Boys That Bite (3 page)

5

Boys That Bite: The Blog

You'd think after this drama and unfortunate circumstance, we'd leave Club Fang immediately. But no! When we go back into the club, so Rayne can grab her coat, she insists on doing the Safety Dance before she leaves, saying it's her favorite eighties song in the whole wide world and it'd be cruel and unusual punishment for me to drag her away now. Sure, it's easy for her to shimmy and shake without a care on the dance floor, seeing as she's not the one slowly morphing into a creature of the night. I mean, selfish much? I'm silent most of the way home, speaking up only to mention that Rayne's selecting the vampire hit "Bela Lugosi's Dead" on her iPod iTrip could be viewed as a tad insensitive, given the circumstances. Of course, she points out that technically Bela was only an actor who played Dracula, not a real vampire. As if that should make me feel better as the chorus chants, "I'm dead, I'm dead, I'm dead, I'm dead." When I first get home, I want nothing more than to crawl into my bed and sleep. But my heavy feather duvet isn't as comforting as I'd imagined it'd be. I'm wide awake, almost as if I'm hopped up on caffeine. Which is weird, seeing as I didn't even get to drink that Red Bull Rayne was supposed to bring me. Since I can't sleep, and I have a billion questions buzzing through my brain, I decide my best bet is to go bug Rayne. I push her door open a crack to see if she's sleeping. But she's at her computer, typing furiously, and looking very pissed off. I shake my head. Man, she can be such a freak. I don't know in what Twilight Zone parallel universe we became sisters. I knock on her door and she calls for me to come in, not looking away from her computer screen. I enter the room and close the door behind me. Luckily, Mom's out at some save-the-planet benefit dinner, so there's no one to overhear us. I'm pretty sure anyone eavesdropping on the convo I plan to have would start speed-dialing the Betty Ford Clinic before you could say no-I'm-not-on-drugs-I'm-really-an-undead-creature-of-the-night. I sit on her bed, marveling how, only hours before, we were joking about what I should wear to Club Fang. If I'd known what repercussions choosing the Bite Me tank would have, I'd have definitely swallowed back my good taste and gone with the fetish outfit instead, sweat-inducing vinyl be damned. After a few more mouse clicks, Rayne turns from her computer and comes to join me on the bed. She's wearing a pair of plaid flannel pajamas and has washed the black makeup from her eyes. With the exception of her tongue piercing, she looks almost normal. "This sucks," she announces, crossing her legs Indian style. "You think?" I raise an eyebrow. "'Cause I was totally psyched about the whole thing." "Not for you, you tool, for me. I've waited freaking years for this night. I've researched, networked, been on waiting lists, the works. And now it's all for nothing." "What are you talking about?" I know she's speaking English, but nothing she says is making any sense. "Researched and networked for what?" "To become a vampire, of course." Of course. "Why on earth would you want to be a vampire?" Rayne rolls her eyes, as if to imply I'm the stupidest person on the planet. "Are you kidding me?" she asks incredulously. "Why would I want immortal life? Why would I want riches beyond my wildest imagination? Why would I want ultimate power over mere mortals? You should be asking why anyone on earth wouldn't want to be a vampire." "Yeah, but," I'm grasping at straws here, "don't you want to finish high school? Go to college? Get married, have a life?" "No." "No?" "No way. How boring is that? To conform to society's rigid rules? To be weak and powerless and beaten down and forced to live someone else's idea of a fulfilling life, only to die, sick and alone, and have your grandchildren fight over your meager life's savings? Bleh. No thanks. Give me an all-powerful, immortal existence any day of the week." Okay, when she puts it that way . . . "But. . . you have to kill people." Rayne sighs exasperatedly. "Yeah. So says Hollywood. In real life, Sun, it's a lot less barbaric." "Oh?" "Sure. Each vampire is given a stable of donors. People who are willing and able to give a portion of their blood each day so the vampire can survive. Don't worry, they're well paid for their services, and they can sever their contract at any time, by giving thirty days' notice. And of course, they're completely screened and tested for communicable diseases, drugs, that sort of thing, before being assigned." Rayne shakes her head. "No one kills people like in the movies." "Okay, fine. But what about the sun thing? I can't go out in the daylight, right?" Rayne examines her powder-white skin. "Yeah. I'd never have to worry about accidentally tanning. Wonderful." She's thought of everything, hasn't she? "What about a boyfriend? You'd never get a boyfriend. You'd never get