Wolfsong (Green Creek 1)

A dragonfly landed on a rock near my head. It was green and blue. Its wings had blue veins. Its eyes were shiny and black. It flew away, and I wondered how long it would live.

Something moved off to my right. I looked over and heard a growl. I thought I should run, but I couldn’t make my feet work. Or my hands. I didn’t want to leave my socks behind.

So instead, I said, “Hello.”

There was no response, but I knew something was there.

“I’m Ox. It’s okay.”

A huff of air. Like a sigh.

I told it that I liked the woods.

There was a flash of black, but then it was gone.

When I got home, I had leaves in my hair and there was a car parked in front of the empty house at the end of the lane.

It was gone the next day.

THAT WINTER, I left school and went to the diner. I was on break for Christmas. Three weeks of nothing but the shop ahead, and I was happy.

It started snowing again by the time I opened the door to Oasis. The bell rang out overhead. An inflatable palm tree was near the door. A papier-mâché sun hung from the ceiling. Four people sat at the counter drinking coffee. It smelled like grease. I loved it.

A waitress named Jenny snapped her gum and smiled at me. She was two grades above me. Sometimes, she smiled at me at school too. “Hey, Ox,” she said.

“Hi.”

“Cold out?”

I shrugged.

“Your nose is red,” she said.

“Oh.”

She laughed. “You hungry?”

“Yeah.”

“Sit down. I’ll get you some coffee and tell your mom you’re here.”

I did, at my booth near the back. It wasn’t really my booth, but everyone knew it was.

“Maggie!” Jenny said back into the kitchen. “Ox is here.” She winked at me as she took a plate of eggs and toast to Mr. Marsh, who flirted with a sly smile, even though he was eighty-four. Jenny giggled at him, and he ate his eggs. He put ketchup on them. I thought that was odd.

“Hey,” Mom said, putting coffee down in front of me.

“Hi.”

She ran her fingers through my hair, brushing off flecks of snow. They melted on my shoulders. “Tests go okay?”

“Think so.”

“We study enough?”

“Maybe. I forgot who Stonewall Jackson was, though.”

She sighed. “Ox.”