Sneaking Off, As Usual

                      t the end of February, the kids from Gulinger Private Academy had spent most of the snowy morning at Wollman Rink in Central Park. And those who tired of the rink ‘wandered’ into the Zoo. Of course, the only kids who could actually wander into a zoo were the kind of kids who could walk through walls, or had friends who could.

Tom ‘opened the door’ and let Matt and the rest in, though the cat climbed over the wall to get inside on his own. Carlos kept repeating they were all loco, but he eagerly hurried after them to the nearest attraction, which happened to be the red panda. The others scattered to various spots around the zoo, happy to have escaped the watchful eyes of their ever-vigilant chaperones.

Randon and Troy made their way to the Leaping Frog Café while Matt slipped into the restroom. Tom climbed into the Tropical Zone where he attempted to have a conversation with a Colobus monkey. But Rick, he walked through the zoo to a temporary attraction where two wolves were on loan from the Wolf Conservation Center in South Salem. The paddock was well-fenced with decorative signs describing the conservation efforts the center was making to save the native red wolves of North America while also asking for donations. His father had just given them a sizable sum and was raising money for more—the Wolf Conservation Center was, after all, excellent hunting ground for an SRA weary werewolf. But this wasn’t what was on his mind.

He stared at the wolf, nearing the cage. It was a lean animal with long ears—not like the gray wolves Rick was used to seeing. The wolf lifted its head and looked, its nose sniffing the air. Rick approached slowly, non-threatening, and lowered his head similar to a bow. The wolf’s ear twitched, thinking over whether or not this new wolfish smell was a hostile creature stepping into its territory; but then it gave out a friendly yip and jogged to the cage bars, tongue lolling out.

Rick smiled and approached more quickly.

He didn’t reach out his hand. No. That would be condescending and inappropriate. They were both wolves, after all. Besides, the park officials were watching, if only from distant cameras. But the urge to touch a fellow wolf had him staring longingly.

Also, he wasn’t alone.

Standing nearby were two men in wrapped Canadian maple leaf scarves, cupping their hands inside their ratty worn mittens to their faces to keep warm. Glancing mildly at them, Rick tried to keep his personal interest in the wolves to a minimum. They could be SRA hunters after all, waiting for a chance to pounce. Both were sniffling from what sounded like colds. Rather unprofessional for hunters. Just unprepared Canadians then, Rick thought. Though really, he mused, chucking to himself, Canadians ought to have been better prepared for the cold.

“Hey! Rick!” Carlos jogged up, grinning from ear to ear, waving. His breath puffed around him like clouds from a steam train. “Are you going to get lunch with us? Troy and Randon both ordered enough at that café for a pack of wolves.”

Chuckling, Rick winked at the wolves in the cage to say he would be back, and he turned. “Yeah. I’m coming.”

Carlos noticed the pair of men standing there in that second and immediately covered his eyes so he would not look at them face-to-face. They cocked their heads, exchanging smirking glances. But Carlos had discovered that the urge to shout out people’s doom had more to do with the eye contact than anything else, so he continued to hide his eyes. He still saw their deaths, though…and he shuddered. Joining Carlos, Rick did not ask how they would die. He knew the boy did not want to answer, and they both left the wolf paddock at a small jog, avoiding the ice on the walkway.

The Canadian pair peered after at the two boys, one lifting his nose out from his scarf with another sniff. They shared another glance, nodding.

Canadians

All six Gulinger pals gathered around the table outside the café with their scarves, gloves and hats, grabbing the collection of hotdogs and fries for all of them, chuckling together at how they had escaped the clutches of Ms. Arntz who had chaperoned their trip with Dr. Pierce and Sgt. Kreiner—though really Dr. Pierce was there to get fresh air and not to chaperone at all. His nerves had become as brittle as the icicles dangling from the overhang near their table, and the teachers were waiting for his nervous breakdown. So were the students.

“You know, if Mr. Dennison had stayed for another term, we wouldn’t have escaped,” Randon murmured with another chomp on his french fry.

Tom snorted, dusting off one of the feathers the tropical birds had molted on him when he had climbed into their enclosure after he messed with the monkeys. “Yeah, but Ms. Psychic is certainly making up for him. She’s been on my case since the second he packed all his things. She completely blames me.”

