Trouble

Kevin was one of the strongest boys in the school and truly enjoyed tormenting others. His girlfriend, Beverly, longed to be a cheerleader but she had no rhythm. So she had no chance. Maybe that was why her favorite activity was belittling other people. And Sean joined in because he had nothing better to do.

The three of them were looking at me like I was their prey. I felt a bit like a prey animal, too, which I didn’t much like. In my first two weeks at middle school, the three of them had left me alone because there were too many people watching out for me. But the grace period was over now. They’d pushed me once or twice, tried to trip me up, and smeared paint on my jacket. They called out dumb insults as I passed and found themselves hilarious even though I always pretended my ears were made of stone. Nobody ever stood up for me, and that made me a bit sadder every time.

On this particular day, I was looking around for a way out but the three of them had me surrounded. None of the other students was paying attention to us: the chic girls and cool guys were all heading for cars and school buses.

“Hey, Jay?” Kevin asked, coming closer while Sean closed in from behind.

“Leave me alone,” I told them.

“Oh, c’mon, Mystery Boy,” said Kevin, raising his fist as Sean grabbed my arm. “We only want to play.”

“I don’t know any games where you punch yourself in the belly.” By the time Kevin’s fist landed, I was elsewhere. Sean stared at me as the blow landed on his stomach and gave a faint oof.

Not that that fazed Kevin: in two steps, he was right back up to me, trying to get me in a headlock. This wasn’t funny.

“Stop that. I can’t breathe,” I complained.

“That’s kind of the point,” said Kevin, and Sean giggled.

Okay, enough. Lightning fast, I slipped out of his hold, grabbed Kevin from behind, and hurled him to the ground. A moment later, Sean was off his feet. I didn’t want him to fall too hard, so I dropped him right onto Kevin.

Now I could finally walk away. Or so I thought. But then there was a splash! A bucket of ice-cold water landed on my head, ran down me, and flooded my shoes.

I’d forgotten Beverly.

Water! They couldn’t know it, but I loathed the stuff. Humiliated, soaked through, and leaving a dripping trail behind me, I walked away while the others’ laughter rang in my ears. My eyes were burning and my heart hurt. I wished I could hide away somewhere, feel sad in peace. Why couldn’t these people just accept me the way I was? Why did they find it so much fun to hassle me?

A raven was hopping around on a fence beside me, cawing and spreading its wings. I glanced over at it and walked on, almost stumbling over a second raven that was strutting ahead of me. It tilted its head and looked at me with clear black eyes.

I stepped around it and sank back into my gloomy thoughts. I’d imagined school very differently. More fun. I did all right in class—most of the teachers liked my curiosity and that I was really trying hard to catch up. But sometimes I wondered exactly why I needed to learn algebra or music theory. And I hadn’t made any friends yet. Was that because pumas were loners? Or had I made an idiot of myself too often? The thought made me even sadder. And these ravens were getting on my nerves. What did they want? One of them was trying to sit on my shoulder.

“Beat it—I’m not a chair,” I muttered, slouching over to the old mountain bike my foster family had given me. All right, the ravens were finally flying off.

Maybe I ought to try to get onto the football team. Everyone liked the football stars. And movie stars. They liked movie stars, too. But I’d only been on TV once or twice—that didn’t count.

Some people were real celebrities, like the man whose face was on a poster hanging on the school fence, advertising an event. He was a VIP named Andrew Milling. You heard about him everywhere and I’d seen him on the news, too. Probably everyone wanted to be his friend.

Dripping, I climbed onto my bike and cycled “home”—to my foster family, the Ralstons. Their black Labrador, Bingo, was running around in the front yard. When I parked the bike, he bristled and barked at me, like he did every day. I guess he didn’t like predatory cats.

I ignored him as usual and, once inside, crossed the kitchen, hoping I could creep up the stairs to my bedroom. But I wasn’t quick enough.

Donald, my foster father, was a psychologist, and there was a connecting door between his clinic and the rest of the house so that he could pop through for coffee. As he was doing when I walked in.

“Hi,” I said despondently.

