Uninvited

by Amanda Marrone

  Michael.

  My heart skips a beat. I gasp and gulp for air. Michael is here. He’s talking to people. He’s followed me. I can see his eyes darting past the group toward the house. Is he looking for me? I can’t believe he really came. I can’t believe he’d take the risk of coming around where people could recognize him.

  I crouch down, afraid he’ll see me. Can he sense I’ve spotted him?

  Bug-boy is suddenly looking really good.

  Michael gives one of the girls a hug. While his head is over her shoulder, nuzzling in, I see him checking out the house.

  His eyes are glowing green, like a cat’s.

  I wonder if that girl likes the coconut stink. Can she smell that other, earthy smell?

  I want to turn away; I’m afraid he’ll sense me looking at him, but I’ve wanted to see his face for three months. In the soft light that bathes Mark’s yard I see that he still looks like Michael; the green animal glow is the only giveaway. Part of me is relieved, but maybe looking human makes him more dangerous.

  He’s hugging that girl; I can feel his arms around her, squeezing her hard, too hard. She breaks away and takes a step back. Did she sense something wrong with Michael? Is it obvious what he is if you’re that close to him?

  I’ve got to get out of here. I need to make my move now. But will I have time to get to a car before he knows what I’m doing?

  I race up the stairs and pause at the top step. The living room is mostly empty, except for Kassie sobbing on the couch. Nobody’s paying any attention to her. Where is Janine? Where is anyone I know? Has most of the North Shore crew left already? Will one of Mark’s friends invite Michael in?

  I look out to the pool; it seems most of the party has migrated out there. Topless girls are jumping off the diving board to claps and cheers from the guys in the pool. Steam is rising off the water, fogging my view of the backyard. Michael won’t risk getting too close to the house. There are too many people who would recognize him.

  Where the hell is Janine?

  I start toward the kitchen, but Kyle is in there with a couple of guys who are pounding on his shoulder as if to say, “Sorry you didn’t get laid, Bug-boy.”

  I look back at Kassie lying on the couch, crying into a pillow. Did she drive here? Of course, she doesn’t look like she’s remotely able to operate a car right now.

  How many beers have I had? I look at my watch. I’ve been here over four hours, I had maybe five beers or six, most of them pounded within the first two hours before the make-out session began. According to beer-math, I am probably over the legal limit, but I should be able to drive without taking out anyone’s hedge.

  I am certainly feeling extremely alert. God bless adrenaline.

  I hunch over and scurry to Kassie. “Hey, what’s wrong?” It’s taking “tremendo” effort to keep my voice calm.

  Kassie looks up. She’s got snot pouring out of her nose and white powder smeared across her cheek. I know how bad it feels to be drunk and coked up at the same time — the two different highs fighting in your body. I’m glad I didn’t know they were cutting lines up here; my heart is beating fast enough as it is.

  “This party sucks!” she says, and rests her head back on the pillows, letting out a huge moan. “I feel sick.”

  I start rubbing her back, trying not to grimace as she lets loose a vomit-smelling burp. I turn my head away and take a deep breath. “Why don’t you let me take you home? You brought your car, right?”

  She’s not saying anything. Does she even hear me?

  “Kassie, do you want to go home?” I say a little louder.

  She looks up and wipes her nose on her sleeve. She’s nodding yes, sniffling.

  “Do you have your keys? Where’s your car?” I hope it’s not too far away from the front door. I hope it’s not blocked in.

  Kassie sucks in a gallon of snot and looks around the room. “My purse. Red.”

  I look around the room, searching for her purse, or someone else I can get a ride from.

  Where is Janine?

  “There,” Kassie whispers, pointing to the marble breakfast bar. “Red. Armani.”

  She flops back onto the couch, and I run over and grab her purse. I dump it on the counter. Hairbrush, wallet, diet pills, keys! Mercedes. I wonder if her parents know she gets trashed and drives their ridiculously expensive car around? I sweep everything but the diet pills back in. She can’t weigh more than ninety pounds.

  “Let’s go,” I say into her ear. She’s not moving, and I’m tempted to just take her car. I’d be doing her a favor, but I don’t want to add grand theft auto to my list of troubles. “Come on,” I grunt, pulling one of her arms up.