married. Unless, I guess, you had a night wedding ..." "I'd get something better. When someone is selected to become a vampire, he or she is assigned a sponsor," Rayne explains. "The person who has agreed to donate a drop of his or her own blood to aid in your transformation. Afterward, you'll share a blood link with that person forever. He'll be your soul mate. Well, technically your blood mate, as you sort of have to give up that whole soul thing, when you turn." She pauses, staring into the distance, looking a little sad. "Magnus was supposed to be my blood mate. Now he's yours." Aha! So that's why she's so upset. She thinks I stole her boyfriend. Just goes to show, even in the crazy supernatural world, at the end of the day it all comes down to the green-eyed monster we call jealousy. "Dude, you can have him," I say, holding my palms out. "I want nothing to do with that jerk." Rayne turns back to look at me. "You don't understand," she says, her eyes weepy and downcast. "He's turned you. So you're connected. Forever. Whether you like it or not." "That would be a definite not." "You know, you don't have any clue what a priceless gift you've been given," Rayne says, her voice taking on an irritated edge. "Immortality. The perfect existence. The hottest blood mate to walk the earth. And you're probably more concerned about whether someone's going to ask you to the prom." "Well, it is this Saturday ..." "Man, I can't believe how much this sucks." Rayne angrily swipes her face with her sleeve. Is she crying? Oh man. She is crying. She's so totally whacked. "Look, Rayne," I say, for some inexplicable reason actually feeling the tiniest bit bad for her, "once we get this whole thing reversed, I'm sure you and Magnus can continue your sick and twisted relationship. You can become a vampire and live Gothily ever after." "I wish." Rayne sniffs. "But no. Even if the process can be reversed, I'll have to start all over. Get back on the waiting list. Find a new sponsor." "Why?" "Vampires are allowed to turn only one person in their lifetime. Basically so there's never a blood shortage like the Red Cross always seems to have," she explains. "After they turn the person, they're linked to them forever. Blood mates, until one of them dies." "Er, how can you die if you have eternal life?" "Oh, plenty of ways. Burned by sunlight. Caught in a fire. Stabbed with a wooden stake through the heart, you know. All the tragic things that happen in the movies." Okay, let's take note here: blood-drinking movie clichés, wrong. Methods of killing a vampire, should one be in the position to do so, spot on. Which brings me to the $64,000 question. "How do you know all this stuff?" Rayne shrugs. "Like I said. I've studied. Three months ago, when I started my training, I actually created a blog to catalog my research." She gestures to her computer. "You should probably check it out. I mean, at the very least it'll outline what you need to know about your transformation. It's kind of bad how unprepared you are. Everyone else that gets turned goes through an extensive three-month certification program." She's got her Vampire Certificate? Is it suitable for framing? "I can't believe how organized this whole thing is," I marvel. "It's a multibillion-dollar operation," Rayne says. "And very high tech." She jumps off the bed and heads over to her computer, clicking on the monitor. "C'mere." I come behind her and peer at the screen she's brought up. Sure enough, it's some kind of blog, all Gothed out in black and red. I guess the pastel template on Blogspot.com wouldn't really fly for a vampire site. "Boys That Bite?" I ask, reading the heading. Rayne giggles. "Yeah, I came up with that name. Funny, huh?" "I guess." Vampire humor. Hardy har har. Rayne moves out of her chair and gestures for me to sit down. "Here. Take your time and read. I think you'll learn a lot." As I plop down in the seat, she walks over to her bookcase and pulls out a heavy hardcover text. "I also have the Vampire 101 textbook you can read. Thank goodness I hadn't returned it to the library yet." She sets the book down on the desk. "You don't, um, mind picking up the late fees, do you?" I look down at the massive tome. It's got weird carvings on the front and has to be like three thousand pages. "Wow. This vampire thing has a lot of homework involved, doesn't it?" "Like I said, it's a three-month course. There's a lot to learn. You're totally going to have to cram at this point." As if I didn't have enough to worry about, with finals next week. I flip through the book. Darn, not a lot of pictures either. "So is this a correspondence course, or do you have to actually attend classes?" "Classes. After all, you can't learn the proper way to administer a safe and sterile blood transfusion over the Internet." "Right." I shake my head, unable to believe I've somehow gotten mixed up in this freak show. I turn back to the blog and scroll down to the first entry.

