Chapter 1

“Tony Stark over Bruce Wayne, but Batman trumps Iron Man.”

Alex looked at me as if I suggested the Pope was Atheist. “There is no way Batman could take on Iron Man. What is he going to do? Throw one of those little bat-thingies at him?”

“They’re called batarangs, and they’re awesome, just like Batman.”

It was one of those perfect spring days where the sun warmed your skin as the wind tossed strands of hair into your face. The smell of honeysuckle hung heavy in the air. The woods surrounding the lake displayed a kaleidoscope of colors, and the grass formed a soft green carpet.

Sadly, we weren’t sitting on the grass.

I shifted, attempting to find a spot where there wouldn’t be a rock jabbing into my butt. Misinterpreting my movement, Alex’s arms tightened around my waist as his head fell to my shoulder. “I don’t want to you to go.”

“Then I won’t,” I said, leaning back against his chest. “I vote we stay here forever.”

“And I’m selfish enough to want to second that,” he muttered against into neck. His chest rose against my back with a deep breath as if he was taking in my scent, and then his arms fell away and his head lifted. “It’s getting late. You have to get ready.”

“No.” A familiar panic bubbled in my chest. The sun vanished instantly. The nearly full moon hung heavy in the sky, illuminating the blood stains on the front of my shirt.

“Things are Changing,” Alex said from where he now stood in front of me. “It’s graduation day.”

And then the boy I loved was gone and in his place stood a beautiful gray wolf with human eyes.

“I want to stay here,” I begged through the tears.”Don’t make me leave. Please. Let me stay this time, Alex. Please.”

You have to wake up, Scout, his voice echoed in my mind.

I shook my head, eyes fixed on his. “No.”

“Wake up, Scout.”

“No!”

“Scout, wake up!”

***

There was always an adjustment period after one of my dreams. In those moments between sleep and opening my eyes, I teetered on the edge of happiness. Then, it would hit me. Some traitorous part of my brain would tell me, “Alex is dead,” and it would all come rushing back. A moonlit date in the woods. An attack. Alex falling off a cliff. His body growing cold and still in my arms. Waking up in the hospital, knowing he was gone.

I opened my eyes when the pain hit. It was never long after The Moment of Truth. Maybe it was because I also remembered what happened to me on that night, or perhaps it was because all the quick, shallow breathing pulled at the fifty-one stitches in my stomach.

“Hey there, Sweetie,” my mother said from the side of the bed. “It’s time to get ready.”

Blond curls bounced in agreement. “You get to wear the dress we ordered. Remember? The one you let me help you pick out? You know, it’s like this.” Angel stood on the bed beside me to reveal her blue linen sundress. “We’ll be twins, only yours is green because it looks better with your skin tone.”

For the past month I had heard a lot about skin tones. And color palettes. And other extremely scary TLC-esque things. The crazy thing was, I really didn’t mind too much. Since the accident, my entertainment options were limited. At least when I was with my little sister I wasn’t obsessively scouring the Internet, trying to uncover the nonexistent history of a dead boy.

“Scout, if you don’t get up now you won’t have time for a shower,” Mom said.

I pulled the covers over my head at the mention of the s-word. I’m normally opposed to personal hygiene, but when you’ve got four lacerations across your midriff and a cast to deal with, bathing becomes a rather complicated chore.

“I can help.” Angel pulled the covers down. “I can wash your hair for you in the sink again. That’ll be better, right?”

“Yes, that would be better.” My voice was thick and slow. I didn’t know if it was the drugs or the depression making it so. “Thanks.”

Mom moved away from the bed and began unhooking the tubes connecting me to the IV pole, confident Angel had me well in hand. “Let me know when you’re ready for me to put on new bandages.”

I nodded as I started the slow, arduous process of getting out of bed. You don’t realize how much you rely on your stomach muscles until a few of them get torn apart. In the month since the accident the gashes had healed very little. The small cut on my shoulder was already closed up and beginning to scar over, and the doctor planned on taking off my cast next week, but the wounds on my stomach were as deep and painful as the day I woke up in the hospital, thanks to a seemingly impossible to identify and kill infection. My very own team of doctors and specialists agreed such a thing was to be expected when you were attacked by a coyote and then rolled around in the woods until you nearly bled to death.

“Good girl,” Angel said once I was sitting on the side of the bed. I thought about being annoyed at being talked to as if I was a labrador, but decided on apathy instead. Apathy was great in that it required very little effort on my part.

Angel pulled the walker over to my bed, causing the apathy to be replaced by two of my new favorite emotions: dread and bitterness.

“I’ve changed my mind. I’m not going.”

“Scout, it’s your high school graduation. You have to go. Everyone is expecting you to be there,” she said, speaking literally. Timber is a small town which sees very little in the way of excitement. The accident had been the biggest thing to hit Lake County since an ice storm came through two years ago. I was the lead story on the local news for over a week. My injuries had been too severe to return to school, and I hadn’t ventured any further than the doctor’s office since Alex’s funeral. I wouldn’t be surprised if half the county showed up for graduation just so they could gawk at the girl who survived being mauled by a wild animal.

“I don’t feel good. I just want to stay in bed.”

Angel put her hands on her hips, a look of determination on her face. “You can’t stay in bed forever.”

“Why not? It’s warm. And comfy. And it’s got all these great pillows.” And it was the place where I could sleep, where I could dream.

Angel pulled herself up to her full three and a half feet. “Harper Lee Donovan, get up. I mean it.”