Bad Wolf (5 page)

Finally, I spoke up. “What about Brandon? Why didn’t he transform
yesterday if he’s a...you know,
werewolf
?” The word felt strange and
heavy on my tongue.

“I did,” Brandon said in a small voice. “Remember how I ‘went to the
store?’ Anyway, I think we need to find a hotel or something. It’s getting
pretty hot in here.”

I pulled out my phone and scanned my hotel finding app, knowing better
than to press the issue further. Without consulting any of them, I picked one
with decent reviews and a low rate. “Done. Take a left onto Tennessee street.”

Nick started the van and we moved out onto the crowded street, congested
with rush hours traffic. The only sound our breathing and the whirr of the
engine as we headed off towards the grapefruit colored horizon.

Chapter
Three

On our way to the hotel I saw a big neon sign in front of a run-down
building that said, “Clam Shack Karaoke Night $200 Grand Prize” in pink,
glowing letters. Something inside me gravitated towards it. I don’t know what
it was, but of all the things I couldn’t control, with the punk riot, Trent
hating me, and two of my friends being werewolves (not to mention the third
being a demon), it seemed like the van’s broken brakes were one thing I could
fix.

Plus, I was in desperate need of a distraction.

“Pull over!” I called out loudly.

“What is it?” Nick asked, alarm in his voice. He pulled the van over
into the Clam Shack’s parking lot, probably assuming the worst.

“I…I really need a drink,” I finished lamely, unable to think of a
better excuse for forcing my friends into a karaoke bar. Still, I was
surprising myself with my lies lately—certainly beat, “my hamster ate my
homework.”

“Are you for real?” Brandon asked, incredulously. “You were pretty drunk
right last night. I’d be surprised if you weren’t still hung over.”

“Yeah well…” I started, unsure of how to defend my reckless drinking.
The truth was the idea of having another drink was still pretty repulsive to
me, even hours after the worst of my hangover subsided.

“I can’t handle all of that werewolf demon stuff. I need a drink,” I
said, letting the lie fall clumsily out of my lips. It was partly true, anyway.

“Okay,” Nick said, parking the car right in front of the shack. My jaw
dropped open at how easy it was to guilt them with this supernatural stuff. I
snapped my mouth shut quickly and jumped out of the van, heading for the door
before anyone could see the incriminating look on my face.

Like I said, lying isn’t my forte.

Inside the dusky bar there was a gaggle of sorority girls and frat boys,
a blur of white faces, blonde hair and summer dresses sitting in the back,
cajoling raucously over pitchers of beer.

“Well, we fit right in,” Trent muttered sarcastically. It was true, we
stood out like sore thumbs, but it couldn’t be any worse than what we had
experienced before. At least these people seemed less likely to start a riot
(though not any less likely to roll around on dirty mattresses, I thought with
a smirk).

“Anybody else want something to drink?” I said, forcing myself to fight
a grimace at the wafting scent of alcohol.

“Me. I am too damn sober for all of this melodrama,” Brandon, giving me
a good-natured wink. Nick shook his head and Martin and Trent avoided eye
contact with everyone.

“Okay,” I said, taking a breath before I braved the bar. “Hey, look,
there’s karaoke, maybe you should sign up Trent…” I said, trying in vain to get
his attention. He shot me a dirty look.

“Maybe you should sing, Bailey,” Brandon said with a devilish smirk. It
was good to see his good humor returning to him.

‘
Well
,’ I thought, ‘
maybe if I sing Trent will find it so
funny he’ll loosen up…
’ It was worth a shot.

“Yeah, sure. Why don’t you sign me up?” I told Brandon, flashing a
joyous smile that may have been trying too hard.

“Okay, well you asked me to,” he sang out with a glint in his eye. I
could tell he wanted everything to be back to normal again.

I ordered half a dozen shots for Brandon and I, figuring the best way to
get it over with was to just throw the liquor back. I sat at the bar for a
minute, surveying the stage. There was an old man with bloodshot eyes and a
beer belly manning the karaoke, giving the girls lecherous stares as they came
up to sing pop songs from the 90s. I felt a longing pang for college, for
Jason, for all of those things in South Florida that I had moved on from.