My name is Rayne McDonald. I'm 16 years old and so ready for eternal life. As suggested by my instructor, I've created this blog to chronicle my transformation. Hope you enjoy reading it!

Oh, I will. Believe me.

6

Jake Wilder: Sex God and . . . Prom Date?

After reading some of Rayne's crazy "Boys That Bite" blog and checking out a few links in the vampire Web ring (yes, there really is a vampire Web ring), the bright screen starts giving me a headache. So I say good night to my twin and retreat to the dark safety of my bedroom where I curl up under my duvet and try to go to sleep. But I can't. I'm too wired with fear and confusion and God knows what else. Plus the spot where Magnus bit me itches like crazy. So I toss and turn and wonder what I'm going to do. What if the transformation can't be reversed? What if in seven days I, Sunshine McDonald, become a vampire forever? That means no finals. No prom. No sunny trip to the Bahamas with my friends this summer. No college. I'll have to enroll in night school or something. Maybe the vampires have their own university; it does seem like they're pretty organized. I wonder what the SAT requirements are for something like that. This sucks. Pardon the pun, but it does. I have this whole life ahead of me and now I may not be able to live it, all 'cause of a case of mistaken identity. Damn Rayne and her stupid blog and her stupid idea that becoming undead is the stupid secret to life everlasting. What was she thinking? And why did she have to drag me into it all? I finally manage to fall asleep, just as the sun peeks over the horizon. In what seems like only five minutes later, my alarm blares me awake with the sounds of the eighties. This morning's DJ chose to wake me with Michael Jackson's "Thriller." How appropriate. Groggily, I stumble out of bed and into the shower. It's freezing in the house and the hot water feels good streaming down my body. I try to decide if I feel any different. If I have any urges to suck someone's blood. But no, not yet, at least, thank goodness. Willing donor or not, I'd like to hold off on that part as long as possible, thank you very much. Maybe I could become an anorexic vampire? I wonder if that'd help me shed a few pounds as an added bonus? I get out of the shower and open the medicine cabinet. A dizzying array of sunscreens stares back at me. From tropical coconut tanning lotions to the no-possible-UV-ray-will-come-within-fifty-yards-of-your-skin-for-three-weeks variety. Damn me for forgetting to ask Magnus the proper SPF for school. In the end, I decide to go for the middle-of-the-road 15 stuff. Who knows, maybe I'll get a tan out of the deal. Heh. I'd be the first vampire to look like I'd cruised the Caribbean. After applying sunscreen, I realize I'll also need to address the bruised purple bite mark on my neck. If anyone sees that they're going to think it's a hickey and I am so not ready to get teased about my neck-munching secret lover, on top of everything else. I guess I could tell everyone I burned my neck with the curling iron, like Mary Markson does when Nick covers her neck with love bites, but no one believes her either. I rummage through my closet, realizing I own very little clothing designed to cover up my neck. Most likely due to the fact that, before this morning, I had no reason to keep it in hiding. Finally, in the back of my closet, I find an old black turtleneck. I think it belongs to Rayne, actually, but it'll do. Of course everyone's going to think I'm a freak of nature, what with wearing a turtleneck in May. But what can I do? I have become a teenage vampire fashion victim. Ugh. As long as no one mistakes me for a Goth . . . *** School is okay, though I'm so freaking tired, it's hard to pay attention. And I seem to have become a magnet for teacher questions. I go rest my eyes for one teensy second and suddenly I'm harassed to start calculating pi or something. (Which I can't even do on a full night of sleep when I'm not transforming into a vampire.) I eat lunch with a few girls from field hockey, picking listlessly at my salad as I halfheartedly listen to them recount last week's game. My other teammates are so wrapped up in their tales of opposing goalkeeper Jennifer Jack spraining her ankle in the first five minutes of the game that they don't notice I'm barely listening. Which is fine by me. The last thing I need to do is draw attention to myself in my current state. Luckily, my best friend Audrey is away this week at Disney World with her parents. The girl is so scarily perceptive that she'd notice something was wrong immediately. At the same time, she'd never believe the whole vampire