And, did I want to spend the rest of my life in Dullsville-especially given the possibility that Alexander might not be here, too? I'd always been dying to get out of town, but when I met my true love all that changed. I once dreamed of a place where I wasn't an outsider anymore. And if Alexander returned toRomania , I'd be lonelier than I had been before.
Was I afraid of being true to myself in front of my English class? Was I too timid to explore everything I might really be able to become? Was I too nervous to share my dream of becoming a vampire or anything else I might choose? I'd always thought my character was just as important-if not more so-than the career I'd pursue. I had to be honest about that-especially now that I'd made fun of Trevor for not reporting his true desires. But did I really have the courage that I was telling him he lacked?
I took a breath and began writing. Words filled my head faster than I could type them. I wrote about my passions, no matter how ridiculous they might seem to Mrs. Naper and my classmates. The once-blank page was quickly being turned into an essay. I was in the zone and nothing was going to distract me.
When I finished my first draft, I made some notes for my presentation.
Careers are about making money, I thought, but a great career was doing what someone loved-and being paid for it. Trevor should be a professional soccer player. Billy Boy would be a scientist or computer programmer. And Alexander would be an artist. But wasn't he one already? He had already won first place in Hipster ville's Art Fair. Now he just needed to be paid for his artwork so he could buy the Mansion.
And then it hit me. Why hadn't I thought of it sooner? We could sell Alexander's paintings in Dullsville's Annual Art Auction.
The Naper Paper proved to be more insightful than I'd ever imagined.
Convincing Alexander about my brilliant plan was another thing, "The Dullsville auction," I said when we met inside the rail yard boxcar. "We'll sell your paintings in the auction."
"Are you kidding me? No one would buy my-artwork."
Alexander stared at his paintings on the wall. "You heard my father. I paint more as a hobby. Raven, that auction is for professional artists."
"Alexander, these paintings are gorgeous. I don't need to be an expert to tell that these are valuable."
"You are just biased because you are my girlfriend."
"You won first prize in Hipsterville's Art Fair. Those voters weren't dating you. You are megatalented
. If I've learned anything from my English assignment, it's that hobbies can turn into careers. And we are going to prove it."
"I don't think so-there must be some other way."
"There isn't time," I pleaded. "The auction is this week. It's the only way."
"I'm not prepared for the town to see my work-much less ask anyone to buy it," he said.
"You won't. I will."
"I don't know how to participate in an auction. Or even who to ask."
"Unfortunately or fortunately," I said, "I have a major connection to Dullsville's auction in the form of my perfectly evil English partner."
"I need to speak with you," I said to Trevor as soon as I saw him the following morning. He was getting out of his Camaro and sauntering toward school.
"Really?" he leered. "It will cost you. How about that kiss you didn't have time for before?"
"How do I put things in the art auction?" I asked, ignoring his come-on.
"What do you have of value?" "I don't, but someone else does." "So why doesn't that someone ask me?""Because I am acting as an agent." "If you get ten percent, what do I get?" He shot me a sexy grin.
"How about what you won't get -a step on your foot or a kick to the shin?"
"You say the cutest things, Monster Girl. Sorry, I can't help you."
I tugged on his backpack. "I'm asking you as your English partner-be a humanitarian. I can still skip class on our assignment date and watch you fail from outside the window."
He weighed his options heavily. Then he reluctantly agreed.
"My mom is in charge of the auction. I suppose I can drive you there after school."
"I'll take my bike and meet you there."
"You think you can get into the country club looking like that? You'll need me to escort you."
Trevor had a point. I'd only frequented the upscale club when I was accompanied by my sports-obsessed father and forced to wear tennis whites. They didn't welcome the pins and studs that I was sporting now. "I'll meet you in the parking lot," I agreed.
He was surprised at my positive response and left for class with an extra spring in his step.
After school, I found Trevor sitting on the hood of his Camaro - the whole soccer team was waiting around him as if he'd just won the World Cup.
