“Francis isn’t nearly as bad as you think he is. You know he let me look at his photo album from the 1920s? It was crazy old. He owned a Fokker Trimotor! The pictures are amazing. Francis knows all about airplanes up till the 1930s, which is when he says they stopped being—what did he say?—‘elegant creations of beauty’ and turned into, um, something bad. Can’t remember exactly what he said. Oh, yes, I can: ‘Instruments of war and cattle conveyance devices’!”
I looked forward to seeing Ty realize how undeserving Francis was of his hero worship, but I didn’t have the time to tell him.
“Ty, I’m sure he’s wonderful on historical subjects and I’m sure he has lots of fancy ways of describing things. That’s because he’s really, really, really old. Do you want one of your best friends in the entire world to go out with a walking museum exhibit? It’s like she’s dating someone who might have been buds with her great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandfather. That’s wrong and gross and it’s our duty as her friends to stop it.”
“It won’t last. I mean, he’s bound to get bored with her, isn’t he? She’s seventeen and he’s, um, like you said, really old. Right now they’re both happy. I don’t think we should interfere.”
“Ty, how many favors have I done for you?”
Ty sighed. “You have done me many favors. But none of them involved making Cathy cry.”
“No, but some of them involved a sketchy relationship to the law of the land.”
Ty groaned. “Fine. I’ll talk to Cathy, but the next favor I ask is going to be really gross. You’ll be sorry.”
The bell for next class rang. Already?
“At the end of class, Ty. Distract Cathy.”
“Fine.”
Ty did as promised, but Robyn Johnson jumped on Francis before I’d even grabbed my bag and stood up from my desk. And, yes, I mean literally jumped on him.
“Just testing your reflexes,” she said, smiling at him as he put her down. “You’d be great on our squad, Francis. You’re so fast and so strong.” I swear she was fluttering her eyelashes. “You’d be a perfect base. Think how high you could throw me. We’d be able to choreograph the best stunts ever!”
Francis gave a small smile. “I’m flattered, Robyn. But I suspect it would be deemed illegal. You know vampires are not allowed to compete in human sports. Our enhanced prowess would give us an unfair advantage.”
Robyn pouted.
“Francis,” I said. “You don’t mind, do you, Robyn?”
Robyn certainly did mind, but she was also a very conscientious student who did not like to be late to class. She smiled brightly at Francis, said not a word to me, and tripped down the hallway.
“I need to talk to you, Francis. It’s important. Can we meet after school?” Robyn wasn’t the only one who wanted to be on time for class. “Please?”
“I am not in the habit of refusing a”—Francis paused—“lady’s request. I will meet you at Oatmeal & Caffeine. Do you know it? The café on Chestnut and Third?”
I nodded.
“As it happens,” Francis said, “I also have a request to make of you.”
He nodded and strode away before I could respond. I was pretty sure he’d just made it clear that he didn’t think I was a lady. Not that I cared. I mean, it’s the twenty-first century, not the 1800s. We don’t have ladies anymore, and if we did, I still wouldn’t want to be one. I’ve got a lot more interesting things to be.
I turned to go in the opposite direction. What can I say? It’s instinctual for me to move away from snooty vampires.
That was when I realized it was a B day. Our classes are arranged differently, blocked into A and B days, which normally I like for the variety. But I wasn’t feeling too fond of the schedule when I realized that Francis and I had the same class. AP Local History with Kaplan was in the afternoon on B days. Joy.
Lately Kaplan had been focused on New Whitby’s sewerage system. A follow-up on the school’s recent Ratmageddon, which it had been announced was caused by a sewage pipe explosion in the basement. Kaplan was very into tying our lessons to current events. Actually, it was kind of interesting. And good old Frankie was able to chime in to talk about the horse-drawn wagons that used to collect the waste and how much worse the city smelled back then. I also learned that the Romans had a goddess of sewers: Cloacina. Which had me wondering if there was a goddess of farts, or of splinters, or of witty retorts.
