XII

I crawl out of bed late the next morning and drag myself to the Apple Store to, once again, get a new phone. I anticipate having missed messages from Ian, but there’s only one from two weeks ago, from the day of the ill-fated girls’ night out.

“He must know he was caught,” I tell Scarlett when I get home. She takes up the whole couch, her feet up on a tower of pillows. I sit on the floor with my chin resting on a cushion.

“Or he knows about Kevin.”

“How?”

“Small town. People talk.”

“He would have no right to be mad at me for that, considering the whole Mia situation. He’s avoiding me because he feels guilty. It’s cowardice.”

“Or he’s upset you hooked up with someone else, which suggests nothing happened with Mia.”

“Well, whatever. Doesn’t matter.”

She pats me on the head. “You look like a sad puppy.”

“I’m not a sad puppy. I’m a fearsome wolf.”

“All right, fearsome wolf. You’re sitting here talking to me about it, speculating. Why don’t you talk to him?”

“Because,” I say, sinking down so she can’t see me.

“Care to elaborate?”

“Nah. Can we talk about something else now?”

“Yeah, okay. You want some food?”

“Yes, please.”

“Great, go make us omelets.”

I do as she asks.

I figure the conversation is over, but later, while we’re eating, she says, “You should go to the New Year’s Eve party.”

“You want this to turn into When Harry Met Sally,” I say. It’s our mother’s favorite movie, required viewing in our house growing up.

“No,” Scarlett says. “I just think you should go. Maybe it’ll work out, and if not, you shouldn’t let his presence stop you. Ash is our friend.”

“Sure,” I say, excavating some bacon out of my omelet. “Even if he did swoop in with some sin-absolving Harry Burns speech, then what? I say, ‘Oh, by the way, I’m a werewolf. Hope that’s cool.’ ”

“Yeah. Why not?”

“Right, because when I broke it to you, you really took it in stride.”

She flicks some egg at me with her fork. “I know you have a hard time trusting people, letting your guard down. I understand why. But there are things on the other side of trust. I know, ironic coming from me. I just don’t want you missing out on something special because you’re scared.”

“I’m not scared, Scarlett. I’m a monster. I scare. I don’t get scared,” I say, clearing our plates. “I’m going out for a run.”

—

I drive to the high school, run the track for hours. I suffer the sunset, the abandonment of daylight. I suffer the tenacity of the stars, the moon’s cagey accomplices. And, of course, the moon herself. Slim and tinny. I run in circles under her brutal eye, feeling the lunar cycle in my muscles, in my marrow. A tension waxing and waning.

There is so much beyond my control. Things that have happened, that will happen. My body. The people in my life, how they perceive me, what they do or don’t do, if they stay or leave.