3 #2
Celeste bends over, head shoved into a bush across the street from the lighthouse.
Her Beetle is yards away in the parking lot, amongst the other partygoers’ cars, looking more like the shadow of a boulder in the darkness.
We can’t hear the music from here. We can’t see any lights except the streetlamps above us.
I rub Celeste’s back in soothing circles as she vomits the rest of her stomach’s contents onto a very unlucky shrub and wipe the blood from her cheek and chest, taking care to avoid the growing rash.
When I’m done and she’s clean, I rifle through my purse. Pull out my granola bar, followed by my mace. “What do you think? Snack to absorb the alcohol, or mace to burn our eyeballs and make us forget this night ever happened?”
Her voice croaks out, normal once more. “I think the mace might have the opposite effect.”
“Fair enough.” I replace it with my pocketknife. “What about a free lobotomy?”
She groans and straightens, teetering on her feet and grabbing me for balance. I drop my purse on the ground to catch her. “Did everyone in school see?” she asks, burying her face in my shoulder. It sounds like a plea for mercy.
“Hardly everyone. The teachers weren’t there,” I point out with a half smile.
She groans louder, throwing her head in her hands. “I’m never drinking again.”
“Sure, sure.” I run a shaky hand through her hair. Tears trail down my cheeks, but I don’t let her see them. I’m just glad she’s okay. I’m glad the fight wasn’t worse. But I can’t say any of that without upsetting her. In this moment, my only instinct is to fix this. Get her home safely.
“I mean it,” she whines. “I—I don’t know what I was thinking.
I’ve never fought before. And that bitch—her nails were sharp as hell.
” Her fingers ghost the marks on her cheek, and she hisses.
I feel the burn as if it’s my own pain, my heart pounding in my ears.
This night could’ve ended so much worse.
“You were trying to protect me,” I say, forcing myself to sound normal. Forcing myself to ignore the sweat drenching her skin. The blood crusted near her ear. “You were also very drunk. And abrasive.”
“I’m sorry, Ness.” Sobs rack her small frame. “I feel… my chest hurts so badly. It’s like I can’t breathe. I’m so hot—”
“It’s adrenaline. Your body is in shock. As soon as that fight started, it’s like… it’s like you disappeared.” I swallow hard. She trembles, and her skin still feels feverish. Maybe it’s not just from the heat. Maybe something is wrong. Really wrong, and—
No. I can’t think like that. Not right now. If I can’t keep my head, she won’t keep hers either.
“They deserved it.” Celeste pulls back and tugs the bottom of her shirt up to wipe her eyes before sitting on the curb. Her whole body deflates. “Your knee is still bleeding.”
I sit beside her, throwing an arm over her shoulder because I can’t bear to not touch her. To not comfort her. “It’s okay. I don’t even feel it.”
We sit in silence for a while. Eventually, her breathing evens out. Her cheeks grow pale as the red flush drains away. It’s Celeste again—just Celeste. Big brown eyes find mine in the darkness. “I wanted to protect you.”
“I know.” I press my head to hers, knife heavy and cold in my hand. “I thought about killing her. When she slapped you, I thought about fighting her myself.”
“That’s because you’re stubborn and loyal and… and we’re sisters ,” Celeste says. “You know that, right? You’re the only family I’ll ever need. You’re it for me, Vanessa Hart.”
“You’re it for me too, Celeste Ward. Forever.”
She locks her pinky with mine, and the smile on her face takes me back eleven years, to when we first met. She laughs, and the pressure on my chest eases. I can breathe again. Everything… everything is going to be okay.
“I can’t believe you almost danced with Max Cayden,” she says, knocking into my side.
I hide my blush behind my hair. “I don’t think he was into me.”
“Don’t listen to those assholes. He would’ve been into you if you’d danced with him.”
Though I know her words are a lie, I still force myself to feel hopeful. “You think so?”
She nudges me with her elbow. “Absolutely. There’s still a chance for you and Max. So long as we can figure out a way for you to communicate actual words instead of just drooling.”
I clamp a hand over her mouth, unable to stop myself from giggling. “Like you’re any better? I missed you, Brooklyn! I love you, Brooklyn! I want to have your babies, Brooklyn! ”
She licks my hand, and I yank it away with a squeal. She’s laughing, though. I am too. “I do think I like him. Maybe even a lot.”
“I know you do.”
“Of course. Vanessa Hart always knows everything.” She sticks out her tongue, giggling, before her gaze drops to the ground. “Do you… do you think…”
“Yes,” I say, without her needing to finish the thought. “He’s good, Celeste. Even better, he’s good for you.”
She exhales. “I guess we should think about leaving, then. Before the cops come and arrest us, and the boys refuse to ask for our hands in marriage.”
For some reason, I’m not as worried anymore. About the cops or the boys or even the events that happened tonight. My body feels lighter, more relaxed, my muscles no longer tensed in anxious anticipation. As long as I’m with Celeste, I know I’ll be fine.
I take my time standing, dusting the sand off her body and untangling her hair.
“If Mom catches me like this, she’ll send me to Bible camp again,” Celeste mutters.
“You’ll move in with me if it comes to that,” I say. “I refuse to let you go somewhere for an entire month without me.”
“Thank god,” she says. “Let’s sit in the Beetle until we’re sober enough to drive home. I can’t bear to walk back into that party now and ask Brooklyn for a ride.”
“Agreed.” We start to walk toward her car, our hands joined and swinging.
Waiting a couple of hours sounds like the easiest thing in the world now.
We look both ways when we cross the street—and suddenly Celeste’s grip on my hand tightens.
She yanks my arm to her side. I think it’s affectionate, at first, and wait for her usual squeeze of assurance. But it doesn’t come.
Her lips clamp down on a whimper, her head twisted fully to my left.
“What—”
“Look.” Her gaze fixes on the street behind me. I turn to follow it, and my heart sinks to the floor.
There is a shadow in the street, a strong silhouette as tall and wide as one of the kids on the beach. They look at us, but they don’t move. At least, not forward or backward. Their arms hang limp at their sides for a moment before one snaps. Then the other.
Their bones break and twist. Their legs contort.
Each body part seemingly splits into two, three, four before our eyes.
“Shit.” The word cracks into two syllables on my tongue. Just like their bones.
“D-do you see that?” Celeste whispers.
I nod. Or maybe I don’t. I grab her tighter, hold her harder. “It’s just… some kind of stunt. Someone trying to go viral. It’s not real. It’s not—”
The shadow’s back splits open at their spine, flesh parting, bones protruding. They seem to turn inside out, molding into something else.
All the liquor I drank, every meal I ate, comes rushing out of my stomach and onto the ground. Splatters loudly enough that the shadow’s head snaps up—snaps back. Breaks viciously before reforming. Ears tightening into points. Teeth growing into fangs. And fur… fur everywhere.
“Wolf,” Celeste breathes.
The shadow has become a wolf.