The Fleeing Luna

~ Iris

There are twenty-three children in my classroom and, at this exact moment, and none of them are doing what they’re supposed to be doing.

“Miss Iris!”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t!”

I look up from the glue bottle I’ve been trying to unclog for the last thirty seconds.

Mila stands beside her table with both hands held out in front of her.

They’re blue, and not just a little bit.

“What happened?”

Her eyes widen. “You said you knew!”

“I lied.”

She gasps like this is the greatest betrayal of her seven-year-old life. Behind her, Bram starts laughing so hard he knocks three colored pencils onto the floor.

I point at him without looking away from Mila. “Don’t encourage her.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re laughing.”

“That’s different.”

Mila thrusts her hands closer to me. “I touched the paint.”

“Yes. I’d gathered that.”

“It won’t come off.”

“It’s washable.”

“It says permanent.”

I stop and slowly turn my head toward the art cupboard before looking back at her.

“Where did you get permanent blue paint?”

She points at Bram, because of course he has something to do with it. Bram immediately stops laughing.

There are three minutes until the final bell. I can survive three minutes... Probably.

“Sink,” I tell Mila. “Soap. Lots of it.”

She runs.

“Walk!”

She slows for exactly two steps before disappearing around the little divider beside the sink.

I turn toward Bram, who gives me his most innocent face.

“Where did you get permanent paint?”

“My brother gave it to me.”

“Why?”

“He said it was better.”

“For what?”

He thinks about that. “I don’t know.”

Naturally.

Someone tugs on my sweater and I look down to find Liv holding a paper animal in front of me. I think it’s a wolf. It has six legs, enormous pink ears and something that looks suspiciously like wings.

“Is this right?”

I crouch beside her. “It’s perfect.”

“It doesn’t look like the picture.”

“It doesn’t have to.”

She frowns at it. “Theirs have four legs.”

“Yours is faster.”

Her face brightens immediately. “Because it has more?”

“Exactly.”

She runs back to her table to explain this incredible biological discovery to everyone sitting there.

I straighten and push a loose strand of hair away from my face, only for it to fall right back. My hair gave up pretending it respects the messy bun sometime around lunch. Honestly, so did I.

The clock moves another minute. Two to go.

I scan the room and find paper and crayons everywhere, one shoe under a table with no obvious owner and a child trying to fit an entire stack of worksheets into a backpack that’s clearly already full.

A normal Friday afternoon. I love it, even though it looks like a craft shop exploded.

The bell finally rings and twenty-three voices erupt at once.

“Bags!”

Half of them are already moving.

“Chairs!”

Several stop.

“Coats!”

Someone groans.

“Lunchboxes!”

Three children run back toward the shelves.

“Parents!”

That gets them moving again.

I laugh as the room empties in waves, children calling goodbye, waving things at me and shouting weekend plans I only understand half of because everybody is talking at once.

Mila appears one last time with her hands still faintly blue.

“It didn’t all come off.”

“It will.”

“What if it doesn’t?”

“Then you’ll have blue hands forever.”

Her mouth drops open.

I grin. “Kidding.”

“Miss Iris!”

“Have a good weekend, Mila.”

She narrows her eyes at me, then runs out.

The classroom falls quiet, or as quiet as it ever gets immediately after they leave. There’s always a weird echo of them left behind in the crooked chairs, drying drawings and little pieces of conversation still sitting in my head.

I lean against my desk and breathe out.

“Survived another week?”

I look toward the doorway and see Sophie standing there holding her coat over one arm and a mug in her hand.

“Barely.”

“I heard screaming.”

“Permanent blue paint.”

She winces. “Ouch.”

“On skin.”

“Oh.”

“Exactly.”

She comes farther into the room, stepping over one of the abandoned pencils. “You leaving soon?”

“As soon as I clean this.”

I gesture vaguely around me.

She looks around. “That could take until Monday.”

“Then Monday can deal with it.”

“Very responsible.”

“I teach responsibility. I don’t necessarily practice it.”

She grins. “Still going to your weird family thing?”

“It’s not weird.”

“You said there’s a bonding ceremony.”

“It’s a cultural thing.”

“That sounds weird.”

“You’re weird.”

“Maybe, but I don’t have family ceremonies involving bonding things.”

“That you know of.”

She lifts her mug. “Fair point.”

I smile and start stacking the worksheets left on my desk.

Sophie knows my family is… different. Just not how different. Most humans don’t know werewolves exist and that’s generally how we like it.

Explaining that my older brother and his mate are having a formal pack bonding ceremony tomorrow would require several follow-up explanations I really don’t feel like giving. So cultural thing works.

