by P. C. Cast
Well, cool! This was definitely more interesting than reading Great Expectations (Pip, Estella, who cares?!). I settled in with A Night to Remember and my notebook opened to take, well, notes. Prof P started to read Chapter One aloud to us, and she was actually a good reader. Three class hours almost over and I'd liked all of them. Was it possible that this vamp school would actually be more than a boring place I went to every day because I had to and, besides that, all my friends were there? Not that all of the classes at SIHS had been boring, but we didn't get to study the Amazons and the Titanic (from a teacher who'd been alive when it sank!).
I glanced around at the other kids while Prof P read. There were about fifteen of us, which seemed about the average in my other classes, too. All of them had their books open and were paying attention.
Then my eye was caught by something red and bushy on the other side of the room near the rear of the class. I'd spoken too soon—not all of the kids were paying attention. This one had his head down on his arms and he was sound asleep, which I knew because his chubby, way-too-white-and-freckled face was turned in my direction. His mouth was open, and I think he might have been drooling a little. I wondered what Prof P would do to the kid. She didn't seem like the kind of teacher who would be cool with some slug sleeping in the back of the room, but she just kept on with her reading, interspersed with interesting firsthand facts about the early twentieth century, which I really liked (I loved hearing about the flappers—I would definitely have been a flapper if I'd lived in the 192os). It wasn't until the bell was about to ring and Prof P had assigned the next chapter as homework, and then told us we could talk quietly amongst ourselves, that she acted as if she noticed the sleeping kid at all. He'd started to stir, finally lifting up his head to display the bright red sleeping circle that was on the side of his forehead and looked bizarrely out of place beside his Mark.
"Elliott, I need to see you," Prof P said from behind her desk. The kid took his time getting up and then dragged his feet, scuffing his untied shoes, over to her desk.
"Yeah?"
"Elliott, you are, of course, failing Lit. But what's more important, you're failing life. Vampyre males are strong, honorable, and unique. They have been our warriors and protectors for countless generations. How do you expect to make the Change into a being who is more warrior than man if you do not practice the discipline it takes even to stay awake in class?"
He shrugged his soft-looking shoulders.
Her expression hardened. "I shall give you one opportunity to make up the zero for class participation you received today by writing a short paper on any issue that was important in America in the early twentieth century. The paper is due tomorrow."
Without saying anything, he started to turn away.
"Elliott," Prof P's voice had dropped and, thick with irritation, it made her sound way scarier than she'd seemed while she had been reading and lecturing. I could feel the power radiating from her, and it made me wonder why she would ever need a male anything to protect her. The kid stopped and turned back to face her.
"I did not excuse you. What is your decision about doing the work to make up today's zero?"
The kid just stood there without saying anything.
"That question calls for an answer, Elliott. Now!" The air around her crackled with the command, making the skin on my arms tingle.
Seemingly unaffected, he shrugged again. "I probably won't do it."
"That says something about your character, Elliott, and it's not something good. You're not only letting yourself down, but you're letting down your mentor, too."
He shrugged again and absently picked his nose. "The Dragon already knows how I am."
The bell rang and Prof P, with a disgusted look on her face, motioned for Elliott to leave the room. Damien, Stevie Rae, and I had just stood up and were starting to walk out the door when Elliott slouched by us, moving more quickly than I believed possible for someone so sloth-like. He bumped into Damien, who was ahead of us. Damien made an oops sound and stumbled a little.
"Fucking faggot, get outta my way," the loser kid snarled, pushing Damien with his shoulder so he could get through the door before him.
"I should smack the crap out of that jerk!" Stevie Rae said, hurrying up to Damien, who was waiting for us.
He shook his head. "Don't worry about it. That Elliott kid has major problems."
"Yeah, like having poopie for brains," I said, staring down the hall at the slug's back. His hair was certainly unattractive.