“Here ya go,” the bartender said, the glass clattering with the bar.

I took it with a smile, and threw it back quickly, trying to quell all
the longing inside of me. I waved at the guys sitting at a table in the corner,
and Brandon came running up from the sign-up table, a large smile on his
face.
 

My phone buzzed and I pulled it out, half hoping it was Jason.

‘
Stop it
,’ I told myself. ‘
Jason sucks
.’

It was Aamir. My heart began to race.

“Want 2 come to the show 2nite?”

I turned off my phone and shoved it back into my pocket. After
everything I had experienced thanks to his tip, I wasn’t sure that I ever
wanted to talk to him again. For all I knew, he was some kind of nymph or rogue
demon or whatever.

He dated one, at least.

No thank you. I wasn’t about to deal with any more of that bullshit than
I had to.

I finished my drink, the delicious buzz curling around inside of my veins.
I watched the clumsy girls onstage sing Destiny’s Child, and I suddenly felt
inspired. It had been years since I sang at church, and I remembered loving it.
I also played piano for ten years, but for some reason I stopped playing
altogether in college. I could blame it on a lack of access to a piano, but I
knew the truth. I was scared that music was a waste of time, that I had to
focus on marketing to make sure I had a career.

‘
Look how much good that did you,
’ I thought bitterly.

“You ready?” Brandon grinned at me, taking a shot glass in his hand and
tossing the amber liquid back with a grimace.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” I laughed, finishing my third shot. I felt a
heady whoosh come over me.
 

“Bailey Thompson!” called the old man onstage, looking over at Greek
life table with a smile. I shook my head and stood up, butterflies bursting in
my stomach.

I walked up to the stage and I saw his face drop. The alcohol gave me a
little sass, so I smirked and rolled my eyes. “Sorry to disappoint,
sir
,”
I said. He grumbled something I couldn’t hear, but I didn’t care. I jumped on
the old, dingy stage, buzzing with energy and alcohol. I wasn’t proud of the
events that led me here, in a beat up old karaoke bar in Tallahassee, but we
needed that prize money and Trent was acting like he was too good for all of
this.

Well I’ll be the first one to admit that I’m not. As far as I could tell
from the competition, it was worth a shot.

I took the microphone from the host’s hand and avoided making eye
contact with the crowd, keeping my eyes trained on the blue screen before me.
The ruckus let me know that none of the fratty boys or bleach-blondes were
paying any attention to me—they were all there to get hammered and laid.
The weird, embarrassing singing on the stage was just a plus.

“Go Bailey!” I heard Brandon call across the room. I smiled to myself,
my nerves slightly dissipating as I noticed the slur in his voice. At least I
wasn’t the only crazy one in our group that thought this was a good idea. The
music started, and I rocked to it slowly, my eyes still furiously glued to the
screen.

It was Elton John’s “Your Song.” I both wanted to kiss Brandon and laugh
at him for picking such a cheesy tune, but it was perfect for the number of
shots I had thrown back in the last ten minutes. I took a deep breath before I
let the classic words flow forth: “It’s a little bit funny...”

The music coursed through me, sending shivers down my spine. It had been
years since I sang like this, more often than not alone in my room with a hairbrush.
I closed my eyes, taking in each note and then letting it fly, each word taking
a part of my soul with me. It soothed me, lulled me into a hypnotic trance I
never wanted to break free from. I could feel tears welling up in my eyes.

Boy was I drunk.

“I hope you don’t mind, I hope you don’t mind...” I cried out, letting
the raucous build of the chorus consume me. I opened my eyes and saw that every
person in the goddamn bar was looking at me. In a panic, I focused my gaze on
my boys in the back. Trent was looking straight at me, a lazy smile spread
across his beautiful face. His steely gray eyes looked moist, like there were
tears welling up just waiting to burst forth.

Hot tears came to my own eyes as butterflies erupted in my stomach. I
was so angry at him for all the weird secrets, terrified of his strange
shifting abilities, and confused by the tender stretch of a smile across his
face, illuminated only by the dim, hazy bar lights.

‘
Holy shit. I’m in love with him
,’ I realized, a strange pull
gripping my heart. The tears flowed down my face freely, warm and comforting on
my cool skin.