thing and would think I had really lost it. So while I'd love to have some moral support (Rayne so doesn't count!) it's probably better off I don't freak out my friends. I consider skipping drama practice after school, but Magnus has informed me he won't be up and about till almost eight p.m., so I figure I might as well go and kill time before my big meeting with the head vamp. Besides, this way I can have some quality Jake Wilder spyage time. Bound to make anyone feel better. Ah, Jake Wilder. How do I even explain the greatness that is Jake Wilder? It's like he doesn't belong in a normal, everyday high school. Like, he should have been born centuries earlier, in Roman times or something—driving a flaming chariot with six white horses foaming at the mouth. He looks like a Greek god, with his six-foot-one stance, slender but muscular body, and high cheekbones. Well, a Greek god or Chad Michael Murray, take your pick. He has short blond hair and the deepest, darkest brown eyes known to mankind. I once overheard some girls calling him Bedroom Eyes. I'd love to see those bedroom eyes actually in a bedroom. Preferably my bedroom. In fact, if I could have me some of that, I'd so retire my Sunny the Innocent status, quicker than you can say "off like a prom dress." Problem is, he has no idea I even exist. None whatsoever. I blame Heather Miller. You see, Jake Wilder is the leading man, the sexy Conrad Birdie, in our class production of Bye Bye Birdie this year. And Heather is, of course, playing Kim. No surprise there. No matter what play we do, Heather nabs the starring role. Little Shop of Horrors} She's Audrey. Oklahoma} She's Laurey. In second grade we performed The Tortoise and the Hare and Jake got the tortoise and she was the hare. She's Drama Queen with a capital DQ. Beautiful. Blond. Busty. Even brainy, if you can believe that. You'd at least hope she'd be an airhead, but no. No, she's also president of the Honor Society, which is so not fair to the rest of us mere mortals. This year, I didn't even get awarded a small part in the play. Not even some one-line Conrad Birdie groupie role. Nada. Instead, I'm Heather Miller's understudy. Meaning I have to do all the work, memorize all the lines, and only if Miss Perfect-Attendance-Award is sick do I get to take center stage. Which is actually not as terrible as it sounds, seeing as I have rather a bad case of stage fright and if I were to be suddenly thrust into the starring role, I'm not positive I could handle it. For me, drama is all about permission to stare at Jake Wilder for hours on end without anyone thinking me Stalker Girl. So with that in mind, I slip into the second-to-last row of the school auditorium and pull out my sketchpad. Back here, no one can see what I'm drawing. I get so much crap for being an artist you wouldn't believe it. No respect at all. "Sunshine McDonald? Is that you?" I look up from my drawing, a rather brilliant sketch of Jake Wilder if I do say so myself. The drama teacher, Mr. Teifert, is down by the stage and motioning for me to join him. O-kay. That's weird. I wasn't convinced he even knew my name, never mind that he'd ever need to get my attention. I slip my sketchbook back into my book bag and trudge to the front of the auditorium, a little wary. "Sunshine. Thank goodness you're here," Mr. Teifert says, rubbing a hand through his wild black curly hair. He's short and squat and looks like that guy from Animal House. "Heather's sick. We need you to stand in for her at practice today. I stare at him, at first not quite comprehending. The queen has lost her attendance throne? And they need me to step in? Wow. I wasn't expecting that to happen. Especially not today, when I have so much else on my mind. "O-kay," I say, swallowing down the bubble of stage fright that immediately forms in my stomach and starts traveling up my esophagus. "What scene are we working on?" "The one where Birdie kisses Kim," says a deep, luscious man-voice behind me. I whirl around and almost pass out when I realize the delectable Jake Wilder is standing there, in the flesh, not two feet away, actually speaking to me. And using the word kiss in a sentence. A sentence addressed to me. "Kisses Kim?" I manage to speak in my Minnie Mouse voice. Nice, Sunny. So very attractive and appealing. "Don't look so horrified," Mr. Teifert says with a laugh. I look horrified because I just sounded like a moron, not because of the proposition of kissing Jake Wilder. That's not horror. That's romance. A fantasy dream come true. But I can't exactly explain that, now can I? "I'm fine. Let's do it," I say, forcing my voice to go back to normal. I hop up onto the