Vampire Crush (11 page)

“Who? You and Vlad?”

“No, you and me,” she says, straight-faced, but then rol s her eyes. “Yes, me and Vlad.”

Vampires should not be al owed to make jokes. “I real y don’t think that I’m qualified to say.”

Marisabel’s eyes narrow. “Try.”

“I think that you may have grown apart over the years.”

Marisabel nods gravely. For the first time since I met her, she’s wearing pants, a pair of vintage jeans that are artful y worn at the knees. In spite of everything I know, she looks innocent, the girl-next-door who chose the wrong door to get next to. Biting her lip, she turns her head to stare once again at her work of calculated destruction and then traces the sharp peak of an engraved “V.”

“Vlad was not always like this,” she says wistful y. “When we first met, he was so charming.”

I find it difficult to believe that Vlad has ever been charming, but Marisabel looks at me expectantly, and I realize that I am being held hostage until I give up some good girl talk.

“Wel ,” I offer, “people can change a lot in … what? Fifty years?”

“Give or take a few,” she replies. “The first year was nice. He was wil ing to risk a trip to Greece then. We couldn’t sit on any beaches, but I’ve never found anywhere else where the night air is so warm and delicious. We made a vampire there. We made him together.” Marisabel frowns. “But then Vlad got mad and set him on fire.”

I real y hope this bonding session doesn’t end with an invitation to look at scrapbooks. “Sounds … romantic,” I say, trying not to heave.

“It was! But then he started sneaking away every few months for ‘research purposes.’ I thought finding the girl was just a hobby, but then it became an obsession. I don’t understand why he couldn’t just be happy with what he had. When he came back, he was always in a terrible mood, muttering about dead ends and unhelpful records. And then there were the headaches. I’ve told him not to use his powers so often, especial y when we have limited food resources.”

I’ve been holding my breath throughout this entire speech; I hadn’t even thought of Marisabel as a source of information. Hopping up on the side radiator, I try to strike a pose that wil help my casual probing look more casual; it involves a lot of leaning and resting things on my knees.

“It’s not fair that he’s brought you here to look for another girl,” I say. “You’re his girlfriend.”

She blinks at me for a few seconds before lighting up in delight to final y have someone’s sympathy. “I know! I think that I’ve been very understanding.”

“Total y,” I agree. “What’s so great about her anyway? Is she, like, some miracle child?”

“Supposedly,” she says with disdain, while I struggle to keep my delight in check at having cal ed it. “She’s said to be the great-great-great-great-great-granddaughter of some dumb baby of some musty vampire family named Mervaux.”

“Let me guess. A half-vampire baby?” I ask, leaving off the

“… who fights crime.”

“No!” Marisabel says. “A plain old human baby. That’s what makes the whole thing so weird. Who cares about a human baby? People have those al the time.” She pauses.

“Wel , I mean, not vampires. They never have any babies, which is good because child vampires are
freaky
.”

Suddenly, her face turns severe. “You’re not going to tel anyone this, right?”

“Oh, no way,” I say quickly, shaking my head. I want to ask more questions about the connection between this child of the Mervaux vampire family and the Danae, but Marisabel’s burst of sharing starts to fizzle.

“I mean, I try so hard to be enough,” she sniffs. “But he’s never happy. I’m starting to think that even if he finds her, that’s only the beginning. I would just like for this to be over. If Vlad could just see that this wasn’t going to work out, if he could just see that it’s not going to be so easy, then maybe he would give up.” She sniffs again. “Maybe you could keep getting in his way.”

I can hardly believe my luck—here’s the perfect source of information, and it’s offering to crawl into my lap. But there’s something fragile in Marisabel’s voice that keeps me from pouncing.

“Is Vlad real y worth this?” I ask. “He’s kind of mean to you. Do you—”

I’m interrupted by the click of heels on tile. There’s no way that staccato terror belongs to a student. My eyes roam over the utter ruin of the bathroom stal ; the last thing I need right now is a charge of petty vandalism. Holding a finger to my lips and motioning for Marisabel to climb up on the toilet, I push the door shut just as Ms. Kate rounds the corner. Clutching my stomach, I do my best to imitate a victim of cafeteria food poisoning.

“I thought I heard something in here,” Ms. Kate snaps as she approaches me. “Hal pass?” When I hand it over, she barely even looks at it; years of practice have made her able to distinguish types of hal passes through the power of touch alone. “This is for the nurse,” she says. “You are in the bathroom. What is wrong with this picture?”

