I'm locked in a staring contest with the jerk in the private box.
He's staring at me like I'm a mangy cat that's crawled in off the street.
Why is he looking at me like that? All angry brows and confusion. Excuse me for breathing!
I want to tear my eyes away but for some reason, I can't.
My palms grow clammy. My heart thuds in my chest.
And then the music starts.
Lights rise on the stage and for a second I'm distracted. I glance at the dancers entering the space, moving with strength and speed.
When I look back the boy is gone. Him and his stern expression are nowhere to be seen. All that's left in the private box is a vacant seat.
"What are you staring at?" Katie whispers. "It's started. Oh, look! There she is!"
Aisha Miller has made her entrance and is gracefully moving toward center stage.
There is an audible gasp from the audience as she does a spectacular leap. It's impossible not to watch her in awe.
Her dark hair is tied back but, unlike the other dancers with their tight ballet buns, Aisha's cascades down her exposed back in an exquisitely curly ponytail.
She is wearing a pink dance costume, with wispy trails of sheer fabric flowing to her feet. The color contrasts perfectly with her copper skin. Her arms are slender and her legs look strong.
As the music rises she begins to spin and I'm completely mesmerized by her. The way she moves. So in sync with the music. She makes you forget where you are.
The other dancers swarm around her but I barely notice them. It's all about Aisha.
"She's gorgeous," Katie whispers and I nod.
There's no denying she's a star. But even more than that she represents something to me that I didn't know was possible.
Most wolves think the arts are a human thing. Not something to take seriously and not something that can become a proper career.
But Aisha is living, breathing proof that you don't have to be like the rest of the pack. You can be different.
"This is the best thing I've ever seen," I whisper back in Katie's ear.
The rest of the show passes like a dream. Aisha's power and presence only seem to grow throughout the evening.
Concert over, the cast takes their bows. I spring to my feet, clapping my hands like a nutcase, hollering like I'm at a BTS concert.
Aisha is the last to bow. She comes forward from the back of the stage as the other dancers separate to let her through. She curtseys and blows kisses as the audience cheers.
I notice Aisha glance to her left. Up to the empty box where the jerk had been sitting. A flash of disappointment crosses her face when she finds no one there.
Does she know that guy? Why would he just leave if she was expecting him to be there?
A guy in the front row hands Aisha a massive bouquet of flowers and she gets down on her knees to give him an equally massive kiss on the cheek. Is that her boyfriend? I try to sniff out his scent but can't.
Weird. I'm usually pretty good at picking up other wolves' scents.
Eventually, the curtain is lowered and the house lights are raised.
I turn to Katie who is properly crying and give her a big hug.
Tonight is a night we will remember for a long, long time.
And for me, it's not just because of the ballet.
---
When I finally get home that night I'm exhausted. Thankfully, my dad picks me up from the station and drives me the rest of the way.
The TV is on in the living room and I float in like I'm drifting a cloud.
"How was the ballet?" Mom asks without looking away from some show about dog grooming.
"Incredible."
"A letter came for you."
"Ahuh…"
I barely register what she's just said, I'm in such a happy, delirious state that I continue wafting through the house, up the stairs, and into my room.
I flop back onto the bed and fall right to sleep.
---
When I wake up I'm struck with an intense urge to do some drawing. So I quickly jump in the shower, then brush my teeth.
Dad has made a big deal about fang health since I was a pup.
With a towel wrapped around my waist, and my toothbrush sticking out of my mouth, I stand in front of the mirror and take a good look at myself.
I'm pale, skinny, and a little short for my age. About average for a human but most 16-year-old wolves have muscles growing on top of their muscles by now. My hair is a sandy blond mess that I can never seem to tame. My eyes are wide and brown and there's a mole on my left cheek right under my eye.
Suddenly, the image of that guy staring at me flashes into my brain. Like he's glaring at me through the mirror, looking at me with his mean, judgmental face.
"I'm not a bonehead," I mumble, spitting toothpaste and making little dots on the mirror. "What a jerk!"
When I'm finally dressed I grab my backpack and a fresh pencil and head downstairs.