stage, my legs literally trembling in a way I hope isn't noticeable. Jake pops up a moment later and now stands facing me. "Okay, now the scene is, Conrad and Kim are in rehearsals for The Ed Sullivan Show. Sunny, you recite your Conrad Birdie fan club speech, then Jake, you're bored with this and want to go party, so you interrupt, yada yada yada, then kiss her. Ronald," Mr. Teifert looks over at the tall skinny boy who's playing Kim's boyfriend, Hugo. "You're on the balcony, glaring at Birdie, really jealous like. After the kiss, Sunny, you collapse in a faint." Fainting after Jake Wilder's kiss? Shouldn't be too tough to make that look realistic! Mr. Teifert claps his hands. "Got it? Then places, everyone." And so it goes. I pledge my devotion to Conrad Birdie a.k.a. Jake Wilder. And he interrupts, then scoops me in his arms and kisses me, hard on the mouth. Time seems to stop. I let out an unwilling gasp as he presses his firm lips against mine. I never, ever thought I'd get a chance to feel what it'd be like for Jake Wilder to kiss me. And it feels better than I could have imagined in my wildest of dreams. He pauses for a moment, as if surprised about something, then takes advantage of my parted mouth and enters it with his tongue. Aghh! What an incredible feeling. I feel like I'm going to explode, it feels so good. Jake Wilder is kissing me. French-kissing me. Is he even supposed to be French-kissing me for the play? I thought. . . Oh, who cares if he's supposed to or not. He is, that's all that matters. "Hey, guys, okay, already. You're supposed to faint, Sunny." Mr. Teifert's voice sounds a million miles away. Jake pulls away, reluctantly, it seems. Our faces are inches apart still—I can feel his hot, minty breath in my face. Then he gives me a small grin and whispers, "I think we need more practice," so softly only I can hear. "Don't you?" Then I faint. Or at least I fake fainting, though actually I feel like I could almost lose consciousness for real after what just happened. Jake Wilder, kissing me. Sure, it was just for the play, but somehow it felt like more than that. It felt like he enjoyed it. I know I did. Thank you, Heather, for being absent. Thank you, thank you, thank you. This makes every boring rehearsal, every wasted understudy hour, worth it. And the best thing is, we have to do it all over again. Several times. Practice makes perfect, you know. After the rehearsal is over, I climb down off the stage and head to the back, where I've left my book bag. My legs feel like Jell-O. "Hey, Sunny!" I turn around, bag in my hands at the voice. I force my mouth not to drop open in shock as I realize who's come up behind me. "Hey Jake," I say shyly, dropping my gaze. Gah, he's so cute. I can barely stand it. How can one guy be so gifted in the looks department? I mean, even Brad Pitt's got nothing on Jake Wilder. Jake runs a hand through his hair, for some reason appearing a little nervous. Weird. I should be the one who's shaking like a leaf here, not him. "You were, um, great up there," he says, shuffling from foot to foot. I beam at the compliment. I know it's uncool to be so psyched about it, but I can't help it. Jake Wilder has just said I was great. I, Sunshine McDonald, was great in the eyes of Jake Wilder. "Thanks," I say in my most casual of tones. "You were great, too. I can see why you always get the lead." He shrugs. "Yeah, I guess," he says, clearing his throat. I look at him curiously. He's not acting like his usual overconfident popular self at all. What's up with that? "But you, you were a goddess." A goddess? What is that supposed to mean? I know I nailed the dance number, but I didn't think I was especially goddesslike doing it. I narrow my eyes, not quite sure if he's making fun of me. Maybe this is one of those cruel jokes that the popular kids always seem to play in the movies. Bet the football star he can't get Loser Nerd Girl to fall in love with him. Well, I'm sooo not falling for that. "Uh-huh. Goddess. Right." I snort. "Yeah, I've always kind of thought of myself as a teenage Artemis, now that you mention it." I grab my coat. After all that's taken place in the last twenty-four hours, I am so not in the mood to be made fun of by the guy I'm stalking. "In fact, I've got some goddess-type duties to take care of now, so I'll, um, catch you around." I start to maneuver around him. He steps in front of me. "Wait," he says. I wait. My heart is pounding in my chest now. This is too weird. "Um, I wanted to uh, ask you if ..." He clears his throat again. Does he have a cold or something? "If you have a date for the prom, and if you don't do you want to go with me?" he