"So you're leaving house at 8 am on a non school day doing what, exactly?" My brother's voice taps against my skull with an insistent baritone.

I debated telling Gus about tutoring Bea but I decided against it. If my own brother is on the hunt for a mountain lion I am not going to be one to lure him to Bea's home.

The one bright spot in my life.

No, I'm not going to tarnish it. I'm going to keep her locked away in a corner of my mind, safe from both my brother's and my mother's judgmental stare.

"Volunteering," I say instead.

Mom ruffles my hair in an attempt to express affection, but the gesture is stiff and makes me uncomfortable. I don't exhale until I escape her and Gus' presence and reach the safety of the road and the bus stop.

I've never lied to my mother before, and it's leaving a bad taste in my mouth. I know she means well, but I really wish she would stop being such a nosy busybody.

The manor. Again. Her house actually looks more like a hotel than like a family home. Ivy and ferns grow through the crevices of the old winding stone path, which lead directly to the colossal structure. The mansion looms proudly behind creaky iron gates, flanked by rows of skeletal trees crowned in viridescent green, swaying gently to the breezy winter wind.

At its threshold stands the delicate marble fountain.

I imagine that in the summer, the soft gurgling of the clear water is melodic as it resonates in the surrounding silence. Right now, the frozen water glistens in the winter sun, its icy tendrils reaching impotently towards the sky.

I shudder, but the SMS she sent me yesterday gives me strength to walk in.

And what a sight it is that I am walking in on.

"So, eating cream at ten a.m. straight out of the tub," I can't help but tease her with a shake of my head as I accommodate myself by her side. "You barbarian."

Bea's sitting on the floor in the foyer, her fluffy ears perked up, massaging her stomach as if she's just had a copious dinner.

"No one has manners when they're eating alone," she retorts with a pout.

My family also has no manners even when we have guests, but that's a whole other point to be made.

"I shifted involuntarily again, today. Attacked a chicken coop. So, you're looking at me and my comfort food."

"Are you serious?" A loud exhale. "Whoa, Bea. That's messed up. That's so messed up. I'm sorry."

My reaction helps her relax a little.

Like I could be justified in how I felt about not seeing her, about her cutting me off, because I wasn't alone in thinking it was uncongenial but... my reaction was enough, wasn't it? If I felt awful about it, that was enough.

I step forward and graze her forearm with a couple fingertips, a small gesture to match my expression of empathy. It is soft and tentative.

"I'm sorry," I repeat, my eyes not leaving hers. There's something so foreign about those words combined with her fingertips on my skin that I have to look away.

Slowly, invisible to anyone but me, her hands creep closer to mine, until they are almost touching. Then they are touching, and then resting on top of mine, content and relieved.

"Well, it's not your fault," Bea says, unusually calm. "Is it?" She lifts a quirky brow.

I shake my head no with a smile. "How... How was your Christmas?"

"Ah, same old same old. Lousy Christmas eve full of presents. A brand new pink Porsche, but no parents. Isn't it such a relief to know that some things never change? Not even when I do?" Her faux-cheery voice makes me sad.

"All they needed to do was to hit the little green call icon. Just tap it. But nope."

This happened to me many times, but mostly because I am uncomfortable calling someone on the phone. My finger hovers over it, but some unseen force holds it at bay, preventing it from descending. It's like the same poles of two magnets repelling each other.

Somehow, I don't think that this is the case here.

"But that's enough of me moping around. Let's go to the library," she mumbles, and outstretches a hand. I hesitate, eyeing it.

"I'm not going to bite."

"Could've fooled me."

"Ha."

I reach up to take her hand anyway.

She pulls me to my feet, and I straighten out my sweatshirt.

When we step inside I smile at the sight of the familiar grand space, filled with towering bookshelves that seem to touch the sky. The scent of aged pages and the soft glow of the morning sun rays create an enchanting ambiance.

"The book you borrowed is up there." Bea gestures. "Just couldn't bother reading it during these two weeks. So you can try to make yourself useful."

I turn to the bookshelf I had been trying to reach, put my hands on my hips, and sigh. Well, my first plan definitely didn't work. Bea's letting me use the place but she is still keeping very much to herself.

No matter. I promised I would help and so I will. I wish to respect her distancing.

Now how am I supposed to get the book? I suppose I could climb on the shelves...

And I might never have gotten out of this sleepy little town, but that doesn't mean I never will. Bea is stuck here, same as me, and if she wants to get rid of me that badly, I'd like to see her try.

I'm here to help her. She might be stubborn—but so am I.

