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The Game of Boys and Monsters
    It started as a game. Evy’s game, because, looking back on it, we were always playing Evy’s games.
    Evy, “with long e ’s, please,” had been my best friend since we were born—in the same week, in the same hospital. She would say, “We were meant to be best friends, Les. It was destined.”
    â€œDestined” was one of Evy’s favorite words.
    We weren’t supposed to be born on the same day, but Evy was eager. From day one, her mom said, Evy never did have any patience.
    Evy wasn’t just born first; she grew up faster than me. She claimed her first boyfriend in second grade. By the time we were in middle school, she’d already had at least one kind of sex with two guys—at summer camp though, so people at home didn’t talk.
    She told me because she trusted me and “liked me best.”
    Other girls in our class, girls who got along with boys, they split off, formed an unbreakable ring with a sharp, glittering edge. They armed themselves with contact lenses, charm bracelets, highlights, and tinted lip gloss (because “lipstick is trashy”).
    But Evy stuck with me. Evy gave the rest of them a big F-you, showing up with her renegade hair that she would never cut or dye in ropey braids and tumbling curls, the definition of romantic. She edged out the sweetness with a pair of chunky, vintage glasses that she didn’t even need and a smack of hot-pink lipstick right before it was “in.”
    Evy smacked her lips, and the boys went, “Oh.”
    The boys were always going “Oh” when Evy looked their way.
    The night the game started, we were sitting on Evy’s roof outside her bedroom window. “It’s a teenybopper TV drama cliché,” Evy liked to say of her perch, “but there’s a reason for it. This is the only place on this whole lot where we’re taller than what’s going on inside.”
    I liked it because we could see the stars.
    On that night they were extra sharp, crisp and bright, and the chill in the air seemed to match. We shivered in tank tops because earlier that day, when the sun was hot, we’d gone bike riding down to the village and back for no reason, just to ride.
    We’d seen some guys from our class there, and Evy pushed me toward Ben, Ben of the wide smile and sideburns and paws like a bear. She’d stop pushing me if I asked her, but here we were starting tenth grade, and I’d never had a kiss, much less a boyfriend. It’s about time, I’d been thinking lately, and I didn’t mind Evy pushing me so much with Ben. The sun warmed my face, but not as much as the heat pulsing up through my skin to flirt with the cool breeze. When I wiped a slick of sweat, my cheeks burned hot to my touch.
    â€œHey, you’ve got a leaf,” Ben said, and he’d reached into the sweaty mess of my hair to lift it out.
    Later on, at Evy’s, the night seemed to suck the last summer warmth from the air. I lay back on the roof to absorb what heat the shingles had stored.
    â€œIt’s almost fall,” I said. “Best time for witches.”
    â€œYou are too weird,” Evy said, but she didn’t mean it. She liked me that way.
    â€œOkay, so here’s the game,” Evy said. “Every guy is either a vampire or a werewolf. Our job is to decide which.”
    â€œHow can you tell the difference?”
    â€œIt’s something you feel,” Evy said. “Take Ben, for example. Ben is clearly a werewolf.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œWell, he’s stocky for one thing, like he’s compact. There’s some muscle in there.”
    â€œI thought you said it was a feeling.”
    â€œYeah, but the feeling comes from a lot of things. . . . Okay, and his smile. He smiles all the time, and it’s warm, like he’s not hiding anything.”
    â€œDon’t werewolves have something to