blurts out, in one big run-on sentence. I stare at him, doing everything in my power not to gape with an open mouth. Did he just say what I thought he said? Did he just. . . no, I must have heard wrong. "Wh-what?" I ask, squeaky Minnie Mouse voice back with a vengeance. He blushes a deep red. Jake Wilder. Blushing. Have we entered a parallel universe here? I remind myself this could all be some cruel prank. That I may get to the prom and the Pop-ulars will pull a Carrie and pour pig's blood on me when I'm voted prom queen. And I won't even have the telekinetic power to burn down the school in vengeance. But that's stupid. I may not be head cheerleader, but I'm certainly not Loser Nerd Girl either. I have tons of friends and play on the varsity field hockey team. So I highly doubt I'd be top of the list for the Populars to pick on. Besides, Jake seems deadly serious. "I just thought, if you weren't going with anyone, that you might, uh, want to go with, um, me," he continues, stammering. "I mean, if you wanted to. I understand if you don't. Obviously you've probably got like three million guys asking you." I nearly fall backward into a dead faint for real this time. As it is, I'm not
quite sure my heart is still beating. Jake Wilder has just asked me to the prom. Jake Wilder! "Uh, yeah. Sure. That's cool," I say with a shrug, awarding myself major brownie points for not jumping up and down and doing cartwheels down the auditorium aisle. "Why not?" He breaks out into his amazing smile, looking oh-so-relieved. "Great," he says. "Really great. Thank you. I'll um, see you around then." "Uh, sure. Okay," I say at a loss for more intellectual conversation. Real suave, Sunny. He smiles at me again—that infamous brilliant flash of Jake Wilder pearly whites—then turns and bolts out of the auditorium. I stare after him, confused as anything. Jake Wilder has just asked me to the prom. And I said yes. Before today I would have bet anything that he didn't even know my name. Now I'm suddenly his prom date? "Hey, Sunny, how you feeling?" I turn around. Rayne's entered the auditorium. "Rayne!" I cry. "You'll never guess! Jake Wilder asked me to the prom. Isn't that so amazing? I mean, Jake Wilder! Can you believe it? I'm freaking out here!" Rayne smiles her favorite patronizing smile. "Ah, the Vampire Scent is already kicking in, huh?" I screw up my face. "Vampire Scent?" What the hell is she talking about? And what does that have to do with Jake asking me to the prom? "Yeah, you know. Like pheromones. Vampires give off a scent that drives mere mortals crazy with desire. They can't resist it. It's actually very useful when talking your way out of speeding tickets or scoring an aisle seat on an airplane. Though the old lady the next seat over talking to you about her grandchildren the whole flight can be an unfortunate side effect." My heart sinks. To my toes. So evidently Jake Wilder hasn't lusted after me for years and only now gotten up the courage to approach me. "Damn." I kick the auditorium seat in frustration. "And here I thought he had some secret crush on me or something." I sigh. I knew it was too good to be true. "Jeez, Sunny, don't act so disappointed. I mean, didn't you read about all this in my blog last night?" Uh-oh. "I, uh, didn't finish reading the whole thing. I mean, it was pretty long." Rayne stares at me. "The pheromone thing is like the third entry down." "Yeah, but," I can feel my face heating up. "There were these links and ..." "Links?" "Yeah, to really good stories about Spike and Angel..." "So let me get this straight," Rayne says, crossing her arms over her chest, looking very unhappy. "Instead of catching up on the vital information you need to know about your impending vampire transformation, you instead chose to read Buffy the Vampire Slayer fanfic?" Okay, when she puts it that way, it does seem like a bad decision on my part. But some of those stories were way juicy and . . . "You know, you shouldn't have links on your Web site if you don't want people to click on them," I say in my defense. Rayne sighs. Deeply. "You know, I really hope that Lucifent has a way to turn you back into a human. 