"I made toast," Mom says as I pass through the kitchen––snatching a piece of cold, burnt bread, and sticking it in my mouth––then head out the back door.
"What about your letter?!" she calls but the door is already swinging shut behind me.
Our house isn't big but it backs onto a large piece of woodland. Wolves this close to the city usually live near some kind of big green space so that they can run when the moon is fuller and we have extra wolfy energy.
I'm thankful for the woods. Being a teen means overactive hormones and being a wolf means sometimes needing to shift to let out all those pent-up emotions.
I'm also big into drawing nature and I get a lot of my inspiration from this forest.
Today, though, I'm inspired by one thing only and that is Aisha Miller.
I can't get her dance moves out of my head.
I head down to the river and find a big rock to sit on. I come to this spot a lot. It's so quiet. All you can hear is the wind in the trees and the water splashing on the rocks.
I take out my pad and a pencil and I start to sketch the water. I realize there's a similarity between the way Aisha moves and the way the water flows. I start to add her into my drawings, placing her limbs where the water has swirled into a whirlpool, using the wisps of plant life beneath the surface to represent her flowing outfit.
I must draw for over an hour or so. I keep turning the page and starting new sketches, finding new details in the stream to focus on.
At some point, I completely lose myself in my process and when I shake myself back to reality I look down at my pad and I'm shocked to see what I've drawn there.
His face!
Staring back at me from the sketchbook is a perfect recreation of the jerk's disdainful expression.
I slam the book shut, shoving it in my bag and making a mental note to toss him in the recycling.
Why is he haunting my inner thoughts like this?
I wanted to draw nature and think about Aisha's dancing and now that jerk has ruined my peaceful spot in the woods.
I just want to forget ever having run into him.
I swing my bag over my shoulder with a huff and decide it's time to head home anyway. My stomach is starting to grumble and it's nearly lunchtime.
It's a Sunday and that usually means Dad will be making steak sandwiches. His steak is kind of famous amongst the neighborhood wolves.
When I get back to the yard I smile to see I was right. Dad is standing at the barbecue in an apron. He sees me coming and smiles, waving his tongs at me.
I raise my eyebrows and wave back.
The back door slams behind me, I drop my bag and head into the living room.
"Hey, stop avoiding me," Mom says, coming down the stairs, holding that envelope. "Did you see Dad's making steak sandwiches? Yummo!"
I smile and chuckle. My Mom is a big goof but I love her for it.
"Here," she says, slapping the envelope onto my chest. "This came for you. I think you'll want to open it."
I take the envelope from her and she swans off toward the kitchen. I didn't pay much attention when she mentioned this letter before but now that I'm holding it my stomach is suddenly all the way in my throat.
My address is written in elaborate cursive, with golden ink, and on the back, the letter is stamped with the royal seal of the alpha.
I know what this is.
I swallow once, gulping, and then tear open the letter.
---
For the attention of Sir Maximillian Xavier Remus,
You are cordially invited to attend the BLUE MOON FESTIVAL, to be held this August from the 4th and continuing for four nights.
The FESTIVAL is a sacred rite of passage for all unmated wolves in our illustrious pack and we are delighted to once again host the event at the Pack Retreat upstate in Rochester, New York.
As usual, the blue moon will be at its fullest on the third night of the festival at which point you will be requested to take part in the traditional Mating Run. This is an excellent chance for you to find your mate and contribute to the propagation of our kind.
We look forward to having you there and wish you the best of luck with finding your mate.
May the Moon Gods light the path between souls.
On behalf of Alpha Jericho,
Sincerest regards from the Pack Secretary,
Tobias Volk
---
"Well, is it your festival invitation?" Mom says, poking her head back through the doorway.
"Yep," I say, sighing.
"I knew it!" My mom's eyes light up and I cringe when she squeals. "Aren't you excited?"
"Ahuh," I lie.
"Wait till I tell your father! Marvin!"
Mom runs off to tell Dad and I stare at the invitation in my hands.
This retreat could define the rest of my life and that prospect terrifies me.
But I guess there's no avoiding it now.
The scent of dad's steak sandwiches wafts in through the windows. It should set my mouth watering but, instead, I think I'm going to hurl.