“How wonderful life is while you’re in the world.”

I handed the mic back to the old lecherous man, embarrassed by the
absolute silence that followed my performance. All thoughts about getting Trent
to sing had left me. I ran out of that stupid grimy bar as fast as my wobbly
legs could carry me.

I took a deep breath as the humid night air hit me, warming up my numbed
fingers. I brought them over my chest protectively, gripping my arms as I
pressed my back against the concrete wall of the bar.

“That was so stupid,” I muttered, a hot wash of shame overcoming me. But
singing in the Clam Shack was the least of my worries. It was the revelation,
and the years of denial. I would never be over Trent. I brought my hands up to
my face and clutched them over my mouth and nose, forcing myself to take deep
breaths. Maybe I was overacting. Maybe it was just the alcohol.

‘
But it’s not. And you know it’s not
.’

In the parking lot I noticed a drunk couple pressed up against a car,
giggling and necking in each other’s arms. It was my immediate instinct to look
away—I hated PDA, and like most people, it made me uncomfortable. But
something stopped me. Something about the way the guy held her kept my eyes
trained on the lovers. His hands were loose around her waist, tender, like he
wasn’t afraid of losing her. And her smile was big and goofy, like she wasn’t
trying to be cute for him, like she wasn’t afraid that he might catch her face
at a strange angle, be repulsed by the double-chin her earnest laughter brought
and decide against calling her back the next morning.

I realized, with a sharp, ugly pang of envy, that I had never had that.
That’s why I was always annoyed at happy lovers unable to tear themselves away
from each others limbs. It wasn’t because of some unspoken societal rule that
it wasn’t acceptable—I didn’t actually put much credence in those kind of
things. It was because I had always felt alone in this nuanced way that no one
else in my life could remedy, no matter how much they loved me. Not even the
few boyfriends I had had. Especially not Jason, and I had been with him the
longest.

“Hey,” a gentle voice ripped me out of my thoughts. I turned to see
Trent, his eyes soft with concern.

“Hey,” I said back, trying to force a smile. “I just totally sounded
stupid didn’t I?”

His brows creased together as if he was trying to figure something out.
“No. You sounded wonderful. Why didn’t you ever tell me you could sing?”

I shrugged.
 
“I don’t think
my voice is anything to write home about. It’s pretty whatever, I can sing a
few ballads. I’m not a rock star like you.”

He shook his head, his black hair flopping over his eyes. I felt my
heart skip a beat. “You were incredible. So I guess we’re even.”

“What do you mean?” I said.

“You didn’t tell me about your voice, and I didn’t tell you about my…
lupine
condition.”

I laughed. Suddenly, the sadness inside of me quelled, lapping like
small ocean ripples on the shoreline instead of the monstrous waves it was
before. “I don’t know if it’s really the same thing.”

His face grew suddenly serious, his gray eyes storming over like thunder
clouds, beautiful, but severe. He took my hand into his, the calluses on his
fingers sending chills throughout my body. “I’m sorry, Bailey. I really am. I
know I should have told you before, but you’re one of the closest people to me
in this whole crazy world. I don’t know what I would do if I lost you.”

The earnestness on his face seared through me. I could feel all the
ripples of our past hanging in the air between us. I could see every pepperoni
he ever peeled off a slice of pizza and hear every chide he ever uttered as I
recapped for him my favorite moments of reality TV. There were all the
reassurances in moments of despair, when my dad left, when he dropped out of
college, the tears staining through the fronts of our shirts and the hugs that
were more than a little too long. We were more than friends—we were
connected on another level. Even if I was too scared to admit it.

“I couldn’t stay mad at you if I tried,” I laughed. “And it’s going to
take a lot more than your weird canine condition to get me to stop talking to
you.”

‘
Or loving you
,’ I thought.

Rain fell down from the night sky, hitting my skin in cool, refreshing
drops. I laughed, looking up and opening my palms to greet the invigorating
shower. We both loved the rain. It was part of our unspoken bond. When we were
little, we’d run around in it pretending we were planes lost in a stormy sky,
or pirates battling the high seas.