Blood Orange Soda: Paranormal Romance

by Larranaga, James Michael

  Two guys in the club are both Emo Gamers who spend all their weekends killing zombies in their online worlds. One of them is in my gym class, and he sucks at anything athletic. Too bad for him “Call of Duty” isn’t a school sport.

  The two Goth girls in the room are art students, and pretty good at graffiti. I’ve seen them tagging their art under the train bridge. They give me a dead stare and I wink. One of them breaks her stare. She’s obviously the Queen Bee in this hive. Which of these Emo guys is her sex drone?

  “Way to slay the Asian Giant. It’s about time Vampires had voice,” she says, without introduction.

  Technically, I’m not a Vampire yet, none of us are; but I understand her frustration. That’s why they started this club—for safety in numbers, and to watch each other’s backs while they bitch and moan about Normals.

  Smiling, I walk off to the sound of girls gossiping about me as Shelby enters the classroom. Mr. Striefland’s is around the corner and down a flight of stairs. As a freshman, I’m entering enemy territory now, because most of the sophomores have their lockers in this section of the school. Moving quickly, I avoid Bao or any of his sadistic buddies.

  Striefland keeps his classroom plastered with posters of analytically smart people like Einstein, Newton, and Archimedes. None of those math prodigies appeal to me much. Striefland always reminds me that music is closely related to math. If that’s true, why doesn’t he have posters of bands like The Cure or The Psychedelic Furs?

  “Darius, you kept me waiting,” Mr. Strickland says from behind his desk, scratching his beard. He’s thin because he runs marathons. Like a lot of other days, he’s chewing a protein bar before class.

  “You’d better have a good excuse,” he says sarcastically.

  “I walked a girl to V-Club.”

  He shrugs. “I couldn’t think of a better reason than that. Pull up a seat.”

  No other students made it for tutoring. It’s just too early on a Monday morning for most kids to drag their sleepy butts out of bed. He looks at my face and squints as he examines my bruised eye. He doesn’t say anything about it. No comment, no joke, and I finally break the silence.

  “Got in a fight at the game,” I admit.

  “I know. It’s all over the Web, and all over your face,” Mr. Striefland says. “Want to talk about it, or should we work on math?”

  Math help is a necessity, but I could also use advice from an adult other than my mother or Uncle Jack.

  “I’m on the Reds.”

  “Lot of students are—”

  “I mean, I was on the Reds,” I say.

  “You stopped?” he asks calmly.

  “I skipped my morning dose.”

  “Your parents are aware of this?”

  “My mom and I discussed it this weekend. She agreed that I could stop.”

  “Your transformation…does it have to do with that?” he asks, pointing at my eye.

  “Yeah, sort of. I’m tired of being the runt of the litter. Time for Poky Little Puppy to grow up, you know?”

  “Good for you, Darius,” Mr. Striefland says. “Life in high school won’t necessarily be easier as a Vampire. It won’t solve all your problems.”

  “I know,” I say. “School will still suck.”

  “Over the years, I’ve watched other students transform. It’s an amazing thing to witness; but most of them didn’t graduate high school.”

  “I’ll graduate,” I assure him.

  “And those who did graduate transferred to a night school with other Vampires,” Mr. Striefland says. “We’ve never had a Vampire make it to graduation here.”

  “Really? Why not?”

  “Life won’t necessarily be any easier, it’ll be different as a Vampire among Normals.”

  This seem like a challenge from Mr. Striefland. He thinks I’ll transform and then drop out like all the others. I’m betting that if I’m a Vampire, I’ll hold my own, and high school will be at least somewhat easier than it has been so far.

  “Thanks for the advice, and I promise you I’ll graduate,” I assure him, because it feels like the right thing to say to my guidance counselor. It’s probably foolish to make such a promise when I’m only a month into my freshman year. It’s not like I owe him something. “What’s the formal process here at school? Who needs to know about my decision?”

