Page 109 of The Turning of the Tables

In school. In high school.

Then I got over it.

So you wouldn’t change it now?

I like being a shifter.

Why?

I like the way the earth smells now. The way plants smell.

I like digging in the earth and the feel of it in my claws.

I like how strong I am.

I didn’t know quite what to say to that. I was glad he’d told me, because it felt better knowing that, at least at some point, he’d wished he wasn’t a shifter, even if now he liked it. And I was glad he’d given me things I could maybe look forward to. Going for a hike and smelling the earth and trees in a whole new way. Being stronger—once I wasn’t too tired to use that strength, anyway.

What do you hate about it?

I stink. My room stinks.

Everybody stinks.

You’ll get used to that.

What else?

My skin itches and tingles every time I feel anything about anything.

That will get better, too.

I’m now extremely expensive to feed and unemployed.

Yeah, shifter grocery bills suck.

But you’ll find something.

And it’ll be okay.

My body hurts more than it used to.

That one I’m not sure about.

If I had to guess, I’d say it will fade?

Why doesn’t that make me feel better?

Sorry, baby.

You’ll find your way.

I promise.

How do you know?

Because I know you.

I didn’t have a reply to that for several reasons. First, because the only things I could think of were mean-spirited and born of pure frustration. And that’s never agood place to be talking to people from if you can help it—which I could, because texting lets you think about what you’re going to say before you stupidly say it. Second, because it felt weird to think that he thought he knew me.