Apologizing, I tip forward like I’m about to hurl on her ugly black pumps. “I thought I was going to be sick.” I cast a queasy look at the door behind me. “Don’t go in there.”

I don’t know if she believes me, but her expression of slight disgust tel s me that she’s thankful y not wil ing to investigate. “Let’s go to the nurse, then,” she says, walking me out the door and through the hal s. She makes no move to leave me alone, not even when we hit the labyrinthine hal way that leads to a cluster of guidance counselors, speech therapy rooms, and the dreaded nurse’s office. If you’re truly sick, you can’t expect to receive much more than generic aspirin and an embarrassing pamphlet about your growing body.

We find Nurse El is alone and shaking her head at a copy of
Us Weekly
. After Ms. Kate stomps off to catch more students unawares, Nurse El is spins toward me on her stool, a trusty stethoscope looped around her neck. Her light-brown hair is dusted with gray, and she has a round face and equal y round body.

“Not feeling wel , Sophie?” she asks, genuinely concerned. “You do look flushed.”

Thank God for pale skin and wimpy blood vessels. “I feel nauseous and light-headed,” I croak.

“Wel , why don’t you lie down on one of the cots and give it some time? If you stil feel bad in a little while, we’l see if we can reach your parents.”

A fabulous idea. I lie down on the nearest cot and draw the hanging curtain around me. This should help me avoid Vlad, as wel as keep me out of James’s way for a while. Researching with him on my tail is going to take a lot more cunning than being the first person to ask for a hal pass. Who knows the next time when I’l have a moment alone?

I sit up. I’m alone now, and who better acquainted with the student body’s bodies than the school nurse? The metal ic curtain rasps as I push it back.

“You don’t happen to know of any girls who have a strange and unusual birthmark, do you? Like a star?” As soon as I say it, I realize what a weirdo question it is. Oh wel —no guts, no glory. Although one could also argue that “No guts, no extreme social embarrassment” is just as accurate a statement. “Like on their backs or their legs or their shoulders, maybe?” I add.

To her credit, Nurse El is says nothing, just squints at me for a pregnant moment before wheeling herself over to a wal that’s close to buckling from the weight of multicolored pamphlets. She plucks out a dark yel ow one and hands it to me. “Is What I’m Feeling Normal?” the bold headline asks. Boy and girl stick figures hold up their hands in “Why me?” gestures, their heads surrounded by a cloud of question marks.

“Read this, Sophie. Then let me know if you have any questions,” she says, passing it over and giving me a gentle pat on the hand before closing the curtain. I flop back on the cot. This is off to a great start. When Nurse El is asks me how I’m feeling an hour later, smiling as though we now share a great secret, I tel her that I’m ready to go back to class. Chemistry is in ful swing by the time I hand my pass over to Mr. George, and surprisingly, there’s no James. This should be a relief. Why am I now consumed with curiosity over where he’s run off to? Maybe he was bluffing.

Hopping up on my stool, I open my chemistry book and prepare to do more research under the cover of balancing equations. Because of an unfortunate incident involving mixed chemicals and Greg Ives’s knee, I have no lab partner. I’m busy spreading out my things when a figure walks past me to Mr. George’s desk. I watch James’s back as he introduces himself to the teacher, who pul s out his seating chart.

“Okay, then, Mr. Hal owel . Why don’t you have a seat by

… ,” he starts, but then frowns at the paper in front of him, scans the room, and then frowns again. “Wel , it looks like you’l have to sit by Miss McGee.”

Unbelievable. When James turns around, I prepare to withstand a cocky grin, but his energy level seems to have taken a nosedive since last period. His face looks drawn and tired, his skin stretched and tight. Math class is no fun, but I’ve never seen it take this much out of a person.

“Having trouble keeping up?” I whisper when he slides onto the stool beside me.

“I had something to take care of,” he says tightly. “Since we’re not sharing anymore, I won’t tel you what it is.”

I’m about to retort that I’m not interested anyway and warn him to guard his knees, but then I see that his fingers are shaking as they open the cover of his textbook.

“James, what’s wrong?” I ask, my annoyance taking a backseat to sudden worry.

“Nothing.”

In my experience “nothing” doesn’t make you seem like you’re about to keel over at your desk. But James ignores my worried looks, studying the periodic table like he’s Marie Curie.