  “Leave me alone,” she says, swiping her hand at me.

  “Oh, no, you’re going home!” I yank her up on her feet and she opens her eyes, surprised.

  “Jordan! I haven’t like seen you in…” She’s staring at me, and I think she’s starting to remember our conversation from before.

  “I’m taking you home,” I say, leading her toward the door.

  “Oh, yeah,” she mumbles. “I don’t feel so good.”

  “You can puke later. Let’s just get you and me out of here.”

  “Coat, I need my coat.”

  Damn! I forgot about our coats. Where are they?

  Screw it!

  “Look, let’s just get out of here and get our coats tomorrow, okay.”

  “Mmm. I’m staying at my dad’s this weekend.”

  “Okay, then. Great.”

  I’m holding Kassie up and peeking out the window by the door. Judging by the amount of cars in the driveway, the party has cleared out considerably. I look at all the cars for a Mercedes. “What color is it?”

  “I feel sick,” she moans again.

  “Your car, what color is it?”

  She’s not saying anything. I’m trying to stay patient, but coddling her is getting real old, real fast. “Kassie, what color is your freaking car?”

  Her head lolls on its side. “Silver,” she whispers.

  Down at the end of the driveway is a silver car. I think it’s a Mercedes. How fast can I get to the car dragging Kassie? I can’t do it quickly enough. It’s too risky. I turn around and a guy pops up from the basement barroom.

  “Hey, can you help me?”

  He looks over and smiles. His face is all flushed and I wonder what the girl he was just with is doing now. Basking in the afterglow? Passed out? Did he see Bug-boy and me going at it?

  He smirks. “Hey, baby, the Bradster can help you any way you want any time you want.”

  The Bradster? Oh, please.

  “I just need help getting her to the car.” I tilt my head toward Kassie and hope he gets it.

  He looks disappointed, but he’s coming over. “Whoa, looks like too much party, party, party.”

  “Yeah, way too much.” I open the door and peer out. No Michael. No Michael that I can see, at any rate.

  “Yo, Steve-man,” the Bradster calls out. “Little help here.”

  Steve-man starts coming toward us, and from the slant he’s walking on, it’s apparent he’s almost as gone as Kassie.

  “Dude,” Steve-man says, nodding. His face is red and sweaty.

  “Help me haul this chick, man.”

  “Cool,” Steve-man says, still nodding, looking Kassie up and down. He wiggles his eyebrows at the Bradster. “Hottie.”

  I’m very tempted to just throw Kassie at their feet and take her car, but I decide to try again, this time a little more direct. “Yo, Steve-man, this hottie may very well start puking all over the place if we don’t get her out of here fast!”

  “Dude, that would suck,” the Bradster says, looking around, and I bet he’s wishing he was still down in the basement. But Steve-man and the Bradster seem to think the threat of projectile vomiting is a good reason for removing Kassie from the premises, and they each grab an end of her.

  “Mark, like, owes us one,” Steve-man grunts as he wobbles
with his arms around Kassie’s chest. “Cause, like, puking sucks.”

  “Silver Mercedes at the end,” I say. I let them go out first. I do a side-to-side rapid scan of the bushes. Kassie moans and slaps her hands around Steve-man’s face.

  “Cut the shit,” he says, stumbling toward the car.

  I take a deep breath and sprint to the car. I shove the keys in and open the door. “Hurry up!” I yell, watching the Bradster laugh as Kassie relentlessly flails at Steve-man. I fire up the engine and tap the steering wheel, counting their steps. God, why are they so slow? I look around the hedges. I can’t see into the backyard. Where is Michael?

  Steve-man and the Bradster come around, and I lean over to unlock the passenger door. They dump her in and shake their heads. “She’s, like, totally whacked,” the Bradster says.

  “Everyone here is totally whacked,” I say.

  Steve-man closes his eyes, nodding. “Yo, that is so true. You’re so…”

  I lean over Kassie and slam her door.