The boys all shared a look and said together, “But it is your fault.”

Tom rolled his eyes. “I didn’t expose him. Not publicly anyway.”

They all shared another look that said it was pointless to argue with him. Tom had told them everything he had discovered about West End Prep the moment he got back—including their plans for Matt, which Matt considered laughable since he doubted the President of the United States wanted a guy who personally disliked him to become a CIA agent. Besides, Tom’s view of public exposure was more like getting his pants pulled down on prime time television. Not that he wouldn’t resort to that one day….

But Rick was distracted during the entire conversation. His eyes kept trailing toward the wolf enclosure. Randon followed his gaze a number of times and snorted. Troy nodded, nudging Randon in the side then said to everyone, “I think we ought to take another fifteen minutes here then hurry back to the rink. Someone is bound to notice we’re gone if we stay any longer.”

“So soon?” Carlos almost whimpered. “I haven’t even seen the sea lions yet, or the polar bears.”

The older boys smirked. It was kind of cute having a kid with them so enthusiastic for innocent things and so set on going everywhere, seeing everything. In a way, Lee was right. Having Carlos around was like having a new toy. Besides, Rick’s head was so wrapped up in the wolves being there. It was all he could think about, and that bored them. Yet that was the one reason they had all agreed to go. It had been Rick’s idea to break into the zoo.

Tom yanked on Rick’s ear. “You’ll be at the wolves, right? We’ll meet up with you there?”

Rick jerked out from Tom’s fingers with a dirty look, but nodded. “Yeah. Fine.”

“What’s so interesting about these wolves anyway?” Matt asked, nudging him also.

Shrugging, Rick said, “Just curious. They have red wolves on display. Natural, American wolves. I just could have sworn grandpa was a gray wolf.”

Matt nodded, urging him to go on.

Sighing, Rick continued with a tired eye-roll. “So, I keep wondering why my wolf hair is reddish and not gray like Dad’s. I figure if I checked out these red wolves I might have an answer.”

“You think you are a different species of wolf than your dad?” Matt peered at him dryly. He then shook his head. “Look. I don’t know how werewolf curses work, but I’m sure your hair color comes from your mother, not some other wolf species.”

Rick averted his eyes to the table. Everyone around him grew silent. The truth was Rick hardly talked about his mother, whom he took a great deal after. Not that he didn’t think about her, but that he tried not to. After all, he never got over her rejecting him when she found out he was a werewolf. And, of course, with hers now missing—escaped from the mental institution her parents sent her to—he was terrified for her.

He rose, taking his hotdog with him. “I…I’m gonna go ignore the signs and feed the wolves. See you in a few.”

He walked off before anyone dared speak up to stop him. Randon would have, but Troy set a hand on his shoulder and shook his head. “Leave him be.”

Randon sighed and dropped back into his seat.

 

Rick wandered back to the wolf paddock, making no pretenses as to why he was there. The wolves lifted their heads at the sight of him, panting familiarly. But Rick just paced in front of the cage when he arrived, wondering in silence then aloud, “How do you do it? How can you stand being in there?”

“They can’t.”

Turning abruptly, Rick saw one of those Canadian-scarfed men. It was as if he had never left that spot, too fascinated by the wolves to leave. The man’s hat was up a little, revealing eyes of light brown that were almost amber. They reminded Rick of his father’s eyes—another family wolf quirk he had not inherited. Rick’s eyes were more of a gray, still wolfish, yet nearer to his mother’s blue. Like his hair, it made him more human.

“Excuse me?” Rick straightened up, peering at the amber-eyed man.

“They can’t stand being in there,” the man said. “They are a sideshow for those collecting money. It’s all a scam.”

Rick rolled his eyes to the sky. “It’s not a scam. My father is a supporter of the Wolf Conservation Center. He made sure they were legit before giving them money.”

The man chuckled. “Whatever.”

Growling a little in his throat, Rick snapped, “What do you mean whatever? They are legit. We surveyed the land where the wolves live ourselves.”

Lifting

Impressum

Verlag: BookRix GmbH & Co. KG

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 20.09.2014
ISBN: 978-3-7368-5214-3

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