"Poopie for brains?" Damien laughed and linked one arm though mine and one through Stevie Rae's, leading us down the hall Wizard of Oz fashion. "That's what I like about our Zoey," he said. "She has such a way with vulgar language."
"Poopie's not vulgar," I said defensively.
"I think that's his point, honey," Stevie Rae laughed.
"Oh." I laughed, too, and I really, really liked how it sounded when he'd said "our" Zoey . like I belonged…like I might be home.
CHAPTER 14
Fencing was totally cool, which was a surprise. Class was held in a huge room off the gym that looked like a dance studio, complete with a floor-to-ceiling wall of mirrors. Hanging from the ceiling along one side were weird life-sized manikins that reminded me of three-dimensional shooting targets. Everyone called Professor Lankford Dragon Lankford, or just Dragon. It didn't take me long to figure out why. His tattoo represented two dragons whose bodies, serpent-like, wrapped down over his jaw line. Their heads were over his brows and their mouths were open, breathing fire at the crescent moon. It was amazing and hard not to stare at. Plus, Dragon was the first male adult vampyre I'd seen up close. At first he confused me. I guess if you'd asked me what I expected from a male vampyre I would have said his opposite. Honestly, I had the movie-star vampyre stereotype in mind—tall, dangerous, handsome. You know, like Vin Diesel. Anyway, Dragon is short, has long blondish hair that he pulls back in a low ponytail, and (except for the fierce looking dragon tattoo) has a cute face with a warm smile It was only when he began leading the class through its warm-up exercises that I began to realize his power. From the instant he held the sword (which I later found out was called an epee) in the traditional salute he seemed to become someone else—someone who moved with unbelievable quickness and grace. He feinted and lunged and effortlessly made the rest of the class—even the kids who were pretty good, like Damien—look like awkward puppets. When he finished leading the warm-ups, the Dragon paired everyone off and had them work on what he called "the standards." I was relieved when he motioned for Damien to be my partner.
"Zoey, it's good to have you join the House of Night," Dragon said, shaking my hand in the traditional Amazon vampyre greeting. "Damien can explain the different parts of the fencing uniform to you, and I'll get you a handout to study over the next few days. I am assuming you've had no previous instruction in the sport?"
"No, I haven't," I said, and then added nervously, "but I'd like to learn. I mean, the whole idea of using a sword is just cool."
Dragon smiled. "Foil," he corrected, "you'll be learning how to use a foil. It's the lightest weight of the three types of weapons we have here, and an excellent choice for women. Did you know that fencing is one of the very few sports where women and men can compete on entirely equal terms?"
"No," I said, instantly intrigued. How cool would it be to kick a guy's butt at a sport?!
"This is because the intelligent and focused fencer can successfully compensate for any perceived deficiencies he or she may have, and may even be able to turn those deficiencies—such as strength or reach—into assets. In other words, you may not be as strong or as fast as your opponent, but you could be smarter or able to remain focused better, which will tip the scales in your favor. Right, Damien?"
Damien grinned. "Right."
"Damien is one of the most focused fencers I've had the privilege to coach in decades, which makes him a dangerous opponent."
I snuck a sideways glance at Damien, who flus
hed with pride and pleasure.
"For the next week or so I'll have Damien drill you in the opening maneuvers. Always remember, fencing requires a mastery of skills that are sequential and hierarchical in nature. If one of the skills is not acquired, subsequent skills will be very difficult to master and the fencer will be at a permanent and serious disadvantage."
"Okay, I'll remember," I said. Dragon smiled warmly again before he moved off to work his way among each practicing pair.
"What he means is don't get discouraged or bored if I make you do the same exercise over and over."
"So what you're really saying is that you're going to be annoying, but there's a purpose behind it?"
"Yep. And part of that purpose will help lift that cute little butt of yours," he said sassily, tapping me with the side of his foil.
I slapped at him and rolled my eyes, but after twenty minutes of lunging and settling back into the beginning stance and lunging—over and over again—I knew he was right. My butt would be killing me tomorrow.
