Page 30 of Elmwood Inclusive Magic Academy
One of the wolves breaks off to take a drink from the lake, the other three hanging back. Two of them wrestle with each other good-naturedly, while the third, the smallest, lies down and watches.
I approach slowly on my broom, not wanting to startle her. (And not completely confident I could go faster even if I wanted to.) As the breeze off the lake changes direction, she catches my scent and looks up, her yellow eyes shining. She moves toward me slowly, away from her pack.
As I get closer, I disembark from my broom, a little awkward but better than I had hoped. She transforms into her human form, tall and outlined by moonlight.
I try to be cool about the fact that she’s always naked when she shifts out of her wolf form. Does she keep a pair of pants and a shirt hidden in a bush somewhere? Does she have a backpack? It’s hard to imagine her slinging a Jansport over her shoulders. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her wearing shoes, and I make a note to check the next time we have our charms class.
I smile at her. “Um, hi!”
“Hi,” she responds cautiously.
I’m suddenly struck by how strange this interaction is and I feel the colour rise in my cheeks. I’m normally pretty socially awkward to begin with, but something about her makes me even more tongue-tied than usual.
What was I thinking, coming over here? She doesn’t want to talk to me.
“Is there…something you wanted to say?” she asks, brow furrowed.
I somehow manage to pull it together. “I just wanted to say um, I’m sorry about the last time we talked. I was just in a bad mood and I was kinda pissed at my mom. I get it, that there’s lots going on in, um, the magical world and stuff.”
She stares at me, expressionless.
I continue. “I didn’t want to make you feel bad or…disrespect you or anything.”
There’s a very long, uncomfortable pause in which I regret every decision I’ve made in my entire life.
Then a breeze comes in off the lake and sends a chill over both of us. I realize I’m not wearing my cardigan and I shiver, automatically.
She raises an eyebrow. “Are you…cold?”
“Uh, well, we’re going into autumn and everything…”
She tilts her head, not unlike a curious puppy.
“I thought witches don’t feel cold.”
She’s right, technically. “Well…I mean, I canfeelthe chill…but it doesn’t actually bother me too much.”
“Then why did you shiver?”
I shrug. “It’s just a habit.”
I remember playing touch football in middle school in November; sneaking out at night with Timothy to drink peach Schnapps by the bleachers; making out in the back of his car. If I had been unaffected by the cold, Tim and the other kids would have thought it was strange. I had to act like it bothered me.
Another memory - a familiar, painful memory - rises to the surface. I push it away, blinking hard.
“It was just easier to pretend,” I say, so quietly I’m not sure if she hears me.
She steps closer. Another breeze passes through us, but this time, I stop myself from shivering. I let myself feel the chill across my bare arms. I never realized it before, but it’s refreshing. Exciting.
“You shouldn’t have to pretend you’re something that you’re not,” she says, her voice just above a whisper.
The smell of cedar and campfire.
Like a lens clicking soundly into place, the moonlit clearing by the lake comes sharply into focus. The stars illuminate each blade of grass; I can smell the resiny, warm pine of my broomstick; the lake hums constantly with unexplainable power.
And Rae…she watches me unselfconsciously with dark, intense eyes. The corners of her lips move imperceptibly, slyly, like we’re both in on a secret now.
Then her muscles tense. I can almost hear her heart beat faster. She turns toward the wolf pack behind her. All three wolves have stopped, their eyes on us. She looks at me once more, shaking her head slightly. And in one graceful movement, she shifts back into her wolf form and runs back to her pack.
