Blood Orange Soda: Paranormal Romance

by Larranaga, James Michael

There’s a long silence. I know Weezer is thinking hard about our friendship. He breaks the silence with a stupid hug. “What can I say? You’re so beautiful. Oh, and strong, too!”

  “Knock it off, Freak,” I say, pushing him away.

  “No, seriel, thanks for telling me. It’s cool that you’re so fearless about your decision. You know who you are.”

  “Hang in there. You’ll know if and when you want to transform—”

  “Man, on Blood Orange Soda you’ll whip Bao’s ass tomorrow night,” he says.

  For a second I debate whether to tell Weezer about my arrangement with Bao. “He’s on Soda, too. This fight will be intense, but I’m letting him win.”

  “What? Take that mother fuggar down for all of us!” Weezer demands as we start walking again.

  “He knows my mom has been taking blood transfusions,” I explain. “If I don’t take a dive in the fight, Bao will turn in my family.”

  “What proof has he got?”

  “Bao knows the dealers, the gangs. I can’t risk it, Weezer. I can’t have Jack in prison!”

  “Damn, Bao’s more of a bully now than he ever was. He’s bullying your entire family, man. That sucks!”

  I haven’t thought about my predicament that way, but Weezer has a good point. Bao is more of a threat to my family than I’ve realized. He could hold this over me for a long time. I just hope that Bao follows through on his side of the deal—to leave me alone.

  We walk the rest of the way to school with Weezer bragging about our music and song selections for tomorrow night. In the background my mind spins, thinking about the 5k race tomorrow, Jonathan’s arrival, and of course, the fight. Everything has to go as planned.

  Passing between classrooms, I notice Shelby and Angel talking by Angel’s locker. I pause for a moment as students pass by me, occasionally blocking my view. Shelby’s transforming naturally, and much slower than I am. I see subtle changes in her now; she’s taller, and her body is curvier. Angel has an athletic, farm girl physique. They seem to be in an argument, so I hold back and watch. Shelby has her hands on her hips and she’s talking fast, with her head bobbing side to side. Angel turns away for a second and then points at Shelby, as Angel says something that offends her. They’re arguing and close to fighting. I approach casually and Angel notices me first. She pulls two books out of her locker, slams it, and walks by me.

  “Hey, what’s up?” I ask Angel.

  “Nothing,” she says with a strained smile, and then she slips into the crowd of students in the hallway.

  “What’s with her?” I ask Shelby. I crane my neck to look back at Angel. She’s already gone.

  “She disrespected me,” Shelby says in a huff.

  “How come?”

  “She’s crazy-concerned about the fight. She says I should be more concerned for you,” Shelby says. “How would Angel know how I feel?”

  Okay, now I get it. All of this fits Angel perfectly, and I try to explain it to Shelby. “Angel has always watched out for me. That’s just how she is.”

  Shelby rants, “What’s her problem, anyway? I told her boys fight, that’s what they do. And Angel is all ‘You’re so cold’ and ‘you don’t care.’ Then Angel says, ‘It’s a street fight’ and ‘Darius could get seriously hurt.’ And I say to Angel, ‘Who made you Reigning Queen of Goth Boys?’ and Angel gets all up in my business and in my face and saying that I’m not good enough for you, Darius. I’m like, ‘What’s with all the one-up stuff and who knows shit about shit anyway…’”

  She continues her tirade without even pausing for air. She’s one long soliloquy of bitching about how Angel has no idea how she feels. Now I’m pissed with how Shelby is talking about Angel, and I can’t listen to any more of these insults, so I tell Shelby the truth behind all of this.

  “I’m juicing,” I blurt out. “That’s why Angel is concerned about the fight.”

  Shelby stops in the middle of her rant. “Excuse me?”

  “Bao takes Blood Orange Soda and I do, too. This fight could be epic. That’s why Angel is worried sick.”

  I’m trying to read Shelby’s face. She seems confused.

  “How long have you been on Soda?”

  “Two, almost three weeks.”

  “And you told Angel but you didn’t tell me.”

  “I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about it. I kept Soda a secret from everyone as long as I could.”

  “Hmmm. Why would you think I’d have a problem with you taking Blood Orange Soda?” she asks.

