Blood Orange Soda: Paranormal Romance (17 page)

“I didn’t know that about Chao,” I admit. “But—”

“But nothing; you have to know who you’re messing with,” Tandi says.

Marcus raises his hand to give me a high five. “This sounds cool. I’m in!” And Alex does, too.

I wait for approval from the other Goths and Emos. The thing about this group is, it’s antisocial by nature. They’re not quick to pick up another kid’s cause.

I finally break the cold silence. “Tandi, how about it?”

“Why? What’s in it for us? You show up here when
you
need help. You’re not helping the
club
.”

“When my band plays at Shelby’s, I’ll help the club raise money for whatever cause you want. I’ll promote the charity between songs and have a tip jar up front.”

She looks around at the rest of the group and there are several nods.

“Okay, you help us raise money and we’ll be your crew, as long as there’s no violence,” Tandi says. “You promise there will be no gang fight?”

I look at Marcus and Alex, who are gamers with no real battle experience, and I look at the others who are like stray cats, lost and abandoned by the other groups in our school. They wouldn’t be much use to me anyway in a fight against Bao and AF, so I give her my assurance, “No gang fight, I promise.”

One of the advantages of dragging my butt out of bed for V-Club is that it gets me to school early enough to make it to first-hour English Lit on time, for a change. Today I sit at a desk in the middle of the room.

“Good morning,” I say, breaking Ms. Andreesen’s concentration.

She looks up in surprise. “Darius? Early today.”

“Better three hours too soon than a minute late,” I say, using one of her Shakespeare lines. “I was at Vampire Club this morning.”

Her thin eyebrows rise. “Is that so?”

“Thought I’d check it out and see what goes on in that club.”

“And?”

“We’re planning a fundraiser for Halloween. My band will play at Shelby’s party and ask for donations.” Of course, I leave out the details of my posse arrangement with the club. There’s no sense in stirring up Ms. Andreesen about the fight. She seems impressed and sits back in her chair.

“What a great idea,” she says. “I’m glad you’re bringing your talents together for a worthy cause.”

“Yeah, well, we’ve been practicing our music for the November talent show anyway. Playing on Halloween will be a good dress rehearsal.”

“Make sure you keep up with your homework. Your memoir assignment is due tomorrow, and some of your classmates have already handed theirs in.” She points to a stack of papers on her desk.

Yikes! The memoir assignment! We’re supposed to keep a journal of our first weeks of school and then rewrite it into a memoir draft. I’ve been keeping random handwritten notes for most of September, but I’ve typed nothing so far.

“Any chance I can get an extension on the assignment?”

Ms. Andreesen folds her arms. “Darius, we placed you in this sophomore course because your grades were exemplary. Are you struggling with this class?”

“No, it’s about by mom,” I say. “She’s been sick lately, so when I get home at night there isn’t a lot of time for homework. And on top of that, I’m transforming.”

She nods. Mr. Striefland has already notified the faculty of my transformation, but I’m not sure if Ms. Andreesen knows about my mom’s illness, although she does seem sympathetic.

“You have a lot on your plate,” she says. “And that’s on top of adjusting to freshman year.”

“I’ve taken notes since school started. All I need to do is type everything up. If you give me the rest of this week, then I’ll hand it in Monday?”

“Tell you what; I have plenty of these to read,” she says, shuffling the stack of papers. “I’ll give you to the end of the month to hand it in.”

“Cool, thanks—”

“Make sure you write about your transformation, too, at least as much as you’re comfortable sharing. That’s reason enough to give you more time. Make sense?”

“Yeah, totally.”

There’s laughter from a group of students entering the classroom. They’re full of energy, and I sensed them walking toward the classroom even while I was talking with Ms. Andreesen. Without turning around, I already know it’s three guys and two girls. It’s not the sound of their voices, but their pheromones that waft into my nose and make my mouth water. Some of this will go into my memoir, but some of it I’ll have to edit out. It’s just too weird for Normals to understand.

Shelby arrives and sits at a desk next to mine.

“How was Vampire Club?”

“I think I made a few more friends today.”

This morning I ran three miles and only walked twice. Of course, that was right when I saw Mr. Striefland jogging, so he probably thinks I’m a total lazy ass. After my conversation with Ms. Andreesen on Monday I started hyper-focusing on my schoolwork, and I’ve been compiling my notes and thoughts about the first few weeks of school.

Mom is still on the good side of her disease. The blood Jack gave her that boosted her energy is only a temporary fix, but I hold onto hope for some kind of miracle.

The Blood Orange Soda goes down easier now, and I hardly notice the bitter aftertaste. I’m finishing my evening bottle, sitting on the floor of my room, typing my memoir notes while I wait for Shelby to arrive. She’s taking me to Jack’s tonight so I can work out with him in his dojo.

I’m remembering how nervous I was about school last summer, and how now those fears seem totally justified; I was a wimp when I walked the halls back in September. No wonder Bao zeroed in on me. Now that I’m off the Reds and my veins are flowing with Soda, I feel different. I’m changing, and I can feel it happening.
I’m better and better.

The one bad thing about doing homework on a laptop is the temptation to surf Facebook, Twitter and RenRen. I’m constantly multi-tasking tonight, typing my paper while watching to see who’s online and what they’re adding to their updates. Checking my messages, I notice Weezer has sent me links to indie bands he likes. And there’s no reply from Jonathan. I hop over to Jonathan’s page to see if he’s made any updates and there’s nothing new since his post a month ago, when he was at one of his son’s football games. I search deeper into his timeline and realize that he doesn’t post updates very often. He’s like my mom; she posts new photos and updates once a month, or sometimes every other month, but I know she surfs Facebook and creeps on Kira and my pages all the time. Does Jonathan surf Facebook, or is he only on it when he makes updates? Maybe I should pick up the old phone and call Jonathan or text him. He doesn’t list a phone number on his page, but he lists his employer as the
Chicago Tribune
. My mom has mentioned he’s a writer and I search the
Tribune
site for his byline on any stories.

