At First Bite (8 page)

“Oh — better,” I reply, caught off guard. It’s always weird to see your teachers out of school. And I don’t feel like making awkward conversation right now. I’m still calming down from my bat-shift.

“Glad to hear it,” Nurse Murray replies sunnily. “It seems the whole world is getting into accidents,” she adds, her expression growing serious. “Did you hear about that poor surfer this morning? Sounded an awful lot like what happened to our Mr. Bernal, didn’t it?”

I feel a funny tingle. I think back to Mr. Bernal’s attack and that red spot near Nurse Murray’s mouth. I study her closely now. Why would she specifically bring up this morning’s incident? And why is she hanging out near the beach today, anyway?

I narrow my eyes. Maybe Marc isn’t the one I should be following after all….

“Well, I’ll let you enjoy your day, dear,” Nurse Murray says, perhaps flustered by my penetrating stare. She waggles her fingers at me.

Feeling confused, I watch her walk off. Should I trail her to find out where she’s going? Stay here? I glance behind me into the Apple Store. I could swear I see Marc by the door. Can he see me, too? My heart leaps, and I hurry a few paces away, blending into the crowd.

I feel drained. I’m hungry, and Mom must be wondering why I’ve been gone so long. Maybe it’s time to give my spy mission a rest. So, zipping up my hoodie, I head for home. I’ve already had more than enough excitement to last me the whole long weekend.

“How was your weekend?”

In homeroom on Tuesday, I look up to see Paige standing by my desk. Carmen and Wendy are on either side of her, like pretty bodyguards. But today, the girls don’t seem menacing or cruel. Instead, they seem like they’re simply saying hello …

To me!

I try not to grin too wide.

“It was fine,” I say breezily. I decide it best not to bring up my little flight to the Third Street Promenade. “My mom and I went to Rodeo Drive.” I tap my new blue-and-red charm bracelet. After the insanity on Saturday, I needed some retail therapy.

“Oh.” Paige purses her lips, and dimples appear in her cheeks. “See,
we
always shop at the Beverly
Center or Fred Segal. Rodeo Drive is too touristy.” I nod, crestfallen, but Paige adds, “No worries. You’ll get the hang of it soon.”

My heart surges with hope.

“That’s supercute, BTW,” Carmen says, pointing at my bracelet. I beam.

“See you at lunchtime rehearsal,” Paige says to me as she, Carmen, and Wendy head for their desks. “I’ll be there early for the costume fittings!”

“Can’t wait!” I reply, then bite my lip. Did that sound too eager?

“I can,” Sasha mutters. I blink at her; I didn’t even notice her sit down as I was chatting with the girls. “I guarantee Paige will have a zillion complaints about the costumes and be as annoying as ever.”

“No, she won’t,” I snap. Paige is already pleased with my costume picks. Why would she change her mind?

I glare at Sasha. I wonder what she knows about her brother and his whereabouts early Saturday morning. I’m still no closer to figuring out the identity of the Dark One. Over the weekend, there were no other attacks reported on the news, and the wounded surfer was said to be recovering at the hospital.

Though I texted Arabella about the beach attack — and my successful shifting — I heard nothing from her. I’m starting to think that I’m on my own in this investigation. I’ll have to keep a careful eye out for both Marc and Nurse Murray today.

Mr. Harker comes in then, full of energy. After taking attendance, he shows the class the amazing posters he had printed up for the play. They’re red and black, with a big crescent moon in the background. He says the sixth-grade production assistants will be hanging them up around the school and in town.

I feel a burst of excitement and momentarily forget about Dark Ones. Last night, I went on a bunch of fashion and costume design blogs for inspiration. One explained that measuring tape and scissors are always necessary at costume fittings. I packed my bag accordingly, and feel like a true wardrobe master now.

My good mood lasts through the morning. I don’t even mind when I pass Dylan in the hallway, his arm around a beautiful high school girl. I almost wave to him but catch myself, remembering our rule. Soon enough, though, I’ll be as socially secure as my doofus brother. If I play my cards right, by opening night I’ll be in the popular crowd.

When the lunch bell rings, I’m craving a Sanga! like crazy. So I duck into an empty study room in the library and gulp my drink as quickly as I can. Then I sprint down to the auditorium, praying I won’t be late.

Of course, I’m the first to arrive. Catching my breath, I take off my cardigan and twist my hair up into a bun. Then I plunk my bag down in an empty row, remove my tape measure, scissors, and notebook, and head backstage.

It’s deserted here, too, except for the headless mannequin. I peer up at the control booth and down the narrow hall, but there’s no sign of Marc. Good. I can’t deal with seeing him yet. I march purposefully toward the costume room; I need to be in there, ready to take measurements, once the cast arrives.

I push open the door, and the world falls away.

