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It was mid-November, and a few weeks had passed since my friends and I were circled around a campfire in the woods and Nash had told us his frightening werewolf story. Footballs, goalposts, and grass were replaced with basketballs, hoops, and hardwood floors. The red, gold, and orange autumn leaves had fallen or been blown away and now many trees stood naked. The temperatures fell, too. There was just a dusting of snow on the ground.

I loved the first fresh snow when it blanketed the town and closed the schools, or a weekend snowfall when it accumulated enough for us to stay indoors with a cozy comforter, a good book, and tasty hot chocolate. I loved the sound of the snow crunching underneath my boots or the ultralight snowfall on a silent street. I loved magical moments when the only impressions in the snow were the tiny footprints of a bird. And I cherished the memories of when Juliette and I were younger and dragged our sleds to Hillside or another nearby slope.Advertisement

We hadn't had a major snowfall yet, however, only cold weather and occasional flurries. Snow wasn't nearly as great when it wasn't enough to close school. Then it was just inconvenient and messy to trudge through, soaking the hallways, and leaving me crossing my frozen fingers that I wouldn't wipe out and land on my backside in front of the entire student body.

Abby, Ivy, their beaux, and Nash and I were in library study hall keeping warm. In our English class we were studying American folklore and had been assigned a paper on the subject. I kept thinking about Mr. Worthington's werewolf story. I decided werewolves would be a good subject for my essay. It was one thing to have Nash tell a campfire story to scare us, but I was even more intrigued that Mr. Worthington seemed impassioned by the tale himself. And besides, I could use him as a resource for my paper. Nash's story was exhilarating and frightening because of the thought a werewolf could be living among us. Though I didn't believe in their existence, I could only imagine that the early settlers had felt alone like we had been in the woods.

I went to the stacks, scanning the aisles for anything werewolf. I picked up several books. The Encyclopedia of Monsters and Myths and Mysteries. I found The Book of Werewolves and was pulling it off the shelf when it slipped from my hand.

As I bent down to pick it up, someone was already handing it to me. It was Brandon Maddox.

For the past few months I'd only had brief encounters with Brandon or passed him on the way to class. We were in a few classes together but he sat in the back, his head buried underneath his wavy locks. He always ate lunch by himself. I'd never admit to my friends that I thought Brandon was handsome. He had deep, royal blue eyes that shined through his short, shaggy dark hair. If he were an Eastsider, he'd surely be one of the most popular guys in school. But since fate led him to be on the Westside, he was greatly ignored.

Brandon didn't say anything. I sensed it was not because he was afraid to but because he was the kind of person who chose his words carefully.

I wanted to say thank you. But as he continued to gaze into my eyes, my words escaped me.

"Celeste! Get over here," Ivy called. "What are you doing?"

I headed over to my friends, feeling slightly more flushed than I had when I'd left them.

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"Werewolves?" Nash asked when he saw me holding my stack of books.

"I thought I could ask you to tell the class the Legend's Run Werewolf legend. I could score some extra points," I said.

"Is this my paper or yours? I'm not working on two," he said, and buried his head in Sports Illustrated. "Besides, I was hoping to buy my paper off the internet."

"Nash!" I said, horrified by his plan.

"I'm just kidding, Parker," he said to me. "Lighten up."

"I'm considering quilting," Ivy said proudly.

"Quilting?" Jake asked.

"Yes, many people told stories through narrative quilting."

"Boring!"

"Of course it would be boring to you," Ivy said. "If it doesn't involve cheerleaders, you don't want to hear about it."

"Were there naked quilters?" Jake asked. "Now, that would be interesting!"

Ivy playfully hit her boyfriend.

"I was thinking of investigating witches," Abby proudly announced.

"You won't have to go far to investigate that," Dylan said.

"Well, thanks," Abby said sarcastically.

"No-I mean you can ask Dr. Meadows," he said.

"Who?" Ivy asked.

"That witch doctor in Riverside," Dylan replied. "My mom went there for acupuncture and said she sells books on everything. I'm sure she has information on witches."

Abby appeared skeptical.

"While you're there, maybe you can get your fortune told," Dylan continued. "See if I'm getting any action from you this weekend."

"You want me to go to the Westside and talk to a witch doctor?" Abby said. "Are you crazy?"

"Are you chicken?" Dylan challenged.

"Of course not!" Abby replied.

"Going to Riverside," he taunted. "Afraid you'll want to move in?"

"No. It's just I have volleyball practice." Abby wasn't one to be pushed around; she had her reputation to uphold.

"I dare you," Jake said.

"Dare?" Abby asked.

"Yes, dare!" he repeated.

"Fine," Abby said, shaking his hand. "Ivy, Celeste, and I will get our fortunes told by Dr. Meadows."

"I don't believe you," Dylan said. "You, in Riverside? I'm not sure they'll let you in."

"They better," she said. "And I'll prove it to you. I'll get a reading and then a receipt."

"Whatever you say," Dylan said with a laugh.

"And when I do," Abby continued, "you'll have to be our servants for a day."

"Aren't we already?" he asked.

"And if you don't, then you'll have to be ours." Jake smiled.

"I guarantee that won't be happening," I said.

My friends cuddled and studied with their boyfriends as I imagined what my fortune might be.

I gazed outside. I could see the moon hanging in the cloudless blue sky. It looked lonely, staring back at me. I wondered if it thought the same of me. pqdm.com