by A. M. Hudson
shoulders subconsciously hunched around my ears. As I reached my bedroom, I peered behind me
and saw my dad wedged behind th e door of the spare room. It looked like they’d be en trying to
force the giant red couch out of the room, with little success.
“Did you have fun?” Dad asked, wiping his brow . Vicki shrugged and sat on the sofa—still
wedged in th e doorway. “That good, huh?” Dad smiled at me, ra ising his brows at my modest
collection of shopping bags.
“She hasn’t changed a bit when it comes to shopping, Greg,” Vicki whined.
David folded his arms, and his eyes narrowed as he stared at Vicki for a second, then his
head whipped up, and he looked at me with an open-mouthed frown.
That’s my cue to leave.
With a shrug of my shoulder, I headed into my room quickly—ignoring the jitterbug running
over my spine.
I’m in so much trouble.
After hanging the dress safely in my wardrobe, I headed back out to help Dad with the spare
room—half expecting David to jump out and attack me. But he di dn’t. Worse, he continued to help
Dad—all the while saying nothing at all—well, nothing at all to me.
He’s mad. I know it. I can tell.
With my hands on my hips, I watched the two boys struggle with the offending sofa while
Vicki, who must’ve climbed in past Dad, vacuumed the carpet where the sofa had been.
At last, the bulky lounge shifte d, and David pretended to struggle with i ts weight as he and
my dad carried it out of the room and angled it up the stairwell to the attic.
I should run. I should go outside and spend t he rest of the day at the park or something.
When David finishes pretending to be human, he is so going to tear shreds off me—fi guratively
speaking.
Against my better judgment, I sauntered into the spare room when Vicki called me, and took
the duster from her. “Make sure you dust the cornices, Ara. I hate cobwebs.”
I grinned and thought of a mythological vampire’s house; coffins and cobwebs and bats. If
David had Vicki and Dad over for tea , and vampires were like the m yths, she’d conceal a feather
duster in her handbag and sneak off to the bathroom every five minutes, but secretly, she’d be
removing all David’s eight- legged pets. Then again, the only reason a vampire would invite Vicki
and Dad to tea would be if they were the main course.
“I suppose you think you’re pretty funny?”
I looked up, snapping out of m y reverie in a suddenly empty room. “Actually, I do. I think
you’d look rather fetching in a coffin.”
David’s eyes narrowed in obvious confusion and he folded his arms. “Ara, what are you
talking about?”
“The cobwebs—” I pointed to th e ceiling, then dropped my hand slowly, realising that
wasn’t what David was referring to. “Oh. The dress?”
“Yes. The dress.”
“I—” I bought my own dress, big fr eaking deal! What is this, a dictatorship? “You know
what?” I sunk my hip down on one side and propped my hand on it. “Bite me!”
“Don’t tempt me, young lady.”
“It’s just a dress. Get over it.”
David shook his head and backed away from me as Dad and Vicki waltzed in, carrying the
bed-head. “Oh, Vicki, please, let me take that.” The human David took over for the angry vampire,
and I secluded myself in my task while the three of them continued furnishing the room around me.
As time ticked on and my mediocre tasks came to completion, I leaned on the tall chest of
drawers at the foot of the bed and watched David.
Anger has a funny way of dissipating when you look at the entity of your infuriation and see
hurt. I don’t know how this dress-buying thing worked in the old days—the one’s David grew up
in—but what I do know is that by refusing to accept his gift, I’ve deeply offended him.
If only I could take it all back.
But then, on the other hand, no. I’m not proud that his feelings are hurt, but if I don’t want
him to buy me a dr ess, he just has to respect t hat. I’m my own person, and I have the right to make
my own decisions. The only reason I agreed to it in the first place is because he forced me into it.
There’s no law saying I have to accept a gift, and I can wear whatever I want.
My head nodded in self-satisfaction, but my heart danced a lonely samba under my rib cage
as the afternoon sun lit the room and kissed the golden skin of the boy I was in love with. He makes
it so hard to be mad at him; he’s mad at me, and I’m mad at him for bei ng mad at me, but now I’m
mad because I don’t want to be mad at him anymore—and that makes me feel uneasy because I
have a right to be mad.
He dusted off his hands after he placed a small set of drawers next to the bed, then smiled at
me—the conceited I-know-what-you’re-thinking-and-I’m-finding-it-funny smile.
“Er!” I stomped my foot and balled my fists up beside me. “You’re so annoying.”
“Ara?” Vicki looked up from making the bed, then looked at David and Dad as I stormed
out of the room and slumped on the settee in the hall.
Dad walked out aft er me and s topped by soon-to-be-Mike’s door with a look of intens e
thought, then snickered and walked away. Vick i, with her arms folded around a spa re blanket,
followed him—after casting an accusatory glance at me.
I folded my arms, scoffed in her direction when her back was turned, and refolded my arms.
“Another one of Ara’s infamous tantrums.” Davi d, with his towering height, stood in front
of me.
“I’m not throwing a tantrum.” I slid down in the chair and bit my teeth together.
