The Werewolf I Love

The hum of the city always felt like it was vibrating inside Ivy's teeth. It was a Tuesday, and the air in the subway was thick with the smell of damp coats and old metal. Ivy leaned her forehead against the cool glass of the train window, watching the tunnel lights blur into long, yellow streaks. She was eighteen, but most days she felt like she was a hundred years old, or maybe like she wasn't there at all. When she got to school, she did what she always did: she found the quietest corner of the cafeteria and opened her sketchbook. She didn't have a "group." She had a few people she'd say hey to in the halls, but no one who would notice if she just stopped showing up. She was halfway through a drawing of a bird skeleton when a shadow fell over her page. "That's kind of dark, don't you think?" Ivy looked up. It was a girl from her English lit class-someone with a bright smile and a lot of friends. Ivy didn't know how to respond, so she just shrugged and pulled her sleeves over her palms. "It's just a study," Ivy muttered. The girl lingered for a second, probably waiting for Ivy to say something else, but the silence stretched out until it got awkward. The girl eventually walked away, and Ivy felt that familiar sting of regret. She wanted to talk; she just didn't know how to bridge the gap between her head and her mouth. That evening, the apartment felt too small. Her dad, Liam, was hovering by the stove, and her mom, Sloane, was sorting through mail at the counter. They were good parents-the kind who actually listened-but they looked at Ivy like she was a puzzle they couldn't quite solve. "Ivy, sit down for a second," Liam said, turning off the burner. Ivy dropped her backpack by the door and sat. She could tell by the look on their faces that they'd been whispering about her before she walked in. "We're worried," Sloane said plainly. She didn't sugarcoat it. "You spend eighteen hours a day with those headphones on. We love that you're artistic, but we're losing you, honey." "I'm right here," Ivy said, though she knew what they meant. "We're going to the cabin," Liam intervened. "That old place up north near the border. I bought it years ago as an investment, but it's just sitting there. No cell service, no city noise. Just us. We're going for the break." Ivy looked at the smudge of lead on her finger. The thought of being trapped in a house with her parents for a week sounded exhausting, but the thought of staying in the city felt worse. "Okay," Ivy said. "When do we leave?" "Friday," Sloane said, looking relieved. "Pack light. It's mostly just dirt and trees up there." Ivy nodded and went to her room. She didn't pack clothes first. She packed her charcoal, her heavy paper, and her favorite kneaded eraser. She didn't know why, but she felt a strange pull toward the idea of the woods-a feeling that for the first time in her life, she might actually find something worth drawing.