“Yes.”
“After we kissed… something happened.”
“Yes, I know,” I said sheepishly. “I was there.”
“I’m sorry—” he began. “For anything that happened…”
“So it was a joke?” I asked. “I kept hoping it was.”
I was relieved but totally embarrassed for getting so carried away with my paranormal thoughts and overactive imagination. I replayed my interpretations and feelings of the last few days. I started to laugh. I’d wasted so much time jumping to outlandish conclusions. I was so gullible.
“What do you mean?” he asked, almost confused. “You and me? You thought it was a joke?” His expression softened. It was as if I’d just insulted him.
“No. Not us.” I melted inside. Brandon was so handsome standing before me in the secrecy of the stairwell. “I meant after.”
“That’s what I want to talk to you about. There’s something I want to ask you,” he said earnestly. “I got home and didn’t have some items.”
“What do you mean?” I pressed.
“My shirt. My shoes.”
“I know. I have your shirt,” I confessed.
“You do?”
“Yes. I kept it as proof.” I showed him his folded shirt sandwiched in my bag.
“Proof?”
“That our time together wasn’t a dream. I know… you must think I’m a dork.”
“No — I think it’s really cool.” He smiled his gorgeous smile. “Speaking of dreams. I had a weird one that night.”
“Yes?”
“When I woke up… I had dirt all over me. I just want to know… But I’m ashamed to tell you… Did we?” he asked in an honest and heartfelt tone.
Brandon wasn’t referring to being a werewolf. He was referring to something else.
“No—” I assured him. “We didn’t do anything like that.”
“Really?” He was more disappointed than relieved.
“You really don’t remember… anything?”
“Just us together under the moonlight. And that awesome kiss.”
This time I smiled.
“But then I remember feeling weird. I think I might have had a fever and blacked out. I was hoping you’d tell me the rest.”
I paused. “You really don’t remember?” I repeated.
He shook his head.
“I’m not sure I can tell you the rest.”
“Why not?”
“If I told you what I witnessed, you’d certainly think I was insane and never want to see me again.” Besides, there was still the chance that I’d misinterpreted what I saw. There were no visible signs on Brandon that he was a werewolf. No scratches, no stubble, no wolflike fangs.
There had to be a third explanation. Brandon had a fever and the moonlight distorted my view of him. All I knew was that I couldn’t wait until another moon to see him again.
“So, can you tell me what happened?” he asked sincerely.
“I’m not sure—”
“Of what?”
“That I really saw what I think I saw… and if I didn’t, then you’ll just think I’m crazy.”
“How can I think that?” he asked. “You are popular, studious, and one of the kindest people I’ve ever met.”
I swooned inside from his compliment.
“Because what I saw wasn’t…” I trailed off.
“Wasn’t what?” he pressed. Then suddenly he was concerned. “Did I hurt you?”
“No — of course not.”
He sighed with relief. “Then don’t you see — I can’t remember. You have to tell me.”
“I know you’ll think I’m crazy — and you won’t want to hang out again.”
“But, Celeste, I want to see you. Again and again. Please tell me so tonight I won’t continue to have weird dreams. I can dream about you instead.”
I smiled. His words were like Cupid’s arrow shooting through my heart. But I was still reluctant. I might lose Brandon — no more texting, calls, passing glances, or amorous kisses. But as Brandon gazed at me now, so worried and confused, tormented by not knowing what happened, I was torn. If he felt I was keeping something secret from him, maybe I had more to lose by not telling him.
“I need to know why I didn’t have my shirt,” he insisted. “Why I was covered in dirt. Why I dreamed I was a…” But he didn’t finish.
I paused. Then I pulled him toward me so my lips were close to his ear.
“Because it looked like you turned into a werewolf.” It slipped out in a whisper.
His suddenly sad blue eyes blazed through me. I was waiting for him to laugh or chew me out for being crazy. But he didn’t do either.
The bell rang.
We lingered underneath the staircase, both shaken and confused. I didn’t want to go to lunch and be apart from Brandon any longer, especially now, when I’d just revealed something so bizarre to him. I was hoping he would kiss me, but our secret romantic moment was ruined. The tapping of boots and the squeaking of sneakers on the vinyl floor were approaching us.
Suddenly the students began exiting through the stairwell, and we were both forced to leave separately.
Winter break was usually one of my favorite times of the year. Not only did everyone in town decorate their houses with festive, twinkling lights and their yards with snowmen, penguins, and reindeer, but it meant two weeks of vacation. Free time to do whatever I wanted. And Ivy, Abby, and I had sleepovers, all-night gabfests, and endless laughs. I could sleep in as long as I’d like to and be my own boss.
But this year, winter break was torture. It meant two torturous weeks without seeing the guy who had stolen my heart. Practically every moment was spent thinking about him — him saving me, the first time I held his wounded hand in mine, the kiss of a lifetime. And when I wasn’t dreaming about him, I was worrying about him and the strange condition I found him in underneath the full moon. Instead of relishing my days of freedom, I longed for the ringing of first bell and the start of English class. But winter break crept along without him, monotonously.
I continued to wonder if what I saw that night was real and agonized over how I’d handled the situation. If I had to give advice to the lovelorn about what to say when seeing a guy again after sharing a spectacular kiss and hoping for another date, it would be to say one of these three things: “Had a blast,” “Hope we can hang out again,” or “Here’s my number.” The one thing I’d never advise saying would be, “It looked like you turned into a werewolf!”
How did I expect Brandon ever to call, text, or contact me when I’d told him that?
I was so confused about my feelings toward Brandon. Maybe it was time to turn back and not continue down this uncharted road I’d been traveling on. When Nash returned from vacation with his parents, it would be my chance to reconcile with him, put all this Westsider fascination to rest, and move on in the direction my life had already been taking. But I cared for Brandon so deeply, it just wasn’t something I had control over. And I assumed Brandon was mixed up as well. He was the one going through something — strange dreams, not remembering the nights, and missing school. If I contacted him, I’d only be adding to his already suddenly complicated life.
Having Juliette home during the break only added to my angst. She was in and out of our front door with different guys, laughing and giggling and staying out until the wee hours. All I wanted to do was see one guy, be near him, touch him, and kiss him. My skin hurt without Brandon’s touch, my mind raced with thoughts of him. I
