That night, Claire slipped off into the woods to work on starting a fire. She headed straight for her favorite practice spot, the little opening in the pine trees that was enough space to work in but so well hidden that she wasn't worried about being seen. She swept away the pine needles until she had a ring of bare earth large enough for a pile of branches. Starting small seemed like a good idea, so Claire gathered up an armful of twigs, making sure they were all dry enough to burn.
Just after her transformation was complete, Marie had explained to Claire how to light the fire, but since then she'd never bothered to ask if Claire had managed to succeed. In the clearing, Claire arranged the kindling exactly the way her mother had shown her. After everything was set up, Claire stood over the sad pile of sticks, clenched her fists, closed her eyes, and imagined a fire. She held on to the picture in her head, eyes still shut, and listened for the sound of crackling bark. Waited for the scent of wood smoke. For her shins to get warm.
Nothing happened.
She opened one eye and checked. Nope. No fire.
Okay, fine.
She shook out her hands and stretched her neck before trying again. She had to relax. Being so tense wasn't helping.
Hours passed in the cold, dark forest. Birds roosted in the trees above her, then woke and flew away again. Claire stood in the shelter of the familiar pine trees until her feet and back ached from being motionless for so long. She visualized fire until the image of leaping flames was burned into the backs of her eyelids, but as soon as she opened them, the uncharred pile of wood stared back at her mockingly. If it had a tongue, it would have stuck it out at her.
Claire flopped down onto the forest floor, her heart pounding from the frustration and the wasted effort.
In her pocket, her cell phone rang. The noise startled her. It sounded so alien in the quiet rustle of the night forest. She wasn't the only thing surprised by the sudden sound in the darkness. The tiny creatures in the woods around her fell silent as everything but Claire held its breath.
A breeze ruffled Claire's hair. With a sigh, she pulled her phone out of her pocket and saw that it was already after midnight.
And Matthew was calling.
"Hello?"
"Hey. How are—" He paused. "It sounds windy. Where are you?"
Claire stood up and brushed the bits of dirt and leaves off her shirt. With one swift kick, she sent the unburned twigs skittering across the clearing, so that they came to rest in a natural-looking scatter. Screw it. She'd come back the next night and try again.
"I'm heading home, actually." She turned and started to walk. "You're up late."
"Yeah. I couldn't sleep." His voice was ragged with worry. She could hear Saturday's game hanging over him.
Claire took a long breath. She knew that the state finals were a big deal. A huge deal. Matthew had been recruited by some schools, even offered scholarship money, but he still hadn't heard from his top choice—UCLA. There would be a Bruins rep at the game. Watching him. Making little notes that could determine his entire future.
"Matthew, it's going to be fine. You're amazing—you've been amazing at every match this season, and there's no reason this game is going to be any different."
He sighed. "I hope you're right."
She laughed. "Of course I'm right. I'm always right. Don't you know that by now?"
"I know, I know. I wasn't calling to talk about it, anyway. So. Where're you headed home from?" He was trying to keep his voice light, but he wasn't completely successful.
Claire crouched low and slipped through the hole in the brick wall, stepping onto her lawn.
"The woods," she said, "but I just made it back to the house. Last night wasn't as fantastic as it could have been. I mean, the gathering was fine. But it turns out that the pack is having a special gathering for me. Like, where I'm supposed to demonstrate my—" She paused. "My skills." Her words were heavy with meaning.
"I don't see the problem. You're good at all of that, right?" He sounded distant, and she could hear him shifting around in an edgy sort of way.
Claire stared up at the dark windows of her house. "Except lighting the fire. I can't do that part." Her voice came out in a whisper.
"I—oh. Well, I'm, uh, sure you'll work it out." His voice was as bright and fake as a cheerleader's smile.
Something tightened in Claire's chest.
But what if I can't? What if I screw up so amazingly that I can't ever lead the hunt?
Claire didn't say anything. She looked up at the moon. It was still nearly full, just the tiniest sliver missing from one side. She knew it would shrivel away to nothing all too fast, but she didn't want to add to Matthew's worry if she didn't have to. He was plenty anxious about his own stuff—after all, he was about to be judged too.
Claire shook herself. "Sure. Right. Anyway, I'm home, and I need to go to bed. And you do too."
"Yeah. At this rate, we're both going to be zombies tomorrow." He yawned. "I love you, you know that?" he asked, sounding like his old self again.
"I love you, too," she whispered.
The intensity of her worry rubbed against her, making her want to strip off her human skin and run until she was too tired to care about anything. But instead of transforming and sprinting through the woods until she had run herself out of her self-doubting, Claire flipped her phone shut and trudged into the house. Pretending she was just an ordinary human. Pretending everything was fine.