“Even longer!” I interrupted triumphantly.
“Ha-ha, very funny. But, yes, even longer.”
“Your point?”
“My point is, I know her better than you do. So you should listen to me.” She searched my face for a sign that I had somehow completely absorbed her subtle girl message. She clearly didn’t find the recognition she was looking for. “You’re clearly not getting it.”
“Enlighten me.”
“Don’t be a tool.”
I flashed my most charming smile, minus the teeth. Works every time. Celia shook her head and I thought I saw a hint of amusement.
“All I’m saying,” she continued, “is that she’s had some crappy stuff happen to her, but it doesn’t mean she doesn’t like you, it just means you have to work extra hard to break down the walls she’s built.”
That got my attention.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“I really like her, you know.”
“I know. But Noah, fair warning, if you can win her over, you absolutely cannot hurt her. Don’t lie, don’t cheat, don’t flake.”
“Won’t flake, got it.”
“Promise?”
“Oh, I’ll be around for a long time.” A very, very long time.
Celia smiled, satisfied. “Good.” With that, she went back to her meticulous note taking, and I went back to staring absently at the periodic table of elements. What in the world was rutherfordium?
****
The school was buzzing with news about the missing girl. These types of things happened in Arborville from time to time. Arborville was not exactly a nice place, and when something like this happened there, it was usually to some bum found in an alley or a junkie who had taken one hit too many in an abandoned building. When a pretty young girl from Whitehaven went missing, it raised two questions: What happened? and What was she doing in Arborville in the first place?
Because it was a small West Coast town, the residents of Whitehaven liked to believe that they were somehow immune to catastrophe. Specifically, they liked to think attractive, young people were impervious to tragedy, aside from the occasional teenage heartbreak or alcoholic parent. This clearly wasn’t the case with Brandie Masterson, whose picture was now splashed across all three local newspapers and whose disappearance was now continually featured on the only local news . That perceived safety bubble had already come dangerously close to bursting when Esther Jones went missing. This confirmed people’s worst fears. No one knew what kind of tragedy awaited this girl. How could they?
Everyone had the same theory: Whoever took Esther Jones had taken Brandie Masterson. As far as the cops knew, she was just a pretty young girl living on the wrong side of town with a tweaked-out roommate who knew practically nothing about her—just enough to report her missing.
“I think she’s dead already,” Celia posited as she munched on some rye toast. Celia had started a new diet of boiled egg whites, raw carrots, and rye toast to get in shape for the prom. No matter how many times Malcolm, Paige, or I told her that she looked great already, she insisted that she had a few stubborn flaps of flab that needed defeating. None of us worried too much about it though, because we knew that within two weeks she’d be back to her regular diet of Sprite, SunChips, and ham sandwiches followed by a chocolate chip cookie. She glanced around for reassurance that Malcolm, Paige, and I were paying attention before she continued with her theory.
“Yeah, I think if she’s not back by now, she’s done. It’s been, what, twenty-four hours? I hear that if the person’s not back within that time, they’re definitely dead.”
“I think it’s more like forty-eight hours,” corrected Paige.
“You watch far too much CSI,” Malcolm teased both of them.
“Without a Trace, thank you very much,” Celia responded.
“Law & Order: SVU,” Paige admitted meekly.
“Really?” I laughed. “My mom watches that show.”
“Ha! You’re old!”
“Shut up, Malcolm!” Paige gave him a quick, friendly shove.
“Seriously, though, why do you watch that garbage?” he asked Celia and Paige.
“I don’t know. It’s interesting, I guess,” Paige answered.
“What’s so interesting about it? It’s just bad stuff happening to people and then other people trying to find out who did it.”
“It’s totally morbid, yeah. I don’t know. It feels a little like a cautionary tale, you know? Like ‘don’t walk down dark alleys alone at night’ and ‘be careful what company you keep’.” As she finished, Malcolm unintentionally looked straight at me. He caught himself, however, and went on to make fun of Celia for watching Without a Trace. But I knew what that glance was all about. Whether subconsciously or not, Malcolm thought of me as the thing to avoid in an alley at night. The predator. The cautionary tale.
Never one to dwell on doom and gloom after she’d made her opinions known, Celia changed the subject. “So, Paige, did you want to come dress shopping with me this weekend?”
I nearly choked on my spit.
Paige turned bright red.
Dances were the epicenter of Celia’s social universe. No doubt she was going to pick up two prom dresses and find an excuse to do a costume change midevening.
“Um, this far in advance?” Paige asked.
“You have to go early. Otherwise the best stuff gets bought up and you’re left with some hideous pink taffeta number in extra, extra large!”
“I thought you liked pink taffeta,” Paige laughed.
“Of course I like pink taffeta. I like non-hideous, size four, pink taffeta, thank you very much!”
“Ah, yes. There’s the Celia I know.” Paige smiled.
“So is that a yes?”
Paige shot a fleeting glance my way. Her eyes glinted with a brief hope—hope for what exactly, I couldn’t tell. Maybe for a way out of dress shopping with Celia, but I thought girls loved that kind of stuff. Maybe she was hoping that I’d ask her to the dance right then and there, but that didn’t seem her style. Either way, I missed my window to do anything about it, because the glance was, in fact, fleeting, and when I didn’t respond at all, she turned to Celia and smiled.
