Free Tell the Wolves I'm Home by Carol Rifka Brunt

what she did?”
    I shook my head.
    â€œShe gave me ten bucks.” Greta grinned and pulled out the ten-dollar bill from her purse, flashing it in front of me. “She said I should take you out for ice cream after. So we’re set. Are you still up for it?”
    â€œI guess.”
    â€œGood. Bring boots. And dress really warm. It’s in the woods.”
    â€œGreta?”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œYou know that guy at the funeral?”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œHe was Finn’s boyfriend, right?” I was trying my best to act like I didn’t care one way or the other.
    Since that day with the teapot, I thought I saw Toby all over the place. I couldn’t remember exactly what he looked like, just the shape of him, which made it worse. There were tall lanky men everywhere, and on first glance any one of them could have been Toby.
    For the past few days I’d been waiting to catch Greta off guard. I thought if I asked her something when she wasn’t expecting it, she might tell me more than she meant to. What I’d learned over the years was that playing dumb was the best way to do it. As soon as she thought I didn’t know something, she’d jump in with everything she had.
    â€œCongratulations, Sherlock. That only took you a few centuries to figure out.”
    â€œThat’s not all I’m trying to say.”
    â€œAll right, then, what?”
    â€œSo he’s living in Finn’s apartment now?”
    â€œThat’s right. Life ain’t fair. You kill a man and end up with a great apartment on the Upper West Side.”
    â€œSo you think he definitely gave Finn AIDS. You’re sure.”
    â€œNot just sure, I know he did it on purpose. That guy knew he had AIDS when he met Finn. He knew it.”
    â€œHow can you know that?”
    â€œI just do. I’ve heard things.”
    â€œSo he really is like a murderer?”
    â€œExactly.” Her tone had changed. She seemed suddenly pleased that I was interested in what she knew. I thought that maybe I could tell her about the teapot and the letter and about the train station on March 6. Maybe she’d listen and be impressed that I had my own news for once. But I couldn’t get the words out. The letter said not to tell anyone, and maybe Toby was right. Maybe even a murderer can be right sometimes.
    â€œOkay.”
    â€œOkay what?”
    â€œThat’s all. I just wanted to make sure.”
    â€œWhatever, June. Grow up. It’s all over now.”
    â€œYeah. I know it is.”
    I called Beans. I guess I thought I should make the effort, but shesaid she couldn’t get out. So it would just be me. Me and a bunch of Greta’s friends.
    Later, on our way down the stairs for dinner, Greta poked me on the shoulder, then slipped a note into the back pocket of my jeans.
Party canceled
. It turned out a lot of people couldn’t get out. But Greta had already lied to our parents, so I had to go to the play rehearsal with her anyway. I would have to sit there in the back of the auditorium on those red velvet seats, watching her turn into Bloody Mary over and over again.
    Of course, I was relieved that the party was canceled. It wasn’t only the shy thing, the total social retardation. It was more than that. I wasn’t interested in drinking beer or vodka or smoking cigarettes or doing all the other things Greta thinks I can’t even imagine. I don’t want to imagine those things. Anyone can imagine things like that. I want to imagine wrinkled time, and forests thick with wolves, and bleak midnight moors. I dream about people who don’t need to have sex to know they love each other. I dream about people who would only ever kiss you on the cheek.
    That night I sat in the school auditorium and watched Ryan Cooke, with all his golden charisma, singing about enchanted evenings. Mr. Nebowitz, the director, kept stopping Ryan, making him sing certain parts of the song over