DEAR WESLEY,
Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me. I will never tell anyone about how the great Wesley Stone was awaiting a letter from a girl. No, I will take that secret with me to my grave. No one will ever know that you are actually a nice person who cares about poor little me.
I have to say, as much as I’ve always wanted to have a large family with siblings who are close to me, I think I could live without all the annoying and teasing you described in your letter. So, you can keep your brother and sister and best friends over there with you in California. I will stay here, by myself, without anyone to ever annoy me or tease me. I will have peace and quiet, and you will have noise and chaos.
Seriously, though, I enjoyed reading about your siblings and friends. They sound wonderful. I hope someday I can maybe meet them. I mean, assuming you want to meet at some point.
Okay, now, my turn to answer the questions.
My birthday is on October 18th. That was their best guess at my birthday. It could be a few days before that or the day after. I am nine, as I’ve mentioned before, and in third grade. I’ve been at this school for a little over a year now, and I’m hoping I don’t have to leave it soon. I’m finally starting to make some friends. Well, one friend, but still that’s better than nothing, right? And it will be a nightmare to start all over again if I end up having to leave.
You’ll never believe this, but my favorite color is also white! It’s clean and perfect and simple. Who cares if it’s not really a color? Not me! Or you, obviously.
I don’t know what my favorite animal is. I’ll have to think more about that. But I do have to say, I love the way you described wolves. Most people think of them as scary, but the way you wrote about them made them seem so wonderful.
My favorite food is grilled cheese sandwiches with tomato soup. Simple food, I know, but there is something comforting about it. It’s my favorite to have on an especially cold, snowy day, or when I’m feeling a little sad and need something to warm up my insides. Pizza would be my second favorite, though, for sure. Or maybe ice cream.
My favorite sport is ballet. I have loved ballet ever since I was a little girl, and the family I was living with was watching “The Nutcracker” at Christmastime. I caught a quick glimpse of it before being sent back to my room to sleep.
I know, I know. I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, “Haven, ballet isn’t a sport.” And maybe it isn’t. Or at least not a sport like the sports you play.
But I will tell you, it is hard work. Everything has to be so perfect and precise, but also must look elegant, graceful, and effortless. My dad says he thinks he wouldn’t last a full ballet class without collapsing, and he’s a former swimmer.
That leads me to your next question: my mom and dad. Jack and Shirley.
I’ll be honest, calling them Mom and Dad hasn’t been easy for me. After being shuffled around to so many homes, I stopped trying to call the foster parents “Mom and Dad.”
But Jack and Shirley have been… different. They wanted me to call them Mom and Dad from the very start, but I couldn’t. So I refused. I refused, and I refused to see that I was hurting them.
Because they actually want me. They want to take care of me, want to look after me, want me to be part of their family. I think… I think they may even be trying to adopt me. Dad has hinted at it, based on things he’s said to me, or questions he’s asked me.
That day I got your letter, the one where you asked me for a second chance? It kind of knocked some sense into me. There was no question in my mind, no doubt about giving you that chance. I knew right away that was what I wanted to do. And then I realized if I can give you a second chance, shouldn’t I be able to give them a first chance?
So after I had already written your letter, I decided to try calling them Mom and Dad instead of Jack and Shirley. And you know what? It felt good. It felt good to give them something after everything they have given to me.
That’s why, in that letter, I wrote Jack and Shirley first, and then Mom later.
Wow, that got intense. And long. Sorry about that. To wrap it up, yes, I celebrate Thanksgiving, and no, your school picture is not silly either. Hope
to hear from you soon!
Your friend, Haven
P.S. OH MY GOSH! I just got the most exciting news, and of course, you were the first person I thought to tell. My ballet teacher, Miss Rebekah, is recomending that I take aditional lessons including private lessons with her so that I can get better faster I am so excited I’ve never been told I was good at anything so to hear that she thinks I have a chance to be great at ballet with some extra training is just… wow I can’t even describe it! Just wanted to share.
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WESLEY
I chuckled to myself as I finished reading Haven’s letter. There was excitement coming off the paper in her P.S.
She obviously wrote it hastily and after the rest of the letter had been written, because the writing wasn’t as neat and precise as her handwriting normally was. There were misspelled words, which wasn’t like her at all, and it was clear she wasn’t using a very sturdy surface because there were a couple spots where she poked a hole through the paper with her pen. I would guess she wrote the second part in the car, on her way home from her ballet class, and that’s where her mom or dad gave her the news.
I was surprised she didn’t want to rewrite the entire thing and just sent it this way, but it also made her seem more real, more human. I could almost picture her sitting there, tossing paper after paper away because of one tiny
mistake, before checking over the finished product and giving it a nod of approval.
I could also imagine her furiously scribbling away, maybe even with her tongue sticking out of her mouth as she focused on getting her words out, too excited about what just happened to care about neatness and perfection, bursting at the seams to tell someone her good news.
