The Game of Boys and Monsters
It started as a game. Evyâs game, because, looking back on it, we were always playing Evyâs games.
Evy, âwith long e âs, please,â had been my best friend since we were bornâin the same week, in the same hospital. She would say, âWe were meant to be best friends, Les. It was destined.â
âDestinedâ was one of Evyâs favorite words.
We werenât 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 wasnât 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, sheâd already had at least one kind of sex with two guysâat summer camp though, so people at home didnât talk.
She told me because she trusted me and âliked me best.â
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 âlipstick is trashyâ).
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 didnât even need and a smack of hot-pink lipstick right before it was âin.â
Evy smacked her lips, and the boys went, âOh.â
The boys were always going âOhâ when Evy looked their way.
The night the game started, we were sitting on Evyâs roof outside her bedroom window. âItâs a teenybopper TV drama cliché,â Evy liked to say of her perch, âbut thereâs a reason for it. This is the only place on this whole lot where weâre taller than whatâs going on inside.â
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, weâd gone bike riding down to the village and back for no reason, just to ride.
Weâd 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. Sheâd stop pushing me if I asked her, but here we were starting tenth grade, and Iâd never had a kiss, much less a boyfriend. Itâs about time, Iâd been thinking lately, and I didnât 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.
âHey, youâve got a leaf,â Ben said, and heâd reached into the sweaty mess of my hair to lift it out.
Later on, at Evyâs, 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.
âItâs almost fall,â I said. âBest time for witches.â
âYou are too weird,â Evy said, but she didnât mean it. She liked me that way.
âOkay, so hereâs the game,â Evy said. âEvery guy is either a vampire or a werewolf. Our job is to decide which.â
âHow can you tell the difference?â
âItâs something you feel,â Evy said. âTake Ben, for example. Ben is clearly a werewolf.â
âWhy?â
âWell, heâs stocky for one thing, like heâs compact. Thereâs some muscle in there.â
âI thought you said it was a feeling.â
âYeah, but the feeling comes from a lot of things. . . . Okay, and his smile. He smiles all the time, and itâs warm, like heâs not hiding anything.â
âDonât werewolves have something to
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