Bea speaks up as if she can read my mind. "I've never met someone else half as stubborn; it really is breathtaking. Well, maybe Yumi."

"Who's Yumi?" I ask, panting, as I descend the shelves.

"Former bestie. No one, now. We haven't spoken in five months. I've acted awfully beastly toward her everyday she's been there for me in NY and still she stayed. Not a single one of my other friends stayed when I acted like an asshole. If those sharks could see me now, they'd fill their Instas with hot gossip."

"If they did not stay, they do not deserve to call themselves your friend."

She runs her hand through her wild tresses. I like watching the gesture. I love her hair, so free and undaunted. It's as if it were a force field, deflecting all the stupid comments.

"No one seems to stay these days." She swallows.

"I imagine you didn't tell your parents or your friends?" I bow my head down low.

"Of course not. They hated me and found me flaws when I was at my best. Can you imagine the quantity of mockery if the world knew?"

"I just thought maybe you had someone special to confide in."

"Sometimes I get very tired of being who other people think I am," Bea says, a muscle in her jaw jumping. "Other times I think maybe I'm exactly what they think I am. You know, when I was little, Mom used to tell me that castles were built for fairies for a very special princess. Her parents sent her to live there, hoping to hide her away from the rest of the world and protect her."

I smile, expectant for this story.

"But doesn't she get lonely?" I had asked her when she first told me the story. "In that house all alone?" Mum wrapped me in her arms and said: "Because the world is big and terrible sometimes, and parents want to protect their children."

"Then I'd visit the princess. I'd make sure she wasn't lonely," I say.

She lets out a hoarse laugh, and turns around, fisting away her tears. "I know. It's a silly, stupid story, but somehow it stuck with me. Even though, I know, there are no such things as princesses."

"Well, you do live in a castle," I tease.

"Please." Bea rolls her eyes. "At this point... I'm more of a monster than a 'special princess.' And all fairy tales are just a bunch of bullshit anyway."

Amparo's knock on the door interrupts her tale. "Oh! Your boy is here, señorita Laurent."

Is it my imagination that Bea's face gets warm? 

"Amparo! We're just friends."

"All right, all right. Señor Ross." She pumps my hand with vigour. "Call me Amparo." She bows with an excruciatingly grand flourish. "Shall I bring out the refreshments?" Amparo turns to Bea.

Surprisingly, I answer instead. "No, I think not. We shall be leaving promptly."

"Very well, then." The heart-shaped faced woman disappears behind the wooden door frame.

"We shall?" Bea sticks her tongue at me.

"I have been thinking, Bea, and, you had said that there are fourteen days until your birthday."

"So? What about it? It's not like anyone will care or notice."

"We should make the most of them. We should make them into golden days."

"What are golden days?"

"The days in which every hour is so precious and unique as molten gold. Days where nothing can go wrong. Filled to the brim with the most beautiful moments of our lives."

"Can't say I've ever had such a day," she grumbles.

 But I can see she's intrigued. "I think it's time for you to leave this house. Clear your head a bit."

"And that's your expert tutor's opinion? Have you thought about how to cover up my ears or these hideous teeth?"

"A hoodie should suffice. And they are not hideous." I caress her face with a smile. "They are uber-cool."

When I lift my arm to scratch at my nape she approaches and inspects my ear.

"What?" I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks.

"Is that a birthmark?"

"Oh, yes." I am still very dumbstruck from her finger touching my earlobe. "Had it since I was born," I add.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

"It looks a little like a rose, so that's how I remembered I'd already seen it when you last visited. It's cute."

Cute. I touch my birthmark beneath my ear, so glad the library is dark enough for her not to see me blushing like mad.

"Say, Ross Thorne. I'll go along if you win an arm wrestling match with me."

"Hey, that is unfair. What with your beastly strength. How about a thumb war instead?"

"You sure you're up for that?" Bea sounds so playful. "Do you prefer me to break your arm or your thumb?"

"Hopefully neither."

We sit side by side, our hands interlocked in a playful dance and wrestle of fingers, each of us trying to outwit the other. Our eyes lock, and the world fades away as we engage in this innocent battle. With a sudden twist and flick, I emerge victorious, my thumb pinning hers down. I sense a triumphant grin splitting my face while Bea playfully pouts.

We both burst into laughter, the sound filling the grand mansion library with the echoes of joy.

"So." I clear my throat. "Ready to go?"

"Is this a must?"

"I won the thumb war, didn't I? Plus: tutor's orders." I smirk. "Like it or not, Beatrice Laurent, you are stuck with me now."

"And what, pray tell, will you be tutoring me in?"

"I would like you to feel again, what it's like being human. Plus, ice cream is not the healthiest food to have at 10 a.m."  