  “You’re transforming naturally. I figured you might not like me juicing,” I explain. “Some Vampires are strict about that stuff.”

  “Why are you transforming so quickly? What’s the hurry?”

  “I’m tired of bullies, and I’m ready to transform. Soda makes me stronger,” I say to her, but she doesn’t seem convinced.

  “I know exactly how Soda works,” she says. “Did you take it to resist me?”

  That’s the reason my mom and Jack wanted me on Soda, but for me it has always been about transforming for the sake of becoming a Vampire.

  “No!”

  “Soda makes you stronger and it also gives you more resistance, more self-control,” she says. “Is that why you’re not into biting?”

  “That’s a side effect. It’s not the reason I drink Soda,” I say. “You have no idea what it’s been like for be me, bullied all through middle school—”

  “But your Angel does,” Shelby says, closing her locker.

  I’m not sure how to answer other than to say, “Yeah, she’s watched me get my ass beat many times.”

  She finally gives me a phony smile. “You’re becoming a Vampire, Darius, and soon I will be, too. You don’t need Normals protecting you anymore.” She kisses me on the lips, her body pressing against mine. “You have me now.”

  I hold her, thinking about my conversations with Angel and Weezer and how I assured each of them that we’ll always be friends, no matter what paths we choose. Now Shelby seems to be pairing up, holding me tighter, blocking paths to my other friends.

  “I’m all you need, right?” Shelby asks again.

  Before I answer, Marcus and Alex walk over and stand right next to us.

  “Stop sucking face,” Marcus says. “Jeeezus, there are children in these hallways.”

  “Sorry for the coitus interruptus,” Alex says. “When do we pick up your gear tomorrow?”

  “How about three? You know where I live?” I ask.

  Marcus shows me his phone and a Google map of my street. “Is that your abode?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “You’re locked in,” Marcus says. “Tomorrow at 15:00.”

  They stand shoulder to shoulder, staring at Shelby and me still in our embrace.

  “Okay, back to sucking face,” Alex says. They turn and shuffle down the hallway, weaving through students, making sucking sounds. They punch each other in the upper arms as they walk.

  “Ohmygod, they’re so immature,” Shelby says, rolling her eyes.

  “A couple bottles of Blood Orange Soda would do them some good,” I say to her, watching Alex and Marcus walking away. They’re similar to Weezer and me. That’s what we looked like at the start of the school year. What’s surprising is how Shelby lacks any empathy for her fellow V-Club members.

  Friday, October 31

  At 5:00 a.m. I’m awake as usual, despite that fact that I was up until almost 2:00 a.m. practicing my bass. Thirsty for Soda I check my mini-fridge but I’m all out, so I run upstairs to the kitchen and open the fridge; in the bottom bin I count sixteen bottles. That’s all I have left. This morning I drink only one and go for a short, easy run of three miles, resting up for my race and, of course, my fight.

  I get to school early for V-Club, and today Officer Denny lets some kids through the line quickly. He’s more cautious with me, though. I take off my metals and drop them in a plastic bowl that he runs through the scanner. I shove my backpack through next.


  “I hear there’s a big transformation shindig tonight,” he says.

  “Shindig? Couple of Goths becoming Vampires is all,” I say, walking through the large, upright scanner. The light flashes as if I have contraband.

  Denny approaches me with this metal-detecting wand and it beeps at the front of my pants. “Anything in your pocket?”

  I pull out my pocketknife and rosary. “Oops.”

  “The knife stays with me,” he says. “Keep the prayer beads. You never know when you’ll need them.”

  He’s not interrogating me about contraband or the robberies at the blood bank. He can obviously see my transformation is happening. He must suspect something so I ask him, “Any updates on those robberies?”

  “Some people have been questioned, nobody arrested…yet,” he says. “Police are closing in, though. Whatdya know?”

  “Nothing,” I say, grabbing my metal from the bowl, and my backpack.

  He glares at me, folding his arms over his belly. “Have a good one.”

  “You too, Officer Denny,” I reply. “Have a good weekend!”

  Walking across the lunchroom I look back, and he’s still watching me walk away, despite the long line of students waiting to get through security. He gives me the creeps. He must suspect something, but he obviously doesn’t have proof. I walk away, hoping the next time I see him this will all be over, a distant memory; but I’m wrong. By Monday I’ll be in serious trouble.

