Marv pulled back his lips and snarled, flashing fangs as long as my fingers, which made the woman shriek louder. I stepped into the clearing—staying well out of Marv’s pouncing range—waved my arms, and shouted. Kenjii chimed in, her deep bark echoing through the forest.

The woman stopped screaming. Marv looked over at me and chirped.

“Yeah, I’m talking to you, old guy,” I said. “Shoo! Scat! Get out of here!”

He looked at me like I’d offended him. I shouted and waved some more, staying behind Kenjii. I’m not afraid of cougars, but I am suitably respectful of their ability to end my existence with one well-placed chomp.

As I yelled and Kenjii barked, another sound joined it—the rumble of a badly tuned motor. Then, a honk. A welcoming shout out a rolled-down window, followed by a curse as Daniel saw why I wasn’t waiting outside the gates. The brakes squeaked. The door slammed. Sneakers pounded the hard earth.

It was then that Marv decided it was time to go. Daniel has that effect on people, too. He’s only about five ten, but he’s been the island wrestling champion twice and it shows. Marv hopped to the ground, mustered his dignity, and slid into the undergrowth.

Daniel shook his head as he watched the cat’s black-tipped tail disappear. “Haven’t I told you not to play with the big kitties, Maya?”

“It was Marv.”

“Again? What’s that, the third time this month? I think he likes you.”

“What can I say? I’m serious catnip.”

The woman lowered herself to the ground. She was maybe in her early twenties. Asian. Dressed in the kind of “rugged outdoor gear” you can buy at malls in Vancouver and really shouldn’t wear any place wilder than that.

She stared at us. “The cat. It just … left.”

“Um, yeah,” I said. “Most times, they do. That’s a male, meaning he doesn’t have any cubs to protect. Plus there’s plenty of food around. I’d still suggest you return the favor and steer clear of the park today.”

I walked to the front gate, opened the pamphlet box, took out the one titled “Predator Safety,” and handed it to her. Then I pulled my cell phone from my backpack.

“I’ve gotta call this in,” I said. “My dad’s the warden. All cougar encounters—”

The woman backed away from me. “I don’t have time.”

“That cat’s been hanging around. It’s a problem. You need to report—”

“I will. Later.”

She headed for the road and continued toward town.

“Walk in the middle,” I called after her. “Cats don’t like open areas.”

She jogged off. Daniel hadn’t said a word, which was weird. Normally he’d be the first person giving warnings and making sure she was safe. But he just stood there, staring after her, a strange look on his face.

“Yep, she’s kinda cute,” I said. “That’d be a whole different type of cougar, but I say go for it.”

Now I got a look. Then he turned to stare after the woman, frowning.

“You know her?” I asked.

“I don’t think so. Just … something’s wrong with her.”

“Um, yeah. She climbed a tree to escape a cat. She’s suffering from a serious case of stupid.”

“No kidding.” He gave her one last look, then waved me to the truck. “Just do me a favor, okay? If you see her again, be careful.”

I didn’t ask what he meant. Daniel does that sometimes—he meets people and just decides he doesn’t like them. Last winter, when Dr. Davidoff and his team flew in from the States for their annual visit, Daniel decided he really didn’t like a new guy Dr. Davidoff brought and wouldn’t have anything to do with him.

Mom says that’s part of growing up in such a small town. You don’t trust strangers. But I say it’s just Daniel. Everyone has his quirks, and this is Daniel’s. Most times, though, he’s right. So when he says steer clear, I do.

He opened the passenger door for me.

“Such a gentleman,” I said.

“No, it’s sticking, and I don’t want you whaling on it again and—” He stopped and peered off down the road.

I followed his gaze. The road was empty.

“Where’d she—? Damn it!” I tossed my bag in, then strode back along the truck. “If she went back in the woods, after getting treed by a cat—”

Daniel caught my arm. “Don’t.”

I looked up at him. He stared down the road, his face rigid, gaze distant, fingers tightening around my arm.