  “Later!” I hit the door lock and throw the car into reverse, squealing backward down the driveway and nearly hitting several cars parked behind us. “Put on your seatbelt, Kassie.” I look toward the house and I think I see Michael standing on a small hill in the side yard. I’m pretty sure it’s him, but I’m not stopping for a closer look. I’m getting out of here. I hope the Bradster and the other guests will be okay. Maybe I should have warned someone.

  Kassie groans and looks my way. “You’re sho nice.”

  “Yeah, thanks.”

  She nods. “I don’t think you’re a slut.”

  “Great, glad to hear it.”

  We head onto Route One and I try to decide where to go. “Look, Kassie, maybe we should drive around a bit. I mean, I don’t think you want your dad seeing you like this, right?”

  Kassie shuts her eyes and her breaths get deeper. I wonder what makes a person a slut. Am I a slut because I let a bunch of guys in without the required relationship? Is Rachael a slut because she likes having sex?

  “You’re sho nice,” Kassie murmurs.

  Am I a slut because I let Michael in so fast? I guess the third date is pretty fast considering I’d only let David Santos get to an over-the-bra second base before that.

  But, hell, things have gotten a lot faster since. Does it count if you don’t always enjoy it? I wish Kassie was awake; I’d ask her. I wonder if Kassie’s done it.

  I turn onto Shore Road. The back roads may have fewer cops on them, but Shore Road has fewer places for Michael to hide. The car’s got plenty of gas, and Kassie seems to be somewhat comatose. I’ll just drive around until sunrise, or pull into the beach parking lot and hang out. I can rehearse what I’m going to say to Michael. And I can figure out what I’m going to tell Kassie’s father when I drop her off.

  “Sorry, Mr. Campbell, I’d have brought Kassie home earlier but I couldn’t risk getting out of the car until the sun rose. You see, I blew off my vampire ex-boyfriend and you know how unpredictable the undead can be. I mean, really, Mr. Campbell, would you ever have imagined he’d come looking for me? Would you ever have imagined he’d show up at the party and actually talk to people? He’s getting bolder, that’s for sure.”

  Mr. Campbell will nod knowingly. “Or desperate. Do you think he’d have risked exposure if he’d been thinking rationally?”

  “You have a point, sir, but I assessed the situation and got myself out before there was any trouble. And I didn’t sleep with anyone.”

  Mr. Campbell will smile proudly and say, “You learned a good lesson, young lady. Never trust a vampire — or men in general, ha, ha. Well, good luck, and thanks for taking such good care of my little girl.”

  I’ll look up and smile at him. “And she didn’t puke in your car.”

  I decide to pull into the Bayville Beach parking lot and turn off the engine. It’s open in all directions so there’s no way Michael can sneak up on me. The sky is getting lighter and the coast is clear — no pun intended. I imagine Michael must be getting his affairs in order so he can sleep. I wonder where he sleeps? There’s so much I’ve never asked him, so many times we just glossed over the fact that he’s dead.

  But maybe he thought my not knowing the ins and outs of being a vampire would make it easier for me to open the window. Maybe that’s why he climbs the tree instead of flying into it bat-style: so I wouldn’t see how low I’d have to sink to be with him.

  What do I do now? I know I’m stronger than I thought — well, at least I know I’m capable of saying no, and that’s a start. And I don’t want anything Michael has to offer. It’s probably too late for Danny and me, but we won’t even get a chance if I stay in my room hiding from Michael. How the hell am I going to get rid of Michael?

  I need to think about something else. I put my bra back on, then take out my phone.

  I should check my messages to see if Janine or Rachael were trying to figure out where I ended up. I open my purse and turn on my cell phone.

  Jesus, twelve messages.

  “Shut up, you assholes. I can’t hear myself talk. Jordie-pie, Gabby here. And Janine! Give me the damn phone! Anyway, Mark has some awesome weed. Where are you hiding? Get off whatever guy you’re on, figuratively and literally, and get out to the pool house. P.S., it’s like twelve-fifty, so if you don’t get this soon, fugetaboutit!”

  Sorry, Gab, I was sucking face with Bug-boy.

  “Oh, God, Jordan, it’s Lisa. Don’t come home, he’s waiting for you. He’s alive, and, oh, God, call home. It’s Lisa and I’m at your house. Please call me. Michael is alive and… I think he’s gone after you. Call me as soon as you get this.”