Paige is lying frozen on the floor, right beneath Vera’s green gown. Her golden curls fan out behind her, and her big blue eyes stare up at the ceiling. Spots of red bloom on her neck: two small, awful punctures. Fang marks.

I open my mouth to scream but no sound comes out.

Paige was attacked by the Dark One!

I stumble toward Paige’s motionless body and kneel beside her. The items I was carrying clatter onto the floor. I touch Paige’s wrist and her pulse ticks faintly. My own pulse is tap-dancing wildly. I need to go get help, but now it’s like I’m frozen, too.

I can’t believe that this morning Paige was talking snippily about Rodeo Drive. Now she’s as limp as a rag doll. Her iPhone lies in one hand, and her mouth sags open. Was she going to phone someone for help when she saw the bat?

And
who
was the bat? Did Nurse Murray find her way back here, looking for fresh blood? We’re not too far from her office. Or was Marc conveniently hanging out backstage when he came upon his next victim?

I make myself speak. “Paige?” I say, lightly shaking her shoulder. “What happened?”

Paige blinks and slowly lifts her head. I feel a wave of relief. She looks at me, confused, and whispers, “Ashlee?”

“Yes, it’s me,” I say. “Do you remember who attacked you?”

But Paige can only stare at me with hollow eyes. Then, weakly, she puts her head down on the dusty floor again.

I hear the voices of the cast members right outside the door. I swallow hard. Do I tell them what happened to Paige? Or do I keep quiet about my knowledge of fang marks and dark, winged things?

Before I can decide, the cast streams inside, led by Carmen.

“Okay, Ashlee,” she is saying, “I hope you picked some good dresses for Mila….”

The words die on her lips as her eyes bug out of her head. Behind her, the whole cast falls silent.

Then Carmen lets out an earsplitting wail.

“Paigey! No!” she cries, bolting forward and flinging herself down next to her friend. “Oh my God! Are you alive? Paigey, what’s wrong with you? Please!”

Gasps and shrieks erupt from the rest of the cast. As if irritated by the hysterics, Paige sighs and closes her eyes.

“It’s just like Mr. Bernal!” James Okada shouts.

“I heard about a surfer who got stabbed in the neck on Saturday,” the girl who plays Vera’s mother murmurs.

Not stabbed,
I think, but don’t say.

“We need help!” hollers the boy who plays Vera’s father.

In an instant, most of the crew, including Sasha, Marc, and Gordon, barrel in. Sasha looks worried, Gordon looks distracted as ever, and Marc looks — stricken. His eyebrows are furrowed and he’s frowning. Is it because he’s feeling guilty?

“What’s going on?” Mr. Harker demands, striding in with Wendy at his heels. When he sees Paige on the ground, he hurries over to her. “Nobody panic,” he instructs, although everyone is doing just that.

Carmen is now sobbing and clinging to her friend. My fingers are still glued to Paige’s wrist. Mr. Harker steps around Carmen and gently moves me aside so he can kneel by Paige. His hands are cold, so I can tell he’s as scared as the rest of us. As a teacher, though, he has to hide it.

He feels Paige’s pulse. “Please go get Nurse Murray,” he tells a sixth-grade production assistant. She nods and takes off at a run.

Paige’s long lashes flutter open, and she coughs. She looks from Carmen to Mr. Harker to me. “Ashlee?” she croaks. It’s all she seems capable of saying.

Carmen glares at me. “Why did she say
your
name?” she demands.

“Because I — I found her,” I stammer. “Like this.”

“Did you?” Wendy asks, her voice cold and sharp. I was expecting her to have a meltdown like Carmen, but her eyes look steely. “Isn’t that interesting, Ashlee?”

I’m surprised by her tone. I’d always suspected that Wendy was the sweetest of the bunch and maybe even secretly liked me.

“What are you
talking
about?” I ask her. I feel my whole body tremble.
Do not bat-shift,
I tell myself firmly.

“Paige had just texted me,” Wendy says, holding up her cell phone. “She came to check out the costumes before everyone else and decided she didn’t like
any
of your choices after all, Ashlee.”

“She did?” I glance at the iPhone in Paige’s hand, feeling betrayed. So Sasha had been right. I look for her in the crowd, and she’s watching me, her hazel eyes wide.

“Oh, yes,” Wendy says crisply. “And
I
believe that when you came in, she told you her opinion. You got furious and attacked her,” she finishes, sounding like a TV detective. “Look!” she adds, and points to the scissors on the floor beside me. “You used those as the weapon. You even have blood on your hands.”

“No — I —” I look down and see that some Sanga! splashed onto my fingers. My stomach goes rock-cold.

The cast and crew murmur all around me. Do they believe what Wendy is saying? Do they think I’m capable of such a crime?