Why yes, inventing goddesses did keep me occupied for the rest of class.
Francis was already at the coffee shop by the time I got there.
I knew as soon as I walked in the door. I knew that I had made a terrible mistake. When I think coffee shop, I think of our favorite hangout, Kafeen Krank. This place was no Kafeen Krank. There wasn’t a speck of graffiti anywhere.
It was very fancy. The gleaming white wooden board above the counter said organic on it at least nineteen times, and everyone in there except me was an adult and spoke in hushed tones over their fancy coffees.
It wasn’t really the kind of place where you could cause a scene and shout at someone that he was an undead love weasel.
Francis was drinking sparkling water, which came in a tall green Italian bottle. He rose as soon as he saw me, and held out my chair.
When I sat down, he poured me a glass.
I hate chivalry. Now how was I supposed to slap him in the face?
Instead, I found myself saying something totally unexpected.
Something horrible.
“Thank you, Francis.”
“You’re welcome, Mel.”
I cleared my throat. My wonderful imaginary face-slapping scene might be lost forever, but I had to get the job done. I had to stop him from using Cathy for his stupid book. “I know what you’re doing here.”
“Drinking mineral water?”
“No, the secret thing you’re doing that you don’t want people to know about.”
If Francis had been human, he would have changed color. As it was, he looked away briefly and took a sip of his water.
“Might I inquire who else knows?”
“You might not,” I said, not entirely sure that was correct English.
“Ah,” he said. “But it’s a very delicate matter. Secrecy is of the utmost importance.”
“I bet it is,” I said. “But I’m warning you, if you don’t leave Cathy alone, I will tell everyone what’s up.”
He did the vampire version of changing color again. “I’d really prefer you not mention anything to anyone. If anyone else knows—”
“I bet you would,” I said. “So here’s the deal. You keep away from Cathy. And I keep my mouth shut.”
Francis was obsessed with reputation and honor and a Gentleman’s Standing in Society. We’d been his society for the past month. I was sure he wouldn’t relish us thinking of him as an undead love weasel.
“Ah,” Francis said again, considering his perfect fingernails.
“Come on, Frankie, she’s like a million years younger than you. Where’s this going to lead except to breaking her heart? You’re the grown-up. Massively grown up! You need to leave her alone. It’s not right.”
“I …” Francis trailed off. “She’s rather special,” he said at last.
“She is, which is why you have to leave her alone. It’s not—”
“Gentlemanly?” Francis supplied.
“No, it’s not,” I said, though it was not the word I would have used.
Francis looked sad. Really sad. Sadder even than regular vampire sad. And sad is, in fact, the main look in the vampire’s limited repertoire of expressions—that and “full of ennui.”
I’d seen him wear a different look. I remembered that during the Ratastrophe, he’d looked at Cathy with the same adoring expression she’d turned on him. Much as I hated to admit it, I found myself almost believing that he really did care about her. But I knew better. He was studying us.
“She’s human. She’s a teenager. You’re a vampire and, yes, tec
hnically also a teenager, but you’ve been one for way more than a hundred years. You should find yourself a nice vampire teenager.”
“You can assure me that anyone else who knows will also be silent?”
“I can,” I said, thinking of Anna, who was the most discreet person I knew.
Francis placed a twenty-dollar bill on the table and stood up. He bowed to me. “I will do as you wish. Neither you nor Cathy will ever see me again.”
I almost fell out of my chair.
I had been thinking more along the lines of him transferring out of Cathy’s classes.
“You’re going away?” I said. “Awesome!”
Francis’s chilly demeanor became even further chilled.
“Uh,” I said. “I mean, it’s been real, Francis. Bon voyage.”
This didn’t seem to please Francis either. Oh well.
“It is best for Catherine if I simply remove myself from her life forever,” Francis said bleakly. “Without me, she can live a long, full life. She can be happy. I must leave her, in fact, for her own good.”