“Um, Daniel? Ouch.”

“Huh?” He noticed what he was doing and let go. “Sorry. Call your dad and tell him. If she went back into the forest, that’s her problem. We’re late already.”

TWO

I CALLED MY DAD on the way to school and told him about the hiker and Marv. Like Daniel said, this was the third time I’d seen the old cat in the past month. For me, that was only a little odd. I saw cougars more than anyone else we knew. Maybe they sensed I was interested in them. Always had been. Of all the animals in the forest, they were my favorite.

But a cougar that isn’t afraid to get up close and personal with a human is worrisome. Treeing that hiker proved Marv wasn’t only taking an interest in me. So I told Dad and he, in turn, had to notify the police chief and the mayor. When I was called to the office after first period, I wasn’t surprised to hear that all three of them were there, looking for a full report.

The meeting room wasn’t far from my class. Nothing is far in our school. It’s a single story divided in two wings—classrooms at one end, common rooms at the other, the principal’s office and meeting room in the middle. There are sixty-eight kids at Salmon Creek School—and that’s every grade from kindergarten to twelve.

Having fewer than seventy kids means you know everyone by name. It also means every teacher—all five of them—knows you by name and your parents by name and your pets, too.

There are more kids in the upper grades than the lower ones. When the St. Clouds built their facility, they hired staff with young families, and those kids are all teenagers now. I’m in the biggest class—the grade eleven/twelve split.

The St. Clouds give us the best of everything. That’s how they lured employees into a community in the middle of nowhere—promise the best education possible for their children. Our classroom desks are all built to accommodate our laptops, which are replaced every two years. Our auditorium has theater-style seating. Our cafeteria has a chef and cloth napkins. We have a gym, but no pool or skating rink, only because the St. Clouds put those in the community center a ten-minute walk away.

It all sounds very posh. It’s not really. When I say Salmon Creek is in the middle of nowhere, I mean it. We’re an hour’s drive from the nearest city, and half of that is on empty back roads through uninhabited forest. Since we’re living so isolated, we don’t feel special the way private school kids might. We aren’t here because we get amazing grades or our parents are rich; the extras were just normal. By the time we reach the upper grades, we don’t even take advantage of the cafeteria chef anymore—we bring our lunches and grab a picnic table outside.

I had to pass through the principal’s office to get to the conference room. I waved at the secretary—Ms. Morales. Dad was waiting by the door and ushered me inside. Mayor Tillson was at the espresso machine. He’s my friend Nicole’s dad. If you didn’t know which was the police chief and which was the mayor, you’d probably guess wrong. Chief Carling was a tiny blonde, a few inches shorter than me, dressed in slacks and a silk blouse. The mayor was a foot taller and twice as heavy, with a bulldog face. He wore jeans and a plaid shirt that strained around his waist.

When I finished telling them everything that happened that morning, Chief Carling said, “Your dad says this isn’t the first encounter you’ve had with this particular cat.”

“The park is his territory. He’s shown up more often lately, though. Getting old and bold, I guess. He hasn’t made any threatening moves. I think he’s just curious.”

“Which is not—” Dad began.

“The point, I know,” I said. “The problem is that if we relocate him, another cat will move in. A younger and potentially more dangerous one. The best thing to do would be to have Dr. Hajek tranq him a couple of times, teach him that humans aren’t fun to hang out with.”

Mayor Tillson smiled at my dad. “The girl knows her cougars, Rick. Do you remember when you caught her throwing sticks for one?”

The mayor retold the story, as if everyone in the room hadn’t heard it a million times. It’d been just after we moved to the park. Mom had come out back to find me playing fetch with a young cougar—probably Marv.

“… and Maya says, ‘Don’t worry, Mom. He’s got blood on his fur so he just ate. He isn’t hungry.’ ”

Chief Carling laughed, then said I was right—Marv had to be taught that humans and cougars couldn’t be friends. “And the best way to do that would be to take Maya along. Make sure he gets the connection between her and the tranquilizer dart. With luck, that’ll solve the problem. I agree that he doesn’t seem to be a danger, but I don’t like this sudden interest.”

