At First Bite (4 page)

But how many blond, blue-eyed, sophomore Dylans from New York City can there be?

“Do you think a sophomore would ever date an eighth grader?” the mascara girl asks as they head for the door.

“A guy like
that?
Dream on.” The door slams behind them.

If bats could roll their eyes, I would.
Totally gorg?
Dylan? It makes no sense! He’s being drooled over by girls, and I’m being shunned by the popular crowd. Has the world gone mad?

I’m so distracted, I don’t even notice that I’m starting to shift back. My fangs are receding into my mouth, becoming regular teeth. My ears slide down to their normal spot as my legs stretch out. When vampires bat-shift, our clothes dissolve but reappear as soon as we shift back. I’m relieved to see my jeans pop back into place and my shirt fabric spread across my arms.

The only problem is, I’m still upside down, and my clingy claws are becoming human feet again. How am I going to manage this? My pulse races as I try to clamber into an upright position. I reach for the stall door with one hand, but I’m feeling very clumsy, and suddenly the bell is ringing, shrill and close to my ear. Then I lose my grip
entirely. My stomach drops, and I plummet toward the floor.

At least I missed the toilet,
I think as my forehead smacks against the linoleum.

And then everything goes black.

I open my eyes to weak sunlight coming in through drawn shades. I’m in a small white room that smells like rubbing alcohol, and I’m lying on something soft — a cot, my hazy brain registers. A poster on the wall shows a cat clinging to a tree branch with the words
HANG IN THERE, BABY!
printed underneath. Considering what I’ve just been through, this seems especially cruel.

I try to sit up, but a pudgy woman in light blue scrubs immediately rushes over.

“Take it easy, honey,” she tells me, taking my shoulders and guiding me back down onto the scratchy pillow.

“Am I in the hospital?” I ask in a raspy voice.

The woman smiles, shaking her head. “Just the
nurse’s office. I’m Nurse Murray. You took a nasty spill. Remember?”

“I remember,” I groan. A throbbing pain is shooting across my forehead. I reach up and feel the giant welt that’s forming there. Great. My first day of school keeps getting better and better.

“It’s only a bump. No concussion,” Nurse Murray assures me. “But let me get you a fresh ice pack.” She hurries off to the refrigerator in the corner.

I prop myself up on one elbow and gaze around the room. There are two other (empty) cots, a desk, and a first-aid kit on the wall. Then I notice my patent-leather satchel on a chair, along with my sun hat and sunglasses.

“Who brought my stuff in?” I ask. I’d left everything in homeroom, hadn’t I? My head swims. Now that I think about it, I do have a fuzzy memory of someone helping me up off the bathroom floor and then walking with me down a flight of stairs. I vaguely recall stretching out on this cot and falling asleep. But that’s all.

“Your friend,” the nurse answers, returning with the ice pack. “She was so sweet, helping you down here and making sure you were okay.”

“My friend?” I repeat, now really confused. I’m not sure how to break this to kindhearted Nurse Murray, but I don’t
have
any friends at the moment.

“I’m afraid I don’t know her name,” Nurse Murray says, pressing the ice pack to my forehead. “I’m new to the school, you see. But she had curly brown hair and was wearing bright colors: a purple shirt and a big orange necklace.”

That could only be Sasha, the unpopular girl from homeroom. I frown. Had she followed me to the bathroom? Why? And — my heart jumps — what condition had she found me in? Had I finished shifting all the way back?

“What did — what did she say?” I stammer, jerking away so that the ice pack falls into my lap.

“Just that you slipped in the girls’ room,” Nurse Murray replies, looking at me with a suspicious expression. “That
is
what happened, right?”

“Um … yeah,” I reply, my palms growing clammy. Did I tell Sasha that? What else went on that I can’t remember?

Suddenly, I worry that Nurse Murray took my temperature or drew blood from me. Or if she hasn’t, maybe she plans to. Vampires have a lower body temperature than most people: It’s why our skin is cold
to the touch. And our blood is a very deep crimson color, almost black. Arabella told me that some doctors don’t find these details strange, but others do.

I realize I need to leave before Nurse Murray notices how strange I am.

“You know, I’m actually feeling much better,” I say, swinging my legs off the cot. It’s true, too; though the welt on my forehead hurts, I’m not dizzy. “I should get to second period,” I add, slowly standing up. “I think I have math —”

“Second period?” Nurse Murray checks her watch and chuckles. “Forget it, honey! It’s fourth period. Lunchtime for you middle schoolers.”

“I slept that long?” I ask, startled. I guess after the trauma of homeroom, bat-shifting, and my accident, I needed the rest.

Nurse Murray nods. “I really shouldn’t let you go yet,” she says worriedly. “I was thinking of calling your parents to see if they wanted to take you home for the day.”

