Wicked Hungry

They look more like monstrous paws. I look down at my hands. They still itch and I feel the need to hit something.

I walk gingerly and awkwardly on my hind feet into the shower. The plan is to grab the shower handle and turn it, but my paws bend it instead, almost ripping it off. My claws rake the shower wall in anger and there is a loud crash. The tile is scratched and cracked.

Oh shit. What have I done now?

I need to calm down or soon the whole school will be in here, with our assistant principal calling on his radio for backup.

I reach out a paw again, gingerly, and try to turn the knob.

Cold water sprays out on me. My left hand is still clenched into a clawed fist.

I let it loose, let the water run over my fur, calming the hot blood that flows through my veins.

“Stanley?” someone calls.

My skin, my bones, my body shrinks and twists. I want to black out, but I stay standing. The water turns warm and I realize maybe it never was cold. My blood was just that hot.

I look down and I’m naked.

But human.

The fur is gone.

Talk about one crazy psychotic episode.

But I look at the wall, and there are the cracks in the tile next to the bent faucet.

“Stanley Hoff?” someone is calling again.

“I’ll be right there!” I call out in a panic.

There’s a cart full of towels next to the shower and I cover myself.

I reach up my hand to my face, but where is the blood? Where’s my split lip? Did I imagine that, too?

My face doesn’t even hurt.

My clothes and shoes, though, are wrecked.

Somehow it was real.

I am a monster.

But I’m also a boy.

A boy who’s about to be in a lot of trouble if he doesn’t think quickly.

I gather up my torn shoes and my torn shirt and grab a towel and throw everything else into a pile at the bottom of my locker.

Good thing I have a second pair of shoes.

“Stanley?”

I turn around.

Gary Frumberg is staring at me. His face has gone white.

“What happened to you?” he asks.