“Hey, how’s it going, my boy?” Donald asked with a paternal smile, putting his arm around my shoulders. But only for a second. He snatched it away. “Jeez, Jay! Why are you so wet? My sweater! I’ll have to change, and my next patient’s due in five minutes . . . You need to get changed too—go on, take a shower, and be quick about it!” With that, he left.

My little foster sister, Melody, was playing with toy horses on the beige carpeted stair. “Don’t step on them!” she said when she saw me.

For a change, there was no heavy metal droning from my foster brother’s room. A lucky break! I passed Marlon’s door . . . and at that moment it was yanked open. A brutal sound wave crashed over me. I nearly hit the ceiling with shock and Marlon—remote control in hand—doubled up with laughter.

“Yeah, that was good. Do that again,” he grunted.

I looked daggers at him, walked into my room, slammed the door, changed into dry clothes, and threw myself onto the bed. Maybe being a human hadn’t been such a good idea after all. It had been a lousy idea! There were no teachers up in the mountains, trying to stuff useless human knowledge into my head. And no idiots who wanted to beat me up. Life as a puma had been good. Why had I given it all up?

Every time I thought about my family, it felt like some small animal was gnawing at my heart. Eighteen months back, I’d tried to see them all again. But they hadn’t been there. They’d just left their den. Because of me? Or had something happened? They could be somewhere else, somewhere in the mountains, hundreds of miles away! I had no idea how I’d find them again, or if they’d forgive me.

Besides, it was fall already and soon it would be winter—it came early here in the Rocky Mountains. Sure, a fully grown puma can survive a winter in the mountains by himself. But I wasn’t fully grown. And besides, there was another teeny-tiny problem . . .

Before I could think any further, I heard quiet steps on the landing and a knock on my door.

I already knew who it was and had to smile, whether I wanted to or not.

My foster mother, Anna, came in and sat beside me on the edge of my bed. She smiled at me in the way that always gave me a warm feeling around my heart.

“Hey,” she said, stroking a strand of hair off my forehead. “Had a bad day, huh?”

I nodded. I wanted to say something, but I couldn’t manage it.

“Trouble with the teachers? Was there something you didn’t understand?”

I shook my head, and Anna looked like she was proud of me. She worked in Child Protective Services and had suggested taking me in the moment I turned up at the police station, shy and in rags. She’d been incredibly patient as she’d taught me everything a human my age ought to know—whose head is on a quarter (George Washington), what the Internet is (a place for looking at cat videos), how to write an essay (with a pen and way too many words), and what you need cell phones for (everything!).

At first, Melody had been curious about me, but then she started to resent her mother spending so much time with me. Since then, she’d been treating me like a tick in her fur. Not that she had fur.

“Do they give you a hard time?” Anna wouldn’t let it go. “Give them a hard time back.”

“I do,” I said, staring past her at my poster of the Grand Teton mountains—rugged white peaks, shimmering mountain lakes, dark green forests. “But I’m just too different. Nobody wants to be my friend.”

“You’re different, that’s true. So?” Anna looked at me fiercely.

I buried my face in the pillow. She didn’t even know how different I was. Were there other shape-shifters, apart from me and my family? I’d never met any. Maybe my parents, my sister, and I were the only ones in the whole world.

Anna stroked my shoulder a while longer, then she sighed and left me alone.

I lay there—until I heard a sound and looked up.

There was a small animal at the window. A squirrel. It was perched on the window ledge, standing on its hind legs, front paws pressed against the glass. Now it was staring into the room at me. I stared back, and then the squirrel started dancing around on the ledge. What on earth had gotten into the animals lately?

I rolled my eyes, linked my arms behind my head, and started thinking about my life again. And about the problem that prevented me from just going back to the mountains: my parents had taught me some of what a predator needs to know before I’d left them. But, unfortunately, not the most important thing of all.

I didn’t know how to kill.

Oh, I can learn that, I told myself, trying to be positive. Jump on the deer, bite into its neck, and done. Just a matter of practice.

Even the thought made me feel sick. I’d gotten...