We took quick showers after class (thankfully, there were separate curtain-draped stalls for each of us in the girls' locker room and we didn't have to barbarically and tragically shower in a huge open area like we were prison inmates or whatever) and then I hurried with the rest of the crowd to the lunch room—better known as the dining hall. And I do mean hurry. I was starving.
Lunch was a huge build-your-own salad buffet, which included everything from tuna salad (eesh) to those weird mini-corns that are so confusing, and don't even taste like corn. (What exactly are they? Baby corn? Midget corn? Mutant corn?) I piled my plate high and got a big hunk of what looked and smelled like freshly baked bread, and slid into the booth beside Stevie Rae, with Damien following close behind me. Erin and Shaunee were already arguing over something to do with whose essay for their Lit class was better, even though they'd both gotten 96 on their papers.
"So, Zoey, give. What about Erik Night?" Stevie Rae asked the instant I'd forked a big bite of salad into my mouth. Stevie Rae's words immediately shut up the Twins and focused the entire table's attention on me.
I'd thought about what I was going to say about Erik, and decided that I wasn't ready to tell anyone about the unfortunate blow-job scene. So I just said, "He kept looking at me." When they frowned at me I realized that through my salad mouth what I'd really said was "He keffft looookn at mmm." I swallowed and tried again. "He kept looking at me. In Drama class. It was just, I dunno, confusing."
"Define 'looking at me'," Damien said.
"Well, it happened the second he came into class, but it was especially noticeable when he was giving us an example of a monologue. He did this thing from Othello, and when he said the line about love and such, he stared straight at me. I would have thought it was just an accident or something, but he looked at me before he started the monologue, and then again as he was leaving the room." I sighed and squirmed a little, uncomfortable with their way too piercing looks. "Never mind. It was probably just part of his act."
"Erik Night is the hottest damn thing at this entire school," Shaunee said.
"Forget that—he's the hottest damn thing on this planet," Erin said.
"He's not hotter than Kenny Chesney," Stevie Rae said quickly.
"Okay, just please with your country obsession!" Shaunee frowned at Stevie Rae before turning her attention back to me. "Do not let this opportunity pass you by."
"Yeah," Erin echoed. "Do not."
"Pass me by? What am I supposed to do? He didn't even say anything to me."
"Uh, Zoey honey, did you smile back at the boy?" Damien asked.
I blinked. Had I smiled back at him? Ah, crap. I bet I hadn't. I bet I just sat there and stared like a moron and maybe even drooled. Okay, well, I might not have drooled, but still. "I dunno," I said instead of the sad truth, which didn't fool Damien at all.
He snorted. "Next time smile at him."
"And maybe say hi," Stevie Rae said.
"I thought Erik was a just pretty face," Shaunee said. "And body," Erin added.
"Until he dumped Aphrodite," Shaunee continued. "When he did that I realized the boy might have something going on upstairs."
"We can already tell he has it going on downstairs!" Erin said, waggling her eyebrows.
"Uh-huh!" Shaunee said, licking her lips like she was contemplating eating a big piece of chocolate.
"You two are gross," Damien said.
"We only meant that he has the cutest butt in town, Miss Priss," Shaunee said.
"As if you haven't noticed," Erin said.
"If you started talking to Erik it would really piss off Aphrodite." Stevie Rae said.
Everyone turned and stared at Stevie Rae as if she'd just parted the Red Sea or something.
"It's true," Damien said.
"Very true," Shaunee said while Erin nodded.
"So the rumor is he used to go out with Aphrodite," I said.
"Yep," Erin said.
"The rumor is grotesque but true," Shaunee said. "Which makes it even better that now he likes you!"
"Guys, he was probably just staring at my weird Mark," I blurted.
"Maybe not. You're really cute, Zoey," Stevie Rae said with a sweet smile.
"Or maybe your Mark made him look, and then he thought you were cute so he kept looking," Damien said.
