It's. My. Stuff. I am not going to lose my shit over this!
She opened her mouth, panting. The taste of the fake-lemon furniture polish and faux-floral detergent coated her tongue, but it was more bearable than breathing through her nose. Feeling like she was within clawing distance of control, she closed her eyes, shutting out the borders and barriers of the room. She focused on the security of the furniture behind her—the protection of a corner, where at least she could see a threat coming.
Her heart slowed, though her flanks and whiskers were still trembling. She had two choices: change back or try to listen to Emily and Amy. She'd already tortured herself by transforming. She might as well try to get something out of it.
Claire concentrated on her barely contained desperation to escape. She took that feeling and used it to get her hearing to stretch beyond the walls of her room.
". . . not like that. I don't know." Amy's voice was thick, like she was talking around a mouthful of something.
Probably ice cream, Claire realized. She wanted to be having a late-night sugar binge with her best friend, not listening in on one from a terrified corner of her own bedroom.
"There's only one way to find out. I mean, maybe I should give it a try? It's not like anything terrible's going to happen if I do." Emily sounded thoughtful, but sort of excited.
"Yeah. Exactly. But if you care, then why don't you just ask her? There's nothing wrong with wanting an answer either."
Claire's ears went back, pressing flat against her head. They weren't really . . . was it possible they were talking about her? The fear that gripped her just brought the faraway conversation into clearer focus. She couldn't just hear Emily and Amy—she could hear the scrape of spoons against a paper carton. The tinny sound of Emily's bad speakers playing music in the background.
She was so far outside her body that she wasn't even sure she was breathing anymore.
"Well, whatever you do, I'll be behind you." Amy said.
Distantly, Claire felt something inside herself wrench. Twist. She was vaguely aware of a desire to scream.
What are they talking about? What the hell are they talking about?
"I mean, it's just hair." Emily said.
Claire's relief stung like a slap. The sounds from Emily's room disappeared, and she was slammed back into the confined reality of her own dark bedroom.
She shook her head and stretched out, reconnecting herself to the conversation that was happening in Emily's room.
" . . . don't need her to tell you what to do with your hair."
"No," Emily said. "I know. It's not really about that."
Claire reached to the very edges of her ability. Right out to where it frayed into nothingness. Held herself there, and waited.
"I just—I can't get used to the distance between us." Emily's voice was quiet. Hesitant. "Claire and I never used to have any secrets, but now it's like she's always hiding something." She sighed. Oh, holy shit.
Claire forced herself to wait. To listen. Not to react. After all, she'd already known that keeping her best friend in the dark was hurting Emily as much as it was hurting her. Hearing her say it out loud made it worse somehow, but what she really cared about was finding out what Emily thought her secret was.
"Oh, Emily." Amy's voice was quiet. Sad. Unsure. "I—I can't seem to get to know her at all, even though I want to. It does seem like something's going on with her—some of the stuff that happened this afternoon was pretty weird. But you're the one who's really her friend. . . ."
"No, I mean, I know." Emily sounded so lost. Sorrow pooled around Claire. "It's probably just the whole herhaving-a-boyfriend thing. I hope. I mean, if it's something besides that . . ."
"Then maybe you need to find out what it is," Amy suggested.
There was a pause.
"Claire will tell me if it's important," Emily said, finally. "I believe that. Anyway. Just—just forget I said anything. Let's see if there's anything good on TV, okay?"
She couldn't stand the sensation of being trapped for another second. Claire backed out of the conversation, pulling herself back into her own head. Her own room.
She transformed, relieved by the dulling of her senses that came with the return of her human form. A film of sweat covered her body, and she lay there, trembling and twitching, too exhausted to gather up her clothes and get dressed. She was elated and horrified at the same time. She'd known that Amy was making Emily suspicious, but now that she'd actually heard Emily say the words . . . they sat on her shoulders like angry birds, flapping their wings and pecking at her. The space between Claire and Emily was widening like a river in a flood. It stretched further with each passing hour, until eventually the distance between them would be insurmountable.
The thought strangled her.