Uncle Felix clapped his hands together. “Aha! And there she is! Out to do battle with the dragons of day and taste the delights of this world in sunshine!”
Jocelyn said, “You don’t mind if I record your experiences in verse, do you? Or if I fictionalize bits here and there?” She waved her fingers over her laptop. “I plan to make you more alluring in my version.”
As Pearl considered what insult would be a worthy retort to that statement, Uncle Felix said, “Let me give you some words of advice before you sally forth, my dear. Americans invented adolescence. It is not a natural phenomenon. Adolescence is a social construct, created by an urban-industrial society that keeps its young at home far past puberty. Teenage angst is a luxury of a successful and complacent society, a purely modern human conceit that isn’t condoned by our superior species.”
Pearl waited for a point.
Uncle Felix stretched his legs out on his couch.
She sighed inwardly and wished it were possible to have a conversation without the little power plays. The older vamps liked to make the younger ones ask for clarification. It confirmed the hierarchy of power and satisfied them in some obscure way. It was annoying. “And?” she prompted.
“In another age or with another species, the parents would have told these teenagers to ‘suck it up.’ Because they don’t . . . you should find it quite easy to suck them up.”
A few aunts chuckled.
“Funny,” Pearl said. “I never noticed you having much luck hunting teens.”
The laughter cut off abruptly, like a TV switched off.
“Unnatural,” Aunt Maria said. She continued to stare at the wall. “Vampires own the night, not the day. She shouldn’t be hunting in daylight.”
Daddy still had his hands on Pearl’s shoulders. As she opened her mouth to respond, he tightened his grip and said, “Now, Maria, bit of pot calling the kettle black, don’t you think? We’re all an affront to nature.”
From her nest of blankets and bandages, Charlaine said in a muffled voice, “She’ll condemn us all. She should be destroyed. The king will blame us for harboring a freak.”
Daddy squeezed Pearl’s shoulders again. “His Majesty appreciates results. If Pearl can demonstrate the effectiveness of her new skill, the king will reward us, not punish us.”
“So say you,” Aunt Maria said.
“So say I,” Daddy said. “Continue, Felix.” He directed Pearl to the hearth. “Sit and learn. Felix is an expert at gaining trust, and that is exactly what we need you to do. Befriend the students and gain admittance to their homes. From there . . . it should be easy to invent an excuse for them to invite us in after sundown.” Vampires needed to be invited to enter a home. It was one of the fine-print details that came with vampirism, like the lack of a reflection and aversion to holy water.
“‘Look like the innocent flower,’” Uncle Pascha said, quoting his beloved and not-exactly-contemporary Shakespeare again, “‘but be the serpent under ’t.’”
With a sigh, Pearl sank down on the hearth. She held Antoinette’s clothes on her lap. Daddy leaned in the doorway, effectively blocking her path downstairs. Pressing her lips together to keep from insulting those relatives who hadn’t advocated for her murder, Pearl listened as a centuries-old vampire counseled her about the modern teenager.
Chapter
SEVEN
High school.
Pearl placed her hands on her hips and surveyed the monstrosity. It hulked on a hillside, a fortresslike block with narrow slits for windows as if to allow the teachers to shoot arrows at the kids in the parking lot. Not a bad idea, she thought.
She’d refused to ride the school bus. She’d also turned down the neon-pink My Pretty Pony backpack that Uncle Felix offered her after a far-too-long anecdote about its acquisition. It sported bloodstains on one shoulder strap. Instead, she’d borrowed a military backpack from Uncle Pascha (actually used in WWI—it came with an anecdote too) and hiked across town.
Now that she was here, the temptation to keep walking was nearly suffocating. She’d rather walk across Connecticut (eastward into the sun) than walk into this shadowed prison and spend hours shoulder to shoulder with her supper. Humans didn’t have to hang out in a chicken coop before having chicken nuggets. With this many humans, she bet it even smelled like a chicken coop. But she couldn’t explain to Mother and Daddy that she’d balked because of the stench.
A familiar voice said behind her, “I thought you said you were homeschooled.”
She nearly flinched. She hadn’t heard the boy approach, which was inexcusable. Even in a parking lot with humans swarming in every direction, she should have been aware of her personal space. “Just enrolled,” she said.
