This Is Not a Werewolf Story by Sandra Evans Page B

Here’s a conversation I understand. I give her the stick. She shoves her smooth head into my leg for a second. Thank you.
    Welcome back to the world of doggy doors, kibble, and leashes. Where dogs are dogs and humans are humans.
    I lie down on the blue sofa in the parlor. I feel like the straw man—like everything that holds me up snapped, and the stuffing got ripped out of me.
    â€œWhat are you, sick?” a voice asks.
    I scream a roller-coaster scream. “Eeeeek!”
    Mary Anne is standing over me. She jumps when I scream and drops her notebook. I sit up and put my head in my hands. She sits down next to me.
    â€œSorry, Raul, I didn’t mean to startle you,” she says in a very kind voice. Then she starts to giggle. “That was funny, though.”
    It makes me laugh too. I can’t remember the last time I laughed so hard. Maybe when Little John filled Mean Jack’s shoes with crabs that had washed up dead on the beach. Or when Tuffman was showing us the proper form for sit-ups ( NO LIFTING YOUR BUTTSOFF THE FLOOR, YOU WEENIES), and he farted.
    This is better, because there’s no ghastly odor. Mary Anne smells like honey and daffodils. Trust me. If you had a wolf nose you’d know what a daffodil smells like, and it smells like it looks—yellow and frilly. Did you notice daffodils are always, always nodding yes at you? Remember that. Whenever you have a day where everyone is saying no to you, just find a daffodil. It will say yes.
    Man. This is what Mary Anne does to me. Flowers and giggles. I make myself sick.
    I stop laughing and look at her. Why is she here so early?
    She reads my face. “My mom has to fly to Chicago tonight, so she dropped me off early. I got here before Dean Swift did.” She frowns and then smiles quick to hide it.
    I know how that feels. I wonder how long she sat on the front steps with her suitcase, waiting in the fog. No wolf coat to keep her warm. I pat her on the shoulder.
    â€œNo big deal. I’m working on a novel,” she says. “I have the setting—Norway. And the villain—a sorcerer named Rodrigo who has a secret formula that will turn the world into a huge ocean. I have a heroine, a mermaid whose parents work for Rodrigo. But I need a hero.”
    She looks at me for a long time. Her eyes get very small like she’s thinking hard.
    â€œYou could be a hero,” she says slowly.
    I look down at my hands. I got a few cuts during that tussle with the rabbit. Do not, I repeat, do not get the wrong end of a rabbit that doesn’t want to be eaten.
    Mary Anne’s words make me feel so good it’s embarrassing. I want to float away and bury my head under a pile of blankets at the same time.
    Then I hear Mary Anne sigh. “No,” she says in her serious voice, “no, the hero needs to be more . . . hmm.” She pauses, scratching her chin. “More what, exactly? What is the word I am looking for?”
    I feel a little irritated. I watch her from the corner of my eye. Just because I don’t talk much doesn’t mean I can’t hear.
    â€œMore heroic,” she says finally. “You’ll make a fine helper for the mermaid. But the hero needs to be more . . . There’s only the one word for it, isn’t there?”
    I get up from the couch and head up to the bathroom to take a shower.
    What a day. Five minutes of conversation with Tuffman and I felt like I’d been doing sudoku for three hours straight. Five minutes of conversation with Mary Anne and I went from king of the world to feeling like a worm a bird pecked in half and then left because it didn’t taste good enough.
    There’s been too much talking already today, and I haven’t even said a word.

Chapter 10
A JOKE WITH NO PUNCH LINE: ONE DAY THIS PREDATOR WALKED INTO A FOREST . . .
    Bad news at dinner Sunday night.
    â€œChildren.” Dean Swift comes into the dining hall to make