soup. The milk sloshed onto the table. She stood, trying to keep from getting milk on her jeans, but Mattâs friends had her boxed in.
She wanted to hit him, to wipe that smirk off his face, to make him pay for making her hate Marie, make him pay for turning everyone against her, for her having to move to the trailer park, for Helenaâs disappearance. He should be afraid of her. They all should.
Emma tried to curl her hand into a fist, but she couldnât: The pain in her palm grew worse and worse â and suddenly she knew why.
Because a sharp, curved claw protruded from the base of each finger.
The pain was gone. The fear was gone. Everything became simple, animal fury.
Matt leaned in close. âYou shouldnât be eating human food anyway, cat-freak. Weâll bring you some nice troll food tomorrow and make you eat that, okay?â
Without even thinking about it, she swiped at his face, a quick flick of her hand. And then she felt her claws dig into his cheek.
Matt pulled away in surprise. For a moment it almost looked like he was going to laugh at her. His friends giggled. Then he reached up to touch his face, and all at once the blood began to pour out between his fingers. He started to scream.
âMatt, are you okay? What happened?â One of his friends tried to pry his fingers away from his face, but couldnât get a good grip. Another friend shouted for a teacher.
âWhat did you do to him?â asked someone else.
Nothing
, Emma meant to say.
I was just trying to punch him.
But then she looked down at her hand. It was covered in blood. The metallic smell of it overwhelmed her. Her stomach heaved and she had to take a deep breath to stop herself from throwing up.
People were pointing at her, shouting, but she couldnât hear.
I have to put them away,
she kept thinking. They had to retract somehow. She tried to flex her hand, but the claws just twitched dangerously.
Mr. Shuttleworth, the algebra teacher, shoved through the crowd and pushed Emma aside. âBack off,â he yelled, and he knelt beside Matt. âStop crying, I have to take a look.â He swore under his breath and pulled out his cell phone. âEveryone quiet down. I need to call the nurseâs office. Heâll need a couple of stitches.â
Stitches? She couldnât have hurt him that badly. It wasnât her fault. It was an accident.
Mr. Shuttleworth was off the phone now and talking to Mattâs friends. They pointed at her and made clawing motions. Emma tried to cover her bloody hand with her shirt. The points of the claws were like needles against her skin.
Then she felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see the principal, Ms. Keyes, looking down at her. Her voice seemed to come from very far away.
âPlease come with me, Miss Vu,â Ms. Keyes said, and pushed her steadily out of the cafeteria to the main office. A cop was waiting for them, holding a pair of heavy iron handcuffs inscribed with runes.
âYouâll have to wear them as long as youâre armed,â Ms. Keyes said. âWeâve called your mother. Sheâs on her way.â
âI didnât mean to hurt him. I mean, I wanted to hit him, but not . . . I didnât mean to.â Or had she? It had all happened too fast. Her hand had felt strange just before she hit him, but not in a bad way. It had felt right. Hitting him felt right. If heâd just backed down, if heâd been afraid of her, she wouldnât have had to do anything. He made her do it. Heâd threatened her.
The cop and Ms. Keyes were both staring at her, disgust on their faces. To her horror Emma realized she was grinning. What was happening to her? Was she becoming like Jack, like every other cat, not caring about anyone?
âDo you think this is funny?â Ms. Keyes demanded. âBecause let me assure you, this is deadly serious. Youâre in a lot of trouble.â
âNo, I donât,â Emma