Free Not Your Ordinary Wolf Girl by Emily Pohl-Weary

Girl. Behind her was her friend, Freckles, wearing a very realistic wolf ’s paw. Just like the girl in the newspaper article!
    â€œLet go of me!” I hollered.
    â€œShut up!” Ponytail Girl spat, still gripping my arm.
    She wore long sleeves and jeans, but I could see that dark hair peeked out around her neck, wrists, and ankles. So thick I’d call it fur. I’m not a shaving fanatic or anything—I’m more of a “be comfortable with your natural state” girl. But I gaped at the thick fur on her face.
    â€œStay away from him,” she growled.
    â€œWho?”
    â€œDon’t play dumb,” said Freckles. “This is for your own good.”
    Then Freckles high-kicked me in the chest, knocking me on my ass, and they ran off.
    Winded and thoroughly confused, I clambered to my feet, picked up my bags, and trudged home. I couldn’t stop myself from checking around corners for lurking girls.
    What guy did they want me to stay away from? Harris? Had Marie sent the world’s weirdest girl gang to warn me off her man? Or could it be Marlon? And why were they wearing costumes? Were they really costumes? I had a sinking feeling again. That fur looked awfully real.
    Back in my apartment, I locked the place up tight and heated up the oven. My hands were shaking as I fumbled with the raw, bloody piece of some poorsheep’s rib cage. I shoved it in the oven despite an almost irresistible desire to just put the thing in my mouth and suck on it. Ugh. I was grossing myself out. Since it would take an hour to cook, I tossed a package of sausages into a pan and fried those up, too. Six of them slid down my throat nice and smooth. The water was still turned off in the building, but I squeezed out enough to make a pitcher of sugary lemonade.
    I considered going downstairs to confront the tenants, but didn’t trust myself. I was about to pull out Janis for a practice session when my cell rang.
    â€œHello?” My caller was playing The Commodores in the background. Nice.
    â€œUh, hang on.” The music lowered. “Sam? It’s Harris. Feeling better?”
    â€œSure,” I said, and realized I wasn’t lying. Had all the meat helped?
    â€œI was worried. You well enough to go out for a beer?”
    An image of Marie gazing at him adoringly jabbed my conscience. Arrgh. What to do?
    â€œOkay,” I said, after waiting too long. “You don’t have plans with Marie?”
    â€œI’m free.”
    Free as in no plans, or no girlfriend? “What’s Marie up to tonight?” I couldn’t stop.
    â€œDunno. We’re taking a break. From our relationship.”
    â€œWow.” When did that happen?
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œYou guys always seemed so happy.”
    â€œWell, we weren’t.”
    Awkward silence …
    â€œWanna meet at the Cake Shop around seven?” he asked. “They’ve got new work by Jordan on the walls.”
    Jordan Watanabe was the comic scene’s current It Boy. He and Harris shared a studio. Going there tonight meant we’d run into their friends. My hanging out with Harris in public so soon after his breakup was probably not a good idea. I thought of those crazy girls. Scratch that. Definitely not a good idea.
    â€œSure,” I heard myself saying.
    We hung up, and I played my bass until the rack of lamb was ready. If I was going to sit around the Cake Shop for a few hours and not fidget like a junkie, I should eat more. And so I did—more sausages, half the rack of ribs, and another piece of chicken for dessert.
    It wasn’t a date with Harris. Um. Right.
    I wasn’t exactly a mastermind of the flirting arts, but I knew I couldn’t show up looking like a sweaty monster in sneakers and saggy yoga pants. I agonized for five minutes, then pulled on my favourite jeans anda sexy green tasselled top that brought out my hazel eyes, and added mascara, black eyeliner, and lip gloss. A thin