One year’s worth of weekly letters turned into seven—and we’ve still never met, but I don’t think it’s any secret that I’m head over heels for her—and the number of times she’s asked me to meet since we got out of high school is in the double digits.
But this time... It can work. I can say yes.
My hands are shaking as the sun sets and I dial her number—one of the three in my life I have memorized.
“Boggie!”
She always sounds so happy to hear from me.
God, please. I can’t help being cursed, or born seventh, or being born from mixed-up, crazy family bloodlines. You gotta help me with this, okay?
“Kell!” I finish my prayer with a misty-eyed smile, wishing the mail had come through earlier, or that I’d decided to wait another few minutes to call. The October sun is sinking fast...
“You got my letter?”
“I did.”
“And you’re calling to tell me that, between your internship at the music school, all the pre-med stuff, commuting, mid-terms, and babysitting for the twins, you can’t come?”
“No.” I swallow a grunt and put the phone on speaker as my hands begin to cramp and my mouth twists and contorts. I hurriedly pull off my Hoboken Performing Arts sweatshirt before I can destroy it.
My grandmother also used to tell me I ruined the family budget with how many pieces of clothing I shredded.
“Are you okay? Oh,novio, you sound like you ate dairy again. Your stomach?”
I grunt as my chest hair starts to spread into a soft brown carpet that spreads down my body, and my shoulder blades buckle, then burst with long, leathery wings racing to be free of my skin. In spite of the pain, I smile.
Kelly called me boyfriend.
It’s sweet and teasing—and sometimes, I don’t think it’s actually teasing at all.
“I want to come—but I can’t afford a new costume. I’m going to come as something I have, okay?” I say in a tight voice as my human face disappears. My snub nose flattens further. My earsnarrow to long points, and my thick eyebrows are soon lost in fur. Mercifully, my baggy pants stay in one piece, but if I’d been wearing my normal sneakers, they’d be scraps of leather and nylon. My feet are now a size twenty with three long toes that end in talons that would easily pierce concrete.
“What? What?!” Kelly’s voice climbs the octave in a happy screech. I can hear things tumbling and crashing, and I know she’s jumping on her bed in excitement. “Don’t you toy with me, Bogdan Michael Lupescu!”
“I’m not playing, Kelly Maria Theresa Carlotta Venga-Comanda.” I hope she doesn’t notice that my voice sounds...different. Anything with an S in it now has a hiss, and some sounds are pinched. (If you never realized how your nose shape affects your voice, trust me, it does.) “I can come, but all I have is—is this weird vampire suit. Um. Like... Well, did you ever see those old comics where Dracula turns into a bat, but he’s still a man?”
“No. I’m not big on monsters.”
Well, just shoot me with silver bullets, why don’t you?
“It’s not a scary costume, I swear. It’s really nice. Soft fur. Wings. Um. Anyway, think of it like a play on Batman. Manbat. It’s got a human face with bat-like features.” I look in the mirror and wince. “Or a bat face with man-like features.” I straighten up and pick up the phone again, walking closer to the mirror. In this form, there are way more muscles. They bulge. This is a gym rat body. Hah. Gymbat.
“I don’t care what you wear, I’m just... I’ll just be so happy to see you in person,” Kelly says, but now her voice is breathy and soft.
Sensual.
Shit, my pants no longer fit, and it has nothing to do with my transformation.
“I’ve always wanted to see you, Kelly.” My voice is equally soft. “I’m sorry I’ve been so busy. Or so broke.” It’s true. More than a fear of getting stuck and seeing Kelly after sundown kept me from her, even when we ended up just one state apart.
“Baby, you don’t have to tell me. Six children means I’m a thrift shop diva. Nine kids must have meant...”
“It’s a good thing we all liked lentil soup, stuffed cabbage, and potatoes. I mean, Dad has a good job, and my grandmother took care of us so Mom could work, too. Anyway, I have money. You don’t have to pay for gas—as long as I can wear my old costume. It still fits.” It grows with me.
“You don’t have to take the twins out trick-or-treating?”
“No. You know my folks. They’re convinced that Halloween is Satanic. They’ll be at home with the anointing oils and getting out the Christmas decorations for November First.”
