Page 12 of Conner's Luna

"I've seen her around," I say. I try to hide the bent fork under the rim of my plate, even though I know it's too late. Dad doesn't miss much.

Dad's bright green eyes, the same ones I have, narrow on me. "You told me that other people were bullying the human girl. Did you lie to me? Are you bothering her?" A ripple of muscle along his shoulders tells me that Dad is not happy. I feel the echo in my wolf. We're not happy at the accusation, either.

"Cassie and Mattie will be here in about an hour!" Mom announces. She whisks Dad's half-eaten plate away and strides into the kitchen without missing a beat.

Dad slumps back into his chair, looking at the empty space in front of him sadly. Papa slides a roll his way, but Dad shakes his head at him and gives it back before standing and following Mom into the kitchen.

I meet Papa's sympathetic blue eyes. "I don't bully her," I protest.

"Then, the next question is, do you do anything to stop it?" he says quietly.

---

Bailey

"Daddy, I feel like crap," I mumble.

"Sit up on the couch, Peanut."

"No. My head hurts worse when I do that."

"You're letting the blood rush to your overly-medicated head right now," he says patiently.

I try to look up from where I'm dangling upside-down from the couch, my head only inches from the floor, my feet slung up over the back. "I know. If I pass out, then it won't hurt as much."

He sighs. "You got this from me."

He's not wrong. We both hate being sick. Mom used to tease us both, telling us that we turned into giant babies as soon as we so much as got a sniffle. Then, she got ill. Terminally.

I sit up. There is a part of me that wants to scream and rant and rave about the gross unfairness of it all. Mom didn't deserve to have cancer attack her cells. We didn't deserve to lose her. I didn't deserve to have my childhood ripped apart; to lose my mom, my house, my school, my friends.

But that's life, isn't it? Fate isn't fair.

"I have an Organic Chem project. I have to call my partner," I rasp out. My illness has decided to travel to my throat and my bum. It's gross.

"Why don't you skip a day?" Dad asks patiently. He's looking at his own laptop, bringing work home himself, the hypocrite. I think he's trying to earn as much money as possible, to bring us back to the financial spot we were in before the medical bills skyrocketed.

He and I are alike that way. I won't risk my scholarship because of the flu.

"No, I'll call him. He's nice," I tell Dad as I search for my phone.

"Oh, you like him?" Dad perks up, looking conflicted. I avoid his gaze. I don't have any friends at C State, and he must be getting worried. At the same time, he's a dad. ‘Little boys are the devil,’ and all that.

"I'll go get dinner started," Dad stands up from his desk. Our rented house is nice, but very much on the cozy side. There isn't a room for an office, so Dad has his desk set up in the living room downstairs. "Holler out if you need me."

I decide to call my partner from Organic. He isn't a friend. He's cute, admittedly, but I only noticed him because he was openly nice to me. At first, I thought he was flirting with me, but I think he knows I'll ace this project and just wants to have a good partner. Even if he's using me for a good grade, beggars can't be choosers. I'm desperate for a little kindness.

Sniffling, I hit the number. "Braxton?" I ask when I hear the call pick up.

"Bails, how are you feeling?"

I pause. This isn't the boy from class. This voice has a low timbre, a slower drawl, confident, almost, dare I say, arrogant. "Conner?" I ask, surprised. "I feel like crud," I answer his question without thinking.

He makes a humming noise, a low vibration that makes me shiver. I ignore the feeling. Medicine always makes me feel loopy.

"Why do you have Braxton's phone?"

"He's my younger brother."

---