  Lisa? Lisa’s at my house? She’s seen Michael? Shit! Oh, Shit! How did Lisa get in my house? How did she get my cell phone number?

  “Hey, Jordan, it’s Janine. Where are you? I’m, like, ready to go and there’s no sign of you. That guy Kyle is, like, with someone else, so where are you? Find someone better? Hope you’re having fun!!!”

  “Jordan, where are you? I’m scared. I’m so scared. I think I’m going crazy. What if he comes back? I don’t know what I’ll do if he comes back. Your mom and Steve aren’t home, and Jordan — please call me.”

  “Jordan, be careful.”

  “Jordan, where are you? Jordan…”

  I turn off the phone and I look at my watch. Forty-five minutes until sunrise — Kassie should be sober enough to take the wheel. I gently shake her shoulder. “Hey, wake up.”

  Kassie’s head jerks forward, and she opens her eyes. “What?” She looks out the windshield and yawns. “Where are we?”

  “At the beach, but I need you to drive me home.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  I watch Kassie’s car pull away and hustle to my front door. Could Lisa still be here? How did she get in, anyway? Why did she come to see me?

  Nutty meows and winds his way through my legs as I open the door.

  He zips into the kitchen, and I stand in the front entrance and listen — nothing but the sound of kibble being consumed. Is she still here?

  I head up the stairs, thankful for the God-awful pink carpeting my mom put in that’s making my ascent quiet. I don’t know why, but I’m a little scared to see Lisa. Well, not as scared as I was to see Michael last night, but Lisa was my best friend for nine years, and I don’t know what I’m going to say to her.

  I open my bedroom door, careful to pull down on the knob to avoid it squeaking. Lisa is curled up against the wall opposite the window. She didn’t even bother to get a pillow or blankets. Maybe she was too scared to go back toward the window.

  Why didn’t I ever think to move my bed to the other wall?

  Lisa looks frail, so unlike how I remember her. She was always strong, kind of like Rachael, but not so in-your-face, and even though she was one of the shortest girls in our class, when you talked to her she seemed tall. And Lisa was brave. When we climbed my tree she always jumped down six feet to the ground, her red curls flying past me as
I hung on to the lowest branch, prolonging the drop as long as possible.

  “Lisa?”

  Lisa’s eyes open, and she’s staring at me like she’s not sure if I’m really there. “Jordan?”

  “Yeah, hi. I’m, um, home.” Lisa isn’t moving; she’s just staring. I want to tell her to blink. I want to tell her there’s nothing to worry about — but that wouldn’t exactly be true.

  “Jordan, am I crazy? Was that really Michael? He seemed so real, but he couldn’t be, could he?”

  I walk over and sit down next to her. She pulls herself up slowly and leans into me. I can feel her shaking.

  “You’re not crazy. I’m so sorry you had to see him. It figures, the one night I go out…. But it was Michael — it is Michael. He’s…”

  How much do I tell her? I’d kind of like to leave out the embarrassing I’ve-been-holed-up-in-my-room-for-three-months-talking-to-a-dead-guy-and-contemplating-joining-him stuff.

  “Is he really a vampire?” she asks.

  My eyes widen. “He told you?”

  She turns away. “It’s really true?”

  I nod. The lack of sleep is making me punchy. “I’m afraid our former homecoming king is now king of the undead.” I try to laugh a little, to throw some levity into this, but Lisa’s face crumples.

  “I was so scared,” she sobs. “I came to see you, and I was waiting for you, and then he shows up at the window.”

  I walk over to my bed and sit. “He’s been coming here every night since his funeral.” I turn and secure the latch on the window, then run my fingers down the pane. “Yesterday was the first night I’ve been out since then.”

  “He thought I was you. He just started talking, and he sounded so concerned, like… like you were still his girlfriend.”

  “Yeah, well, we’re real close.”

  Lisa’s mouth drops open.

  “Uh, that’s a joke,” I say. “Sort of. But I think I’m the only one he’s been talking to — until last night, that is. Somehow he followed me to this party. I don’t know how he knew where I was, but somehow he did.”

  “I was praying he wouldn’t be able to find you.”