I’m torn. Part of me wants to get far away from Santa Monica Academy and hide in my bedroom. But another piece of me wants to stay and fight my way into Paige’s crowd. To prove to everyone that they were wrong about me this morning.

“My mom isn’t around,” I tell Nurse Murray truthfully. “She’s being filmed all day and won’t be home until later.”

Nurse Murray’s eyes light up. “Is your mom … a celebrity?” she asks in a hushed, awed tone.

“Kind of.” I’d never thought of my mom that way, but I’m sure
she’d
love to hear it. “She’s a judge, and they’re making a reality show about her.”

“You mean
Justice with Judge Julia?”
Nurse Murray gasps, and claps her hands when I nod. “There was a piece on it in
Variety,
you know, the newspaper about Hollywood deals? I love to read that paper and imagine all the producers and stars doing exciting things.” The nurse looks starry-eyed.

A lightbulb goes off in my head. “Well, I’m sure I could get you my mom’s autograph….” I stare meaningfully at Nurse Murray.
If you let me go now,
I add silently.

Nurse Murray seems to get my message. “That would be wonderful,” she says, looking a little embarrassed but still beaming. She bustles over to her desk and writes me a pass for the classes I missed.

I gather my belongings and am almost to the door when she speaks up behind me.

“One last thing, dear?”

I turn around, scared that she’ll ask me more about my accident.

“Take care of that sunburn, will you?” she says. “It’s dreadful.”

“Tell me about it,” I sigh.

I don’t know the way to the cafeteria. But, as usual, I can smell the food from afar, so I follow the scent.
Spaghetti and meatballs,
I think hungrily as I reach the double doors. When I get in the lunch line, I see the meal is actually whole-wheat penne with organic lamb meatballs. There’s also a juice station and an organic salad bar. How California!

Once my recycled-aluminum tray is piled high, I scan the crowded lunchroom. My heart races. Kids are waving to one another, taking seats and sipping carrot-and-ginger smoothies. I don’t recognize anyone, and my sneakers seem glued to the floor. I never thought I’d be
that
kind of new kid, the one without a place to sit in the cafeteria.

“Ashlee?”

Excited, I spin around and see Sasha, sitting alone at a round table.

Ugh. My spirits fall. Is this girl stalking me or something?

“Are you okay?” Sasha asks, looking concerned. “I took you to the nurse’s —”

“I know, I know,” I hiss, not wanting the whole world to hear about my mishap. I move closer to Sasha, awkwardly balancing my heavy tray. “Yeah, um, how did you find me? And what was I —”

“Do you want to sit?” Sasha cuts in, gesturing to my wobbling tray with a small smile on her face. “Might be easier to talk that way.”

I hesitate, glancing around. I can’t spot Paige, Wendy, or Carmen. But sitting with
someone
beats sitting alone, even if that someone is Sasha. And I suppose I should be grateful to her and all.

“Fine,” I say stiffly, dropping down into a chair. “Just for a minute.”

“Got it,” Sasha says, still smiling.

“Anyway,” I say, not meeting her gaze. “Thanks … for what you did.”

“No problem,” Sasha replies, spearing an avocado slice in her salad. “When you ran out of homeroom, I was worried —”

“Would you keep it down?” I hiss, glancing around again. Sasha’s voice is as loud as her clothes.

“Sorry,” Sasha replies in an exaggerated whisper, and I roll my eyes. “I was worried,” she continues quietly, “so when the bell rang, I took your stuff and went to the bathroom down the hall.”

“How did you know I’d be there?” I ask around a mouthful of pasta.

Sasha shrugs. “Just a guess. It’s the same bathroom I used to cry in when Paige and her cronies made fun of me.”

I reel back. Now I know for sure how unpopular Sasha is. But …

“What do you mean, ‘used to’?” I ask. Did Paige not make fun of Sasha anymore?

Sasha calmly sips her juice. “I let it stop bothering me,” she says matter-of-factly. “I realized that there was more to life than getting the approval of those girls, and as soon as I came to that conclusion, they no longer had an effect on me.”

I stare at Sasha blankly. I have no clue what she’s talking about.

“So,” she goes on, taking a bite of penne, “I got to the bathroom and saw your feet sticking out from one of the stalls. I realized you must have slipped. The janitor, Mr. Bernal, is so nice, but he’s always mopping the bathrooms first thing in the morning.”

“And … how did I look?” I ask carefully, petrified that Sasha will say that she saw me with bat ears.

She shakes her head and laughs. “Is that always your main concern?” she asks, and I scowl at her. “You looked, I don’t know, out of it. Your eyes were all big and you kept muttering something about your brother.”

“Oh yeah,” I mutter now, remembering the eighth-grade girls gushing over Dylan. Yet another reason to hate my brother. My fall was
so
his fault.

“Does your brother go to this school?” Sasha asks, and I nod reluctantly. “Mine does, too — oh, there he is now!” she exclaims, waving to someone across the room. “Hey, Marc,” she says a moment later as a boy sets his tray down at the table. “I was wondering where you were.”

