Blood Orange Soda: Paranormal Romance (16 page)

“Hey, if I choose to live my life as a Normal, I can stay on the Reds forever, just like your mom’s old boyfriend. It’s my choice, not yours.”

“You’re from a family of Vampires. Your cousin is a Vampire. Your two older brothers are Vampires and they attended some Vampire prep school in Boston!” I remind Weezer.

“Screw my family! I don’t care what my parents think or what my brothers did,” he says in a low whisper. “I’m tired of all the fugging pressure.”

“
Fugging
pressure?”

“Okay, fucking pressure, F-U-C-K-I-N-G pressure!” It’s during a lull in the background noise of the coffee shop, and everyone turns to looks at us.

He leans closer to me. “Your mom mentioned to my mom that you’re transforming, and suddenly my parents are all excited about me transforming, too. They want me to hurry up and get started with it, but I don’t want to. I want to continue life as a Normal for a while.”

Now I’m feeling guilty for cornering him. I never intended for my decision to affect his. “I totally get it. You have to do this at your own pace.”

Weezer lifts his latte but doesn’t drink it. He just stares at the top of the lid. “Haven’t you ever wanted to simply blend into the background? Normals don’t stand out in the crowd unless they really want to. Once you’re a Vampire, you’ll always be different. You’ll always be an outsider.”

He’s right again. Vampires are an official nationality, but most Normals consider us oddities or freaks. Bao Wang bullies me because I’m different. And adults have their own way of bullying adult Vampires by ignoring them, or refusing to hire them for good jobs. There’s a reason my mom works nights, instead of days—so she can socialize with other Vampires on the Reds.

“I could see why you’d want to live as a Normal,” I admit.

“You’re really contacting this guy?” Weezer asks, pointing at my laptop. “Why not leave him alone? Or are you curious what your life would’ve been like if Jonathan was your dad?”

I scroll through Jonathan’s Facebook page. He’s recorded his life on his timeline, and I get a glimpse at what my own life could’ve been like. He’s wealthier, has a nicer home than we do. He takes vacations to Mexico and Europe with his family, while all we’ve done is take road trips in a car.

Shelby returns and sits next to me.

“Did you message Jonathan?”

“I’m not sure what to write,” I say, with my fingers sitting on the keys.

“I wouldn’t scare him off with too much information,” Shelby says. “Keep it short.”

“Good idea,” I say. “How about:
Jonathan, you dated my mom Virginia in college and I’m wondering if I could speak with you about her?”

Shelby and Weezer agree that it’s intriguing enough without giving details that might scare the guy off.

“Man, you sure you want to open up Pandora’s Box?” Weezer asks.

“If it means saving my mom’s life? Yes!” I say, as I send the message. And then I wait...

Angel returns from the restroom and stands over my shoulder, looking at my sent message. I look up at her and her lips are wet with fresh pink lipstick. And I wonder: Has Weezer kissed those lips?

How do Olympic athletes do it? How do they roll out of bed each morning and go from a dead sleep to a run? Turning off my vibrating phone I sit up, searching for a sweatshirt. I hear rain dripping along the downspout outside the basement window. This workout is going to be cold and wet. In the mini- fridge next to my bed is a supply of Blood Orange Soda, and I twist one open and drink it. I flex my legs and feel my sore calf muscles from yesterday’s run along the tar path next to the river, but my legs aren’t as tired as I expect them to be.

Pulling on a chain to turn on the light above me, I see my reflection in the full-length mirror next to the washing machine. Is it possible that I’ve grown in the last week? I take one long swallow and set the bottle on top of the mini- fridge, then grab a pencil from my backpack on the floor. I definitely look taller, even when I push my hair down, so I stand next to a wood beam that supports the closet under the stairs and measure myself with a pencil mark on the wall, and I scratch today’s date next to it.