I didn’t much like the way Francis put that. Parents are always trying to make you do things for your own good. Not boyfriends. With boyfriends, the relationship is supposed to be equal. They’re supposed to let you make your own decisions.
But I couldn’t tell Cathy about Francis’s undead love-weasel ways. Anyway, this was more proof that Francis really was too old for her.
It truly was for her own good.
Agreeing with Francis gave me a stomachache, so I sat there and made a face.
“You’ll keep your promise?” Francis pursued. “Not a word to anyone? Especially not your principal.”
“I promise.”
He bowed again, walking away without making his own request, or leaving me with a message for Cathy. I wasn’t feeling as happy as I’d thought I would.
I was also confused. Surely Principal Saunders knew about his book? It was right there in his school file.
CHAPTER TEN
Cathy in Despair
“How about we go see a movie?”
Cathy shook her head wanly. “No thanks, Mel.”
“How about we go take a walk?”
A smile landed on Cathy’s mouth before bouncing off, repelled by the force of her sadness. “No thanks, Mel.”
I had to get Cathy out of her house. Hell, I had to get her out of her room. She had been sitting in here for so long, I was afraid the fossilizing process would begin soon. It was time to bring out the big guns.
“How about,” I suggested, “we go get milkshakes—and it will be my treat?”
“No. But thank you anyway.” Cathy wasn’t even tempted.
“You drive a hard bargain. Milkshakes with sprinkles it is.”
Cathy had not moved from her chair since I’d come in. She had not shifted from her piteous, curled-up position. She wasn’t even looking at me. Her big dark eyes were fixed on the dirty windows, as if their grimy state was upsetting her.
Since Cathy and her mom have lived in the old Beauvier house all their lives, and it’s always been falling down around their ears, I didn’t think it was the windows upsetting her. I knew the house was the other really old thing that Cathy mysteriously loved. (Though I had to admit Francis was better preserved.)
In a way, Cathy’s misery was all my fault.
“Oh, Cathy,” I said. “I know you’re sad. Francis is a complete jackass.”
“Francis is not a jackass!”
“He left school without even sending you a text message saying ‘I hope you enjoy the beautiful scenery on your trip through Dumpslandia.’”
“Francis hates text messages,” Cathy said. “And voice mail. And the internet. He—he thinks that relying on soulless machines for communication is destroying the delicate interplay of social intercourse!”
Cathy said the words as if they carried real meaning for her. I barely managed to stop myself from sniggering at the idea of Francis saying intercourse.
“I’m sure he left for a good reason,” Cathy continued. “Or—or he realized that he no longer—felt anything for me, that he’d made a mistake.”
“Or consider again my theory: He’s a jackass!”
“He’s beautiful, and he’s intelligent, and when he comes into a room, nobody can help but look at him,” Cathy said. “I’m ordinary. It’s perfectly understandable—”
“You are not ordinary!”
“Compared to him—”
“He told me you were special,” I burst out.
Besides vampire, another career I should probably not go in for is spy.
Luckily for me, Cathy is a trusting soul.
Her eyes shone for a moment, and I thought she was pleased to hear what Francis had said. Until I saw that her eyes were bright with tears.
“With him, I felt special,” she whispered. “But I don’t—I don’t feel special anymore.”
“You still are!” I told her fiercely. “You’re brilliant in school, and you’re going to Oxford, and your friends all love you. You’re awesome and your life is awesome. Your life without that vampire jackass is going to be more awesome.”
“It’s just that nothing seems to matter much anymore,” Cathy said in that low, wounded voice. “I can’t even write in my diary. Francis and I promised each other that we would both write in our journals every day, for years and years, and learn about each other by reading the entries.”
“Sounds like sexy good times,” I said. “When did you, uh, start this diary?”
“Last Tuesday,” Cathy told me. “But it’s become really important to me in a short space of time. It was going to contain years of memories.”
I knelt down by Cathy’s chair and took her hand.
