Free Sometimes By Moonlight by Heather Davis

higher over her flowered pajamas. “A friend worries.”
     
    “But about the affecting part…”
     
    She gave me an uncomfortable smile. “I told you before, if my roommate gets into trouble, then I, by association get into trouble.”
     
    “So you say.”
     
    “Oh, you no longer believe in the horrors my maman will inflict? You think I am making them up?”
     
    “I didn’t say that.”
     
    Marie-Rose’s face eyes went stony. “I have pressures on me you cannot imagine,” she said. “And I know you weren’t in the kitchen the whole time tonight.”
     
    “What difference does that make?” It was hard to keep the anger from my voice.
     
    “Just be careful,” she said. Before she rolled on her side away from me, I saw the slightest bit of fear on her face. And I smelled it, which is a very weird thing to say about a roommate’s emotion, but there it was. My nascent wolfy senses were completely activated. What was she afraid of? Or who? Maybe that was the better question.
     
    She couldn’t be afraid of me because she didn’t know about my situation, and anyway, I still had a few weeks before the full moon would come again to Steinfelder. A few weeks before all would be revealed. By then, most of the other students would be home with their families. I shuddered, imagining what would happen if I were going home to Beverly Hills only to turn furry for the first time.
     
    Marie-Rose’s breathing changed as she drifted off into sleep. I lay awake for a little while longer, watching the shadows and knowing that I was destined to be a part of them eventually. I had to talk to Austin. I could only hope he’d gotten the e-mail from Lemmon’s laptop and would try to meet me the next night.
     
    ***
     
    The chocolate cake is decorated with Oreo crumbs and my favorite gummy worms in that funny cake-that-looks-like-a-garden-patch way. The summer breeze blows my hair all around me and the rose beds of our house in Beverly Hills are in full bloom. Sunshine streams down onto the patio, reflecting sparkles from the crystal plates and glasses. Honeybun laughs as she cuts Dad a huge slice of cake. Next to the glass table, a little boy rocks in a baby chair, a fistful of chocolate and frosting smeared around his lips.
     
    As I lift another forkful of the confection to my mouth, Honeybun smiles with delight. She’s made the cake herself, the mothering instinct for me finally kicking in. The birthday candles abandoned on the side of the cake plate are coated with buttercream frosting, and I pick them up one by one, licking the sweetness from each.  I smile at Honeybun, the chocolate mellowing me out and a feeling of comfort, almost like love, welling up inside of me. This is my family. I set down the last candle and reach out for more cake with my fingers, forgoing the fork. I want to consume it, to drown myself in the chocolatey goodness, in the love.
     
    “Locke.” I hear a guttural whisper that doesn’t belong on my patio. “Locke!” It comes again, and then there is a tug on my elbow.
     
    I try to shrug whatever it is away. I want to stay at the party. I take another scoop of chocolate cake with my fingers, right from the center, making sure to get a few gummy worms. Honeybun giggles and claps her hands together, so happy I am literally digging her cake. My dad looks at all of us—his family—and beams with pride.
     
    Slap!
     
    I opened my eyes.
     
    Mrs. Lemmon was staring at me intently, her hand raised. “I’m sorry, dear. You were sleep… walking, I guess you would call it,” she said.
     
    I rubbed my stinging cheeks and felt wetness. I pulled my hands away, realizing they were smeared with something dark. “Where am I?”
     
    Mrs. Lemmon put an arm around my shoulders, surprising me with her gentle touch. “You’re in the kitchen.” There was a tenderness in her voice, which made me wonder what was really going on.
     
    I stared down at my hands again, turning them over in the pale