“Are you staying there all weekend?”

“Until Sunday.”

“Look at you. Two whole nights.”

“I visit.”

“You only visit on major holidays and whenever your mother emotionally blackmails you.”

“My mother doesn’t emotionally blackmail me.”

Sophie raises one eyebrow.

I think about last month’s phone call.

Your father was wondering whether you’ve forgotten what we look like.

Dad had been sitting beside her. I know because he’d shouted, I did not say that.

“Fine,” I say. “A little.”

She laughs. “Have fun.”

“I will.”

“And send me pictures of this weird ceremony.”

“No.”

“Rude.”

She disappears down the hall.

I finish putting the worst of the classroom back together, turn off the lights and lock the door behind me.

My car is mostly packed. I still need to stop at home because apparently I can’t visit my family without bringing enough gifts to suggest I’ve been gone for ten years.

I blame my mother and Fleur, but mostly Fleur.

She sends me links throughout the year with absolutely no shame.

Look what I found.

This is cute.

Not saying I need it but...

She always needs it.

By five, I’m carrying the last bag out of my apartment and trying to shove it into the back seat. Which doesn’t fit.

I lean against it. “Come on.”

The door refuses to close no matter how much I push.

Roxy stretches somewhere inside me.

- You brought too much stuff.

- I didn’t ask.

- You still brought too much.

- You sound like Dad.

That earns me offended silence.

I shift one bag to the floor, wedge another between two boxes and finally manage to slam the door shut.

- Success.

I step back and look at my car.

It looks like I’m fleeing the country, which is ironically exactly the kind of thing my family thinks I did when I moved away.

I didn’t. I moved three hours south. There are trains, phones and roads. But they still act like I’ve settled on another continent.

I climb into the driver’s seat, pull my hair loose, immediately regret it when half of it falls into my face and shove it back up again.

Traffic is horrible for the first hour, but eventually the motorway clears, the buildings thin and streetlights disappear one by one as the road narrows.

Roxy gets more awake with every kilometer. By the time the first mountains appear in the distance, she’s practically pressed against the front of my mind.

- The forest.

- Yes.

- Let’s run.

- Tomorrow.

- We could run tonight.

- We’re arriving after dark.

- That’s even better.

I smile.

There are things I miss, of course. The forest most of all, and being able to shift without thinking about who might see. Running until my lungs burn and my paws are black with mud, then sleeping so deep after that I barely remember climbing into bed.

Humans have parks and trails. They also have security cameras, hikers, dog walkers and people who get extremely upset when an enormous wolf runs past them at six in the morning.

So Roxy doesn’t get as much freedom in my world. That’s the compromise. She complains constantly about it, but she likes our life too.

My headlights sweep over the old boundary marker, a large stone mostly hidden behind ferns. There’s no gate or security booth, nothing humans would notice, but I feel the tiny pressure shift under my skin as we cross into pack territory.

Roxy goes still.

- Home.

My hands tighten slightly around the steering wheel.

- Visiting.

She doesn’t answer.

I laugh. “You’re as bad as Mom.”

Trees crowd closer to the road and the air coming through the cracked window changes, carrying wet earth, pine and wolf.

Home.

I smile before I can stop myself because I do love this place. I love the forest, my family and the people waiting for me.

I can love all of that without wanting to belong to the rest of it.

The packhouse lights appear through the trees first, followed by the smaller homes, the old training field and the wide central road.

Something in my chest loosens and Roxy practically vibrates.

I turn toward my parents’ house and find the porch light already on. The front door opens before I’ve even parked.

Mom comes running out. I barely get the engine off before she’s at my door.

“Iris!”

I laugh as I climb out. “Hi, Mom.”

She pulls me into her arms so quickly I nearly lose my balance.

“You’re late.”

“I’m twelve minutes early.”

“You should’ve left earlier.”

“That wouldn’t make me less early.”

She ignores that.

Dad appears behind her. “You drove too fast.”

“I literally didn’t.”

“Your tires need checking.”

“You haven’t even seen them.”

“I can tell.”

“You can’t.”

Kane comes around the side of the house holding a beer. He looks at my packed car, then at me.

“Are you moving back?”

“No.”

“Shame. Mom already redecorated your room for you.”

Mom smacks his arm and I grin. Then Fleur launches herself through the doorway.

“Did you bring my boots?”

I stare at her.

She stops. “What?”

“Hello to you too.”

She throws her arms around me. “Hi. Love you. Did you bring my boots?”

I laugh into her hair.

There it is.

- Family.

Roxy settles inside me with a satisfied sigh.

For tonight, I let her have the word.

Home.