“Neither do I,” Dad said.

“All right, then. We won’t keep you any longer, Maya.” Mayor Tillson rose. “I hear you have gym next. Wouldn’t want to miss that.” He paused, voice lowering a notch. “I hope we’re going to see you on the track team again this spring.”

“You will.”

“That’s our girl. We need our champ.”

He waved at the wall of trophies. Not all mine, obviously. But there were a lot of trophies, considering the size of our school. As in academics, in sports we get the best of everything. Top equipment. Great coaches, plus expert trainers flown in a few times a year.

We can’t field a team for football or hockey, so the school concentrates on track, swimming, wrestling, and boxing. In kindergarten we’re encouraged to join at least one. I dislike the water, and hate hitting anyone, but when it comes to running, jumping, and climbing, I’m in my element. I’d taken last year off the track team, though. I just didn’t have the heart for it after Serena died.

I left the meeting. As I walked back through the principal’s office, I nearly tripped over a guy with his chair pulled over to the door, eavesdropping.

Rafael—Rafe—Martinez. Salmon Creek’s newest student. Actually, our only new student in three years. Rich parents in surrounding towns tried to get their kids into our school, but they were always turned down. Rafe wasn’t a rich kid. He lived with his older sister in a nearby cabin they’d inherited from a distant relative. I guess the board figured it was the right thing to do, letting him attend our school free of charge rather than spend hours on a bus every day.

Rafe told everyone he was from Texas. That was bull. I’d dated a summer guy from Texas, and Rafe’s drawl was all wrong. His last name suggested he was Latino, and he kind of looked it, but his high cheekbones and amber eyes said Native to me. He was a little taller than Daniel, lean, with black hair that hung just past the collar of his leather jacket. Worn blue jeans and low motorcycle boots completed the image: American Teen Rebel.

It was a look we didn’t see a lot at our school, and the other girls loved it. Not that Rafe needed the added cachet. Considering we’d had the same guys in our class since kindergarten, Rafe’s novelty factor alone would have had the girls tripping over themselves. He was the hottest ticket in town. And he knew it.

When I bumped into him, I said a polite, “Hey,” and tried to get past.

“Hey, yourself.”

He grinned and, in spite of myself, I felt a little flip in my stomach. Rafe wasn’t gorgeous, but he had a sexy, crooked smile and eyes that looked at a girl like she was the first one he’d ever seen. When he stood close, I swore I could feel heat radiating off him. And Rafe always stood close.

As I backed up, he hooked a thumb toward the conference room. “Barnes in there?” he asked, meaning the principal.

I shook my head. “Haven’t seen him. Ms. Morales was around, though.”

“Yeah, I talked to her. She says I need to talk to Barnes. Late once too often this week.”

That grin sparked again, like being late for school earned him a place in the bad boy hall of fame.

“No worries,” I said. “You didn’t miss much.”

He fell into step beside me, so close his knuckles brushed mine. “I hear you had yourself a close encounter of the wild kind.”

“Um-hmm.”

“Morales said you’ve seen more mountain lions than anyone around here. Says they practically hang out on your doorstep hoping for a saucer of milk and a scratch behind the ears.”

He meant cougar—mountain lion is an American term.

“I live in the park,” I said. “I’m going to see a lot of wild animals.”

“Still, mountain lions … Never seen one myself.” He slid a sidelong look my way. “Think you could fix that?”

Like hell, I thought, but just kept walking.

“Never been in your park either,” he said. “What do you say I come over tonight? We can take a walk, look for big cats, watch the stars come out.…”

I laughed. “Do lines like that ever work?”

He only smiled. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

Actually I could. Rafe didn’t just flirt—he charmed girls right up to the point where they fell for him, then he changed his mind. I called him a player with attention deficit disorder. That made Daniel laugh. I didn’t think it was so funny.