Page 48 of Raised By Wolves

“I don’t know why you’d say that, Kai.”

“Because it’s true. I don’t know how to talk to them without growling, and Holo stares too much, and we’re nothing like them. They’d die without theirphones, let alone without grossplastic food being handed to them three times a day. Holo and I might as well be from a different planet.”

“Isn’t there anyone you like there?” The chief’s eyes look suspiciously twinkly all of a sudden.

I bristle with annoyance. I can’t even admit tomyselfthat I might like Waylon, so I’m hardly about to say it to the police chief of Kokanee Creek.

“No.”

The chief rests a big hand on my shoulder. “Well, that’s too bad for Waylon Meloy, isn’t it? Because I think he’s making it pretty obvious that he likes you.”

“He’s just being nice to the new freak.”

“You’re not a freak, Kai,” the chief says.

I shrug his hand off. “I can’t be a real wolf, and I don’t know how to be a real girl,” I say bitterly. “So yeah, actually I am.”

CHAPTER 34

SOMEHOW I MAKE it through the school day. I do what they tell me to do. I don’t growl. And Holo doesn’t fight.

But we still don’t fit in.

When the bell rings, I’m the first one out the door. I breathe deep, clearing the school’s chemical stench from my nose. I roll my shoulders and shake out my cramped legs. I’m not used to sitting for hours at a time.

And what did I learn today? How to sayOdio la escuela.

It meansI hate school.

A raven lands on a nearby trash can and starts pecking at a Cheetos bag, searching for crumbs.

“Shoo,” I say, waving my arms at it. “Get out of here!”

The bird seems to glare at me before it flaps its big black wings and takes off.

“Poor guy, why’d you chase him away?”

Startled, I turn. Waylon’s followed me outside. His motorcycle jacket’s slung over his shoulder, and his expression’samused. The sun turns the bleached ends of his hair golden. They match the gold flecks in his eyes.

I try to act like he didn’t surprise me. Like my heart isn’t beating faster and being near him is just like being near anyone else. Still, I cross my arms over my chest like I need to protect myself. “That bird should be eating carrion, not Cheetos.”

“Okay, but that’s kind of gross.”

“Not to a raven. The way eating your mom’s regurgitated dinner isn’t gross if you’re a wolf pup.”

Waylon winces a little. “Baby wolves eat barf?”

“Yeah, when they’re too young to eat from a kill. They lick an adult wolf’s mouth, and the adult immediately coughs up part of its last meal.”

“‘Here, son, have some raw deer meat mixed with stomach acid!’” Waylon gags a little.

“It doesn’t even have to be the wolf’s actual son. Any adult wolf will do it for the pack’s pups.”

I don’t admit that the wolves used to bring my brother and me bits of their kill. That I’ve eaten raw deer meat, too. Waylon already thinks I’m strange enough.

The raven comes back, heading for the Cheetos bag again.

Another thing I don’t tell Waylon is that ravens sometimes imitate wolves, calling them to carcasses the birds can’t break open themselves. When the wolves finish eating, the raven gets the leftovers.

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