A “heartfelt, enigmatic, and ethereal” ( School Library Journal ) debut that two-time Newbery Honor winner Gary Schmidt calls “a journey that every reader needs to go on.” This is the story of Raul, a boy of few words, fewer friends, and almost no family. He is a loner—but he isn’t lonely. All week long he looks after the younger boys at One of Our Kind Boarding School while dodging the barbs of terrible Tuffman, the mean gym teacher. Like every other kid in the world, he longs for Fridays, but not for the usual reasons. The woods have secrets...and so does Raul. As soon as the other students go home for the weekend, Raul makes his way to a lighthouse deep in the heart of the woods. There he waits for sunset—and the mysterious, marvelous shapeshifting phenomenon that allows him to go home, too. “This is a novel about commitments, and about mystery, and about our deepest identities—which is to say, this is a novel about love. In trying to discover who he is, Raul finds that the greatest discoveries are those of the heart, human and otherwise. It is a journey that every reader needs to go on, and how splendid to find a book that gives such companions to walk with along the way.” -- Gary Schmidt, Newbery Honor-winning author of The Wednesday Wars * “Raul’s wry, likable voice elevates this debut, and Evans’ depictions of the shifting natures of tween friendship remain firmly grounded even as the narrative becomes more fantastical. A cut above.” ― Booklist, starred review “Mystery and suspense abound in Evans’s debut novel . . . Raul is an insightful, introspective youth, and Evans weaves a compelling story from his point of view, bolstered by a strong supporting cast.” ― Publishers Weekly “Heartfelt, enigmatic, and ethereal, Evans’s excellent debut novel takes readers on a roller coaster of emotion and keeps them guessing the whole way through.” ― School Library Journal "Raul’s story of courage in the face of bullying and life-threatening danger in an easy read will appeal to readers of suspense and adventure tales." ― School Library Connection Sandra Evans drew inspiration for This Is Not a Werewolf Story from cultural sources, including the “sympathetic werewolf” stories of twelfth-century France and Celtic myths. She wrote the novel for (and with input from) her son. Sandra is a native of Whidbey Island and earned her doctorate in French literature from the University of Washington. This Is Not a Werewolf Story is her first book for children. This Is Not a Werewolf Story Chapter 1 THIS IS THE CHAPTER WHERE THE NEW KID RUNS SO FAST, RAUL DECIDES TO TALK New kid. New kid. The words fly around the showers and sinks. I can almost see them, flying up like chickadees startled from the holly tree in the woods. All the boys are in the big bathroom on the second floor, washing up before breakfast. The littlest kids stand on tiptoe to peek out the windows that look onto the circle driveway. I pick Sparrow up and hold him so he can see. He’s the littlest of the littles, but the kid is dense—like a ton of bricks. I can’t believe my eyes. No kid has ever come to the school on the back of a Harley. Not in all the years I’ve been here, and I’ve been here longer than anyone. The driver spins the back wheel, and a bunch of gravel flies up. The new kid is holding on to the waist of the driver. He must have a pretty good grip, because the driver looks over his shoulder and tries to peel the kid’s fingers away one by one. Then the driver takes off his helmet. We all gasp, because it turns out the driver is a lady with long straight black hair. Next to me Mean Jack whistles. “What a doll!” Mean Jack thinks he’s a mobster. A made man, that’s what he calls himself. I call him a numbskull, but not out loud. The pretty lady turns her head again and says something. The new kid folds his arms over his chest. He just sits there with his helmet on, waiting for her to roar them back down the hill to the freeway and freedom. His black leather jacket is way too big for him. Pretty Lady keeps talking. She looks angry the way moms look when they’re doing something they don’t want to do but think that they have to. The kid’s helmet jiggles left to right. No, he’s saying. No. No. No. No. That’s how I felt when my dad brought me here. My chest hurts just thinking about it, and Sparrow starts to weigh as much as a blue whale. I hoist him up onto my shoulders. Sparrow reaches down and pulls on my ears. “Fanks,” he says. Sometimes Sparrow makes an “f?” sound when he should make a “th” sound. You can’t try to explain it to him because it makes him sad. The last thing I want is for Sparrow to be sad. I can feel Mean Jack getting ready to say something rude, so I shoot him a warning look that says something even ruder. Nobody teases Sparrow about the way he talks when I’m around, but Jack’s the kind of kid who forgets what’s good for him. While I’m making sure Jack remembers, everyone starts to shout and ch