Read Online Werewolf Weekend by B. A. Frade, Stacia Deutsch - Free Book Online

arm and took the seat. I had to stand in front of them, like an accused criminal explaining her case in front of a judge.
    â€œYou’re creative,” Sam said with a shrug.
    She used to admire that about me, but everything was changing.
    Sam squinted hard at me and said the meanest thing she’d ever said: “I wish you’d never come over this weekend.” I thought this could not get any worse, but it did. She said, “We’re going to watch the movie now. You’re not invited anymore.”
    â€œWhat?!” I sputtered. “Where am I going to go?” This was crazy.
    She tipped her head toward the stairs.
    Ah, I understood. I wasn’t being kicked out of the house. I was being banished. Sent upstairs to solitary confinement as my punishment.
    I nodded. “Okay,” I said. “But I am going to prove to you this book is acting on its own. I did not write that story. The…” I looked down at the book, still open in my hands, and for the first time, I said his name out loud. “It was the Scaremaster!”
    Sam rolled her eyes. Riley scooted closer to her as if whatever was wrong with me might be contagious.
    I slammed the book shut and stormed past Cassie, who was standing where she’d been this whole time and still hadn’t said anything.
    I was at the bottom stair when I stopped. I retraced my steps back to Cassie. She was like a gargoyle, a mean-looking statue that did nothing but stare at me with those freaky eyes of hers. I leaned in tight and whispered, “No matter what you do to me… I am not leaving.” I gave a little snarl to finish the thought, like a spoken exclamation point.
    I rotated on a heel and stomped up the stairs, clumping as loud as I could as I went.
    I opened Sam’s bedroom door with a bang and kicked it shut with an echoing slam.
    Then I dropped that rotten journal on the edge of the bed and flopped into her pillows, scooting back away from it. I didn’t want to touch it.
    None of this would have happened if the librarian hadn’t told me to pick a journal. Or back even further at school—if I had just gone with Sam to get the telescope stuff, instead of going to the library! This
was
all my fault.
    I was mad at myself for making a mess of everything. Mad at Mom for going away. Mad at Cassie for being so secretive. Mad at Riley for being so cute. Mad at Sam for being so logical.
    I slammed my fists into Sam’s pillow and kicked my feet.
    The journal fell off the bed with a sound that wasn’t a normal book-falling sound.
    It was like a whoosh of wind through trees. And with it, there was that smell I’d smelled before: fog and pine and damp dog. But now there was also something new, and it made the hairs on my neck stand on end: blood. Not that I’d smelled a lot of blood in my life, but it was like raw meat before it goes on the grill. My hand hurt as if I was the one who was wounded, and in my imagination, I saw blood dripping on leaves. The image brought a bitter metallic taste to my mouth.
    Shaking my head to push the imagery away, I looked down toward the floor. The journal had fallen open to the first page.
    It was blank!
    Impossible!
    I grabbed the book off the floor and violently turned through the pages.
    All blank.
    I had to show Sam. This was the proof I needed that I’d never written the story in the first place!
    I was about to dash out of the room when fresh new writing appeared.
    It was the strangest thing I had ever seen.
    Words, slowly, and in that same strange handwriting as in English class, started moving across the page. Like someone was writing to me from inside the book.
    Once upon a time, there was a girl named Emma.…
    I grabbed a pen from Sam’s desk and scribbled.
    Stop it. No more stories.
    Hello, Emma.
    How do you know my name?
    I know a lot of things.
Did you like my story?
    No.
    Why not?
    Everyone thinks it’s my story!
    It is your