My morning run in the rain flies by quickly because the first twenty or thirty minutes I’m buzzed, and I’m so focused on staying warm that I forget my lungs are on fire. Today’s walk-jog is all about dodging puddles as I try to find my natural rhythm. I’ve probably covered more than a mile when I see a skinny shadow jogging down the sidewalk toward me. Nobody I know would be dumb enough to be out here, so as I pass him I hardly even look up, but I hear him slow down, splashing in puddles behind me.

“Darius Hunter?”

It’s Mr. Striefland, my counselor. “Hey, good morning,” I greet him.

“Why are you up so early?”

“Getting in shape. My uncle told me to run every morning. Crazy, huh?”

“You’re running in forty-degree weather through the rain,” he says. “You must be hardcore. Are you training for a race?”

“Yeah, a 5k,” I fib.

“Which one, the Halloween Haunt?”

“Yeah, I thought I might try that race in a couple of weeks,” I say, because I have no other alibi for my training routine.

“Well, if you ever want to run together, I jog here every morning, rain or shine.”

“Okay, cool. I’m slow. I’ll suffer on my own for now.”

“How’s the transformation?” he asks.

“Still early, not many changes yet,” I say. “Every day, in every way, I’m getting better and better.”

“You’re up at five in the morning jumping puddles,” he says. “That’s certainly a change already.”

“Oh, and I’ve told a few of my closest friends,” I say, remembering last night at Starbucks.

“Good, you’ll need support,” he says. “Well, we’d better finish our runs or we’ll get cold standing here. You know where to find me.”

We turn and head in opposite directions down the wet sidewalk. I should’ve mentioned Weezer to Mr. Striefland, and how he struggles so much with his decision. I should’ve acknowledged that his advice was right, that transforming doesn’t necessarily make life easier for Vampires; but it’s cold out here. My buzz is gone and I can’t wait to turn around and get back home for a hot shower.

By eight I’m in the security line, waiting to enter the school, and it’s taking longer than usual. Officer Denny scans our backpacks, but he’s slower about it today, inspecting water bottles and bag lunches.

Everyone in line brags about their weekend exploits, and half of it is bullshit about how they partied hard or snuck out of their houses to T.P. some poor loser’s house. A couple of guys behind me mention Bao Wang’s name and my ears perk up. They’re describing how Bao slaughtered a kid over the weekend, and my heart races as I listen for more details. Was he training for our fight by beating on somebody else?

“Bao is an
animal
!” I hear one kid say. “He sacked the quarterback five times in Saturday’s JV game. Five times, dude!”

So it wasn’t a fight, but a football game. That’s a relief.

“Coach moved him up to varsity this weekend,” the kid says to his friend. “Look at this.”

I’m curious enough to turn and look back at them and they’re crowded around his phone, watching a video of Saturday’s game. Their heads are in the way, but the audio of Bao crushing the quarterback and the fans’ reactions are proof enough that he dropped the quarterback pretty hard, the way he dropped me.

“See? That’s when the quarterback’s shoulder broke,” the kid says with a sadistic laugh. “Right there.”

He replays the video, and this time I see the tackle. The quarterback went down so hard his helmet came off.

“Darius, good morning,” Denny says.

“What’s with all the heightened security?” I ask, handing him my backpack.

“Drugs, mostly. Too much contraband finding its way into school,” he says. “You smokin’ or dopin’?”

“Not my thing,” I say, with a choirboy smile. “I’m high on life.”

“Wise guy,” he sighs, handing me my backpack without even searching it. He must believe me, but maybe that’s because he knows I’m not cool enough to hang with the party crowd.

Heading for the V-Club, which is just down the hall to my right, I see Chao walking in my direction. He walks with a gangsta swagger, his pants hanging low, with a red bandana wrapped around his forehead so high it makes his shiny black hair mushroom even higher.

“Bat Boy!” he says, with a shifty look up and down the hallway.

“Chao-man!” I reply, searching for Bao.

“Ready for the fight of the century, Home Boy?” Chao asks, dancing around, boxing his own skinny shadow while he grabs his sagging pants. “Everyone wants to see this fight.”

“I’ll be ready by then.”

“Okay, what time?” Chao asks.