“Hm.” He turned and headed back into the spare room. “Coulda fooled me.”
“Coulda? You mean…did!”
“Yes.” He st opped and leaned on the doorfr ame. “I must admit, that was very clever of
you—stuffing your purse with a lesser amount. But you can’t read minds, mon amour—” he tapped
his temple, “so your plan was doomed from the start.”
“Well, you assumed I was submissive, so yours was, too.”
“Submissive?” He dropped his arms and moved over to me. “Ara, is that what you think?”
“I don’t know. You seem to know all my thoughts, so you tell me.”
“Ara. Look at me.” He knelt in front of me. “Please?”
With my movements as rigid as a frozen elastic band, I rolled my head upward, but kept my
bottom lip in a completely tight pout.
“My love, I’m sorr y. I never meant to offend you. I—” He took my hand; I let him, wit h
only a little bit of a fight. “I was being playful, mostly. I truly did not think that my spending money
on you would be considered rude or controlling.”
“It’s not that, David.” My tone sung with reason . “It’s that when I tried to decline, you got
mad at me.”
“Mad?” He doubled back a little. “You think I’m mad?”
“You’ve been ignoring me,” I said quietly.
“Ara,” he laughed my name out, “I’m not mad. Not at all. Ge eze, girl, sometimes you really
can make a mountain out of a molehill, can’t you?”
Tears coated the surprise behind my eyes. “I thought you’d yell at me.”
“Yell?” His brow pulled low on one side, thought washing across his face. “Ara, what kind
of a man do you think I am?”
As if a rope had just pul led his soul out onto th e carpet, his face went pale, his eyes drained
of the smile. “I’ m so, terribly sorry if I’ve given you that impression. I—” He shook hi s head and
dropped my hand. “I truly never meant for you to feel that way. I’m sorry I was pushy about the
dress, but, if it means that much to you, I’m glad you bought your own dress, and I will be happy to
see you wear it with pride.”
“Really?” A half a smile crept onto my lips.
“Oui, jolie fille.” He t ouched his hand to th e hollow between hi s collarbones. “I am your
eternal servant. You should neve r feel pres sured to do s omething because I want you to…” He
swallowed and his eyes filled with liquid that did not spill past his lashes. “And you should never be
afraid of me— or my reaction.”
“I wasn’t really afraid—per se. Just anxious.” My shoulders dropped. “I just don’t like
disappointing you.”
“My love, nothing you want with your heart will ever be a disappointment to me. You must
know that?”
“I do. Now.” I shook my head and laughed softly. “I’m sorry, too, David. I—I mean, it’s not
that big a deal—buying my own dr ess. I guess, in some ways, I just wanted to prove that I had my
own strengths, and that I could make a stand.”
“You, my girl, are the strongest soul I know.” He rested his upturned palm along my jaw.
“You don’t ever need to prove that to me.”
Smiling, I took his hand and held it in my lap. “David, you’re a vampire—a part of me will
always need to prove I’m not weak.”
He looked down then, and his eyes focused on something far away while his lips turned up;
my heart skipped at the sight of his dimples.
“What are you smiling at?” I asked.
“I hope you like scary movies.”
An eerie feeling swept over me as my gaze followed his to the front door at the base of the
stairs. “Why?”
“Hello,” Emily chimed in her high but elegant voice as Sam opened the door.
“Hey, Em.” I stood up.
“Hey,” she said, then turned and waved to someone outside. “Bye, David.”
David? Not surprisingly, when I looked back, my eyes fell upon the plain colours of the
corridor walls and the rosewood floorboards below the rug David had been kneeling on.
Right, so, no goodbye for me, then. “Right on time, Em.” I looked at the clock on the wall as
I reached the base of the stairs.
“Yep, and I hope you like scary movies.” She held up a DVD; the title said something about
a saw, but it was hard to tell, because I was too distracted by the blood-like scratches on the cover-
art.
I shivered. That’s what David meant. “Uh, yeah, sure,” I lied. “That’ll be great.” Why did I
just say that?
I could almost hear David laughing down the street. Wel l, I hope he enjoyed his little joke,
because he’ll be paying for it when I call him at two in the morning, scared, unable to sleep because
the bad man is going to get me—instead of calling Mike, like always.
My arms folded in smug grat ification. Well, there you go, t hat’s one thing I’ll l et him pay
for.
Chapter Two
Chapter Two
“I don’t know?” Emily grinned at Dad as he stood up. “I think Sam has a point.”
“See, old man,” Sam said, “if a senior agrees with me, I must be right.”
Dad, with a humoured grunt, stacked a pile of plates in the sink and leaned against the bench.
“Well, I happen to know that this particular senior is an A grade st udent because she doesn’t play
video games.” He motioned a hand to Emily, who sat taller—bristling with pride.
“Dad.” Sam smirked as he spoke. “Emily’s only an A grade student because she has a cru—”
“Good work ethic,” I cut in, sure Sam was about to say “crush on her teacher.”
Sam bit his lip and looked apologetically at Emily, who grimaced and picked the pineapple
off her pizza.
