Vampire Manifesto

by Rashaad Bell

  Chapter 9

  In school we trust…

  I hopped into the driver’s seat without further ado about nothing and turned on the stereo, blasting music, my way of indicating that the conversation was over. Aiden hit the back seat as usual, with Abigail taking shotgun. We rode in silence, well mostly silence; Abigail and Aiden were on their phones, texting each other incessantly. It was like they were joined at the hip sometimes, two halves of the same soul.

  My thoughts slowly drifted towards Ethan, Mr. Blackwood if you’re nasty. I hardly knew him and yet, it was like I’d known him forever, old lovers on the reconnect. Even as much as I desired him, thoughts of my mystery dark haired savior lurked at the edge of my mind. His beautiful face supplanting that of Ethan’s, always present, always prominent in the shadow of my memories, ever watchful.

  Why wouldn’t he tell me his name? As much as he frightened me with his vanishing act, I still owed him my life. I wanted to thank him, to look him in the eyes and offer my sincere gratitude for what he risked for me that night. We both could have been killed if not for his quick actions, which, upon reflection, were just a little too quick, a little too graceful. Almost to the point that it appeared choreographed, when death is just a dance to perform and the tune is set to a murderer’s intent.

  A thought occurred, devious in nature, yet prodigious in its simplicity. Could my savior, my fierce little, black haired boy with the Barry Allen reflexes, could he have played some role in my attacker’s demise? Could he have been the instrument upon which death played its tune?

  I mean, he did shoot the guy in the leg like it was nothing, like he was already comfortable with that level of violence. Could it have gone even further than that? The way he watched my attacker run off, there was just a hint of pure malice woven into his features, the way the brow furrowed just so; that adorable little scowl of his.

  I smiled, my fear of him melting away. He saved my life and he didn’t ask for anything in return. Hell, he didn’t even want any credit, didn’t even want me to know who he was, yet the impact of our first meeting would…

  “Hey, you getting out the car or you doing second period from here?” Aiden’s voice brought my focus to attention.

  “What?” I asked.

  He was already outside, leaning in through the passenger side window. Abigail was behind him, just a little ways off talking to Miranda. “You’ve just been sitting there since we parked.”

  “Oh.” I halfheartedly responded, cutting off the engine. We were already at school, parked not far from the main campus. I must have been on autopilot. I’ve been doing that quite more frequently than normal. I grabbed my stuff and exited the vehicle.

  “You thinking about Ethan?” Aiden chided, making goo-goo eyes.

  “No, I wasn’t.” I announced, paying him no mind.

  Second period had just started, the campus alive and bustling with wayward students going to their next period, cutting class or doing any number of things that have absolutely nothing to do with learning. They were just static cling to me, there, but not.

  “I know who she is thinking about.” Abigail proclaimed jubilantly. “You’re thinking about Hip-Hop Anonymous.”

  I cocked an eyebrow skeptically. “Hip-Hop who?”

  Abigail laughed hysterically. “You know who I’m talking about. He who refused to be named!”

  I rolled my eyes. I knew who she was talking about and I was thinking of him. My Savior. My black haired savior who had no name.

  “Wait.” Aiden interrupted. “Who are you guys talking about?”

  “It wouldn’t be anonymous if you knew who it was, Aiden.” I walked off, not waiting for a response, my English class just around the corner.

  “Hip-Hop Anonymous. Hip-Hop Anonymous.” Aiden repeated softly to himself. “So, this dude really likes rap music then?”

  I ducked into class. Aiden poked his head inside then screamed out: “Is he even a he?”

  “Is there something I can help you with young man?” Questioned the woman sitting behind the English teacher’s desk.

  “Goonie goo-goo!” Aiden replied before running off just as the late bell rang.

  I took my assigned seat towards the back of the class, the chair next to me empty. It belonged to this kid, Donnie, who I swore I saw in the hallway on my way to class, but Donnie hardly ever came anymore, to English class that is.

  Everyone was starting to settle in, the noise from the students dying down as the mystery woman who sat behind Mr. Jones desk rose to her feet.

