was not close to the two
of us, and was rather annoying. To be honest, if we
could have ditched him we
would have, but we all lived
together, so that wasn’t an
option. And I, the quiet
bookworm, who noticed
everything, but never had
much to say. The familiarity
drew us to one another, and
though we were surrounded by friends from school,
we chose each other’s
company over that of our
schoolmates. The play was
well done, and afterwards,
as kids split up on their
way home, Jesús, Adrian,
and I took the scenic route
on the way to our shared
dormitory.
It was Jesús who thought
to ask the magic question,
“What time is it?” As we all
searched for our phones,
there was a series of gasps
as we realized that it was
10 p.m. The green and
white school MetroCards
that we all depended on,
in and out of school, were
out of service, and three
teens were now stranded
in midtown Manhattan. No
one panicked. Why should
we? We were 15, constantly begging the world for a
chance to be independent.
And here it was, albeit at
an unsavory time of day. At
that moment, a man burst
out of a bar across the
street, apparently thrown
by the bouncer. He landed hard on his face, and
did not get up. So began
our night about the town.
Before we had gone two
blocks I saw a group of
people, seven or so, wearing thick leather cloaks. It
was 75 degrees that night,
but they walked with
their cloaks drawn tight
around them, their eyes
scanning the streets before falling upon us. New
York is a haven for weird
and quirky people, but
even so, just looking at the
group made me hot. We
tried to pass each other,
but before we separated,
they asked us a question.
“Are you werewolves?”
I was surprised by the
question, only because we
were still in school uniform.
How did actual werewolves
dress if they needed to ask
us?! One man in the back
even hissed, which elicited laughs from Jesús.
Idiot, I thought, and sure
enough, they were f