“If only a good work ethic was as addictive as video games.” Dad sat back down at the table.
“The fact is, Samuel, my boy, that you have an example to set for the other students, being that
you’re a—”
“Teacher’s kid. I know, I know.” Sam rolled his eyes. “We’ve all heard the speech, Dad. But,
you can’t debate my ar gument with any prof itable reasoning. I learned more about physics by
playing Halo than I did from Mr. Ester.”
Dad let out a long breath and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“It’s okay, Mr. Thompson,” Emily said in an encouragi ng tone, “Alana and I still believe in
the importance of homework, isn’t that right, Lani?”
Alana looked up from her plate and nodded.
“I’m sorry.” I folded my arms. “I’m with Sam on this one. Burnout taught me the logistics of
driving a car.”
Dad jostled with a little chuckle. “Exactly.”
“Hey. What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I mean—” he sat back and folded his arms, “—that there’s a reason you don’t have your
licence yet.”
“You don’t have your licence?” Emily practically spat the words out.
“Um…no.” I sank back into myself.
“Why?”
“I uh, I’m not very good at driving,” I lied. I am good. I just don’ t see the need to be behind
the wheel—it never did my mum any good.
“Maybe Alana and I could teach you,” Em offered.
“Uh, I think we’ll leave the driving lessons to the experts,” Dad chimed in.
“But, if your methods aren’t working, Mr. Thompson, then maybe she could learn from those
of us closer to her age,” Emily said.
Sam stifled a giggle; Dad raised a brow at him. “When did I become the old guy?”
“Uh, about forty years ago, Dad.” I laughed.
“Hm. Should’ve seen it coming. So—” he said with a change in tone, “what are you gir ls up
to tonight?”
“Scary movie,” Emily said.
“Yay.” I waved an invisible flag, with mock enthusiasm.
“Yeah? Which one?” Sam sat up, suddenly more eager to be a part of the conversation again.
“No way, pest. Girl’s night,” I said.
“Aw. No fair.”
“Life’s not fair, son. Get used to it,” Dad said distractedly.
What is it with this town and philosophical one-liners?
“Well, Sam, if you want to paint your nails and look at pictures of Ara’s hunky BFF, then you
can have a girl’s night with us,” Emily said.
“Yeah, I’ll pass.” He slumped back in his chair.
“All right, well—” Dad st ood up and took the las t of the plat es, “—Sam and I will get t he
dishes, and you girls can go talk about boys.” Hi s eyes widened and he grin ned, raising his brows a
few times.
Awkward. “Yeah, that’s our cue to go.” I stood and motioned the girls to follow.
As the sun dropped over the roof of the house and the rainbows ran away from my walls ,
Emily, Alana and I all sat with our feet dangling off the side of my bed, our heads tilted back over
the opposite edge and our hands on our bellies, laughing about nothing in particular.
“So, whose idea was it to hang the crystals?” Alana asked. “It’s very inventive.”
“Oh, um, Pollyanna.”<
br />
“Pollyanna?” She rolled onto her belly and frowned.
“Yeah. It’s from an old movie my mum used to love.”
“Hm. Never seen it.” Alana looked at Emily, who shrugged, shaking her head.
“So, Ara, are you gonna show us these pics of Mike or what?”
“Sure, Em, but, you’re with Spence now, do you really need to be checking out other guys?”
“Who says it’s checking him out? I ’m just curious as to why your eyes light up when you
speak about him.” As Emi ly sat up, her and Alana rested their heads together for a second and
giggled at my blank expression.
“They so do not light up,” I demanded.
“Um, actually, Ara, they kind of do,” Alana said carefully.
“Yeah, you sparkle.” Emily waved her fingers around. “So—” she sat on the edge of the bed,
“let’s see them.”
“Fine.” I rolled up with a huff and wandered over to my desk. “I only have one box, though. I
grabbed the wrong one when I moved.” The one I meant to grab was my box of Harry, but I’d
switched them over a week before, and now, I have the wrong one. But at least I can remember my
best friend properly, and his face keeps me going when I get homesick.
After closing my drawer with my hip, I dumped the shoebox on the floor in the middle of my
room, then plonked down in f ront of it. Alana sat beside me, waiting anxiously while I fingered the
lid delicately, trying not to peel back the carefully placed rainbow and kitten stickers Mike randomly
stuck on the box when he was bored one day.
With a quick breath, Alana reached past my wrist and grabbed the first picture the li ght
touched. “Oh, my God!” She jumped up and handed it to Emily, who smiled instantly.
“Oh. He is cute.” Emily laid back on my pil low, her silky blonde hair spilling out around her
like a splash of liquid. “He’s kinda rustic, isn’t he?”
Alana, with another picture in her hands, nodded. “Is he a surfer?” She f lipped the image
around for me to see; Mike in his board shorts, on the beach—golde n and tanned, with hair like t he
sun falling scruffily over his eyes.
“Yeah, I suppose.” I shrugged. “He does surf.”
“I can’t beli eve how cute he is.” Emily rolle d onto her bel ly and reached down to gr ab