"Either way, his looking will definitely piss Aphrodite off," Shaunee said.
"Which is a good thing," Erin said.
Stevie Rae waved away their comments. "Just forget about Aphrodite and your Mark and all that other stuff. Next time he smiles at you, say hi. That's all."
"Easy," Shaunee said.
"Peasy," Erin said.
"Okay," I mumbled and went back to my salad, wishing desperately that the whole Erik Night issue was as easy-peasy as they thought it was.
One thing about lunch at the House of Night was the same as lunch at SIHS or any other school I'd ever eaten at—it was over too soon. And then Spanish class was a blur. Profesora Garmy was like a little Hispanic whirlwind. I liked her right away (her tattoos looked oddly like feathers, so she reminded me of a little Spanish bird), but she ran the class speaking entirely in Spanish. Entirely. I should probably mention here that I haven't had Spanish since eighth grade, and I freely admit to not paying much attention to it then. So I was pretty lost, but I wrote down the homework and promised myself that I'd study the vocab words. I hate being lost.
Intro to Equestrian Studies was held in the Field House. It was a long, low brick building over by the south wall, attached to a huge indoor riding arena. The whole place had that sawdusty, horsey smell that mixed with leather to form something that was pleasant, even though you know that part of the "pleasant" scent was poopie—horse poopie.
I stood nervously with a small group of kids just inside the corral where a tall, stern-faced upperclassman had directed us to wait. There were only about ten of us, and we were all third formers. Oh, (great) that annoying redheaded Elliott kid was slouching against the wall kicking at the sawdust floor. He raised enough dust to make the girl standing closest to him sneeze. She threw him a dirty look and moved a few steps away. God, did he irritate everyone? And why couldn't he use some product (or perhaps a comb) on that nappy hair?
The sound of hooves drew my attention from Elliott and I looked up in time to see a magnificent black mare pounding into the corral at full gallop. She slid to a stop a couple feet in front of us. While we all gawked like fools, the mare's rider dismounted gracefully. She had thick hair that reached to her waist and was so blond it was almost white, and eyes that were a weird shade of slate gray. Her body was tiny, and the way she stood reminded me of those girls who obsessively take dance classes so that even when they're not in ballet they stand like they have something stuck way up their butts. Her tattoo was an intricate series of knots entwined around her face—within the sapphire design I was sure I could see plunging horses.
"Good evening. I am Lenobia, and this," she pointed at
the mare and gave our group a contemptuous look before finishing the sentence, "is a horse." Her voice rang against the walls. The black mare blew through her nose as if to punctuate her words. "And you are my new group of third formers. Each of you has been chosen for my class because we believe you might possibly have an aptitude for riding. The truth is that less than half of you will last the semester, and less than half of those who last will actually develop into decent equestrians. Are there any questions?" She didn't pause long enough for anyone to ask anything. "Good. Then follow me and you shall begin." She turned and marched back into the stable. We followed.
I wanted to ask who the "we" were who thought I might have an aptitude for riding, but I was scared to say anything and just scrambled after her like everyone else. She came to a halt in front of a row of empty stalls Outside of them were pitchforks and wheelbarrows. Lenobia turned to face us.
"Horses are not big dogs. Nor are they a little girl's romanticized dream image of a perfect best friend who will always understand you."
Two girls standing beside me fidgeted guiltily and Lenobia skewered them with her gray eyes.
"Horses are work. Horses take dedication, intelligence, and time. We'll begin with the work part. In the tack room down this hall you'll find mucking boots. Choose a pair quickly, while we all get gloves. Then each of you take your own stall and get busy."
"Professor Lenobia?" said a chubby girl with a cute face, who raised her hand nervously.
"Lenobia will do. The name I chose in honor of the ancient vampyre queen needs no other title."
I didn't have a clue who Lenobia was, and made a mental note to look it up.
"Go on. You have a question, Amanda?"
