Blood Orange Soda: Paranormal Romance (26 page)

He grabs my phone and holds it up to my neck wound healing.

We hear a knock at the door below and Shelby steps inside the loft. I remember something I wanted to ask Jack. And I whisper to him, “You warned Shelby and me about biting each other. Lately she seems interested in taking it to that level.”

“She’s pushing for it?” Jack asks.

“Yeah, and it’s too soon to know if I love her or if she loves me.”

“Doesn’t matter what she says. In the heat of the moment, people tell you whatever you want to hear. Just because you’re off the Reds, that doesn’t give you license to bite. Technically you’re supposed to wait until you’re eighteen.”

“Darius? Jack?” Shelby calls out from below the dojo.

“Be right down!” I shout.

“My only advice,” Jack whispers, “is don’t bite or get bitten yet—it’s not worth the risk.”

On the ride home with Shelby, we talk about school and her upcoming party. The last bottles of Soda are in a box at my feet that I told her was Muscle Milk, from Jack. While she sat at Starbucks, Shelby used her phone to update her Facebook invite for the party, and she’s describing to me how big the party will be.

“I’ve got like ninety confirmed RSVPs,” she says, driving us north through a downpour of rain.

“Anybody from Apollo?” I ask, thinking about those photos I saw in her room, wondering which of those guys is Cameron.

“Yeah, a lot of my old friends will be there, only a few Goths and Emos,” she says. “No Haters.”

“Can’t wait to meet them. Any old boyfriends?”

Shelby ignores my question. “Bring Kira and her friends if you want. Ohmygod, bring your mom!”

“Ah…noooo,” I protest.

“Why not?”

“I’m not in the habit of dragging my mom to parties or gigs,” I say, assuming Shelby will understand and drop it. Instead, she says something that sparks an idea.

“We could make it a
combined
T-Party: Shelby and Darius becoming Vampires. Your mom can invite friends and relatives to my house.”

Shelby’s concept is both terrible and brilliant. If she’s anxiously seeking a mate, then a combined T-Party is one way to signal her intent—which could be bad for me. However, a T-Party would be a good event to invite Jonathan to. Shelby already has it planned, and she could even extend the Facebook invitation out to any of my mom’s friends. I wouldn’t have to do much work other than make sure the guy shows up.

“Yeah, let’s do this, Shelby,” I say. “My mom needs something to celebrate.”

“See? I knew you’d agree. This is gonna be the best party ever!”

Maybe it’s the caffeine, or maybe she’s so excited about her party, but I can’t find a moment to mention that I’m drinking three to four bottles of Soda daily. And the fact that it’s “contraband,” as Officer Denny calls it, makes me wonder if I should even mention it at all. Shelby and I haven’t been dating very long, and I’d hate to blow my chances with her. She notices me staring at the box at my feet.

“Why does Jack want you to drink Muscle Milk?” she asks.

“He says it will make me stronger.”

Since my mom has been feeling so crappy lately, I assume we aren’t attending church this morning. Wrong! She drags my butt out of bed like a million other Sundays. My ribs ache from my training session with Jack. He worked me over last night, and I know Bao will take his own punches to another level.

While I’m not a fan of church, I know it’s my chance to practice driving with my mom riding shotgun, and Kira texting from the back of our Prius. This car sucks because the acceleration isn’t peppy like Shelby’s. Mom’s car is sluggish; the engine so quiet I sometimes think I’m not even in gear. I remember what Shelby suggested last night about a combined T-Party, so I run it past my mom as I’m driving.

“A party for who?” Kira asks from the back seat.

“Me, of course.”

“Not sure we have the money for a party,” Mom says. “Or the room in our house.”

“What if we combined my party with Shelby’s?”

“Oh, yeah!” Kira says.

My mom seems skeptical. “I don’t know—”

“Why not? She’s transforming, and she’s already planning her party,” I explain. “I’m transforming, too. She said we could combine and celebrate, like an open house.”

“Have her parents agreed to this?” Mom asks.

Steering into the church parking lot, I head for the far end so I don’t have to make any fancy parking moves.

“They will. Her parents are cool.”

“You
want
a party?”

Honestly, I
don’t
want a party, but the real surprise will be when Jonathan arrives.

“It’s sort of a big deal,” I say. “Why not celebrate it?”

“Can I bring my friends?” Kira asks. “Mom, I can help you invite your friends using Facebook.”

“Honey, I need to speak with Shelby’s parents before you start inviting people,” Mom says to Kira.

“Shelby’s house has plenty of room,” I say, as I shift into park and turn off the engine.

We walk through the back of the church five minutes late for the service. We go to the right to find a pew that we can easily slide into without asking everybody to stand up to let us in. As soon as we’re settled, Kira is texting her friends with one hand on her phone, and I feel a presence; and it isn’t exactly the Holy Spirit.

Looking to my left, I notice Bao with his parents, three rows ahead of us. The last time I saw him here in church he threatened me. This time I’m the one who will make the first move. I slide my phone out of my jacket pocket and set it on the pew. Mom is sitting next to Kira so she can’t see what I’m up to, but the old man only inches away seems annoyed at me. This will only take a second, and we can all go back to prayer.

I don’t have Bao’s phone number so I can’t text him, but I think we’re friends on Facebook. It’s weird that I’m linked to my bully, but you know what they say:
Keep your friends close and your frenemies closer.
Opening my Facebook app, I direct-message Bao:

Meet me after church @ chapel.

I wait and watch for his reaction. If he’s a good boy, he’s left his phone at home, or at least turned it off before entering church. But if Bao is who I think he is, he’ll surf that phone all service long.