  “Hello class, my name is Mrs. Shoemowetochawcawe. Mr. Jones is in for emergency surgery, so I’ll be your substitute for the next couple of weeks. Now before you butcher my last name, you may refer to me as Mrs. Adahy or Adahy if you so wish, I’m not as stringent when it comes to familiarity. I will not, however, take any type of disrespect in any form or fashion, towards either myself nor the students in my ward, is that understood? Now, while keeping that statement in mind, are there any questions before we begin?”

  I had never seen her before, not as a sub at least. She didn’t look like any teacher I had ever seen. She was young, for a teacher that is. Twenty-five, twenty-six tops. She was pretty, not that pretty mind you, but too pretty to be a teacher though, at least for AP English.

  Adahy was dressed in something very unteacher like, way too much red leather for Palm Coast Florida heat, but she wore it with style, I had to admit. Her jacket was extra fierce. I wanted it. She had long, straight, jet-black ebony hair that was waist length. Very shiny, very taken care of. I could tell she was Native American from the onset, though her British accent threw me off a bit.

  Someone raised their hand.

  “Yes. You there. Jason Phillip, I believe. You have a question?” Adahy asked.

  “Yeah. So what’s the deal with Mr. Jones? You said he was in the hospital right? What’s up with that?”

  “Mr. Jones is undergoing surgery for whatever type of calamity one here in America goes to surgery for.” She responded. “Anyone else?”

  “What’s your name mean?” Someone yelled out.

  “Google it.” Adahy fired back.

  “How can I Google it? I can’t even pronounce it, let alone spell it.”

  “Jacqueline Barstow, I presume?” Adahy asked. “I do believe you are up to the task. However, if correct pronunciation and definitive meaning to something as trivial as my name befuddles you my dear, then life as an inept must be invigorating.”

  Whoa. Wasn’t expecting that.

  Adahy turned and wrote a name on the chalkboard. The name was John Rogers.

  “Has anyone ever heard of this man before?” She turned to face the class, who simply stared back. I don’t know about the rest of them, but I hadn’t heard of this John…

  “Excuse me Mrs. Shoemowetochawcawe.” Came a familiar voice from the door. I recognized it almost immediately, yet I didn’t dare hope it to be true. “My name is…”

  Adahy turned her attention to the new student at the doorway. “I know exactly who you are Mr. Blackwood. Principle Girard informed me of your transfer this morning. Take a seat young man. Excellent pronunciation by the way.”

  “Thank you ma’am.” Ethan made his way into the classroom. All eyes were on him as he quietly worked his way over to my direction, taking a seat next to me.

  “I apologize for being late, Mrs. Shoemowetochawcawe; I kinda got a little turned around in the hallways here.” Ethan professed.

  “Nonsense, young man.” Adahy stated. “This place is a labyrinth unto that of any Crete Minotaur.”

  Adahy turned her attention back to the class. “As I was saying. John Rogers. Have any of you heard of him?”

  Nothing but silence from the student body.

  “He’s a writer.” Ethan called out from his semi slump in his chair.

  “Very astute, Mr. Blackwood.” Adahy commended. “Your first day is looking to be quite noteworthy. Are you familiar with his work?”

 
Ethan shrugged. “Not really. Back in the day he wrote a script for some Vampire movie, but it got leaked on the net before the movie was green lit so they brought someone in to do a rewrite. Don’t remember the name of it, but the original script was pretty banging.”

  “The name of the movie was Fledgling and the script was excellent. He was before his time on that one. He was also the show runner on the short-lived TV show entitled The Vampire Manifesto. Now the rest of you may be wondering why this man, this John Rogers, some hack writer none of you have heard of is important.”

  Adahy pulled out a stack of books. “Please take one and then pass the rest to your neighbor.”

  “What are you doing here?” I whispered to Ethan, trying to mask the excitement in my voice.

  “Trying to get an education, what are you doing here?” He responded back coly.

  “Smart ass! What are you doing in my English class?” I demanded. Just having him close to me set my mind aflame. The person situated directly in front of me plopped a book down on my desk. I barely glanced at the cover, it was nigh impossible to take my eyes off him.

  Damn…

  Ethan Blackwood looked me up and down slowly. “Why are you covered in paint?”