I had been catching glimpses of her personality through her letters, and under her guarded, cautious, perfectionist exterior was a funny, spirited human waiting to be let out. I hoped I could be someone who got to see that person in action. She said she wanted to meet my family and friends, and I hoped someday that would happen.
I set her newest letter with the others—inside a manila folder my dad gave me from his office—and I went out of my room to the kitchen, where my mom would be. We had cooks in the packhouse kitchen, but my mom liked to have small family meals with us from time to time. The rest of the packhouse residents were mainly warriors, anyway, since most of the families in our pack built or moved into houses elsewhere on our lands.
The smell of my mom’s famous homemade bolognese filled my nose, and my stomach growled in anticipation of dinner tonight. It was still hours before it was time to eat, but my mom made her spaghetti sauce as soon as the sun peeked over the horizon, so the tantalizing scent would always waft through the alpha suite all day, driving my dad, Sebastian, and me crazy.
“Smells delicious, as always, Mom,” I said as I walked up next to her at the stove.
She set her spoon down on the spoon rest and wiped her hands on her apron, an appreciative smile on her face as she turned to me.
“How’s Haven?” she asked. “I saw the envelope in the stack of mail. I swear I didn’t read it this time,” she added before I could respond.
I just laughed and grabbed a clean spoon from the drawer to taste the sauce with. I leaned towards the giant pot on the stove, but Mom smacked my hand away before I could even attempt to stick my spoon in.
“You’ll ruin all my hard work!” she exclaimed, and I put my spoon down reluctantly, sticking my hands in my pockets and turning to lean back against the counter.
“I want to get her a Christmas gift,” I said, and she tilted her head to the side. “Haven,” I clarified, answering her unspoken question.
“Oh, of course!” She clapped her hands together and began removing her apron. “Now, we need to hurry before the best shop in town closes.”
I furrowed my brows. “Um, Mom? The sauce?”
“Oh, right!” she chuckled. “I’ll mindlink your father.” She rushed out of the kitchen towards the entry, and I stood there, still confused. “Wesley Michael Stone! We are wasting precious time!”
I shook myself out of my stupor and followed her. She was already in her coat, and throwing her purse over her shoulder as she looked at me expectantly.
“I didn’t mean right now?” I replied.
“Better to do it now while we’re thinking about it. Then we can make sure it arrives on time.”
I sighed and nodded, and pulled my coat on. It was just cold enough outside in the early afternoons to need a light coat, even with our extra warmth from being werewolves. Especially for me since I still hadn’t had my first shift.
We hastened to the nearest shop in the town on our pack lands. The jingle of the bell over the door to the shop drew the eyes of every pack member in the store to my mom and me.
My mom smiled and waved at them, and they all returned her smiles with their own and slight nods of respect towards their luna. Our people loved my mom, and I could only hope my mate would be loved even half as much as my mother was.
The customers went back to their browsing, unbothered by their luna in the store. I knew in other packs the alpha and luna ruled by intimidation. But in our pack, my parents took pride in creating a caring, loving, and respectful atmosphere.
Dad told me packs with that kind of culture and atmosphere were the strongest, because they would always be willing to stand up and defend each other against any adversity. Other packs, where the culture was fear and intimidation, ended up turning on each other and becoming weaker.
Not that my dad wasn’t a strong and intimidating alpha. Quite the opposite. He never let his challengers walk away alive, and he has been challenged for his title many times during his time as alpha. Even several times after I was born. But to his own pack members, he was stern but kind, and treated them with respect unless they gave him reason not to.
My mom and I separated, browsing the aisles of the store, both of us keeping an eye out for the perfect gift for Haven. But nothing caught my eye. It needed to be something special, something unique, something perfect. Something she wouldn’t have yet. Something she couldn’t just get from anywhere or anyone. I wanted to show her I’d been paying attention, that I knew her and who she was and what she liked.
I paused in the aisle, closing my eyes as I thought. I rushed into this, and I wished I had thought about what I wanted to get her before I said anything. Then, I could have told her exactly what we should buy for Haven instead of wandering around the store.
The sounds inside of the store were overwhelming—the whispers and giggles of children trying to hide from their mothers, the low murmur of a couple trying to purchase something to announce their pregnancy, my mom chatting with the she-wolf at the register about the school Christmas parties my mom was planning—but over it all, there was a light tinkling of a music box, playing what I could only classify as ballet music.
I followed the sound through the store until I was in the back corner, staring at a shelf filled with music boxes of various shapes and sizes. Some were small enough to fit into my pocket, and some were large enough to hold a decent amount of jewelry or trinkets.
I eyed each of them, opening and examining every detail of the insides and the outsides, looking for the perfect choice. My eyes finally landed on the one I knew was the best option.
As I reached for it, my mom came up next to me, and I glanced at her for approval as I took the music box off the shelf.
She only smiled at me, but I knew what I had chosen was the right gift. But there was still something else I wanted to do for Haven, something I couldn’t do without my mother’s help.
“There’s one other thing I want to give her,” I said. “But I need your help.”
She nodded at me, her hand resting on mine on top of the music box. “Of course, Wesley,” she said with a smile.
