by Trisha Telep
That was the last day he’d ever seen his hoodie, too.
“I was wondering,” Laura said. “How were you feeling that day?”
He’d felt like a total idiot. He was living in a house with strangers, he hadn’t understood at the time that Bradley was a moron (he’d seemed golden and perfect, able to answer every question the interviewer fired), or that Pez wasn’t constantly mocking him. He had understood that Josh—shy, nerdy Josh—the boy who was most like him, and who he would have chosen for a friend out of them all, was so scared of him that he felt sick every time they were in a room together.
“Lonely,” said Christian.
“That’s what I thought,” Laura told him, hushed. “I could just tell.”
“Really?”
“I came to the concert to see you,” Laura continued, looking up into his eyes.
A cold breeze cut through the dead leaves over their heads. Laura shivered and Christian drew off his cape, using his vampire strength as sneakily as he could to break the thread that Faye had used to sew the ends of the cape to his sleeves. He wrapped Laura in his cape, tilting up her face to tie the ribbons under her soft chin.
“Well,” said Christian. “You’re seeing me.”
Her heart was beating too fast again. Christian could hear it, warm and pounding fast, over all the distant noises of the night.
“This is going to sound silly,” Laura whispered. “But I think I knew then, when I saw the picture. That we’d meet. That we’d be … together.”
“Here we are,” said Christian.
She was standing very close. He didn’t think she was scared.
He leaned in a little, and Laura reached up to sweep his stupid black bangs (that Faye had insisted on) out of his eyes with a small, gentle hand.
That was a good sign, he thought, and he leaned in closer to catch her soft lips with his, her breath in his mouth strange and sweet. He drew his arm around her and held her more carefully than he had ever held anything. She shut her eyes and kissed him back. For a while, it felt like he was breathing too.
When her breath stuttered against his lips, he stopped. He didn’t want to hurt her.
She didn’t live far away. He walked her to her door, one of many similar doors in a trim little suburban street. There were begonias in her front garden. His mother had grown roses along a crazy-paving path just like the one he walked Laura down. They said good night, and she went inside.
Christian knew it was wrong and intrusive and incredibly creepy, but being a vampire meant you kind of lost touch with boundaries. Super senses meant he knew whenever Bradley and Faye were kissing in the kitchen even if he was clear across the house. He knew when Josh was about to have an asthma attack before Josh did, though the last time he’d handed him his inhaler, Josh had screamed and dived under the table. So, although looking up at a lit window was a perfectly normal thing to do, with vampire vision it meant he could see right through the gauzy curtains to Laura’s pink-decorated bedroom which had a poster of …
Christian cut his eyes away from the horrifying vision of himself on the poster, wearing the terrible green cloak, and instead looked to Laura’s full bookshelves and then to Laura herself, spinning in the center of the room.
She looked happy and beautiful, skirt flaring around her like a flower. She must have spun until she was dizzy, because just then she collapsed backward onto her bed with hands clasped over her heart.
Outside in the darkness, Christian smiled.
He woke up the next evening to the sound of Bradley singing off-key in the kitchen, an annoying sound that brought his head up so sharply that he thumped it on his coffin lid.
He threw the now-dented lid off, said a word his mum would not have liked, and stormed up the basement stairs to the kitchen.
“I know you can sing in tune because that’s your job!” Christian called as he came toward the kitchen.
Bradley was filling mugs of tea.
“Not my whole job,” he said calmly. “There’s also my fantastic dance moves, and being dead sexy.”
“I think you take my point.”
“Well, I like variety, it appeals to my artistic soul,” Bradley said. “Sometimes I dance badly too. Can’t seem to do anything about the sexy. Nothing puts a dent in that.”
Christian was tempted to bash his own head against the cupboard, but he already had a headache and besides that his pamphlet said that wanton destruction of property was socially irresponsible.
“Augh,” he said instead.
“You’re cranky when you get up,” Bradley observed and winked. “How was the groupie?”