“Been inside yet?” Evan asked. He stood beside her, and she studied him from out of the corner of her eye. He wore a button-down shirt, slightly wrinkled, with jeans that had worn through in one knee. His neck looked soft and sweet against his collar.
“Nope,” she said.
“Planning to?”
“Undecided.”
“Fair enough.” He fell silent, studying the school beside her. “Look, I feel like I owe you an apology. . .”
Jumping up and down like a demented kangaroo, a girl screeched from across the parking lot and waved. “Evan! Over here!” Backpack bouncing on her back, she ran past the cars. She was puffing by the time she reached the sidewalk. “Hey, Evan,” the girl panted. She then beamed at Pearl. “Hi, I’m Bethany.”
Pearl raised her eyebrows at the newcomer. She never understood why any human would presume she wanted to talk. This human was of the perky sort. Her eyes sparkled, her teeth sparkled, and her strawberry-blonde hair sparkled. She carried a hot-pink backpack emblazoned with Hello Kitty. Pearl hoped she carried it ironically, but given the girl’s chipper smile, Pearl had her doubts. She elected to ignore Bethany and returned to her assessment of the high school.
On all sides the school was framed by woods. To the left, the woods were broken by athletic fields, complete with bleachers and a track around a football field. Looking up at the school itself, Pearl noticed the mascot for the first time. Beside the words greenbridge high school was the white silhouette of a unicorn. In smaller letters, it read, home of the rampant unicorn. Automatically, she placed her hand over her heart, as if her hand could keep her vital organs safe and whole inside her. Her chest still ached, despite the pale skin that had sealed over the wound. Glaring at the unicorn silhouette, she decided that she hated coincidences. Or cosmic signs. Whichever it was. She felt as if the universe were laughing at her.
She heard Bethany stage-whisper to Evan, “Is she okay?”
“She has issues,” Evan said.
“Oh,” Bethany said. “Parents?”
“She didn’t say,” he said.
Bethany heaved a sigh. “I wish it were socially acceptable to walk up to strangers and say, ‘Tell me your life story.’ Every time I see someone interesting, I just about die from curiosity. Luckily, there are so many boring people in this town that it’s rarely a problem.” She inserted herself between Pearl and her view of the school. “Hi! New here? Welcome!”
Pearl frowned and wondered what had given her the clue that Pearl was new. She hadn’t spoken. She hadn’t even moved. Surely, this girl didn’t know all the students at Greenbridge High. For a second Pearl was tempted to ask. But then the temptation passed. She did not want to be sucked into a conversation with Miss Perky. “I have to check in at the school office,” Pearl said. “Delightful to meet you.” She strode forward.
Flanking her, Bethany and Evan walked with her. Each of them was close enough to lock arms with her and skip down the yellow brick road, or more accurately, the cracked concrete sidewalk. “We’ll show you the way!” Bethany said.
“Fantastic,” Pearl said. “All we need now is the Cowardly Lion.”
Bethany chattered to Evan, “You know, I think I did problem six inside out. I don’t think we were supposed to figure out the deriv
ative. I think we were supposed to use the formula. But it was such a neat problem. . .”
“You know we weren’t assigned problem six, right?” Evan said.
“Oh!” Bethany said. “Really?”
Yellow buses lined the driveway to the school. As they opened their doors, students poured out. Cars whipped into parking spots and disgorged even more students. Humans flowed toward the school from every direction. It was impossible to track them all. Pearl felt as if she’d been caught in the middle of a herd.
Bethany leaned closer until their shoulders bumped. “Don’t be nervous, Pearl. Everyone here is as sweet as cinnamon on a Toaster Strudel.”
As if on cue, a bottle blonde strode across the sidewalk toward them. She walked with a swagger that was half pop star and half western gunslinger. Her face was too sallow and too angular to be pretty, and her outfit was mismatched plaid and stripes, but she wore it with all the confidence of Cousin Antoinette. Closer, Pearl noticed that she smelled like overripe strawberries. Stopping in front of Bethany, she said, “You parked in my spot.”
