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“Privacy, Ma! Privacy!”
“It’s just Mr. Duncan.” She gestures to our werewolf neighbor with a smile. I stick my head out the window and nod in his direction.
We’ve known the retired lawyer for years now, even before he moved next door to Ma’s first and only self-purchased property. No matter how hard I try to persuade her to let me buy her a better place, her sentimental side won’t let her.
“Saw you on the Youtube! Hope that keister of yours is healing up,” Mr. Duncan hollers, and I close my eyes rather than roll them. Ma wouldn’t like it. Plus, Mr. Duncan’s not the first person to say either of these things since the incident.
“His butt is fine, Mr. Duncan. We thank you for asking.” Ma snaps her fingers at me through the window, and I go for the plate. She can’t help but feed anyone around her. It’s a Ma thing. “Plate of meats and cheese?”
“No thanks! Just had some deer rear. It’s my favorite part of the meal.” Ma smiles big and hands me back the plate.
“Tell him I’m lying low!” I whisper-hiss.
“What’s that?” he calls.
Shit. How can I forget the man’s literal superhuman hearing?
I poke my head out the window again and smile. “Just trying to convalesce without the hassle of the camera!” I explain, hoping he gets my meaning.
While he’s a solid guy when it comes to mowing his lawn and keeping it down on weeknights, that still doesn’t mean I want him knowing my business. Not enough to get me followed.
“Mr. Duncan is no snitch,” Ma whisper-hisses, even lower than my own.
“What’s that now?” Mr. Duncan hollers.
“He’s worried you’ll call press. Get him snapped,” she explains loudly, pretending to take a picture on an imaginary camera.
“You’re going to whisper then tell him?” My phone buzzes, and I fight the urge to pick it up immediately. Anything to act like I’m busy.
“Oh, tell him he doesn’t need to worry about that! Got my own life. And the rest of that deer to eat.”
“Good for you, Mr. Duncan! How’s Mrs. Better Half, huh?” Ma heads over to finish her chat with Mr. Duncan. But not before pointing a finger at me. “Go to pet hospital. Clean up animals. People will see you as big hero again when you in pictures with dogs and cats.”
I munch on my snack and study my left arm. I’m busted up enough as it is, and she suggests washing anything with claws. I smirk at the idea as I check my phone.
Saw you on the Internet. Sorry about your ass. And collar bone.
It’s Verog Hill, my best friend and fellow orc, currently the PE teacher and hockey coach at our old elementary school.
The second message comes a split-second later.The kids won’t stop talking about it.
The last sentence gets my attention. Kids are some of my biggest fans, and the thought of a group of them huddled up watching footage of my blurred-out rear end isn’t exactly a win for me. I may not have any of my own, but I like the idea of being a role model.
I stiffen as an idea hits me, a possible solution to my problem that won’t see me at the mercy of a wet British Shorthair. I just wonder how much I’m going to have to twist Hill’s arm.
2
MELODY
“What do you mean, hockey’s not stamp club!” Ryan yells, his arms waving up and down.
One of his hands smacks the kitchen table, and I immediately smooth out the blue and white checkered tablecloth. I have a million things to do today—a million and one if you count dealing with my nephew’s most recent want—and I don’t need the crinkle sticking in grandma’s tablecloth.
“What I mean to say is…”
I push up my glasses and look Ryan right in his hazy green eyes. He’s just spent the last fifteen minutes regaling me with the benefits of sportsmanship on youth. While informative, it doesn’t change my view that physical contact sports just aren’t safe.
“In stamp club, the worst thing that could happen is a paper cut.” I grab his perfectly unscarred face and smirk when he frowns. “Maybe even a deep one.”