“I’l see you after lunch,” he says as soon as the bel rings and then leaves before I can respond.

James doesn’t come back after lunch, and he’s stil MIA when the final bel rings. On my way to my locker, I poke my head into the journalism room only to find that Mr. Amado is missing too, although his perpetual y wrinkled jacket and messenger bag are stil hanging from a cabinet hook. I wait for a few moments, but when he doesn’t show up, I take a casual peek at his planner. Staff meeting: 3:30. Nuts.

Since I have time to kil —and since, so far, Vlad has left me alone—I decide that French club can be approached with caution. Stil , knowing his habit of roaming the hal s, I tape a few pieces of paper over the narrow window as soon as I close the door.

“Hel o, Sophie,” says a high, dulcet voice.

Oh crap. Violet. Violet the fluent French speaker and newest member of our miniscule language club. I’m starting to lose track of al the people I need to avoid. When I work up the courage to turn around, she’s smiling at me serenely, her hands folded primly in front of her, always the lady, even when plotting my demise. Regina Michaels and Calvin Abrams flank her on either side. Luckily, they seem oblivious to any tension as they argue about the sex of various fruits. I’ve come to learn that arguing about French is how they flirt. The
imparfait
debate is third base.

“Are we going to do drugs?” Calvin asks nervously when he notices my makeshift window coverings. “Because I am president of the ‘Just Say No’ Club, and we had to sign something saying we would never—”

“Don’t worry about it, Calvin. I left my stash at home,” I say, trying to play it cool but stil keeping my eye on Violet. At this point, I’m not sure how much I am supposed to know around her. She wasn’t there for the forest debacle, but Vlad has surely talked … unless he doesn’t want them to know about the “misunderstanding.” Her cat-with-canary face isn’t helping me decide.

“Je suis desole,”
Regina pipes up,
“mais je ne
comprends pas l’anglais.”

I’m sorry, but I do not understand English. Technical y, the rule is that we don’t speak any English once the meeting has begun. I made that rule up. I hate myself.

“J’ai dit,”
I begin, repeating my earlier joke to Calvin,

“N’inquiete pas, Monsieur Calvin. J’ai laisse mon ‘stash’ a
la maison.”

“‘Stash’ is ‘
un cache,
’” Violet corrects, and then pats the seat beside her. Deciding that the current threat to my safety is at least limiting her attacks to my foreign language skil s, I slip into the seat.

We chat for thirty minutes about simple things: winter socks, our favorite type of pie, and Calvin’s fear of ladybugs and getting stuck in a ticket turnstile. He and Regina soon launch into an argument about the difference between a
croque-monsieur
and a
croque-madame.
Violet takes the opportunity to wiggle her desk closer to mine, a noisy, thumping endeavor that should be as intimidating as being rushed by a blind, three-legged dog. Should be. It makes me nervous enough to check the exits again before she leans over and whispers in my ear.

“N’inquiete pas,
Sophie.
J’ai trouve un nouveau petit
copain. Donc, nous sommes encore amies, non?”
she says and smiles warmly, if a little too widely. Don’t worry, Sophie. I found a new boyfriend. So we are friends again, right?

Wel , that was fast. The rush of my relief is quickly replaced by a new worry: If history has taught us anything, it’s that fal ing into Violet’s lovesick clutches means that there wil soon be another teenage vampire running around my high school.

“Who?” I ask, dropping any pretense at French. She holds a finger to the tiny bow of her lips.
“C’est une
secrete,”
she says with a coy raise of her eyebrows. It’s a secret.

Before I can start digging for more information, there’s a rap at the door, and Mr. Hanfield, Spanish teacher and study hal minion, sticks his bald head in to tel us that we need to clear out.

“Who taped this up here?” he asks as he rips it down.

“You know we have to have a clear view into al classrooms at al times.”

I’m fairly sure he just made up this rule, but I don’t argue. We agree to meet again next week and part ways. Or at least I try to part ways; while Calvin and Regina argue in the opposite direction, Violet glues herself to my side, chattering on about an article on getting over a bad breakup that she read (“Supremely helpful, even if I couldn’t partake of the sugar-free ice cream.”) and how she thinks Calvin is a little strange. Her stil unnamed new boy is strange, she admits, but not that strange. At least he’s not afraid of inanimate objects.

