Jennifer Scales and the Ancient Furnace by MaryJanice Davidson Page B

up my wooden butt!”
    ***
    They had not cared for that last clever metaphor at all, Jennifer reflected later in the quiet isolation of her room. Her posters of boy bands, soccer stars, and fantasy movies were on the floor in tatters. She was sketching an endless flock of sheep with her charcoal stick directly on the faded pink wall. Across their backs, she suggested a dark, winged shadow.
    “Jennifer?”
    She didn’t turn around. “Come on in, Susan. Skip and Eddie can come in, too. Make sure they know not to put weight on that top bit of the trellis.”
    “What are you doing?” Susan sounded worried as the boys scrambled over the sill behind her.
    “Who keeps their window open in Novem—Hey!” Eddie’s voice was even more concerned than Susan’s, but he tried to joke. “Won’t your parents execute you for doing that? My Dad caught me with crayons on the wall when I was four, and I can still remember the court-martial.”
    Jennifer still didn’t turn around. “They won’t punish me. I won’t be spending much time in this room, anyway. And I figured you would be coming—that’s why I left the window open. Please close it, Skip.”
    She heard the window close, then Susan’s tentative voice. It was difficult to pay attention: She could smell food.
Prey
? Her better sense chased the thought away.
    Susan was saying that Skip had told her and Eddie about what happened with Bob Jarkmand, and that Bob had to go to the hospital, and the whole school was talking. That, and maybe Jennifer wasn’t coming back to school, because she had been expelled …
    “That’s not true,” Jennifer interrupted.
    Susan paused. “No? Then what happened?”
    “I’m not expelled. I’m…” It was so hard to lie to her friends like this. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
    “Skip was saying he heard maybe you were really sick, which makes sense,” offered Eddie. “I mean, the way you jumped out of my dad’s truck last week. If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s cool. But please don’t feel alone. We’re here if you need us.”
    Jennifer reached out behind her and grabbed Eddie’s knee as he crouched down by her. “Thanks, Eddie.”
    They all breathed out with a bit of relief before she continued. “But this feels like a solo run, guys. At least for now. You can stay if you like. Put on some music, make yourselves at home. Heck, pick up a stick of charcoal if you want. But I won’t be talking too much.”
    “I don’t get it,” Susan said, ignoring what Jennifer just said. “The championship wasn’t that long ago! You played great. That kick! And then hitting Bob in the hallway—you seem so strong. How can you be sick?”
    Jennifer stood and began sketching trees off in the distance, far away from the sheep. No cover for the poor little sheep.
    Her friend tried again. “Anyway, I acted like a jerk today when I didn’t even say hello. I couldn’t figure out what to say. I’m really sorry. I mean, you’re my best friend, and we haven’t seen or talked to each other in a long time. I miss you.”
    Jennifer couldn’t bring herself to speak. Part of her was thrilled that Susan still cared, but most of her wished she had locked her window and avoided this. Why become best friends again, when she’d just have to disappear again before the next crescent moon—possibly for good?
    A moment passed, and then Susan exploded. “Dammit, could you at least turn around and
look
at us?”
    I’m afraid of the shapes I might see
, Jennifer thought. She remembered the spindly sheep on the bus, and the animals all over town. She liked her friends the way she remembered them, not stretched out like some kind of insane claymation farm movie characters. But she didn’t know how to put her fear into words.
    “This is getting old fast,” snarled Susan.
    “Susan, cut her a break!” pleaded Eddie. “We can’t know what it’s—”
    “I had a mother who was sick, five years ago.” Susan interrupted. “I’m