’ve already finished unpacking the whole first floor. Only the upstairs still has boxes. She squeals when we hand her the new phone, clutching it like we gave her diamonds, and spends the next thirty minutes curled on the couch fussing with it, figuring out the new settings, logging into her apps, syncing everything with her account.
Yesterday we lived off pizza, but tonight she makes dinner and preps lunch for us to take to the station the next day. And now that we actually fit in the kitchen, she starts teaching us how to cook too.
She puts on music and moves around like she belongs there, guiding us through each step, telling us what she’s doing and why, correcting how we hold the knife or stir the sauce.
Between instructions, she tells us about her day. “The word spread quickly. Before lunch, people from other departments were already coming to stare at me like I was some kind of zoo attraction. People I’ve known for months, since I started my residency.”
She says it lightly, but the sharp lemon note in her scent doesn’t let her hide how upset she really is.
We all make a face. It’s not just her scent making us anxious, triggering that strange urge to carry her to the nest, cover her with blankets until she disappears, and stand guard at the door. It’s the guilt too. It’s hard hearing how she was treated, but worse knowing it’s because she bonded with us.
“I mean… even Kacy and Jenna,” she goes on. “They went completely different from the way they were with me. Like they didn’t know how to act around me, even though we’re friends… or I thought we were.”
I remember the names, her nurse friends. From the way she talked about them, they were close, so it feels especially cruel that the second they found out she wasn’t human, they changed. But I’m not surprised.
Jay’s voice is clipped. “People never treat us the same as humans, Jo. Now that they know you aren’t one of them, don’t expect consideration.”
She stops chopping tomatoes and looks at him. “I’m the same person I was ten days ago. Treating me differently just because I’m a nyra makes no sense. I didn’t change.”
“We know that,” I say. “But try explaining that to a human. I’m just glad all you got was gossip and stares and no one reported you like you were a rhino on the loose.”