“Her name is Laura,” Christian said coldly. “And she’s not a groupie.”
Bradley waved a kitchen mitt at him in what seemed to be an entirely random gesture. Christian stared, and then Bradley grinned.
“She came to your concert and threw herself at you because you’re famous. Kind of the working definition of a groupie, dude. Your first one. Nice.”
“She did not throw herself at me!”
She understands me, Christian wanted to say. She knew from seeing a stupid picture that I was lonely. But he wasn’t going to tell Bradley that.
“Okay, Chris,” Bradley said, rolling his eyes. “You’ll learn to be at peace with your new undead-stud identity in time. There’ll be more groupies at the party later.”
“I invited Laura to the party,” Christian informed him stiffly.
“Aw,” Bradley said. “Aw, man.”
Christian raised a sardonic eyebrow.
“I’m not really cut out to be a mentor,” Bradley said. “Charismatic leader, yes. Idol of millions and object of crazed lust, sure. But Josh is a baby, and Pez is a registered citizen of la-la land, so that leaves me, and I thought you were older and we had an understanding.”
“An understanding?” Christian echoed. “Bradley, I hate you.”
“Yeah,” Bradley said. “That’s our thing.”
“No, Bradley, I actually hate you.”
“Mmm, sure,” said Bradley dismissively. “The thing is, you’re kind of a baby, too, aren’t you? New to the business. These girls, right, they all want to have a special connection with you, but that doesn’t mean they do, you get me? This girl doesn’t know you. You don’t know her. There’s no way to get to know each other either. There’s this great big technicolor picture of your, like, image in between you. You’re better off sticking with your band-mates. We’ve got each others’ backs, know what I mean?”
He punched Christian and his fist rebounded off Christian’s arm. Bradley stared at his hand for a moment and then shrugged philosophically.
“You think I’m better off sticking with Josh?” Christian asked. “He won’t even talk to me.”
Bradley shrugged, leaning against the shiny, black marble countertop and taking a sip of chai tea. He looked rumpled and perfectly at home in his white cashmere sweater, in this overly-expensive house, among glass-fronted cupboards with crystal glasses and matching plates inside them.
“I know things are a bit rough for you, man.”
He took another sip of tea, then spat it out and dropped the cup when Christian pinned him up against the wall, one arm against his throat. He certainly knew his own strength: the pamphlets had informed him of it painstakingly and at length. He knew his arm must feel like an iron bar to Bradley, unyielding, cutting off his supply of air.
“What do you know,” he hissed through bared teeth, “about how rough things are for me?”
Bradley made a strangled sound and clawed at Christian’s arm.
Christian tilted his head the way Faye had taught him so that his fangs glittered, long and sharp, hovering far too close for comfort.
“You have no idea! You people are not my friends. I don’t have friends, and I don’t have a family anymore, because I am no longer human. But I do have the ability to rip out your throat and drink you down like a milkshake, so I suggest you shut your mouth and stay out of my business!”<
br />
He let Bradley go, shoving him backward so he hit the wall, but not as hard as Christian would’ve liked. Bradley staggered but stayed upright.
Christian let his lips skin back over his fangs.
“She said that we were going to be together,” Christian said tightly. “And I—I want to believe her. So just leave out the groupie talk.”
Bradley nodded, slowly, and they stared at each other until Faye came in, stilettos tapping. Christian couldn’t help but notice she’d bought a lot of shoes with pointed wooden heels since they’d first met.
He was pretty sure it was just a scare tactic.
“What is going on here?” Faye inquired sharply. “If you boys feel the urge to wrestle, you will do it under my supervision, in a fountain, with key members of the press present!”
The microwave pinged. Bradley popped it open and took out a mug. He pushed it along the counter in Christian’s direction.
It was a mug full of heated blood, a smiley face with tiny fangs on the front. Written underneath it were the words: WE’RE FANG-TASTIC!