Trevor opened the door to the Camaro . "Step inside."
His jock mates yelled, " Whoo hoo!"
I wasn't worried about my safety, but I was worried about my reputation. I didn't run with the in crowd-and at this point, I wanted to keep it that way.
Besides, I had something better than mace if Trevor decided to become friendly.
"Becky and Matt are coming, too," I said, as Dullsville's cutest couple caught up to me.
I felt victorious, but Trevor was unfettered.
"Of course," he said coyly. "We'll double."
I thought the alarm bells would sound when I entered the club and I'd be arrested by the fashion police. Though Becky and Matt were close behind, a staff member approached me.
"Can I help you?" a tall man in a green country club suit asked.
"I'm here with Trevor. Trevor Mitchell. He's parking the car."
"You are?" he asked, checking me out.
"There is a dress code, I know. But we are just passing through."
Just then my savior in khakis came through the door. "Hi, Dave," Trevor said. "I'm here to see my mom.""Hi, Trevor. How are you? Your mother's in the banquet hall." It was the first time in my life I was happy to be by Trevor's side.
We made our way down the orange-and-brown-patterned carpeted corridor. Unoriginal, hotel-inspiredan lined the green painted walls.
Mrs. Mitchell was opening a cardboard box when she noticed Trevor walk in. She beamed as she stood up,then frowned when she saw me enter the room behind her son.
"Are you in trouble?" It was her first reaction.
"Raven wants to place something in the auction."
"Hello, Matt, Becky…Raven."
"Hello, Mrs. Mitchell," we responded. Mrs. Mitchell was like the teacher students dreaded having-chummy with those who excelled and short with those who didn't.
"That's very nice of you to help outyour …" She hesitated,then glared at me. "…friends ."
She, like Trevor, was skeptical that I was capable of participating in a high-society Dullsville auction.
She tried hard to hide her contempt for me. But it was clear she didn't think I had anything of value to sell.
"This isn't for a school project, is it?" she asked. "This is an adult auction for collectors. We aren't auctioning off papier-mache penguins made in art class."
"No," I said in my politest voice. Normally, I would say something snotty, but Alexander and the Mansion^fate were on the line. So I kissed up to her like she had never been kissed up to before.
"We are studying careers in English class and I thought what better way to see a successful woman than to watch her up close? Not only will I see how you organize this event, but I'll be able to see how an auction really works."
"Well.,.I had no idea" Mrs . Mitchell said, suddenly bright and charming. "What would you like to auction?""Paintings.""From your father's collection? Is it an artist we know?"
I was afraid to tell her they were from a teen vampire.
"No.A young European talent."
"European?"Mrs. Mitchell asked, her eyes almost popping out of her head. "It would be nice to showcase someone on the rise. Of course, I'd need to see it first."
"Someone will bring it by," I chimed in.
"Good. T
hen fill out this form. And bring the artwork to me by the middle of the week-no later than five o'clock."
"That's it?" Trevor asked on my behalf.
"That's it. Ill set aside an area just for you."
"Thanks," I said.
"Why don't you stay and I can show you the real behind-the-scenes goings-on in event planning. It might help you with your report. Then I can run you home afterward."
"That's okay, Mom," Trevor interjected before I could. "I have to take her back before soccer practice tonight."
"Well then. Remember, all pieces need to be checked in before five."
Alexander wouldn't be able to drop the paintings off before sunset. And how was I going to lug all his artwork there on my bike? We'd have to find someone strong and not bound by the curfew of daylight.
I just hoped Jameson had developed some muscles from vacuuming.
"I'll drop you two off first. Then I'll take Raven home," Trevor told us when we raced out of the club parking lot. At this point I wished I had stayed with his mother and rode home with her.
"Oh, that's okay. I'm going to Raven's house," Becky said.
Trevor's expression turned from triumph to torment. He dropped Matt off in silence and didn't speak the rest of theway, He barely let us out before he sped away.