  “There’s paperwork I’ll fill out, and all the teaching staff will be notified,” Mr. Striefland says. “It’s entirely up to you when and how students learn about this. Some students don’t tell anyone until the last phase of transformation, when it’s unavoidable. In your case, that could be around June. You could fully transform over the summer and return as a Vampire for your sophomore year.”

  “Yeah, I’ll think about when to tell people,” I say. By June, she’ll be a Vampire. Am I better off transforming slowly and naturally at the same pace as her? Or should I speed up the process and start drinking the Blood Orange Soda?

  Weezer is eating his lunch as if he’s on death row, savoring every bite, but I know he’s just killing time. He hates gym class, which is right after lunch, and I know he’ll skip it or at least show up late. He picks at his rice with chopsticks, which slows him down even more.

  “You’re going for it, huh?” Weezer says.

  “Yeah, I’m ready.”

  “Why now? I thought we were waiting until we turned sixteen. We said we’d have a big T-Party. It’s not because of Shelby, is it?”

  He catches me off guard with this question. “No, of course not. Why would you think it’s about her?”

  “She’s transforming, man, and she’s not very private about it,” Weezer says. “Half the guys in the school would gladly let her sink her teeth into them.”

  “You can’t fool around with biting,” I say to Weezer. “I’m transforming because I’m tired of bullies like Bao.”

  “Man, you’re gonna be a shitty friend when you transform,” he says. “My cousin went through it last year and he was moody. A total ass.”

  “I’ll do my best not to piss you off.”

  “You know Shelby is having a T-Party on Halloween to officially announce her transformation?”

  “No, she hasn’t mentioned it.”

  “Check your Facebook invites. It will be the party of the season,” Weezer says in a stupid Transylvania Vampire accent. “Damn it, I should transform, too. We could be moody asses together.”

  “Yeah, if your parents are cool with—”

  “They would LOVE for me to transform. I don’t know, though…not sure I’d have a shot with Angel if I transformed,” Weezer says.

  This is the first time he’s revealed to me that he’d like a shot at dating Angel. We’ve both had crushes on her, and he knows I dated her in the past, but so far we’ve guarded our feelings.

  “You don’t think she’d go out with you if you transformed into a Vampire?” I ask him.

  Weezer scratches his black and purple hair with a chopstick. “She’s a Normal, and it might be uber-weird, but I could ask her out while I’m still a pre-Vampire. I want to know what life could be like as a Normal before I transform.”

  “Make your move soon,” I advise him.

  The thought of those two dating is so weird. It probably won’t happen because Weezer is so achingly shy, he’ll never ask Angel out.

  “Yeah, hey, you’re not breaking up the band when you transform, are you?” he asks.

  “No, we’ll keep jamming and making music,” I say.

  “Good, because when you get all moody and slip into those dark places, you’ll write really awesome lyrics. This will be a good thing for the band; lots of pain and angst,” he says with excitement. “We have to record every drop of torment, and book gigs around town.”

  “The fall talent show is early November,” I remind him.

  He smiles with rice in his teeth. “Let’s trash that place!”

  My walk home should be uneventful because Bao is at another school playing a JV game. Even Ang
el is absent, and I text her as I wade through knee-high prairie grass near the railroad tracks.

  Me: Where r you?

  Angel: @ JV game

  Me: Why?

  Angel: Where guys are

  Me: You with Weezer?

  Angel: No, why?

  Me: Never mind. How’s Bao playing?

  Angel: Not here. He got a concussion from your fight

  Me: Really!

  Angel: Yeah out for two weeks

  Me: Seriously!!!

  Angel: He’s pissed. B careful

  Me: Cool, thx. Wanna jam tonight?

  Angel: No Got PMS L

  Me: TMI

  Angel: You asked J

  Angel sick with PMS reminds me of what Weezer said about my transformation from Goth to Vampire. He thinks I’ll be moody and irritable. I know the transformation takes a heavy toll on the body, with so many hormone changes happening all at once. I suppose I’ll have days when I need to call in sick, to sleep and rest. It’ll be important for me to time my transformation around semester exams and holidays. Thanksgiving isn’t far off, and the Christmas break would be a good time to hang low as I change.