Christian picked up the mug, curling his cold fingers around its warmth and feeling simultaneously guilty and overcome by how ridiculous Bradley was.
Eventually he muttered, “Thanks,” into the cup. Bradley just nodded.
He had arranged to meet Laura under the tree from last night. He had it all planned. He had left his stupid cape at home, though if Faye found out she’d probably stake him and put his ashes onstage in an urn. And the cape.
He’d thought Laura might be standing under the tree, her back to him, and her hair might be loose and rippling red. The leaves would frame her, moonlight gilding them and her alike, and she’d turn around and smile.
It all happened exactly like that, aside from the two other girls. They were a rather big difference, and sort of spoiled the vision. One of them had wild bright-blonde hair and the other had wild pitch-black eyelashes, and they reminded Christian of the girls at school who’d either sneered at him or seemed honestly unaware he existed.
He disliked them both on sight. The fact that their presence interfered with his plans to kiss Laura “hello” might have had something to do with it.
“Oh my God,” said the wild blonde. “It is Chris. Oh my God!”
“He’s not wearing the cape,” said the wild eyelashes. She sounded extremely disappointed. “And he’s not—” She gestured to her face.
“That was makeup,” said Christian. “I don’t wear it every day.”
“You should,” Eyelashes told him seriously. “It makes you look much better.”
“I can’t believe you were telling the truth!” Blondie exclaimed.
“I was,” Laura said.
Laura looked small and uneasy. Christian felt the impulse to rescue her, put his arm around her and fold her tight against him, but she was lingering close by the other girls as if drawn in by the pull of their gravity. They towered over her, shimmering and confident.
“Of course she was telling the truth,” Christian said.
Laura threw him a smile, grateful and sweet. “These are my friends, Haley and Rochelle. Um, I said that they could—maybe—I mean, can they come to the party too?”
Christian’s mum had raised him to be polite. “Um,” he said. “That sounds like—fun.”
Eyelashes and Blondie (he thought Eyelashes was Haley and Blondie was Rochelle) each grabbed hold of one of Christian’s arms.
“Sooooo,” said Haley, “will the rest of the band be at the party?”
Christian found himself disliking the fawning way she said band, like it was an entity apart from, and more important than, them as individuals.
“Yes.”
“Will Bradley be there?” Haley pursued, a sudden glassy look in her eyes.
“Yes, the whole band will be there,” Christian said patiently.
The entire walk back was like an interview, in which Haley-Eyelashes indicated she was deeply disappointed in him for not knowing basic and vital facts like Bradley’s favorite color.
Christian was massively relieved when they reached the house. Every window was shining, and the house itself appeared to be swaying gently from side to side, as if someone had got it intoxicated.
Haley squealed and dragged Christian by brute force toward the door, where Faye’s usual doorman Terence was standing outside, looking burly. He did that well.
“Hey, Chris.”
“Um,” said Christian. “They’re all with me.”
“Respect,” said Terence, and gave him two thumbs up.
Christian took a moment to be deeply thankful that vampires could not blush, and walked into the hall. The carpet was squishing oddly under his feet. A man wearing a papier-mâché elephant head dashed across the hall and up the spiral staircase. Somewhere upstairs people were applauding.
“Ah, I see Pez’s friends are here,” said Christian, as he and his strange and awful harem climbed the spiral stairs after the elephant-headed man.
“This is so cool,” said Rochelle. “Hey, do you drink the blood of the other members of the band?”
“What? No, I certainly do not!” Christian exclaimed, scandalized.
“Really?” Rochelle asked. “Not any of them? Not even Bradley’s?”
“Especially not Bradley’s!”
“You two are so funny,” Rochelle told him, laughing, and pressed his arm. “Like that one interview in Just Pretend We’re Twenty-One, when you were all asked to name your favorite person in the band. Bradley said you, and Josh said Bradley, and Pez said Bradley, and you said you just hated Bradley. That was so funny!”