“No!” I exclaim. I get to my feet as Mr. Harker continues to take Paige’s pulse and Carmen continues to weep into her friend’s shoulder. “You don’t understand. This isn’t blood — it’s — it’s something else, and Paige was already frozen when I walked in.”

Wendy shrugs. “I’m just saying you’re the only one with a motive, that’s all.”

“You’re wrong, Wendy!” Carmen cuts in, lifting her tearstained face. I’m about to thank her, until she continues. “Ashlee didn’t do it because of the costumes,” she says heatedly. “She did it because she wanted Paige out of the play. So
she
could get the lead role instead.” Carmen whips her head around toward me. “You said on your first day here that you live in the house where
At First Bite
was filmed. And you critiqued Paige’s performance during rehearsal. You even kind of look like Paige … and like Vera … so you want to be the star!”

There’s a horrible, gaping silence followed by
more whispers. Wendy nods at Carmen, as if this new theory is a better one. Not even Mr. Harker leaps to my defense.

I’m speechless. Yes, the thought of playing Vera had crossed my mind — and it would certainly make my mother happy. But I did not do this to Paige. I would not do this to anyone. And I wasn’t passed out somewhere this time. There’s no gap in my memory.
I am not a Dark One.

I want to defend myself, but a lump is forming in my throat and my vision is starting to blur with tears.

So much for making it into the popular crowd.

Then a voice, loud and clear, carries across the room.

“You guys are being ridiculous,” Sasha snaps. “Ashlee didn’t do anything. You’re just pinning this on her because she’s the new girl. Plus, Paige would be in much worse shape if she’d been attacked with
scissors.
Think about it.” She rolls her eyes.

Gratitude washes over me. I almost want to run over to Sasha and throw my arms around her. Almost.

“Good point,” James says. “Paige looks like Mr. Bernal did last week when they found him. And
didn’t he say something about a bat? Hey,” he adds, glancing at Wendy. “We have fake bats in the play. Maybe it’s a publicity stunt or something?”

“Of course it’s not,” Wendy replies sharply. “We would know about that.”

If only the attacks were nothing but stunts. Unfortunately, they’re all too real.

But thanks to Sasha and James, I find the courage I was missing a few moments ago. I blink back my tears and clear my throat.

“I think you’re on the right track, though,” I tell James. “Paige’s wound was obviously made by a pair of fan —”

“Oh, you’re back!” Mr. Harker says. He’s talking to the production assistant, who’s just returned, out of breath.

“Nurse Murray’s not in,” she explains, fanning herself. “She took a personal day to go to a casting call for a reality show.”

“Seriously?” Mr. Harker asks, shaking his head. “That seems unprofessional.”

Nurse Murray being unprofessional is the last thing I care about. What matters is that she’s been away from school all day. I stare at Marc, who is looking at the floor, as if deep in thought.

Nurse Murray was nowhere near the auditorium,
I think, my heart thudding.
But Marc could have been….

“There’s a substitute nurse,” the production assistant explains. “He asked if we could bring Paige to the office, since there’s no gurney or anything.”

“Of course. I’ll need help, people,” Mr. Harker says, bending down to sit Paige up. James, Gordon, and a few other guys rush forward to lend Mr. Harker a hand. I notice that Marc hangs back. Of course.

“Obviously, rehearsal’s canceled,” Mr. Harker says as he and the guys lift Paige to her feet. “We’ll reconvene tomorrow at the usual time after school.”

Paige’s eyes are still open but her head droops. As the guys and Mr. Harker half-walk, half-carry her out of the costume room, I hear her mumbling, “Where am I? Where’s the blackbird?”

I guess she doesn’t remember any more than the other victims.

Carmen scrambles to her feet and rushes over to Wendy. The girls embrace, comforting each other loudly. I can’t help but feel annoyed. I’d love to see how they’d react if they had to bat-shift. For them, vampires are all about drama and make-believe.

They will never understand my life.

The girls must feel the intensity of my gaze, because they turn toward me and scowl. I scowl back. Then they link arms and scurry out of the room. I know they still think I’m behind Paige’s injury, and there’s a good chance that others are on their side.

Which makes me all the more determined to confront the real culprit.

By now, most everyone has left, following Paige en masse to the nurse’s office. As Sasha and Marc turn to go, Sasha looks back at me.

“You okay?” she asks, and I nod, keeping my eyes on Marc.

When they’re gone, I stash my innocent scissors, as well as my tape measure and notebook, on a spare shelf. As I leave the room, I see Sasha in the wings with the frazzled production assistant while Marc heads down the narrow hallway toward the supply closet.
Why?
I wonder, balling my hands into fists. Didn’t he drink his fill?

I try to walk behind him as noiselessly as possible. My heart is pounding even harder now. But when I feel ready, I speak.

“I know what you are.”

He turns around, one eyebrow raised. “Excuse me?” he asks.