"I owe you big-time, Becky," I said when we were safely on the sidewalk.
Unlike Becky, I didn't have my own truck. "Want to ride on the handlebars or the seat?
"How about I wait for Matt to come back and pick me up?" she suggested. "Then you can avoid leg cramps."
We sat down on the front steps. "I can tell you whose paintings are going to be put up on the auction block," I began.
Becky's face sparkled. "Whose?"
"It's a total colossal secret."
"Are there any other kind?"
"Not even Matt can know."
She paused."Forever?"
"No, just until the auction is over."
"I can totally do that."
She leaned in close.
And I said in my softest voice, "The paintings I'm auctioning off are Alexander's."
"That's awesome!" she declared. "But why is it a secret?"
"Because we don't want anyone to know he's the artist. We're afraid that no one will buy them if they know they're from a teenager. And one that lives in the Mansion."
"I see your point. But what will you do with the money?"
"This is an even bigger secret. We plan to buy the Mansion."
It wasn't long before Matt pulled into the driveway.
"What's up?"
"Nothing," Becky said as she got into his car. "Nothing is up. And I don't have any more to say about it, either. And for that matter, I never will."
A confused Matt drove off as Becky looked out the window and smiled.
28
HEAD OF THE CLASS
The following morning we sat through several painfully boring English presentations. Students had revelations of being Web designers, pharmacists, and restaurateurs. I prayed we wouldn't get to Trevor and me, but the clock had ten minutes remaining. My prayers weren't answered.
"So what did you learn about yourselves?" Mrs. Naper asked.
Trevor, always the star, had no inhibitions about being the center of attention. He sprang up next to Mrs. Naper's desk while I walked past my classmates as if I were headed for the guillotine.
"When I was in kindergarten," Trevor began, "like most boys, I wanted to be a superhero." A few girls in the front row giggled. Trevor stopped and shot them a cold stare until the girls glanced away. "Of course, I'm not that kidanymore," he continued, "but I do like action, speed, and competition. What I've learned from this assignment and the interview is that when you are a kid, you don't worry about what others think of your ideas. And your dreams have no boundaries. It might be easy, predictable, and even safe to follow in my parents' professions. But my essay is about how a superhero has courage, and it takes courage to follow your dream. And my goal…," he began, and then turned to me, "is to be a professional soccer player."
"Tell us something we don't know," a Pradabee said, flipping through her notebook.
I was really surprised at Trevor's speech. I had challenged my nemesis with my earlier assessment of him and he felt he had to prove to me that he wasn't the coward I thought he was. I wondered if I hadn't said anything, if Trevor would have stood here proclaiming he wanted to be a real estate developer like his dad.
The class applauded and Mrs. Naper grinned at her student pet. "Very interesting and well spoken, Trevor," she complimented. "Now we have just enough time for Raven's presentation before the bell rings."
I gazed out at my fellow students. They glared back like I was the lead act at a freak show.
"When I was young," I began, "I wanted to be a vampire."
My classmates snickered. I pursed my lips and clutched my fist.
"Settle down," Mrs. Naper commanded.
I looked to Becky, who gave me the thumbs-up sign.
"And since then," I continued, "I've lived my life in a way and style that reflects that. It never mattered to me what other people wore-" "Obviously," I heard someone say.
"Or said" I continued. "And because of this I've always been an outcast. Just by being me. So I imagine that I'll find a profession that suits me-perhaps being an editor of my own goth fashion mag ," I said enthusiastically. "But as we are looking toward our future, I'm not sure it matters what we want to be but rather who we want to be. Someone honestor deceitful?Someone kind or cruel?Someone loyal or unfaithful? In any profession we can elect to be any of those things. I think this assignment is not only about what we choose to do but about who we choose to be. I choose to always be loyal to myself."
I stood in front of my classmates, waiting for their response. No laughter. No snickering. No booing. I turned to Mrs. Naper and Trevor, who both appeared stunned.