“I had some stuff to do,” the boy answers. His voice sounds familiar.

I look up at him and freeze.

Marc has curly brown hair and big brown eyes. Marc is the boy who bugged me about my sunburn on the beach!

He’s staring back at me in surprise, so I know he recognizes me, too. I hold my breath, hoping he won’t say anything. Especially something like
I told
you so.
My sunburn seems to grow hotter and I’m sure my cheeks are even redder than before.

“Marc, this is Ashlee Lambert. Ashlee, meet Marc Hirsh,” Sasha says.

Marc is still looking at me. I can tell he’s wondering whether or not to say that we’ve already met. I squirm in my seat, hoping he’ll keep quiet.

Finally, Sasha smacks his arm. “You’ll have to excuse my twin,” she tells me. “He doesn’t know how to talk to humans. Just computers.”

“Thanks, sis,” Marc says, plopping down beside her. He shoots me a quick half smile before digging into his pasta. I let out a breath. I’m pretty sure that, for now, our encounter on the beach will stay secret.

I study Marc and Sasha. I wouldn’t have pegged them for twins, but there is a definite resemblance. Marc is wearing a T-shirt that says
ARCADE FIRE,
and I remember that his shirt yesterday said
S.M.A. BEARS.
Of course. Santa Monica Academy Bears: I’ve seen the football pennants everywhere today. Though Marc doesn’t strike me as a jock. I’m wondering what group he belongs to when another boy runs up to our table.

“What’s up, dudes?” he asks, slapping Marc and Sasha high fives. He has reddish hair and big glasses.

I immediately recognize him as one of the geeky boys from homeroom. True to form, he plunks himself down next to Marc and opens his laptop. “I just came from the computer lab,” he says as Marc leans over to look at the screen. “I found a way to add bandwidth to the —”

“Gordon, you remember Ashlee from homeroom, right?” Sasha cuts in. I’m glad she doesn’t mention that I’m the girl everyone laughed at.

Baffled, Gordon glances up and nods at me distractedly. Then he turns his attention back to his laptop, where Marc is now typing something in.

Well, that answers that. Marc is part of the geeky group. Which means, by extension, Sasha is, too. And since
I’m sitting with them
…

Ack!

I push my chair back, full of anxiety. I can’t be seen with these people: It could ruin me forever! I scan the lunchroom again. This time, I do spot Paige, Carmen, and Wendy. They’re sitting at a prime table by the window, surrounded by cute guys in polo shirts and some other girls in cheerleader uniforms. The popular table. A wave of longing washes over me.

All I want to do is dash over and join them, but I realize that wouldn’t be the wisest move. Paige
would probably mock the welt on my forehead. No. I need to come up with a plan, a natural way to ease myself into the group.

“Guys,” Sasha is saying, “stop working on that social networking website. You have to focus on the music cues for the play. You know Paige is going to bite your head off at rehearsals if the sound isn’t perfect.”

I swivel my head back to Sasha.
The play!
I’d forgotten about it. That was going to be my chance to get in good with Paige and her friends. I feel a flush of relief. Perfect.

“You’re the stage manager, right?” I ask Sasha, who nods proudly.

“And we’re the tech crew,” Marc pipes up, gesturing to himself and Gordon. “Sound and lighting. We make sure that the music plays at the right times and that the actors don’t look too … pink or anything.” He grins at me and I glare at him.

Sasha looks at us quizzically, but Marc turns his attention back to the laptop. “You asked about the play in homeroom,” Sasha says to me. “Are you interested in the wardrobe master position?”

I bite my lip, hesitating. I don’t love that the stage crew is full of unpopular kids …
or
that the play
itself is about vampires. But I can’t let that stop me. Too much is riding on this.

“I am,” I say. “I love fashion. I think I’d be the right fit.”

“Cool. You need to check with Mr. Harker,” Sasha says, looking around the cafeteria. “He’s usually one of the lunchroom monitors, but I don’t see him. You can e-mail him about it. Teachers are really into e-mail here.”

She smiles at me, as if we’re friends now.
Yeah, right.

I glance back at the popular table. Paige is giggling at something one of the boys is saying. Then she happens to look in my direction. Her eyes sweep over my tablemates, and she smirks. My stomach clenches. This is what I’d feared.

“I’m off,” I tell Sasha and the guys abruptly, standing up. I grab my bag and tray.

“Did the bell ring?” Gordon asks, looking up from his laptop dazedly.

“No,” I say coolly. “I have something important to do.”

What I need to do — besides escape from the Table of Social Doom — is hustle over to a quiet space and suck down a Sanga! I know that if I wait
too long, I’ll be shaky later on. I don’t really want to pass out in fifth period history and have to pay another visit to Nurse Murray’s office.