Tension rang throughout Mia’s body.

It’s only a month, she reassured herself and absently itched her side. It’s only another month and then you’ll be gone.

She had held true to that mantra for one place after the next from the valleys of Idaho to the mountains of Colorado, all across Kentucky and the backwoods of North Carolina. She repeated it to herself in cabins with bats in the attic and sleeping on the side of highways with police shining their lights through her window.

If you keep moving they can’t catch you. She closed her eyes for a moment and listened to the sweet emptiness around her. There were birdsongs somewhere and someone showering in one of the rooms over. It was nice up until the itching set in again.

“Goddammit,” Mia jolted upright in bed and started scratching herself as if she was trying to invent a new dance move. “Ugh.”

She groaned and stared up at the ceiling with a prickly scowl. It was at least part way through the afternoon now and she had barely slept. She knew that the wolf hadn’t slept either-- the creature was so fond of frolicking and digging holes in people’s backyards. Mia was the one left with the itching, the exhaustion, and the dirt under her fingernails.

Three more days. One more month. Another town of faceless people and meaningless roads. She sighed and finally stood, stretched, and paced across the motel carpet. The carpet was a thin brownish color with parts that were scraped into a dull beige.

The room smelled somewhat musty, and the sheets were barely thick enough to make a flea feel warm. Mia went over to the busted-up coffee maker in the corner and started putting in the filter and pouring in cheap motel coffee.

She leaned against the wall and stared up at the low ceiling. Two more days of transformation. One more month. One whole lifetime of wolf.

Her head was pounding by the time her coffee was ready and she went to the motel window. It was a large rectangle window with a heavy curtain pulled to the middle. Mia pushed the curtain aside and peeked out. The day was mockingly bright with a sleepy little street outside the parking lot of the place and thick green trees beyond that.

Back when Mia’s mother was around one of their favorite activities was to go to the local mall and people watch. Her mother would point out one patron after the next.

She would whisper in her feather-light voice. “Where is he going?” She’d ask and point at a business man with a shapeless brown hat walking at a clipped pace.

“He’s going to the candy store.” Mia would burst out at a young age with a toothy grin. As she got older and their trips became less frequent she would tersely say “He’s going to cheat on his wife with the minister of the church.”

Her mom would nod either way and say, “I think he’s going to borrow money from the mob.” Or “I think he’s shopping for a birthday present for his kid. Notice the bag he’s holding. Notice how he keeps looking at his watch."

Her mom was always better at their game than Mia was. She always gave more details or had a better eye for the people themselves.

Mia watched the street tersely now. She studied a colorless woman on a bicycle leisurely making her way downtown. She wore a faded floral dress and her hair was loose and eyes empty. She must be having a long day. Fired maybe, or jobless at the very least.

Mia studied a man in a car passing with his trunk brimming with trash. He was going to dump no doubt. He was doing his weekly chores so he could be out of the house in the middle of the day. He was trying to escape.

Mia only later learned why her mom had trained her in people watching: you survive longer. You make yourself less conspicuous if you know how you’re supposed to behave. Mia may look human most of the time, but that didn’t mean it paid to stand out.

That part was the one that would save her life. Looking young. Looking harmless. Looking like everyone else and getting by. She was a fanatic in terms of worshipping at the church of just getting by.

She watched the road for another moment before Mia saw a figure she thought she recognized. It was a willowy young woman with stark red hair cascading down her back and freckles covering her arms. She was holding a phone up to her ear with one hand and a leash in the other.

A Collie was trotting in front of her with its tongue hanging out. It was a handsome dog with long fur and little brown and white face. It looked happy to be out in the sunshine as the waitress trailed after the animal.

The waitress herself looked distracted with her same pair of high-waisted jeans and collared shirt from earlier. The only thing missing was the apron.

Her name isn’t really Xena I bet, Mia noted, but couldn’t help herself. She was smiling again. It was quiet in Nolan West Virginia. The people didn’t have the sharp eyes of the city that were always looking for danger or alarm.

It was a drowsy place.

Mia watched as Xena the waitress passed by the dingy motel and off to the other side of the road. Mia played her usual people-watching game: the waitress wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. She was single, lived alone probably with her dog in a one bedroom apartment.

She was thoughtful. She walked her dog right after work after all. She smiled easily. She liked the sunshine according to her freckles and she was cheerful as she talked on the phone.

Mia could hear her voice like a silver bell. She couldn’t make out the words, but her ears were extra sensitive in the three-days of nightly transformation. She itched her leg furiously until the woman was gone again and Mia exhaled.

She wasn’t even certain why she was holding her breath. She closed her eyes, thunked her head on the cool glass of the motel window, and made a silent kind of plea.

She didn’t give it words. She didn’t give it life, but it was a plea nonetheless.

Then she went back to bed and lay down. She would need her rest if the wolf was going to come out again that night-- and she surely was.