Pearl watched semifascinated as blood rushed into Bethany’s face and spread to her ears. In seconds her cheeks were flushed as red as a tomato. Vampires never blushed like that. Not enough spare blood. “Sorry!” Bethany squeaked.
Evan rolled his eyes. “You don’t own the parking lot, Ashlyn.”
“Still standing up for the losers, Evan?” Ashlyn said. “You need a new hobby.” She fixed her eyes on Pearl. She raked her up and down. Pearl did her the same favor. This girl wasn’t the anorexic model type, nor was she Miss Picture Perfect. Pearl noted that her left eyeliner meandered over her lid. Yet the nearby humans fanned out in a semicircle around her as if she were their queen.
“Nice boots,” Ashlyn said in a tone that implied Pearl had strapped garbage cans to her feet and clanked out the door.
Snickers spread through the humans.
Without waiting for a response, Ashlyn spun on her heel and strode toward the school. Reaching the doors, she was flanked by a quartet of brunettes, her honor guard. They swung open the double doors and swept through as if going to a grand ball.
Pearl looked down at her knee-high steampunk boots and contemplated the steel tips.
“She boxed me in!” Bethany said. She pointed at a red BMW convertible that had parked sideways behind a squat blue minivan that resembled a lunch box from the seventies.
Pearl spoke, despite her resolution to ignore Bethany. “You drive that?”
Bethany wrung her hands. “Ashlyn has volleyball after school. I’ll be stuck for hours!”
“Ask her to move it,” Evan said. “You need to stand up for yourself.”
Bethany shot him a look that was impressively withering, especially for a girl so perky, but Pearl was already striding across the parking lot. She halted next to the red convertible, and then she kicked hard and fast at the driver’s side door. Her steel toe slammed into the door, and the metal crunched in a satisfying way.
She surveyed her handiwork: The door had caved in.
Nodding at it, she returned to the sidewalk.
Evan whistled low, and Bethany said, “Uh, thanks, Pearl.”
“These are nice boots,” Pearl said. She swept past them and entered the school. It wasn’t until later that it occurred to her to wonder how Bethany knew her name.
The poofed-haired woman in the front office clucked her tongue over the paperwork that Pearl had dutifully filled out, and then handed Pearl a schedule. “Your locker is on C hall,” she said. “Your first class is Honors English, room three forty-seven, with Mr. Barstow.” She pointed at a map behind Pearl. “Don’t worry, sweetie. You’ll love it here. And if you don’t . . .” She waved her hand in the air. “It won’t last forever. Nothing does. Not even Spam.”
Pearl smiled with her lips pressed tightly together. She didn’t inhale—the woman wore enough perfume to stun a dog. Pearl didn’t know how humans handled being around each other with such odors.
“You’d better take this hall pass,” the woman said. The sign on her desk said her name was Mrs. Kerry. “First period already started.” She scrawled on a pink slip of paper and handed it to Pearl.
Pearl accepted the slip plus a packet of papers. She was careful not to touch the woman’s pudgy fingers. She didn’t want any of that scent to cling to her. As she exited the front office, she studied her schedule.
“Ooh, yes, we share first period!” Bethany, clearly waiting for her, clapped her hands like a four-year-old delighted with a new dolly. “Come on, let’s go!” She grabbed Pearl’s elbow and propelled her down the hall.
Blend in, Pearl reminded herself. Do not chuck the girl into the lockers.
Inside, Greenbridge High smelled like antiseptic cleaning supplies, mixed with a hint of old socks. The walls were pale-green cement blocks, and the floor was drab gray linoleum, streaked with scuff marks. Stretches of lockers were interrupted by bulletin boards. As they approached a set of double doors, Pearl spotted another picture of the school mascot. Painted in red and silver, this unicorn reared over the doorway with an elongated torso and a slightly bent horn. Its eyes were red with a drip of paint down its cheek that looked like a blood tear. “Nice touch,” she said to it.
“Sorry?”
“Your school is a glorious sanctuary,” Pearl said.