  Adahy began walking down the rows of desks and chairs within the classroom. “The name of the book you just received is called Forgotten Future. It is written by none other than John Rogers himself. I will expect you to read it…”

  “Is that all you expect?” A voice called out.

  “Speaking while not being interrupted would be another, but no, that is not all I expect. You will read it and then produce a ten thousand word essay on the contents. You will have two weeks.”

  There was a noticeable groan from my classmates at the assignment.

  “Well class, we could always go back to Mr. Jones original itinerary, which was the fifteen thousand word essay on War and Peace. Yet as delightful as that project sounds to you, just imagine the mass appeal resting on my shoulders in reading such awe-inspiring drivel in which I’m sure you’ll try to pass off as an A plus grade essay.”

  I picked up the book again, gave it a quick thumb through. Just a little shy of two hundred pages. War and Peace was like what? Five bible stacks high? Yeah, I’m definitely not feeling that at all.

  “So why Rogers.” I asked. “What’s so great about that guy? Why did you choose him?”

  Adahy turned her eye towards me. “Because he’s quite mad, I believe. The insane can have such delightful intelligence at times. Always more intriguing than your run of the mill, day to day, insert random name here person. You never know just what type of delusional escapade they’re liable to get themselves into.”

  “Well that’s cool and all, but you really didn’t answer my question.” I’m not completely sure why I said that.

  The substitute teacher leaned up against Mr. Jones’ desk. “Please, elaborate.”

  “Just because he’s crazy, yeah, that’s just describing his current mind state really, but has no impact on the actual assignment. In fact, the reason this dude is some kind of nutcase would in fact be detrimental, especially since we are deviating from Mr. Jones initial syllabus. In spite of the impending drivel that we would transcribe and you would inevitable have to grade, switching authors is not going to change our intellectual prowess. So why Rogers?”

  “Intellectual prowess?” Adahy repeated. “I like you.”

  Ethan just shook his head.

  “The reason I choose the John Rogers book, awesome tittle notwithstanding, is because he’s here in Palm Coast, over at the Books a Million doing autograph signings all week. I met him yesterday, just on accident mind you, met him during a random encounter at the bookstore. We had a nice little conversation and yes, he is quite mad, or rather, eccentric would be the politically correct term.”

  “Rich people are eccentric, poor people are just crazy.” A student three chairs down from me announced. “Crazy and broke.”

  “Clever observation.” Adahy conceded. “But yes, we talked, much longer than I thought I would have allowed. Rogers is very convincing. Very charming. When the mouth of madness speaks, sometimes it’s just to say hello, sometimes it’s just to sing you a lullaby, sometimes it’s just to ask directions. But by the time you stop to listen, it’s already too late. You’re dead. He said that to me during our conversation. Out the blue, random and completely off topic. Then he very causally got up and walked away. That’s how our conversation ended. Intriguing man. That is why you are reading his book.”

  Adahy was looking at me intently, judging my reaction to her story. “Why are you covered in dried paint?” She asked finally.

  The intercom blared to life: “Excuse the intrusion, Mrs. Shoemo…uh..”

  “Is there something I can help you with?” Adahy was obviously annoyed at the interruption.

  “Is Amber Rose in attendance today?” Came the static voice.

  “Of course she is.” Adahy narrowed her eyes in my direction

  “Please have her report to Principle Girard immediately.” The voice declared.

  Ethan gave me an uneasy look. All I wanted to do was kiss him.

  “She’s on her way.” Adahy gave a slight head nod towards the door.

  I gathered up all my things, shoved them in my book bag, running my fingers across Ethan’s back as I passed him. Once outside, I headed towards the Principles office. Just up ahead was some random student patrolling the hallways.

  “Hall pass.” He demanded.

  I flipped him the middle finger and held it as I kept walking.

  “Oh that’s mature!” He yelled out, but I had already forgotten him by then.

  Just static cling…

  I wasn’t exactly sure why they wanted me up at the principal’s office; I’d never been there before. Ever. I don’t get in trouble really, that was more Aiden’s thing then mine. Not so much since him and Abigail hooked up, she really straightened him out on a lot of things, got him going down the right path again so to speak, although neither of them were angels.