Kira comes waltzing down the stairs and I quickly minimize the screen.

“Your girlfriend is here,” she says.

I notice she’s wearing makeup. “What’s on your lips?”

“Lip gloss.”

“Why? What are you doing up there?”

“I got it from Shelby. Darius, you wear more makeup than I do!” Kira says, as Shelby enters the basement behind her.

“Her lips were dry. Every girl needs a little gloss,” Shelby says.

These two get along pretty well, maybe too well. Kira wishes she had an older sister like her. I get up off the floor, my legs stiff from my morning run.

“Doesn’t she look pretty?” Shelby asks.

“Yes, Kira, you look like you’re in high school.”

“Furreal?” she says, blinking her eyes.

“You’ll make Mom very nervous when she gets home,” I say. “You should run upstairs and finish your homework. Shelby and I are going to Jack’s for a couple of hours.”

“See you later, Shelby.” Kira waves before running upstairs. “I really like her, Darius!”

Shelby pulls me close and we kiss for the second time. It’s electric to have her wrapped in my arms, the smell of her hair, and perfume along her neck. The Blood Orange Soda fizzing under my skin, flowing through my veins. It’s like my blood is super-charged when we touch. Opening my eyes from the kiss, I see Shelby studying my face, my hair and my healed eye.

“Should we hang out here for a while?” she asks.

My alarm clock on the milk crate next to my bed shows it’s 8:30 and it will take us at least an hour to get to Jack’s, so we won’t be too early. But I don’t want to show up late, either.

“We’d better go,” I say.

She holds me tighter, her arms wrapped around my waist, her thumbs in the belt loops along my back. “Kiss me again,” she says.

I kiss her lips and nuzzle along her ears. She sways as if we’re slow dancing. Her mouth slides along my cheek and jaw, down toward my neck, and I feel her lips on my artery. This is dangerously close to the bite zone, and I come up for air.

“What? What’s wrong?” Shelby opens her eyes.

Sweat slides down my lower back. “We can’t do that.”

“We can’t kiss?”

“No, we can kiss, we just can’t get that close to the neckline.”

“Feels good, though,” she says.

“Feels amazing, but we’re not ready. It’s —”

“Too soon, I know,” Shelby says in frustration.

I’m thirsty now, and it’s not an ordinary dry mouth, but a total thirst-quenching craving. Where’s my Soda? I need one, except I don’t want Shelby to know that I’m on the liquid diet to Vampirism.

“Let’s go to Jack’s, and we’ll stop at Starbucks on the way. I need an iced coffee,” I say.

I grab a towel off the back of the chair and dry my sweaty forehead. I’m reaching for my jacket on the bed when Shelby stands in front of me seductively.

“How did you do it?”

“Do what?”

“How were you able to resist me?” she asks, with irritation in her voice.

This is the first time I’ve been with Shelby when she’s pissed. I look over at my mini-fridge, my mouth watering, wanting to drink somebody’s blood to ease my cravings for Shelby’s. What I’m experiencing is both pleasure and torture. This time I succeeded in my resistance, but as she progresses in her transformation, something tells me this will get a lot more difficult.

We arrive at Jack’s, and I’m in a much better mood. Shelby sips a hot chai while I’m nursing a caffeine buzz, which is probably safer than the “love buzz” I was feeling with her in my room. Jack answers his door dressed in tapered black sweat pants and a tight, red North Face T-shirt. He looks at my date.

“You must be Shelby,” he says, hugging her at the doorway.

“And you’re Jack?”

“You expecting somebody older or softer?” Jack asks.

“Ah, yeah, I guess so,” she says. “Sorry!”

Jack turns to me. “Thanks for nothing!”

“What? I never said a thing about you,” I say.

“Exactly,” he says. “You’re supposed to brag about your uncle. Come in, please, before you let a stray cat in through the door.”

“Jack’s afraid of cats,” I whisper to Shelby.

He closes the rail doors carefully. “Not all cats are cats.”

“Oh, is that so?” Shelby says.

“Some are shape-shifters,” Jack says. “And those cats are my former lovers.”

Shelby is amused. “Furreal?”

“He’s serious,” I say to her. “It’s his only phobia.”

“It’s not a phobia. Some of my former lovers are shape-shifter cats who come crying in the night.” Jack walks across the loft to the kitchen. “And the others are real cats, which I can’t stand either. If you’re a cat lover, I apologize.”

“I’m more of a dog person,” Shelby says, as we walk together hand in hand to the kitchen.

“You’re also a people person,” Jack says. “You like my nephew.”

“I do,” she says, with a bashful nod toward me.

“You like him a lot.”

“Oh, come on,” I say. “Let’s not embarrass her, Jack.”

He opens the fridge, searching for something. “You’re both crazy in love. I can taste it in the air. More coffee or chai?”

“Not for me, thanks,” Shelby says.

“I’m good. I’ve had too much caffeine already,” I say.

“Just remember,” Jack says, staring at Shelby as he opens a bottle of spring water. “Almost any boy can get a girl pregnant. Biting before you’re eighteen is a more serious thing.”