“No, you see, I actually do hate Bradley,” Christian explained.
“So funny,” Rochelle repeated, shaking her head.
They were at the top of the stairs now, and witness to the conga line forming down the gallery. Someone had constructed Bradley a throne out of gilt-painted cardboard and he was drinking something out of a pineapple.
“Hey, Chris!” he called out, waving his pineapple.
“Bradley!” screeched Haley, in a voice that vibrated in weird and terrifying ways. She let go of Christian’s arm and barreled her way through the conga line.
Christian hoped Rochelle would follow her, but Rochelle stayed hanging onto his arm. Laura just stood on Rochelle’s other side, nervously hovering. Christian’s attempts to establish eye contact were foiled by Rochelle’s hair.
“Can I get you girls a drink?” he offered desperately at last.
“Such a gentleman,” said Rochelle, and Christian took that as a “yes.” He went downstairs and retrieved the cans of Coke that he always had hidden over the fridge because Josh had low blood sugar and sometimes required one right away.
He came back up holding the cans and met Bradley at the top of the stairs cradling his pineapple.
“Good call bringing that girl with the eyelashes,” he said. “She dived, but I ducked. Now I think she’s planning to make Josh a man. It’ll be good for him.”
“Er, that’s nice,” said Christian.
Christian’s pamphlet had advised that the correct way to deal with a vampire on the verge of going feral was to report him to the authorities and, in extreme cases, push him into some sunlight and watch carefully as he became a small pile of ashes.
At no point had the pamphlet suggested that smiling and waving a pineapple was an appropriate technique to subdue such a vampire.
“I’m sorry about before. I lost my temper,” Christian said. Apparently, pineapples were more powerful than he had supposed.
Bradley gestured with his pineapple in what seemed to be a peaceful manner.
“That’s all right,” he said. “I’m very zen about that sort of thing. You are young, my little fanged grasshopper, but you will learn.”
“Hi, Christian,” said a voice behind Bradley. Christian knew who it was at once because nobody else used his real name.
Bradley shifted aside to reveal Laura, who looked at him with wide sta
rtled eyes.
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“Quite all right, Laura,” said Bradley, waving his pineapple benevolently. “I have to go see if Pez has added something unfortunate to the punch again. It’s not his fault, he actually seems to like the taste of bubble bath …”
Before wandering off, Bradley gave Christian a significant look. Christian chose to completely ignore him.
Laura was haloed by the chandeliers, hair vivid and her dress snow-pale. She drew in close, without Christian pulling her to him, curls tickling the side of his face, and whispered: “You don’t have to dress that way for me.”
Christian looked down at his rugby shirt and jeans.
“You can be your real self,” Laura told him, her eyes intent.
“I am my real self,” Christian said. “I don’t understand.”
He was starting to feel very uneasy, but before he could ask her exactly what she meant, or what she thought of him, Laura leaned in again, warm lips against his ear, and said: “Will you take me to your room?”
Explanations could wait.
“Yes,” Christian said. “Absolutely. I’m sure you will enjoy it. Uh, my room, that is. It’s decorated. Faye hired a decorator to do that.”
Laura laughed at him as if she understood, and he led her back down the stairs, cradled in the corner of his arm. Her heart was beating very fast. His thoughts seemed set to the nervous rhythm of her pulse, leaping around erratically.
“Your bedroom is in the basement?” Laura asked, and then laughed nervously. “No, of course, that makes sense. Obviously.”
Christian opened the door to his room and thanked Faye silently for her good taste in interior design. “Subtle,” Faye had said at the time. “We’re going for subtle.” When Bradley then chimed in, “We don’t want to let it all fang out,” she had beaten him with her Blackberry.
Christian’s room was done all in cream colors, a reproduction of Monet’s Water Lilies above the fireplace. The only touch of brightness were the crimson curtains curling at the edges of a door that led to nowhere, which has been installed to cover the only window in the room.