'Cause you're going to totally suck as a vampire." I start laughing. I can't help it. I'm going to suck as a vampire? Ha! "What?" Rayne demands. Then she realizes her unintentional pun. "Oh." She tries to frown, but I can see the corners of her mouth turn up. "This is serious, Sunny." "I know!" I cry, still howling with laughter. The whole situation's suddenly struck me as so absurd that I can't help it. "I'm going to be a SUCKY vampire!" Rayne bursts into laughter. "Talk about a Freudian slip! I can't believe I said that." "Yeah, well being a vampire really BITES," I add, bringing on a whole new wave of laughter. We're practically crying and rolling in the aisle, we're cracking up so bad. "Who's a vampire?" A deep voice cuts through our laughing and sobers us up immediately. We both whirl around to see Mr. Teifert, the drama teacher, peering at us curiously behind his black-rimmed glasses. I guess we were laughing so hard we didn't even hear him approach. Rayne smiles wickedly. "Sunny's a vampire," she says. "Well, she's on her way to being one." Then she starts laughing again. I kick her in the ankle to make her shut up. While I'm about one hundred percent positive Mr. Teifert will take her claim with a grain of dramatic salt, I've still got to work with the guy on the school play. I don't want him to think I'm some stupid ditz. Then he'll never give me a good part and I'll be in understudy world forever. Mr. Teifert raises a bushy eyebrow. "Is this true, Sunny?" he asks in a voice that seems far too serious for the discussion. What's his deal? "Are you a vampire?" Thank goodness I wore a turtleneck to school so he can't see the bruised, hickeylike bite on my neck. Then he'd really be speed-dialing the guidance counselor. "No, Mr. Teifert," I say, forcing myself to keep a straight face. "I am not a vampire. We were just messing around." His serious expression relaxes and he smiles. "Good to know. Especially since we need you for this play. I've just learned Heather has come down with mono and won't be back. So from this point on, you'll be playing the part of Kim." I restrain myself from giving a loud "W00t!" right then and there and try to look like I'm concerned for poor little Heather Miller. But to hell with her! I'm now the star of the school play. How cool is that? You know, besides the whole vampire thing being a downer, the rest of my life sure seems to be turning around in a big way, go figure. "Thanks, Mr. Teifert. I won't let you down," I tell him enthusiastically. "I know you won't," he says with a wink. "Just promise you won't go turning into a vampire on me. We've got a lot of rehearsals and most of them are during the day." "I, uh, won't." I say, laughing my nervous donkey bray. As if what he's saying is the silliest thing in the entire universe. He nods and smiles and waves good-bye as he exits the auditorium. Rayne and I exchange looks and then grab our book bags and hustle out. "That was kinda weird," I say, as we head out into the parking lot toward our car. "That was more than weird," Rayne agrees. She rummages around in her purse for the car keys. "You need to be careful around him." "Oh, I'm sure he just overheard us and thought it'd be funny to join in on the joke." Rayne pulls out the keys by her spider key chain. "I don't know, Sunny. I get creepy vibes off him." She unlocks the door and hops in the car. I join her and take a seat in the passenger side. "What are you, a vibe reader now?" I ask skeptically. "He's a teacher. He thought he was being funny. You're paranoid." Rayne shrugs as she puts the key in the ignition. "Okay, Sun, fine. I'm only trying to look out for you. There's a lot of vampire prejudice out there, you know." She pauses. "Actually you don't know," she adds, "since you'd rather read the sexploits of Spike and Buffy than research the subject." "I actually preferred the stories about Angel." I giggle. Rayne shakes her head. "See what I mean?" she says, sounding more than a little frustrated. "You refuse to take anything I say seriously. I don't know why I'm bothering to help you. I should just leave you to flounder and figure it all out yourself." She looks seriously mad, so I decide to throw her a bone. After all, I need a ride to the cemetery to meet Magnus. "I'm sorry, Rayne. I know you're trying to help me," I say in the most sincere voice I can muster. "It's just sometimes I use humor to defuse a tense, stressful situation." Wow, I sound like I should be on Dr. Phil. "I do appreciate you helping me, though. More than you know." "Well, you are my little sister," Rayne hedges. "Yes, by seven whole minutes. Making you way more older, wiser, and worldly than I could ever hope to be." Rayne shoots me a look. I laugh. "Sorry." "Okay, let's get to the cemetery," she says. "And see if we can't get this vampire thing reversed." "Sounds like a plan." Rayne pulls out of the parking lot and takes a left. We're silent for a moment. Then . .. "Do you think if I change back into a human, Jake will revoke his invitation to the prom?" "Arghh!" "Sorry." I fold my hands in my lap and make like a good, silent, serious vampire-chick-to-be. I do wonder, though.