We dart out of her house, adrenaline pumping in our veins. We sprint to the bus stop, hoping to blend in with the crowd.

Bea's eyes widen as she steps inside.

"Don't tell me this is your first time riding the bus?" I can't help but smile at her innocence.

The vehicle lurches forward and we grab onto the nearest handrail. The sights and sounds of New Town suburb rush past us, a blur of people and buildings.

I can feel Bea's excitement radiating next to me. "I'm used to my flashy cars," she whispers, "but today we have to be inconspicuous." She pulls her dark hoodie over her eyes. "I'll give you that, there's something thrilling about being just one of the crowd. Not seeing the whispers, or people pointing fingers at me."

"I thought you might like it."

"What do you do for fun? When you're not trying to solve life mysteries of posh girls turned shapeshifters, I mean."

My eyes widen in surprise. She's interested in what I do? "Me? Umm... well, I listen to music, obviously."

"Obviously."

"And... I read a lot. Sometimes I play video games." I search my brain for more answers, then my gaze drops to my shoes. "I'm actually pretty boring."

She chuckles. "Who isn't? At least you're nice to be around. A little unconventional and self-conscious? Sure, but that makes you different from all the other people I usually talk to."

Unsure if this was a compliment or not, I point out that the bus has slowed to a stop. We hop off and make our way to the local supermarket. The bustling morning crowd carries us forth. Bea's body tenses and her eyes dart left and right with anxiety.

I make my way to her side, gently placing a hand on her shoulder. "Hey, breathe," I whisper, trying to sound as soothing as possible.

Bea trembles slightly, her nerves palpable. I wrap my arm around her, creating a sense of comfort and protection.

We find a quieter spot away from the chaos.

"Look, the supermarket entrance is just there." I talk her through the walk. "Focus on the present moment. Let go of any worry that might overwhelm you. Everything is perfect. Light is soft. That little scent in the air, can you smell it?"

She nods with a gulp.

"There goes the baker with his scones like always. The wife of the florist is laughing. There're sweets in the shop window! The fruit merchant is offering melon for his clients to taste. On that other stand, they make wonderful mango ice cream. Now we're passing the local cheesemonger. Swiss Emmentaler costs 10.99. That boy is looking at the kitten, that's looking at the pigeon. The grandma with a pink hat carries a box with what I think is a cake."

"Is it eaten?" Bea asks with a trembling voice, trying to get into my story.

"Glad you asked. It may be eaten or not. It could be a superposition of both options. A Schrödinger's cake. And here we are, now we're at the supermarket entrance."

She exhales with relief. "That was very helpful, Ross." Her breathing steadies and her body relaxes against mine.

I offer a reassuring smile. "I'm here for you."

Once inside, her mood perks up visibly. Bea just shoves everything she can into the trolley.

"Are you planning on feeding an entire army with that food?" I tease.

"Aww, let the girl have her fun."

"Do you take your meat on the raw side now?"

"One more sentence and you might just find that out." She bares her teeth.

"Fair." I hold the remark about the cat food section entirely for myself.

I like seeing Bea like this. Childlike, innocent, silly and playful. In perfect harmony with herself. Taking care of that sunshine in her smile. 

What I love less, however, is having to struggle under the weight of all the grocery bags, beads of sweat forming on my forehead.

Bea walks beside me, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. "Having fun there, Ross?" She grins at me, sun-kissed and sun-smiled.

She's clearly amused by my predicament. I groan playfully, pretending to collapse under the imaginary weight.

We both burst into laughter, the sounds echoing through the street. Despite the heaviness, I would not trade this moment for anything.

A monstrous dog — some kind of Saint Bernard mixed with a pit bull mixed with Satan-spawn — bounds across the parking lot toward us, its huge tongue flapping to either side. A little frightened boy standing alone next to the blue Ford Focus lets out a yelp and the dog stumbles towards him.

Bea reacts almost instantaneously. She growls at the dog and lowers on all fours, positioning herself between the animal and the boy. The little one isn't scared, strangely. He even whoops and cheers her on.

I watch in awe and concern as the dog squeals and runs away, but when Bea gets up again, her face is disgusted by herself and her almost transformation, I can tell.

Slow clapping echoes somewhere to our left.

"Now that was a true selfless display of valor, Bojana. I believe that you might be ready for your lessons now." A heavy voice laced with what I believe is an Eastern European accent speaks up.

A haggard, pale middle aged woman stands before us, her cataracted eyes glaring out from her grayish weathered face.

A/N: Theme song: Franz Ferdinand "Take Me Out"