He lowers his head, and I doubt he’s praying. He looks to the right at his parents, and then downward again. Bingo! Bao raises his head and scans the pews. He got my message and he’s searching for me, but I’m too far back for him to find me. He returns to facing forward, with his head down slightly. And my phone vibrates:

Bao:
What chapel?

Me:
Seriously?

He has no idea where the chapel in this church is. It’s in the back, and usually during church services all the parents with crying babies sit there, so I suppose it doesn’t seem like a chapel.

Me:
Crying room. Back of church.

Bao:
No backing out! Fight is on!

There’s a threatening tone in that last text, and I feel a surge of nervous energy. My foot taps on the kneeler as I type my reply when my mom notices what I’m up to.

“Put it away.” She mouths the words with no sound.

Fight is still on!
I reply to Bao before sliding my phone back into my jacket pocket.

We sit through the service and even though we arrived late, it feels longer than usual. There’s nothing memorable in the gospel reading. There’s something about a tax collector climbing down from a tree. Nothing about Jesus healing people or raising the dead. Stories about magic and power are what interest Goths, Emos, and Vampires. I tough it out through the “sit, stand, kneel” church yoga routine, never taking my eyes off Bao.

As the final hymn starts, the priest and his crew begin their long, slow exit, holding their candles and the cross. The congregation follow from the front, and they parade by us. People exit down the center aisle and also out the side aisles. I lose sight of Bao in the crowd, as we exit our pew, so I make my way to the chapel.

“I saw somebody from school,” I say to my mom, handing her the car keys. “I’ll meet you at the car.”

She looks at me with curiosity. “Oh? See you in a few minutes.”

As she walks away with Kira at her side, I notice my sister turn and look at me. She’s wondering who I could have run into at church. I step around the other parishioners and walk to the chapel at the side. It’s calm and dark except for the votive candles casting a flickering orange glow. Bao is standing there facing the small altar, his head down, arms in front, as if he’s praying. As if.

He turns to me and I’m right; he’s not praying, but holding his phone. “What’s with these texts?”

“We have to talk before the fight,” I say.

He closes the gap between us. “Say it, Batman.”

“First of all, don’t call me that.”

“Whatever…” He shrugs.

“I saw you in the varsity game Friday night.” I notice a proud smirk on his face. “How long you been juicing?”

“What? Talk fighting,” Boa says in broken English, which seems more pronounced when he’s nervous.

“Sure, let’s talking fighting,” I say. “I’m on Blood Orange Soda, too.”

“I know,” Bao says. “Lotta people know.”

There goes my big moment of shock and awe. “Who knows about me?”

Bao looks around the chapel, as if he’s about to reveal a secret that he doesn’t want anybody to overhear.

“People on the street,” Bao says. “That’s where we all get it. Your mom is sick, yeah? Needs blood, right?”

“She needs a blood transfusion now and then. So what?”

“Your family gets blood on the street,” Bao says. “I know your uncle bought Juice. You nark about me juicing, and I nark on your family. That’s prison time for your uncle, bro.”

This conversation couldn’t have taken a worse turn. Bao knows way too much about my family’s situation. Now he’s holding it over me.

“You’re buzzed on Soda when you take down those quarterbacks,” I remind him. “You could seriously damage a kid—”

“Keep your mouth shut about me,” Bao says. “I keep my mouth shut about you.”

I’d kill this kid right here but I remember Jack’s warning, and how I need to use restraint or I might seriously hurt Bao, so I give him a warning. “We’re both on Juice, and once our adrenalin flows, we could get brutally violent.”

“Not afraid of you, bro,” Bao says. I notice a bit of nervousness in his voice.

“I’m a Vampire, Bao. No matter how much Soda you’re drinking, you can’t beat me anymore. You’ll lose this fight. The question is, how badly do you want to go down?”

Bao crosses his arms. “No way. I’ll hammer you.”

“I’m not a pre-Vampire anymore. You can’t beat me. Ever watched a Vampire fight?”

I pull my phone out of my pocket and play him the video from last night’s training session with Jack. I watch Bao’s reaction to the kicks, punches and the incredible leaps in the air. I turn up the audio so he can hear every blow. Now he’s in awe, and I see him swallow hard. He’s silent for two or three minutes.

“Where’d you learn that?” Bao asks.

“I’m a Vampire. You sure you’re up for this?”

“Maybe, or maybe not,” Bao concedes. “I can’t back down. Too many people want to see this fight—even people in China. It would be dishonor for me to walk away.”

For the first time, I notice humility coming from my bully. Bao is actually human. Even bullies feel peer pressure. Who would’ve guessed?

“I’d rather die fighting than back down now,” he says. “Save face.”

I have this foreshadowing: Me the Gladiator kicking Bao’s ass on Halloween night and suddenly I’m the school bully. A total role reversal. I have a better idea.

“Why don’t we give everyone a good show?”

“A show?” Bao asks.

“Yeah, we spar and kick. I do my aerial acrobatics. People just want to be entertained,” I say. “And you win in the end.”

“Why would you let me win?”

“Ever seen the movie
Gladiator
?” I ask him. “Spoiler alert: the Gladiator dies in the end. Maximus Decimus Meridius proved you don’t have to win the fight to win the hearts of the people. Don’t kill me. I’ll tap out of the fight and give up.”

“You’d do that?”

“Yeah, I
would.
”

“You’d throw a fight and let me win?” he says again.

“As long as you and I are even. And no mention of my family buying blood on the street.” I reach out my hand. “No more revenging?”

“No more revenging!” Bao says, and he smiles with what looks like a big sense of relief.

We shake hands, and I realize his hand is just as sweaty as mine. We’re afraid of each other. We have something in common!