*
By Friday she was a wreck. Claire sat in the forest, surrounded by little unburned piles of kindling. Nothing would light. She wrapped her arms around her knees and stared at the stack of sticks in front of her, wondering what it would really be like to fail in front of the whole pack. If she couldn't figure out how to get something to catch fire, that's exactly what would happen.
She didn't want to ask her mom for help, mostly because she didn't want to admit just how much trouble she was having with something that was supposed to come naturally to werewolves. It would be almost as bad as admitting that she couldn't wag her own tail. Claire pressed her forehead into her knees, the denim blotting out the mocking, unlit wood in front of her.
Two more days. I'll just practice for two more days. Then, if I still haven't figured it out, I'll talk to her.
The idea that she might really be an incomplete wolf was so awful that she couldn't even think it any louder than a whisper. But there was a little voice at the back of her head that had started muttering ugly, doubt-filled things, and once it knew it had gotten her attention, there was no way to shut it up.
Part of her knew she should stay where she was and try again to make some sort of combustion happen. But Matthew's game was the next day. All the other soccer players' girlfriends would have flowers and cards and signs with their boyfriends' jersey numbers on them. Claire wasn't going to let Matthew down by being the only one sitting there at the state finals with nothing. Even if it meant missing out on a little bit of practice. She still had more than a week until the gathering. That would be plenty of time to work things out—to keep herself from being humiliated, from having everyone think she wasn't as good as any of the other wolves.
At least, she hoped it would be plenty of time. Saturday morning dawned, full of heavy gray clouds and the promise of colder weather. Claire was relieved. At least by nightfall Matthew's stress would be over. And the game would be a good chance for her to think about something else and blow off some steam. She was even looking forward to the traditional postgame celebration at the diner.
And then afterward she promised herself, she'd head straight for the woods and practice.
She'd been up way too late trying to make a decent-looking sign, but she'd finally managed it. It was just Matthew's number inside a glittery heart, but it was big enough that he'd be able to see it from the field. After doing her best to drown her fatigue with coffee, Claire tugged on a pair of leggings and a T-shirt with a disintegrating collar. She had hours until the game, and the caffeine had made her way too jittery to sit around the house. The only thing she could think to do—at least, in the daylight—was go for a run.
She paused on the front porch, stretching out her left calf and adjusting her earphones before taking off down the driveway. She loved the shock in her chest as the thud of her shoes against the pavement reverberated into her ribs and her lungs stretched, trying to keep up with her sudden effort.
Just when her muscles had really warmed and loosened and the running started to feel almost—but not quite—as good as when she was in her wolf form, Claire reached the edge of the forest. Seeing the shadows between the trees sent a flutter of anxiety through her, undoing most of her relaxation. She wanted to be there, in the woods, practicing. She turned her eyes back to the road in front of her, training her gaze on the cracked pavement. She needed to stay focused on Matthew right now. On her human life.
Besides, there wasn't anything she could do about her werewolf existence until it got dark.
With the road spooling out in front of her like a ribbon, Claire inhaled long and slow and matched her pace to the drum-beat rhythm of the song that poured through her earphones. She let the repetition calm her, numb her, until she wasn't worried about fire lighting or Matthew's scholarship chances. Until she was just running. Breath and motion and nothing else.