  I entered the Main Office, coming to a halt before a waist high counter top that separated the waiting area and the administration part of the building. It was stuffy in here, like the air hadn’t been cut on yet, sweat visibly running down the side of the secretary’s face.

  “Principle Girard wanted to see me.” I announced.

  The secretary pointed to a clipboard on the counter. “Just sign in there and take a seat, she’ll be with you shortly.”

  I grabbed the pen and signed my life away. “What’s up with the air?” I asked. “It’s hot in here.”

  The woman seemed almost distraught at the question. “It’s not working for some reason. The Principle is trying to get them to come in sometime after lunch to get it fixed.”

  I glanced at the kid sitting next to me on the bench. He was asleep. Drool was oozing out the side of his mouth.

  “And it smells like…ass in here.” I whispered under my breath.

  The secretary looked at the boy beside me. “I know baby, I know.”

  I wasn’t sure how long I waited. Forty-five, maybe fifty minutes before a door behind the counter opened and Principle Girard leaned halfway out the archway.

  “That Amber Rose kid here yet?” She called out. The Secretary motioned in my direction.

  “ROSE! My office. NOW!” Principle Girard demanded. I could tell she was pissed. What I couldn’t tell is if it was because of me or something else altogether.

  The Principle ducked back into her office then immediately poked her head back out again. “Mrs. Greta, what is that smell?”

  The Secretary scrunched her nose towards the kid sleeping next to me.

  “Hey you!” Principle Girard yelled out. “WAKE UP!”

  He didn’t even budge. In fact, he actually snored louder.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me? Amber Rose, wake him up.” Principle Girard demanded.

  I gave him a quick nudge to the
ribs. “Dude, eyes front.”

  He came awake slowly, squinting his eyes as if the light was hurting him severely.

  “Oh bloody hell.” The kid exclaimed, rubbing his side, slipping the shades that were resting on his head down to his face.

  “Hey, Mr. American Idol. First, sunglasses off.” Yelled the Principle.

  “But…”

  “Save it for Dateline. Second, where are you coming from?” When the kid took off his shades, I could swear I saw his eyes go from white to completely bloodshot in seconds.

  “Gym.” He announced, squinting as he looked away from the sun.

  “Well that explains the…aroma. Third, why are you here?”

  “Well I…”

  “Please do not insult my intelligence by lying.” Principle Girard added.

  The kid let out a sigh. “Cigarettes.”

  The Principle shook her head. “Your lungs, your cancer. But in the meantime, you’ve just volunteered yourself for the school bake sale this month AND the annual car wash next month…”

  “Is that all?” He interrupted.

  “What? Slow your roll boy and pump your brakes, I not done yet. AND you’ve just volunteered for concession stand duty for the next three home games AND…”

  “Oh come on Principle Girard.” The sullen boy cried out. At that precise moment, she gave him such a look of utter contempt, I had to fight back laughter.

  “Are you staring at my boobs?”

  The boy seemed flustered as he tried to garner a response.

  “He was totally checking them out.” I chimed in.

  “Uh…”

  “Please refrain from answering rhetorical questions Mr…” Principle Girard cut a look towards Greta.

  “Horatio Venezuela Jr. Ma’am.”

  “...Mr. Horatio Venezuela Jr.” The Principle continued without skipping a beat. “Well that’s a mouthful. Venezuela. Son to Jasmine Venezuela. I do believe she runs the emergency room up in St. Augustine.”

  “Yeah, she does her trauma thing.” Horatio admitted.

  “She does her trauma thing. How eloquent.” Stated the Principle. “I’m sure she would be very interested in knowing that her son was suspended for a month for smoking on campus.”

  This caught little Horatio Juniors attention. “Suspended?”

  “Not to mention the fact, that if you were smoking, then you would have used a lighter, or matches, whatever your pleasure may be, but considering the fact that lighters and matches are on the list of forbidden contraband and classified as a weapon, I am well within my rights to contact the authorities…”

  Horatio sat up in his chair. “Wait, you gonna call the Cops?”

  “…to detain you until your mother can come down to the sheriff’s station to pick you up, which should give me just enough time to fill out your expulsion papers for violating…”

  “Hey, come on Principle, you…you’re blowing things out of proportion right now.” Horatio Jr. exclaimed.