“And I do believe he real y likes me,” she says as we round the last corner before the main lobby. “I mean, men are always difficult to fathom. One moment they want to run away and elope, and the next they leave you sitting alone on a park bench in the middle of the night, ruined and with no place to go.”

I look at Violet, wondering if this was pre-or post-vampire. She is studying her shoes, a smal frown playing about her lips. In that second, I want to say something comforting, but I don’t know whether or not that wil invite too many questions about what I do and do not know. So instead I just pul her to the side so she doesn’t walk into a cement column.

“I did not see that at al ,” she says, and I’m happy to hear some of the old perkiness. “To continue what we were speaking about before, I gave James what he wanted too soon. I know that now,” she says. “But it does not matter; the periodical says ‘Sisters before Misters’ and I have decided to adhere to that.”

Not only do I want to find her magazine source, kil it, and skip around on its grave, I want her to understand that James is not my mister in any sense of the word.

“Violet, James is not—,” I begin before the sight of what’s waiting for me at the end of the hal way stops me in my tracks. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

There is a vampire roadblock at the end of the hal way and everyone’s invited. Vlad, Devon, Ashley, Marisabel, Nevil e … and James. James is waiting for me. With them. I duck into the nearest open door, which happens to be Mrs. Elton’s government class. She coats her wal s with American flags and badly printed photos of the current president. I’m so dazzled by the red, white, and blue that I don’t realize Violet has trotted after me until it is too late.
That’s great, Sophie, bring a vampire with you to your
hiding place from the vampires.

“What is this about?” Violet asks, tugging her jacket down schoolmarmishly. “I understand why I don’t want to see James, but you should try not to be so standoffish. It wil give him the wrong idea.” She smiles at me, and I realize that she real y doesn’t know anything about what happened on Friday—Vlad’s keeping his setbacks close to his chest. But before I can answer, her gaze shifts to something beyond my shoulder. “Oh, hel o,” she says. “Are you crouching here like a deranged person as wel ?”

Caroline is slouched in the back corner, and from the looks of things, she’s been camped out for a while. Her feet are bare, having kicked the strappy sandals she tottered around on al day to the side. She rarely puts her hair up—

she thinks it’s lazy—but now she’s scraped it into a mushrooming bun.

“He won’t go away,” she says, sliding down in her chair until al I can see is the fluff of her bun. “And the evil janitors locked the side doors. I mean, hel o. Fire hazard.”

“Who won’t go away?”

Straightening back up, she gives me a look suggesting that I could win this year’s Miss Idiotic pageant by a landslide vote. “Vlad. I have been sitting here since three waiting for him to leave. Why? Why does he want to humiliate me? Isn’t breaking up with me enough?” She bangs her fists on the desk. “He’s a satanist!”

She probably means “sadist,” although for once, option number two isn’t al that wide of the mark. Stil , I doubt that Caroline’s his target. I’m guessing that Vlad wants to make sure I’ve forgotten his fangy little secret. But considering my audience, I scan my mind for some excuse as to why Vlad would be loitering for an hour and a half. He’s hypnotized by shiny wrestling trophies? He is conducting a sit-in to protest the ban on pointy shoes? Violet moves to console Caroline before I can even try.

“It’s horrible, isn’t it?” she soothes. “I’m going through a broken engagement myself at the moment. If you would like, I have a magazine article that might help.”

Caroline perks up. “Real y?”

“Yes. Sophie doesn’t seem to put much faith in what they have to say, but I think they are a wonder.”

“Sophie doesn’t put much faith in anything but her own loud voice.”

“Yes, she can be very resistant to new ideas, I think.”

It’s time to nip this conversation in the bud. “I hate to break up your bonding session, but I would like to leave the building at some point. And Vlad’s stil here.”

“But why are you hiding from Vlad?” Caroline asks. Oops.

“Sisterly solidarity?” I try.

Caroline blinks at me a few times and then launches in for a hug, nearly knocking the smal desk over in her enthusiasm. “Oh, that’s so sweet. Thank you.”

I hug her back, feeling nice and fuzzy and like a good sister for once. There’s no reason I can’t be avoiding Vlad for sisterly solidarity
and
the overwhelming desire to live, is there? When I am final y released from her body-lotioned death grip, the three of us peek around the corner to find Vlad and Nevil e in the middle of yet another debate.

“But
High School Musical
?” Vlad says. “It’s not even something civilized.”