“Sure.”
“Have you thought about what you’re going to wear?” Celia asked.
“I think I’ll go with my purple chiffon. It really compliments my eyes,” Malcolm interrupted flamboyantly. The girls laughed and I breathed a small sigh of relief. All this talk about the prom was making me queasy. Well, that and the nauseating stench of mystery meat from a nearby lunch table.
****
I was pulling books out of my locker when Malcolm sidled up along next to me.
“You know, I’m sort of getting used to that gnarly sunscreen stuff you wear.”
“Gee, thanks.” I closed my locker.
“Where are you off to in such a hurry?”
“Paige and I are staying to work on our history project.”
Malcolm nodded to himself.
“What?” I asked him.
His head shot up and he looked at me for a second, but then decided not to say whatever it was that was on the tip of his tongue. “What?” he responded.
“You were going to say something.”
“No, I wasn’t.”
“Yes, you were. I totally saw it and you hesitated.”
He rolled his eyes. Busted. “Well, I was just wondering if it’s such a good idea.”
“What, finishing my history project? I have a feeling not finishing wouldn’t go over so well with Paige. Or my mother.”
“I’m not talking about the history project.”
“You know, I’ve already told you that I’m getting really tired of these guessing game conversations.”
“These conversations?” Malcolm sounded confused and a little defensive.
I sighed. We were still off from our conversation before school. “Sorry. Celia cornered me in chemistry today about Paige�
�and the dance.”
“Ah.” Malcolm went silent.
“What?!” I asked again. “It’s just, the prom.”
Malcolm could hardly get his words out. It was unsettling. He was never at a loss for words. “The prom, the prom, the prom. What is it with everyone today?
Why is everyone asking me about the prom? I don’t know what Celia’s deal is aside from acting like a crazy person about dresses, but—when she brought up the prom today it got me thinking…”
“Thinking WHAT, Malcolm? You sound like my mom with these half sentences. You’re killing me!” I shouted.
Malcolm chuckled and quickly lowered his voice. “‘Killing me’? That’s funny, see, ’cause you’re already dead. Get it?”
Even when he annoyed me, he always managed to make me laugh. “If you weren’t my best friend, I’d tell you to shut up,” I kidded. Sort of.
“I know, right?” Malcolm said.
“Listen, I gotta go. Paige is waiting for me.”
As I turned, Malcolm placed his hand on my arm to stop me. I looked back around at him. “It’s the prom. Are you still going to ask Paige to the prom?”
I shrugged.
“I don’t know. I mean, I was about to at the party, but then I got all, you know, fang-y. Then she says we should be ‘just friends’ but then Celia tells me she really likes me and I need to break through some walls. I still really want to, it’s just all kind of confusing. Why?”
“I don’t think it’s such a good idea.”
Um, that was unexpected. I didn’t know what to say. “Why?”
“Well, you know, with your ‘condition’ and all.” Malcolm used air quotes when he talked about my vampirism. He’d taken to calling it my “condition” as well. He had picked it up from Mom. I guessed it was easier to swallow it that way. It was hard to be scared of anything that you put in air quotes. “Do you think it’s such a good idea to go to the dance with your ‘condition’?” As if it were some heart murmur, triggered by too much excitement. If only.
“I don’t know! Like I said, it’s confusing! I haven’t even asked her yet.”
“Yet.”
“Yes, yet.”
“So that means you still might ask Paige to the prom?”
“I don’t know, Malcolm. Maybe.”
“I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“I heard you the first time.”
He could hear the frustration in my voice and backed off a little. “I’m just looking out for you. I’m trying to be a good, responsible friend.”
“What makes you think I couldn’t handle taking Paige to the prom?”
“Nothing?” He shrugged.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Suddenly he leaned in and the kid gloves came off. “Come on, Noah. You couldn’t handle sitting next to her on a couch. How do you think you’re going to manage a whole romantic evening in close proximity? And what happens if you go all butterfly again? At the prom, Noah. Think about it. That’s a lot of witnesses. Not to mention your hunger, the temptation of…”
“I GET it, Malcolm!” I hissed violently.
He stopped talking. I hung my head. I was furious. Furious because what Malcolm was saying was one hundred percent true and I didn’t want to hear it. I didn’t even want to think about it. I looked up and saw him standing with his arms crossed defensively.
“I get it,” I repeated calmly, “and I know you’re just trying to help me, but I’d really rather not think about it right now. I haven’t decided to ask Paige, I haven’t decided not to ask Paige. Whatever happens though, it’ll be okay. To tell the truth, I’m still a little annoyed about this morning, but I really need you to trust me on this, all right?”
Still irritated, Malcolm nodded. “Fine. But really, dude, think about it,” he warned.
“I will,” I promised.
****
“You’re late.”
“I know.”
Paige was sitting on a desk at the front of the class. Her legs were swinging idly. She didn’t seem amused.