“I’m playing a gig Halloween night. I should be free to kick Bao’s butt any time after that,” I say. “How about 1:00 a.m. under the train bridge?”

“You like to fight late,” he says.

“Our maybe I like to fight early. Remember, at 12:01 it’s Dia de los Muertos, the Day of the Dead.”

My analogy for the Mexican holiday for All Saints Day is lost on Chao. He stands in front of me, confused.

“Hey, we’re not afraid of you,” Chao says, moving toward me.

Stepping forward, I stand over him, smelling his fear. “Since when did this fight become about
we
?” I ask.

“You taller?” he says, backing away. “You wearing lifts in your shoes?”

“No, you’re shrinking with fear.”

Shoving him aside, I walk off to V-Club, passing a group of art students, when one of them calls out, “Gladiator!” I enter the classroom, where Goths and Emos are seated in a semi-circle. I stand at the doorway so I don’t interrupt the conversation, and they all turn to me anyway.

“Hey, lover boy, looking for your girlfriend?” one of the Emo girls says.

I notice Shelby isn’t in the group. “No, I wanted to sit in today. Mind if I join you?”

They all look at each other as if they’re not sure who gives the official approval for a new Goth to join. Maybe there’s a secret vote that needs to take place. Both the gamer guys seem happy to have more testosterone in what is mostly a female club, and one of them drags a chair over for me.

“Thanks,” I say, sitting in the chair, with my backpack on the floor. First thing I observe is how much black everyone is wearing. It’s like I’m attending a funeral. I count eight students. Five are Goths and three are Emo girls, who are too depressed looking—then again, this
is
a Monday.

“I’m Tandi,” one of the Emo girls says, then rattles off everyone’s name so quickly that I cannot possibly remember them.

“I’m Darius,” I say to the club members.

“We know who you are,” Tandi says, folding her arms. “We’re having a fundraiser for Halloween. We go door to door and raise money for Zombie babies in Siberia. Are you in?”

“You what?”

Everyone snickers at my slow uptake and I realize Tandi is playing me, testing to find out why I’m joining a group that I had no interest in a month ago when all the clubs and teams recruited members.

“No, seriously, we’re fundraising on Halloween night,” Tandi says.

“Ah, I’ll be at a party that night, playing music, sorry.”

“Shelby’s party? She’s invited us, too. We’ll be fundraising while we’re there.”

“But why are you here?” one of the Goth gamers asks me.

I think Tandi said his name was Marcus, and he’s considerably taller and softer than his friend Alex. There’s no beating around the bush, so I come out with it. “I need a posse, a crew.”

They look at each other and Marcus jumps in again. “What, like roadies for your band?”

“No, like a gang for protection,” I explain. “I’ve got a fight with Bao Wang that night and I need some backup from Goths and Emos.”

“What, you think this is
Fight Club
?” Tandi says.

Okay, that’s kind of funny, I admit! “No, it’s not a exactly a gang thing.”

“You got yourself in that mess. Get yourself out of it. We’re not fighting
your
battles.”

“You won’t have to fight, just watch my back and make sure Bao’s friends don’t double-team me,” I say. “C’mon, we’ve all been bullied, right?”

The room is silent. Nobody admits the obvious. Bullies have picked on all of us, yet we’ve suffered in silence.

“We’re a non-violent club,” Tandi says.

I turn to Marcus. “You and Alex play “Call of Duty” online, right?” I ask them.

“Yeah, all the time,” he says.

“And you play in teams so you don’t get slaughtered on your own?” I ask.

“Yep, that’s the only way to survive in the game,” Alex says, cracking his knuckles.

“This is your chance to do that in the real world,” I explain. “Let’s band together as a show of force. Goths and Emos united against bully Jocks.”

“You’re not standing up against only Jocks. Bao is a Normal, so you’re standing up against all Normals,” Tandi says. “You know that Bao’s friend Chao is a member of AF?”

AF is the abbreviation for a street gang nicknamed AsianFusion. It’s a gang out of Minneapolis with ties to White Dragon from Los Angeles. Most of their members here in St. Cloud are high school dropouts.