Nevil e crosses his arms tightly over his chest. “You said that we should join in school activities.”

“Join in activities so we can find the girl. Not so you can twist and twirl about on the stage for your own amusement!”

Beside me, Violet emits a tiny snort. “Vlad can be so overbearing at times,” she whispers in my ear. “And he lies; he told me that this place would be fil ed with eligible young gentlemen.”

“Real y?” I whisper.

“He told us al sorts of things to lure us along.”

“Lying poophead scumbag,” Caroline says. “Anyway, how do we get out when their stupid butts are blocking the door?”

“Why, we wil have to walk our stupid butts out the door!”

Violet cries, clearly getting into this. After we shush her, she tries again more quietly. “What I meant to say was we wil need to act like their presence does not bother us. For example, I wil act like I do not even notice the presence of James. You do the same with Vlad. Believe me, it has worked for hundreds of years.” She looks at me. “You do whatever you think sisters of the brokenhearted do.”

This sister of the brokenhearted is trying to remember exactly what James told her three nights ago and marshaling al the puny acting talent she possesses. Now’s the time for my first-grade experience as Silent Woodland Animal #3 in
Snow White
to real y pay off.
Try not to let him
get close to you. Concentrate if he does.

I take a deep breath. “Ready?”

Violet and Caroline nod furiously, but our first attempt is stal ed by Caroline’s hand on my shoulder.

“Wait. Is that James Hal owel ?” she asks.

“Yep. He’s living next door again,” I say, stil stinging from his betrayal. But instead of making me feel better, revealing James’s secret only makes me feel petty. “Don’t tel anyone.”

“Why?” she asks. “Oh man, Amanda said that Danny said he was back, but I thought that she had just final y lost it. He got cute,” she says, and I don’t like the undercurrent of

“oooh, gimme” in her voice.

“Just … please, Caroline?”

She shrugs. “Sure, whatever.”

How reassuring. “Are you ready?”

“Yes,” Caroline says. “Wait! I mean no. My shoes. This is not something I want to do barefoot.”

We wait for Caroline to shoe up for battle, and then walk out the door, marching toward the vampires. James snaps to attention as we approach. Vlad and Nevil e are stil kneedeep in their argument, with Nevil e explaining the plot of
High School Musical
and Vlad countering that he may not be exceedingly familiar with this world, but he is certain that basketbal players do not sing. Hope bal oons in my chest; maybe they won’t even notice me. We are swerving around the edges of their huddle when Vlad’s voice rings out.

“If it isn’t the girl I want to see,” he says, his hand snaking out to block my way.

“Excuse me?” I say, trying to act confused as I back away. I try to remember James’s lessons on how to keep one’s mind impenetrable, but it’s harder said than done. I think of how much I hate him, how much I want him out of this school, this town, this universe. But how do you tel if it’s working? Other than the fact that he hasn’t yel ed “Gotcha!”

Vlad steps forward, eating up my hard-won buffer of space. He starts to reach for my chin, and a chil of panic rushes over my body. But before he can touch me, Caroline pushes Vlad away with an unladylike grunt.

“What’s wrong with you?” she asks as I take the opportunity to step away. “You’re acting like you’ve never met.”

“We have not,” Vlad says, obviously annoyed. He scowls at me over his head.

She turns around, looking for a denial, but I force myself to nod and agree. She frowns for a few seconds, giving me a look that says she thought I was on her side. Final y, she says, “You’re both crazy,” and marches toward the door. We listen to her heels as they click across the lobby’s floor, and I try to gauge everyone’s suspicion level. Nevil e is stil pouting, while Vlad watches Caroline’s back with a moody scowl. Marisabel stands beside him, trying so hard to look innocent that she might as wel stick her head up in the air and whistle, and Violet continues to study the five food groups display so James wil see that she has moved on to better things, apparently fruits and vegetables. Against my better instincts, I sneak a glance in his direction and am met with a smal smile that does nothing to mask the worry in his eyes.

“Wait a moment,” Vlad says, and I whip my head around to find him watching me. I feel the fluttery, zooming sensation in my heart that means I’m starting to panic. And when I start to panic, my mind goes blank. The more I try to train my thoughts into one orderly progression, the more they want to scream “Vampire, vampire, vampire!” James steps forward, worry on his face, and it heightens my panic. If he can tel , anyone can tel .