  Walking my usual trail along the tracks, I anticipate the train that usually charges by me, but no vibrations today. There’s no sign of the aging railcar as I look back down the tracks toward the western sky. The sun hangs low but it’s still not twilight, so I squint and slide my black shades on. I’ve got that feeling again that I had in English Lit when Shelby was stalking me. There’s a presence nearby. Nobody is up the tracks, but I notice shadows in the trees on the path that Angel usually takes home.

  Bao is standing there in the woods with Chao at his side. “Hey, Bat Boy!”

  “We want to play with you,” Chao adds, swinging a large stick.

  My feet feel as if they’re nailed to the tracks. My heart thunders in my chest. Is this it? Is this a two-on-one fight where Bao settles the score? Whatever happened to Jack’s theory that revenge is a dish best served cold?

  They walk toward me, Chao still swinging the stick, as I force my legs forward.

  “Hold up,” Bao says.

  “Why, so you two can kick my ass? Not interested!” I say, picking up my pace.

  “You got lucky the other night!” Bao shouts. “I’ll crush you!”

  By now I hear the train coming from behind us, and I notice Bao and Chao aren’t walking in the middle of the tracks like me but along either side, stalking me, waiting to see which direction I’ll run when the train forces me out of its way. My jogging becomes a galloping pace.

  “Slow up, Bat Boy!” Chao shouts, as they both begin running after me. And with the train in the center of the tracks, my odds worsen. It’s now three on one.

  Kicking into a sprint, I tighten my hefty backpack bobbing up off my shoulders. Maybe it’s fear and adrenalin or my skipped Red pill, because I’m lighter today and quicker, as my feet land on each wood railroad tie, never landing on the loose rock between them. I’m in the zone, with a perfect rhythm like when I play jam bass and nail each note without thinking about the sheet music. I’m pulling away from my stalkers and the train blows its horn as a warning that it owns these tracks. Pushing myself hard, I find another gear and I sprint even faster for thirty more yards before jumping off to my left and tumbling down a grassy berm into the woods. Instinctively I count: one, two, three...and the train roars past me in a blur of rusty-brown metal and colorful blurred graffiti. That was very close!

  Up on my feet, and I’m racing through the damp woods. No sign of Bao and Chao; they’ve given up on me for today and I slow, watching over my shoulder, gasping for breath. My lungs are on fire. This must be what it feels like to be a runner, and for the life of me I can’t figure out why anybody would want to feel like this after they run. Leaning over, I spit what tastes like blood, but it’s only a bitter froth of saliva that hits the dirt.

  My runner’s nausea fades after two or three minutes and I’m feeling paranoid again. There’s another presence in the woods, and I look around for Bao and Chao. They’re not here. This feels more like Shelby. She’s somewhere in front of me. The last car trails off with loud clanking echoes, and I see her step out from behind a large oak tree.

  She waves. “Hi, Darius!”

  This is a detour from my normal route, and I can’t figure out how she found me here. “Shelby, where did you come from?”

  “School, of course,” she says, crossing over the tracks toward me. “You knew I was following, right?”

  “Yeah, I sensed your presence a few minutes ago.”

  “Normals can’t pick up on it. They’re easier to sneak up on.” She adjusts her backpack, but she’s not out of breath or tired like I am. “In my transformation I’ve developed this ability.”

  “What ability?” I ask.

  “Flight,” she says with a smile.

  “You fly?”

  “Not fly like a bird. I can go places in my mind, and my mind takes me there. Touch me.” She holds out her hand.

  I walk up and reach for her, but my hand passes through her! “You’re an apparition.”

  “Yeah, that’s a good word for it,” she says with a self-conscious smile.

  “Where are you right now?”

  “At my locker,” she says. “I was wondering where you were.”

  “I’m at the railroad tracks—don’t you know that already?”

  “No, I can’t see your surroundings. I only see you, Darius.”