  “OR, you can just shut up, man up and volunteer where I tell you to volunteer and everybody is happy.”

  “I didn't know you were this ruthless.” Muttered Horatio.

  “Well now you know.” Girard stated. “And knowing is half the battle. Go Joe. Now get out of my office.”

  Horatio Venezuela Jr. got up, slid his glasses back on his face and turned to leave, mumbling something inaudible under his breath.

  “What was that?” Asked the Principle. “I didn’t hear you.”

  Even with his sunglasses on, I could tell he was rolling his eyes. “Nothing, see you next Tuesday.” He exclaimed before leaving.

  “Amber Rose. My office.” The Principle yelled.

  Awesome. Thanks to Sir Douche-a-lot over there, now she’s gonna take all her madness out on me. Perfect. I walked into her office and she closed the door behind me, taking her seat behind this big old school, nineteen fifties looking desk of hers. Very retro.

  Principle Girard. Bright red hair, pretty, hard ass at times, pretty cool at others, wonder which one she was gonna be today. Hard ass or…

  “So how was the beach yesterday?” Principle Girard asked.

  Hard ass it is then.

  “I don’t know, I wasn’t at the beach.” I really am not in the mood to be suspended right now.

  “Is that what you’re going with?” She asked. “Really?”

  “I wasn’t at the beach Principle Girard; I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was sick. I wasn’t feeling well.”

  “Because a little birdie told me, oh and by little birdie I mean Assistant Principle Woodrow, who specifically stated that he saw you and our new transfer student, Ethan what’s his face…”

  “Blackwood.” I corrected without thinking.

  “Oh.” Girard acted somewhat surprised. “So you do know what I’m talking about?”

  “No, it’s just, he’s in my English class is all.”

  “He’s in all your classes Amber Rose.”

  “Oh. I didn’t…I didn’t know that.” I had to stop myself from smiling.

  Principle Girard gave me a questioning look. “I’m sure you didn’t. Anyway, this birdie, aka Assistant Principle Woodrow, called me this morning, just to inform this administration about your truancy.”

  “I wasn’t at the beach, I wasn’t feeling well.” I declared. “Maybe he got me confused with someone else.”

  “Apparently. Especially since I informed Mr. Woodrow that the only reason he was not here at work with me is because of the injury he procured during the last Pep Rally. I also stated that the Doctors assessment of his current situation was that he was to stay in bed and to keep off his foot for a week and if he was in fact at the beach where he reportedly saw you and Mr…Blackwood, then he was in direct violation of his own Doctors note and committing fraud against the School Board, considering the fact that he is on sick leave with pay AND receiving workman’s compensation since the injury took place on company property.” Explained Principle Girard.

  “Oh.” I wasn’t sure how to respond to that.

  “Needless to say, Mr. Woodrow set the record straight, informing me that he himself wasn’t at the beach, but rather his wife and young daughter were and they told him what they saw and he felt it necessary to pass this knowledge to myself.”

  I thought about it for a moment. “How would his wife know what Ethan looked like? He just moved here.”

  “An excellent question Amber Rose. When I asked Mr. Woodrow that very same thing, he then explained that his wife could have been confused and more and likely it wasn’t you that she saw at all and to disregard the matter in its entirety. He then got off the phone rather quickly.”

  There was a silence between us as neither spoke, waiting for the other to fill the empty void with their voice.

  “So, Ethan’s in every one of my classes?”

  “Okay, we’re done here.” Principle Girard said quickly, shuffling the papers on her desk into a neat little pile.

  “I can go?” I pointed towards the door with my thumb.

  “Yes. You may leave.”

  I got up and opened the door behind me. “I’m going to need a…”

  “Greta can sign your tardy slip.” Finished the Principle. “Close the door behind you.”

  I did as she asked and got my tardy slip from Greta the secretary. She also gave me a small UPS package.

  “I didn’t wanna mention this before, you know students are not allowed to have mail come to the school, but this came for you earlier today.” Greta said. “Figured I’d wait till you were on your way out, when Principle Girard wasn’t around. No need to add trouble on top of trouble.”

  I took the package from her. “Thanks.” I said. Then off I headed towards class.