The Next Full Moon by Carolyn Turgeon Read Free Book Online Page B

until dawn, but he was always happy the next day, glowing even. “They swim right to you,” he said. “You could scoop them up with your hands.” The forest, too, turned magical under the moon, he said, revealing all its secrets.
    â€œWhatever floats your boat,” was her typical response. More trout to throw right back in the water. She always thought how terrible it would be to be a fish in these parts,getting caught over and over again whenever you just wanted to swim to the surface and get some dinner.
    Speaking of which . . . Her growling stomach broke the mood, and she padded over to the kitchen to see what goodies her father had left behind.
    Inside, right in the middle of the top shelf, was a Tupperware bowl with a note that said “DINNER, HEAT THREE MINUTES, FROM DAD” taped to the top. She peeked, saw it was his famous spaghetti bolognese, one of her favorites.
    Things were starting to look up.
    She poured herself a glass of lemonade and stuck the food in the microwave, then wandered back over to the sliding door as the rich scent of meat and sauce began to fill the house.
    A figure moved and she cried out loud, almost dropping her drink, before she realized it was her own reflection she was looking at. She stopped, staring at herself. She looked . . . pretty. Even in her stupid hoodie. Tall and lean, her long black hair curling down and her skin pale, ivory, which was nice in this light. Beautiful, even. She set down her drink and stepped forward, curious.
    She was entirely alone. Her father wouldn’t be home for hours yet.
    She unzipped the hoodie and pulled it off. Watched as the feathers spread from underneath her short sleeves downto her elbow, catching the moonlight and seeming to glitter.
    She stepped forward again, focusing in on her reflection in the glass. Shadows fell over her body, but the feathers glimmered and shone in the light, bright as the moon. Her hair fell black down over them. The feathers did really look like a jacket of some kind, like Morgan had said. She twisted around and looked over her shoulder, lifting up her hair to see the feathers covering her back, spreading up to her neck and down to her hips, but perfectly. As if someone had painted in an outline for them to fill.
    She turned back around, moving her hair to cover her breasts.
    It wouldn’t be so bad, she thought, if she could always just walk about at night in the shadows, seeing her reflection in dark glass, by the light of the moon. She could hang out with vampires and wear lots of black.
    Turning again, she put her palm on her forearm and moved it up, slowly, over her skin and to the feathers.
    To her surprise, she could slip her hand in between the feathers and her skin. Right there, near her elbows, the feathers were no longer attached. She almost cried out, it was so unexpected, though Morgan had said something about it earlier in the day. Hadn’t she? Peeling , she had said. It looks like it’s starting to peel . . .
    Ava had blocked it out until now. It had been hard enough just to get from class to class, insisting she was fineeven as sweat dripped all over her and she was about to die of heatstroke or humiliation, whichever came first.
    She pushed her fingers up farther and felt more feathers coming off her skin, as if she actually were wearing a jacket, or, worse, picking a scab. The feathers were all stuck together now, it seemed, as if they’d grown into each other. She winced as she felt them come off her skin, as she lifted the feathers and pulled.
    It was so gross. There was a slight sucking sound as the feathers pulled off. She reached up to feel her skin underneath, and her fingers stuck into what felt like a web.
    She stopped, shuddering, and sat down on the couch, away from the sliding doors now. Catching her breath, she tried not to throw up. Pulling off the feathers couldn’t be more gross than actually having them, could it?
    She took a deep breath, and