Free A School for Unusual Girls by Kathleen Baldwin Page B

hull with frigid water, sloshing against my calves. I pulled in the oars, grabbed the bucket from the corner in order to bail, but the boat started to spin and tilt to one side. I rushed to put out the paddles again. The left oar slipped from the blocks. I lunged for it, but my fingers only grazed the handle before it sank in the swells.
    The next wave slapped me soundly for my stupid mistake.
    No time for regrets—not if I wanted to live. I struggled with the lone oar, trying to distance myself from the deadly rocky shore. It seemed like I rowed forever and yet the outline of the cliffs still loomed perilously close. My arms ached and I couldn’t stop shivering. The contents of my stomach had long since left me. Over and over, the boat rose heavenward six or seven feet and then dropped like a stone into a trough. Miraculously it didn’t capsize.
    Exhausted from being tossed about like an unwanted doll, I yearned for solid land. The rowboat rode up the back of a gigantic swell. This time, instead of plunging off into a valley of water and being thrashed by the falling wave, we stayed atop the curl. I have never moved so fast in all my life.
    Moonlight exposed the beach. All rocks. As the sea flung me toward the cliffs I realized the little boat would be smashed to pieces. I wrapped the soggy blanket around me, crouched low, and braced myself against the crosspiece.
    I remember a splintering crunch, and the marvelous sensation of flying through the air. After that, I only recall my head thudding against stone.
    Hot white fireworks.
    And the sudden inability to draw breath.
    It’s quite possible I may have died. I’m not certain. It’s all rather hazy. I do remember feeling terribly cold. Then sinking into a peaceful warmth.
    Oblivion .
    I didn’t regain my senses until morning when the sun stabbed through my stupor. Light made the throbbing worse—pain at the back of my skull so intense it felt as though someone was beating me rhythmically with a big stick. I kept my eyelids closed tight until something scratchy and moist slid across my cheek. I squinted and peeked out of one eye.
    Two yellow eyes stared back.
    Dark fur. Teeth.
    Wolf.
    I gasped for air. But my lungs froze.
    I meant to scream. Tried to scream. Nothing came out. Oh, God, let me drown and be eaten by fishes, please . Not torn apart by wolves. I closed my eyes tight, wishing to return to that comfortable oblivion that had consumed me during the night.
    The wolf yipped softly and nudged my chest with its nose.
    I shook. No, I trembled. Every part of me quaked, even my innermost parts—heart, stomach, everything . I shook with such taut rapid vibrations that nothing outwardly moved.
    Something warm shifted against my back, snuffled, and pressed a wet nose into my neck. There were two of them. Two gigantic wolves very, very close. So close, I could smell their meaty breath and the musky scent of grass and dead leaves rising from their fur. So close, drool dripped onto my cheek as the one standing sniffed me. The wolf lying behind me licked my shoulder.
    Hot pain pulsed at the back of my skull. Yet the rest of me felt intensely cold. I began to shiver more violently. The wolf standing over me stopped sniffing. With a low growl, he laid down and curved his enormous body into mine, pressing up against my belly. The other beast responded with a short low yip.
    Were they warming up breakfast? Or preserving my soggy carcass for dinner? Their behavior made no sense and yet their heat had a calming effect on my quavering insides. Moments later the wolf in front of me lifted his head, his ears peaked. He startled me with a sharp bark and jumped to his feet. His mate did the same.
    Their ruckus nearly deafened me. Finally they stopped. But my head pounded louder than ever. Despite the throbbing I heard boots running on the beach. “What is it, Phobos?” A man greeted my wolf. “Down, boy! Down.” The animal behind me growled.