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

and over again, telling him to let the words show on his face.
    â€œWe should be able to read your face like a poem. Even if you don’t say a word, every person in that audience should know exactly how you feel.” Mr. Nebowitz was young, with lots of dark curly hair. It was the end that he wanted Ryan to get right. The part about holding on and never letting go.
    Ryan tried again and again. I couldn’t see much difference, but Mr. Nebowitz said, “Better. Getting better.” He let Ryan go off and then called Greta to the stage.
    â€œÂ â€˜Happy Talk,’ okay?”
    Greta nodded and walked onto the stage without any makeup or costume. Just her, in jeans and T-shirt. She didn’t even take her glassesoff. She pulled her hair back with one hand and closed her eyes for a second. Mr. Nebowitz started on the piano.
    â€œStraight through,” he said, nodding at Greta.
    She sang it the whole way through, and I couldn’t see or hear a single mistake. When she finished, Mr. Nebowitz clapped and turned to the rest of the cast, who were sitting out in the audience, and said, “This is the standard I’m looking for, people.” Then he looked back at Greta on the stage and thanked her for all the effort she was putting in. Something like that would have embarrassed me beyond belief, but Greta just took an exaggerated clownish bow, the top of her head nearly grazing the stage, and got a big laugh from the other kids. I laughed too, because that was the first time in so long that I’d seen her loose and jokey like that. It made me glad I’d been forced to go to the rehearsal.
    Greta left the stage and I thought about Toby again. I thought that
special friend
could mean anything. It didn’t have to be a big deal. Maybe Finn never mentioned him because he was nobody. It was my mother who used the word
special
. Finn would never call someone that. Not with a straight face anyway. Maybe it was just luck that the guy had ended up with Finn’s apartment. Maybe Finn felt sorry for him.
    The rehearsal ended at around eight-thirty. I stayed put in my seat and watched Greta and Ryan and a bunch of other kids from the play sitting on the edge of the stage, legs dangling, laughing. These were the kids Greta hung out with now. The smart kids. The ones who weren’t only smart but popular too. The ones who could do anything. Ryan Cooke and Megan Donegan and Julie Contolli. Greta looked happy up there. Relaxed. Like this really was some island in the South Pacific. But she also looked younger than the rest of them. Lined up like that I didn’t know how everyone couldn’t see how obvious it was. Ryan had a little mustache. Megan’s and Julie’s legs were women’s legs. Full and shapely. Greta’s thin legs hung from the stage and made her look like a kid on a swing.
    Mr. Nebowitz said good night to everyone and asked Greta if she had a minute. One by one the kids jumped off the stage and grabbed their coats and bags. Greta followed Mr. Nebowitz out of theauditorium. I stayed in the back row, waiting, thinking I shouldn’t leave without Greta.
    â€œHey, you there. I’m shutting the lights.” I could see it was Ben Dellahunt, who was a junior and the assistant stage manager for the play.
    I nodded in the shadows.
    â€œI’m just waiting for my sister,” I said. “I’ll go in a minute.”
    Ben was one of those kids that you thought might be rich when he grew up. Not because there was anything that great about him, but more because he was the kind of guy who always seemed to have a plan. He always had his hair in a ponytail, and there was a rumor that he’d actually invented a new computer language, but that probably wasn’t true. He wasn’t the best in his class, but he was pretty smart. Smart enough. He put a hand above his eyes and squinted at the back row, like he was looking way out to sea. Then he started walking up