This Is Not a Werewolf Story by Sandra Evans Read Free Book Online Page A

embarrassment about Tuffman tossing me around like a ragdoll disappears.
    â€œYeah,” he says. “Jerk jocks always pick on the kids like us ’cause we’re the ones who threaten them the most.” He says it with a sneer, like he knows all about it and it’s happened to him a million times.
    Did he say “like us”?
    â€œYou got the craziest teachers here I’ve ever seen,” hesays. His eyes are shiny. I can tell he laughs a lot. “Do they wave knives around and punch each other every morning?”
    I smile so big I cover my mouth with my hand. The older kids here used to call me Dog Boy, because my teeth are so pointed. Most of them have gone back to live with their moms and dads by now, but I still hide my teeth.
    With a quick twitch of his shoulders, the new boy sticks his head and as much of his body as he can out the window.
    He’s tall and thin, with glossy black hair and a sharp, long nose. At first he keeps his hands on the windowsill, but when a gust of wind comes up off the water, I see him lift his hands and flutter them gently, the way a bird ruffles its feather before it takes flight.
    My stomach feels empty and my palms are damp. It would be good to have a friend my own age. I’m pretty popular with the Cubs, since I take them fishing every Friday. And maybe—my heart flops like a trout hooked on a line—maybe Mary Anne likes me. A little.
    But I see the other Pack boys. They talk about video games and sports. They chase each other and laugh and play games and sometimes they even fight. Not me. As soon as I walk up—and I don’t, not anymore—but as soon as I’d walk up, they’d look away like they hadn’t seen me. Then they’d stop talking and slowly move away.
    Nobody is mean to me. But nobody is nice, either.
    â€œDo you like the woods?” I make the words come out.
    The boy pulls himself back in the window.
    â€œAre there trails back in there?” he asks. “I race dirt bikes. I’m a champion in my class. Did the dean tell you that already? My mom says she’ll bring me my bike if I’m good.”
    His window is on the same side of the building as the dining hall and faces the water. He points to the ravine. “Is that where the school property ends?” he asks.
    He must already be thinking about how to get away once that dirt bike comes. “Yeah,” I say, “that ravine cuts all the way back to the road that leads to the school. You can’t climb down it—it’s way too steep.” I decide to keep talking. I can tell he’s really listening. He’s worth the words. “There’s a way around it, though. I’ll show you one day, if you want. And you can pretty much walk out of this place any time. There’s no fence keeping you here. Just the Terror of Getting Lost in the Dark Woods.” I say the last sentence in a spooky voice.
    He smiles at my little joke. “My name is Vincent. You’re Raul, right? That boy across the hall said you’re a weirdo. But you don’t look like one to me.”
    I forget about my weird teeth. I smile again, really big.
    â€œYou have wicked cool teeth, man!”

    My elbow hurts when I bend it, but I feel good inside as I head into science.
    First off, because I think I might have a friend. And second, because Advanced Science is the one class I have with Mary Anne. So it’s safe to say that I’d feel happy right now even if I knew Tuffman would be waiting after class, ready to yank me into a Bavarian pretzel and sprinkle me with rock salt.
    Some kids think science is boring, but that’s because they don’t have Dean Swift for a teacher. And they don’t have Dean Swift for a teacher because he won’t let any kid who thinks science is boring into his class.
    This year he only let four of us into the class. He teaches it in his office. There aren’t any desks. We can sit on the