Free Feral Curse by Cynthia Leitich Smith

vendors should be up and running by now.
    Aimee, Yoshi, and I stroll through the neighborhood past a long line of joggers and power walkers, all in dark-green T-shirts, participating in the Founders’ Day 5K. I can already smell buttered popcorn, Elgin sausages, and turkey legs roasting from two blocks away.
    As she passes, Brittney’s mother calls, “There’s our state champ, Kayla Morgan!”
    The winded crowd cheers as they boogie on by.
    Pine Ridge pride. I’m told the yearbook is dedicating a double-page spread to me.
    “State champ?” Aimee asks.
    “Cross-country. Track — hurdles and 1,600 meters.” Lowering my voice, I add, “I take it easy on them.”
    “You’re still cheating.” Yoshi’s tone is sharp. “And showing off.”
    What’s his problem? I mean, sure, I have a certain genetic advantage, but it’s not like I knew that when I fell in love with running. Some humans have more natural athletic ability than others, too, and they don’t have to give up sports because of it. No, they win championships.
    Yoshi adds, “The fact that you can outrun humans doesn’t mean you can keep up with me.”
    I couldn’t care less about keeping up with him. I’m about to say so when Aimee elbows him — hard — and rain starts to fall.

AFTER THE FIRST FLASH OF LIGHTNING, Kayla picks up the pace, veering from the booths and tents to lead us to the public library at the edge of downtown. Apparently, the festival will go on all weekend, rain or shine, but an electrical storm merits an intermission.
    “Cute little town you’ve got here,” I tell Kayla as I hold open the door for the girls.
    She makes a show of rolling her eyes. “
That’s
not condescending.” When I don’t take the bait, she adds, “Look, not everyone can afford to live in Austin or wants to. There’s something to be said for caring about the people you pass on the street.”
    As we walk by the magazine display, Aimee stays out of it.
    I press the issue. “Admit it,” I challenge Kayla, winking at the librarian behind the checkout counter. “You’re bored. You’ve been bored your whole life until now.”
    “What makes you think you know me?” she quips, leading us toward a gallery display of pastoral paintings (heavy on the wildflowers) by local artists. “We just met.”
    “I lived most of my life in the country,” I admit. “But my grandmother’s land was only twenty minutes outside of Wichita.”
    “Exciting,” Kayla shoots back, turning at an overhead sign marked YA . “I’d rather live an hour
outside
of Austin than in
downtown
Wichita.”
    “Are you insulting Kansas?” I want to know. “Besides, I currently live —”
    “That’s enough!” Aimee exclaims. “Play nice, or I’ll have to separate you.”
    We spend most of the morning waiting out the bad weather in the teen room, where I sit at a circular table, flipping through graphic novels while the girls visit, the two of them gazing, side by side, out the floor-to-ceiling window. Aimee’s been chattering, making girl talk, mostly about Clyde, and using her phone to show photos of the two of them together. It’s not like her to go on about him like that, at least not around me, but she’s doing a good job of putting Kayla at ease.
    “This is what we looked like after dominating the paintball range on Valentine’s Day,” Aimee says. “Are you going out with anyone, Kayla?”
    Telling myself I’m not that interested in her reply, I sense a spike in anxiety, frustration, and something else — sadness — from the girl Cat. But her answer is curt.
    “No.” She adds, “I’m not a huge fan of Valentine’s Day.”
    I sense a bad boyfriend. Aimee takes the hint and steers the conversation back to the weather. I’d rather hear about the fortune-teller, but this is a public place, and we don’t need to broadcast our plans to all of Pine Ridge.
    Given that the spell-caster guy, Benjamin Bloom, was killed by lightning, I don’t blame Kayla or anyone