Just then the bell rang.
Relieved the assignment was finallyover, I followed Trevor and handed in my essay. As the students filed out of class, I overheard a cheerleader speaking with her friend.
"I know I said I want to be a model, but what I meant was a nice model," "Yeah," said one of the Pradabees . "When I have my designer clothing line, I'll give ten percent of the goods to charity."
After the two girls left, a member of the band was suddenly standing next to me. "I said I wanted to be a teacher, butI really haven't decided what I want to do," he shared with me. "You made me feel that it was okay to focus on myself for a while. And the rest will follow."
"I think it will," I said reassuringly.
Mrs. Naper put Trevor's and my essays in her folder. "In all the years I've been giving this assignment, yours and Trevor's presentations were two of the best." She gloated.
Trevor put his arm around me before I could bat it away. "Guess that means we'll be working together again very soon," he said triumphantly, and disappeared into the hallway.
Becky handed me my backpack."Seems like your presentation was more powerful than you planned.
Maybe you should be a motivational speaker."
"Can I wear combat boots?" asked.
"You'll be the only one," she said, and dragged me out of class.
29
AUCTION
I'd never attended, nor had reason to attend the gala affair known as Dullsville's Annual Art Auction.
My parents were more than happy and quite surprised that I was trading in an evening at the cemetery for one spent at the country club. My dad actually gave me the keys to his SUV since Jameson would be driving the Sterlings later. I chauffeured the unknown and mysterious artist, Alexander Sterling, to the event.
The country club's parking lot was as huge as a theme park's and seemed miles away from the club.
Lexuses , Bentleys, and BMWs lined the front entrance. Anyone who was anyone valeted their car and saved all exercise for their chats at the bar.
I pulled into a slot a football field away
and joked to Alexander that we should wait for the shuttle bus.
"You should actually be arriving in a limo," I said to my very handsome and quite nervous boyfriend.
All the members were dressed to the nines. Hats, scarves, and enormously overpriced sequined clutch purses dotted the affair. Art collectors from around the area hobnobbed with the members.
All the bigwigs in town were present, including the mayor, Mr. and Mrs , Mitchell, and Mr. Berkley.
The snooty members were buzzing around, acting like they owned the multiacre building. Anyone who was anyone was at the auction. It was rumored that paintings, sculptures, and jewelry would be sold.
Since not much else goes on in town, and since it attracted out-of-towners, too, this was a major event.
Annual Art Auction signs led the way to the banquet room I'd beento previously with Trevor. It was there that a ticket table had been set up. We waited in line behind several women decked out in their Sunday best. When it was our turn to buy tickets, the seller was surprised by her oddly attired customers. But I wasn't bothered. I acted like I didn't even notice, just like Mrs. Sterling did. Alexander was prepared to pay, but I insisted. "You need to save all the money you can,'' I said.
There was a buzz of self-importance. Old and young wealth rubbing elbows with other thoroughbred moneymakers. Sotheby's it wasn't, but the auction was a close second.
Members gawked at Alexander and me with disapproval. I couldn't wait until Mrs. Sterling arrived with her umbrella and turned heads.
The bar was filled with gossip, smoke, and drinkers. I was dying to get a soda, but I wasn't sure what the etiquette was- Would I have to pay for it? Tip? I opted to wait until my parents showed up.
Cookies and cakes were spread out on a few banquet tables and I managed to gulp down a few, but Alexander passed, Alexander was as nervous as I was when I attended his parents' first dinner party. My boyfriend was used to being sequestered in a mansion, with Jameson and me as his only companions. Now he was in the midst of Dullsville's finest. Not only were there a lot of people, but his paintings were going to be sold in front of the entire town.
Outside the banquet hall, a table was set up for a silent auction fund-raiser, with such goodies as spa treatments, restaurant gift certificates, and discounts at Armstrong Travel.
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