I gave her my best puppy dog eyes, complete with a little pout. She smiled and rolled her eyes before hopping off the desk and heading to the back of the room where our project was waiting.
Each group had a giant poster board at the back of the class. What they wanted to do with it was entirely up to them. We had created two tableaux: a scene at a royal ball and a scene at a peasant market. We had main characters and a bunch of shadow characters, and about a hundred little speech bubbles and tidbits of information that we had to glue onto the board.
Naturally Paige had them all ready and divided into individual plastic bags based on the region of the board they were supposed to go.
“Shall we begin?” she asked.
I happily took a baggie. “Yes, we shall.”
We each grabbed a glue stick and started pasting. Side by side. In silence. I tried just to enjoy the moment, I tried to focus. But I couldn’t get Malcolm’s words out of my head. And I couldn’t stop thinking about the prom.
“What’s the matter?” Paige asked.
“Huh?”
“You look constipated over there.”
We both chuckled.
“Nah, just tired,” I responded.
“Long day?”
“You could say that.”
She bit her lip. “I’m guessing you’re being cryptic because you don’t want to talk about it?” she tried.
I could tell she wanted me to say something. But what could I say without saying everything? I tried to laugh it off.
“Don’t worry, there’s no ‘it’ to talk about. Just didn’t sleep well last night is all.”
She shook her head empathetically.
“I hate that. Sleep is the best. Especially when you have one of those amazing dreams that you don’t want to wake up from but when you do, you awake glowing and refreshed!” She couldn’t help glowing as she talked about it. I couldn’t help smiling at her. When she noticed how I was smiling, she blushed. “Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked shyly.
“No reason. I just agree.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“So you wake up glowing sometimes?” she teased.
“Practically radioactive. You should see it,” I joked.
“Oh yeah? Should I come over first thing in the morning? Maybe bring a latte macchiato and a breakfast burrito?”
“That sounds perfect, actually. Thanks!”
We shared a brief flirtatious look, then went back to pasting. It was quiet for another few minutes.
“So, what are you up to this weekend?” Paige asked casually.
I shrugged. “I don’t know. No plans, really.”
“I heard that Chris is having a party on Saturday night,” she mentioned, her voice thick with forced nonchalance.
Unfortunately, the mere mention of high school parties brought up some seriously sore feelings. I unintentionally grimaced.
Paige noticed. She quickly tried to change the subject. “But you know how lame those things are. Especially Chris’s parties, wow. I mean, how are you supposed to dance to death metal?”
“Yeah, I just got really sick after the last one, you know? So it’s kind of like a Pavlovian response—you say the word ‘party’ and it makes me want to vomit!” I joked.
She gave me a strange look, as though she couldn’t tell whether to be insulted or laugh. I immediately recognized my blunder. “Not you!” I continued. “No, just the word ‘party.’ Nothing you say makes me want to vomit.”
“Oh good,” she said, halfway between bemused and offended.
“That came out wrong.”
She laughed, but I was so flustered I went on anyway.
“What I meant to say was that the thought of parties right now makes me feel…ill. NOT the thought of going to one with you.”
“Who said I was asking you to go with me?”
Not quite picking up on her playful t
one, I desperately tried to backpedal. “Oh, ha! No one!” I forced an uncomfortable laugh.
She watched me as I dug myself deeper.
“No one can tell you what to do or who to go with to a party!” I rambled. “You don’t have to go with anyone, or you don’t even have to go at all! Maybe you don’t feel like going to a party, that’s cool, who’s going to tell you that you have to go. But if you felt like it, I mean, you could just go by yourself and have a great time. Not that you would ever need to go by yourself, because, you know, you have lots of friends and people who like you—”
“Noah!” she interrupted. She put her hand gently on my arm. I froze, confused and embarrassed. When it came to the word vomit, I was king.
“Calm down. I was asking you.” She smiled.
I was speechless.
“Not like a date or anything, as friends. But no worries. If you’re not interested in going, it’s fine.”
I collected myself a little better this time around. “It’s not that I’m not interested in going with you. Sorry, I mean, you know, as friends. I’m just not interested in the party.”
She nodded, but disappointment flitted across her face.
“I’m sorry, did I say something wrong?”
“No, it’s just…” She trailed off. She was clearly debating whether to continue.
“It’s just what?” I nudged.
“You never ask me to do anything. Even as friends.”
Ouch. I knew it was one hundred percent true, but it stung to hear it out loud from the one girl I’ve ever really cared about. I could hear the doubt in her voice. I lowered my eyes.
“I know.”
She bit her lip anxiously. “So, how come?”
Because I’m a loser? I’m a jerk? I’m a vampire? Take your pick. “To be honest, I couldn’t really tell you.”
“Could you maybe try?”
I sighed. I froze up, panicked, choked. Obviously. “I don’t want to get rejected by you?” I tried. The truth just sounded so pathetic. So seventh grade.
“Well,” she started softly, “I get that. But we have so much fun together.”
“As friends?” I asked.
She could tell it wasn’t what I had in mind. She started to wring her hands. “I do like you, Noah, I do, it’s just—”
I Heart Vampires Page 13