“Everything else still matters,” I told her. “Except possibly the diary with its five minutes’ worth of memory. Cathy, this was not your life. This was some guy.”
“Yes, I know,” said Cathy. She kept staring out the stupid window. “But he was a life-changing kind of guy.”
I hadn’t known Cathy wanted her life to change so much.
“What if,” I asked tentatively, “what if Francis had to go because—because he’d done something wrong, and he couldn’t face you? Maybe he, ah—cheated on his geography quiz.”
“Francis has traveled all over the world! He’s been to countries I’d never even heard of. Abyssinia! Champa! Prussia! Sikkim! Zanzibar! When he was seventeen, he went on a Grand Tour of Europe. Why would he cheat on his geography quiz?”
I stared at the carpet, wondering if he’d made those countries up. “You know what I mean, Cathy. What if Francis wasn’t the guy you thought he was?”
“Mel,” Cathy said, “Francis is gone. He can’t defend himself. I really don’t want to hear anything against him. I’m sure he left for a good reason. I just wish—I wish he could have told me what it was.”
But we’d both decided, me and Francis, that she didn’t get to know.
For her own good.
“I feel like I should tell her the truth,” I told Kristin. “She’s really upset. She hasn’t left her room in three days. I’m not sure she’s left her chair in three days. She can’t sleep.”
“No wonder, if she’s trying to sleep in a chair,” Kristin said, her voice echoing for a second.
I lay stretched out on my bed, in tracksuit bottoms and a holey T-shirt with a picture of a saber-toothed tiger that said SABERS: BETTER THAN YOURS that I’d bought at a fencing tournament a couple years back. I didn’t feel like sleeping any more than Cathy did.
I hadn’t realized that guilt caused insomnia. Mind you, I hadn’t realized that pining for vampires did either.
I’d thought that I was sparing Cathy heartbreak: that sending Francis away before she could get really attached was the best thing for her. But apparently when it was fated eternal love, you only needed two weeks to get attached.
I thumped my head back against the pillow and considered getting NyQuil for both of us. E
xcept, knowing my luck, Cathy would refuse to take it because Francis thought NyQuil was dangerously modern, like texting, television, and jokes that were actually funny.
“I can’t believe that even when he’s gone, Francis is tormenting us,” I said. “In very, very different ways. Cathy dreams longingly of being locked in his ardent below–room temperature embrace; I dream longingly of beating his head in with a deck chair.”
“Ardent’s a good word,” Kristin observed. “Was it on your SATs?”
“I wish it had been,” I growled.
Damn you, Francis, get out of my head!
“You okay, Mel?” Kristin asked.
“I’m frustrated about Cathy. She’s torturing herself over this guy, and he’s not worth it. I should tell her the truth. I really should.”
“Doesn’t sound like she’d listen,” Kristin said. “There are none so deaf as those listening to ‘All by Myself’ over and over and over again.”
I thumped my head back against the pillows over and over and over again.
Kristin may have sensed she was being less than helpful. “You knew she was going to be upset, right?”
“I guess,” I said.
But I’d thought she would be upset in the same way I’d been upset when I’d broken up with Ryan. I’d been expecting Cathy to get angry, eat ice cream with me, and call him names. I’d expected to be able to comfort her.
I had not expected her to stop sleeping or eating. I hadn’t expected that because it was crazy.
“It’s only been a few days. Give it a few weeks before you start panicking. All Cathy needs is time.”
“Yeah.” I sighed. “You’re right. Thanks, Kris.”
I know that “all she needs is time” is a total cliché, but I hung up on Kris feeling slightly better. It was true—it hadn’t been that long. Cathy hadn’t even known Francis that long. She could sit in her chair and mope for a while, and then she’d be over it.
My phone rang. It was Cathy. An excellent sign!
“Hi,” I began, not knowing what to say. I didn’t want to sound too happy. Should I ask if she was feeling better? Or if she’d changed her mind about milkshakes?
“Hi, Mel,” said the gentle, lilting voice of Cathy’s mom.
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