“Uh, thanks.” Pointing at the doors, Bethany said, “Cafetorium. Half cafeteria, half auditorium. We have everything from sloppy joes to Albanian folk dance demonstrations in there. Up ahead is the old gym. The new gym, which is fifteen years old but still newer than the old gym, is in the back.” She continued to pull Pearl down the hall. She halted in front of an orange door with a narrow window. She caught her breath. “Don’t worry. Mr. Barstow is a petty dictator with a Napoleonic complex, but it only lasts forty-seven minutes. Plus Evan’s in the class.” Conspiratorially, she whispered, “You know, I think he likes you.”
After that extraordinary comment, Bethany pushed the door open.
“Ms. Norton!” a voice boomed.
Bethany shrank back. She seemed frozen between flight and . . . well, not-flight. Pearl rolled her eyes and shoved past her into the classroom. Finally, Bethany piped up from behind Pearl, “New student, Mr. Barstow!”
The owner of the booming voice, Mr. Barstow, bore an uncanny resemblance to a garden gnome. His gnarled white beard lay against a tomato-red shirt. Bits of bread were suspended in the wiry snarls. “Very nice, Ms. Norton, but you aren’t a new student. You are a late student. Do you have a hall pass?”
Feeling the eyes of the class on her, Pearl presented the pink slip. She pressed her lips together to keep any remark from slipping through (or fangs from slipping out).
He scowled at it. “Take a seat. Welcome to Honors English, Ms. . .”
“Sange. Pearl Rose Sange.” Out of the corner of her eyes, she scanned the classroom and spotted Evan. He’d chosen a chair by the window. Sunlight streamed in, illuminating the dust to create distinct rays so it appeared as if he were highlighted by a halo of angelic light. If he’d been trying to stage it to catch her eye, he couldn’t have planned it better. She stared at him, or more specifically at the sunbeams. Clearly enjoying her stare, Evan grinned at her. She contemplated shoving him out of the way to claim the sun seat, but she doubted that was what Mr. Barstow meant by “take a seat.” She thought of Bethany’s assertion that he liked her. If he truly “liked” her, he’d give her the seat.
“I expect you to borrow notes from another student,” Mr. Barstow said. “Catch up as best you can. Finals are in a mere two months, and I can’t have the whole class suffer to accommodate you.” He shook his head. “Honestly, why do parents think it unimportant to start school at the beginning of the year? Learning is cumulative!” He pounded his fist in his hand for emphasis.
“Ms. Norton will provide me with notes,” Pearl said. She raised her eyebrows at Bethany, which was as close to asking for assistance as her pride would allow. She
found the idea of asking favors of humans to be repugnant.
“Of course!” Bethany chirped.
Sighing, Mr. Barstow dismissed them with a wave of his hand. “Find seats, you two, and don’t make me separate you.” He turned his back on them and began to write on the board. “Jealousy, irresponsibility, denial, and insecurity. John Knowles believed that the peace of maturity could not be attained until each of these was addressed.”
Pearl threaded through the rows toward an empty seat. Every set of eyes was fixed on her, which made her feel better. It was at least a familiar sensation. She’d been the focus of human attention before. Plus it helped that this class was a controlled environment with everyone seated (or slouching) in rows, rather than the free-for-all cattle call that marked the start of school. She added an extra swish to her step. She checked to be sure that Evan was watching her.
Trailing behind her, Bethany whispered, “Thanks. He scares me.”
Pearl suspected a bunny would scare Bethany. “Clearly you have never met my uncle Stefan,” she said. She slid into an empty seat.
“Ooh, worse?” Bethany asked.
“You have no idea.”
A few students continued to stare at her. Others switched their attention elsewhere: their notebooks, their phones (held by their sides or beneath their desks), their friends, anywhere but at Mr. Barstow. Evan’s attention had shifted to the window, as if he were waiting with bated breath for the leaves on the trees to sprout. She didn’t blame him—she’d rather stare at the sun-encrusted courtyard than at a chalkboard lit by bluish fluorescent bulbs—but if he was attracted to her, as Bethany had implied, his eyes ought to be riveted on her.
At the front of the class, Mr. Barstow tapped on the chalkboard with a battered copy of A Separate Peace. “Please give me examples of each of these. From the book, please, not your lives. I am one hundred percent uninterested in who has wronged whom this week.”
Drink, Slay, Love Page 7