Maggie Stiefvater - Linger

Mercy Falls, Minnesota, looked different when you knew youd be human for the rest of your life. Before, it had been a place that existed only in the heat of summer, concrete sidewalks and leaves curved up toward the sun, everything smelling of warm asphalt and dissipating truck exhaust.

Now, as the spring branches shared seldom-seen frills of tender pinkit was where I belonged.

In the months since Id lost my lupine skin, Id tried to learn how to be a boy again. Id gotten my old job back at The Crooked Shelf, surrounded by new words and the sound of pages turning. Id traded my inherited SUV, full of the scent of Beck and my life with the wolves, for a Volkswagen Golf just big enough for me and Grace and my guitar. I tried not to flinch when I felt the cold rush in through a suddenly open door. I tried to remember I was no longer alone. At night, Grace and I crept into her room, and I folded myself against her body, breathing in the smell of my new life and matching my heartbeat to hers.

If my chest caught when I heard the wolves slow howls in the wind, at least I had the balm of this simple, ordinary life to console me. I could look forward to years of Christmases with this girl in my arms, the privilege of growing old in this unfamiliar skin of mine. I knew that. I had everything.

Gift of time in me enclosed

the future suddenly exposed

I had started to bring my guitar with me to the bookstore. Business was slow, so hours would go by with no one to hear me singing my lyrics to the book-lined walls. The little notebook Grace had bought me was slowly filling with words. Every new date jotted at the top of a page was a victory over the disappearing winter.

Today was a day much like the ones before: wet morning streets still devoid of consumer life. Not long after I opened up the store, I was surprised to hear someone come in. Leaning the guitar against the wall behind my stool, I looked up.

Hi, Sam, Isabel said. It was strange to see her on her own, without the context of Grace, and stranger still to see her here in the bookstore, surrounded by the soft reality of my cave of paperbacks. The loss of her brother the winter before had made her voice harder, her eyes sharper, than theyd been the first time Id met her. She looked at mea canny, blas look that made me feel naive.

Whats up? she asked, sitting on the empty stool next to me, crossing her long legs in front of her. Grace wouldve tucked hers underneath the stool. Isabel saw my tea and took a sip before breathing out a long sigh.

I looked at the violated tea. Not much. New haircut?

Her perfect blond ringlets were gone, replaced with a brutal, short style that made her look beautiful and damaged.

Isabel raised one eyebrow. I never pegged you for a fan of the obvious, Sam, she said.

Im not, I said, and pushed the untouched paper cup of tea toward her to finish. It seemed filled with meaning to drink from it after she did. I added, Otherwise, I wouldve said, Hey, shouldnt you be in school?

Touch, Isabel said, taking my drink as if it had always been hers. She slouched elegantly on her stool. I hunched like a vulture on mine. The wall clock counted off the seconds. Outside, heavy white clouds that still looked like winter hung low over the street. I watched a drop of rain streak past the window, only to bounce, frozen, on the sidewalk. My mind drifted from my battered guitar to my copy of Mandelstam sitting on the counter (What shall I do with this body they gave me, so much my own, so intimate with me?). Finally, I leaned over and pressed the play button on the sound system tucked beneath the counter, restarting the music overhead.

Ive been seeing wolves near my house, Isabel said. She shook the liquid in the cup. This tastes like lawn clippings.

Its good for you, I said. I fervently wished she hadnt taken it; the hot liquid felt like a safety net in this cold weather. Even though I knew I didnt need it anymore, I still felt more firmly human with it in my hand. How close to your house?

She shrugged. From the third floor, I can see them in the woods. Clearly, they have no sense of self-preservation, or theyd avoid my father. Who is not a fan. Her eyes found the irregular scar on my neck.

I remember, I said. Isabel had no reason to be a fan, either. If any of them happen to wander your way as humans, youll let me know, right? Before you let your dad stuff them and put them in his foyer? To lighten the impact, I said foyer like the French: foi-yay.

Isabels withering look couldve turned lesser men into stone.

Speaking of foi-yays, she said, are you living in that big house by yourself now?

I wasnt. Part of me knew I ought to be in Becks place, welcoming back the other pack members as they fell out of winter into their human forms, looking out for the four new wolves that had to be getting ready to shift, but the other part of me hated the idea of rattling around there with no hope of ever seeing Beck again.

It wasnt home, anyway. Grace was home.

Yes, I told Isabel.

Liar, she said, adding a pointy smile. Grace is such a better liar than you. Tell me where the medical books are. Dont look so surprisedIm actually here for a reason.

I didnt doubt that you were here for a reason, I said, and pointed to the corner. I just had yet to ascertain what that reason was.

Isabel slid off the stool and followed my directions to the corner. Im here because sometimes Wikipedia just wont cut it.

You could write a book about the things that you cant find online, I said, able to breathe again now that she had gotten up. I started to fold a duplicate invoice into a bird.