  “You can’t see that I’m outside?”

  “I know you’re nearby, and I could locate you if I started walking in your direction,” she says. “But no, I can’t see your surroundings. I only see you as if you’re in the hallway here by my locker.”

  “How did you make yourself appear to me?”

  “I felt your presence, and you felt mine. The only way you can see me is if you desire to see me. You have to let me in. It’s like your phone; I can call you, but you have to answer me to connect.”

  “This is eerie, seriously,” I admit to her.

  “I tried to explain it to you at the game—”

  “I know, just making sense of it.”

  “This is part of the mystery of transforming into a Vampire,” she says. “Some Vampires inherit special skills and talents that Normals could never inherit.”

  “It’s remarkable.”

  “I wanted to invite you to my T-Party,” Shelby says. “That’s why I was searching for you. I’d really love it if you’d show up.”

  “Yeah, sure, I wouldn’t miss it,” I say.

  “It’s best if you don’t tell anybody about how you and I can communicate like this.”

  “Uh, okay.”

  “Great! Well, I’ll see you tomorrow?” she says, as if she’s about to hang up her phone.

  “Yeah, see you tomorrow.”

  “Remember, this is our secret.”

  She vanishes into a mist. I smell her perfume for a few seconds and then it, too, is gone. Did that really happen? I look around to ensure that nobody saw me talking to thin air. The woods are quiet except for a flock of sparrows flitting in the trees, and the last train car clicking along the tracks.

  She wants her unique ability kept a secret. I’ve already mentioned it to Jack, and I’m sure he’s told my mom. But for now I’ll respect her request, and I decide not to mention it to Weezer or Angel.

  “Mom’s sick, Uncle Jack is here,” Kira says as I close the kitchen door.

  “How bad is she?” I ask Kira, as I set my backpack below the coatrack and walk into the kitchen.

  “She hardly slept today, and she called Jack. He brought pizzas.” My sister pages through her homework at the table. “Oh, and he brought you something, over there.”

  In the far corner of the kitchen, next to the pantry, is a large cardboard box. It’s sealed with packing tape. I walk over and lift the heavy box, and carefully set it back down. “Where’s Jack?”

  “In the family room. You get in any
fights today?”

  “No, why would you care?”

  “Jack wanted me to ask you,” Kira says with a shrug.

  The family room is dark, and my mom is on the couch under a blanket. Jack is sitting cross-legged in a chair, meditating with his eyes closed. The TV volume is on low.

  “Hey, buddy, how was school?” Jack asks, opening his eyes. “Any brawls?”

  “I had to outrun Bao and Chao. How is she?” I ask, pointing toward my mom.

  “She’s drained of her energy,” he says. “I called her boss and let him know she won’t work tonight or tomorrow.”

  “Does she have a fever?” I ask, sitting on the edge of the coffee table.

  “She was burning up earlier, then she got the chills,” Jack says. “Your mom is very sick, Darius.”

  Her sick days have become part of my routine. However, the weight of Jack’s words and his tone pull me down to the reality of her situation. She’s dying.

  “Let’s bring her to the hospital,” I say in desperation. “They can give her another blood transfusion.”

  “She’s got late-stage V2. I’m not sure they’d give precious blood to her at this point.”

  He’s right. Mom’s doctor turned her down once before. Clean blood is hard to find. Normals and healthy people rarely donate anymore, and Vamp thugs steal what little supply is out there.

  “Can you get her blood, Jack?”

  “You mean buy it on the black market?”

  “Buy it or barter for it, whatever. Where do you get your feeding blood?”

  “Sometimes I drink the free government-supplied blood,” he says.

  “And what about the other times?” I ask.

  Jack licks his lips, like Pavlov’s dog. “I bite for it,” he says under his breath.

  Okay, that’s a major revelation, because the government made bite-feeding illegal long ago. Vampires are required to register and receive a free monthly pint of feeding blood, or as in my mom’s case, they must live on the Reds indefinitely.