  The only person at V-Club today is Tandi, our Queen Bee. Her black tights have holes in them, and her legs are crossed. She’s texting on her phone as I sit next to her and check the clock on the wall.

  “Morning,” she says, still texting.

  “Where is everybody?”

  “No meeting. I cancelled it yesterday. Read your e-mail.”

  “Cancelled it? Why?”

  “Everyone’s talking about the fight,” she says. “Meeting would’ve been a waste of time.”

  She’s pissed at me, for sure.

  “Everything set for the fundraiser?”

  She stops texting and looks at me with boredom in her eyes. “I took care of all the details. Play your music and promote our donation table as often as you can, okay? See ya later.”

  I remain seated instead of leaving like Tandi wants me to. There’s a distinctly harsh tone to her voice. “You pissed at me?”

  “Why would I be pissed?” she asks. “Everyone’s excited about your cause, your fight, as if you represent all of us. Nobody gives a rip about building schools.”

  Feeling uncomfortable, I’m not even sure how to respond. “Tandi, I’m sorry—”

  “No, forget it. People crave violence, and you’ll give the mob what it wants. You’re The Gladiator, eh? You’ll never return to this club after the fight.”

  Even more guilt washes over me. “Look, I was selfish to use the club this way. I admit it. I promise you, I’m committed to the club. I won’t bail on you.”

  She sits quietly, staring at the floor. God knows what she’s thinking, but I assume she’s about to lash out at me when she says, “Bao’s friends are gang boys. They pledge to a completely amoral flag. You could die tonight.”

  “I won’t die,” I say. “I’m juicin’.”

  She sighs, as if she already knows. “It’s true, huh?”

  I think about my conversation with Bao and how we’ve fixed the fight to be dramatic, but I’ll take a dive. I can’t tell Tandi about it other than to assure her, “I’m fine. I can handle myself.”

  “What happens if you get your ass whipped? What happens then? It’ll be open season on Goths and Emos.”

  Damn! I never thought about what would happen to the club if I take a dive. It saves me from Bao’s blackmail and bullying, but I didn’t consider what losing the fight might mean to the other Emos and Goths. I’m in a tough spot, with no clear way out. Tandi stands and pulls her backpack from the floor onto her shoulder. There’s nothing I can say that will ease her concerns, or even my own, so I let her walk out of the classroom.

  She stops at the doorway. “You didn’t hear this from me; if you have any more of that Soda, bring it to the party. The Vampire Club might need it.”

  Wow, Tandi has given this far more thought than I expected. She’s concerned for the entire club. And despite Jack’s warning to me about not sharing the Soda, she has a pretty good backup plan.

  “Thanks for the suggestion,” I say.

  “I’d say good luck, but if you’re on Soda, I suppose you won’t need luck.”

  I give her a confident nod and hope that she’s right.

  Walking into Ms. Andreesen’s classroom early, I hand in a draft of my memoir assignment. She’s at her desk with her head down, reading and grading papers. It’s amazing how much homework teachers have each week. I slip my memoir out of my backpack and set it on the stack of papers.

  She looks up over the rim of her glasses. “Darius, I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “I’m a Vampire, in stealth mode,” I reply, and she’s not sure if I’m serious, so I say, “That’s a joke. We don’t really have a stealth mode.”

  Well, Shelby does…

  She laughs with relief. Normals never know how to respond to Vampire humor.

  “You’ve finished the assignment?”

  “Work in progress. My life over the past couple of months. And I’ve got a lot of living to do.”

  “Have you learned anything from your writing?” she asks.

  What have I learned? What wisdom could I gain from reading the pages of my own life? I was so busy typing it that I hadn’t searched for any meaning behind it.

  “I dunno...life is hard?”

  “High school life is challenging,” Ms. Andreesen says. “But many people look back on these years with fond memories.”

  “Yeah, I hated middle school. There were parts of it I liked, though.”

  “Once I finish reviewing your assignment I’ll hand it back. Go back and read what you wrote, and I’m encouraging you to continue writing about your life.”

  “Why? My life sucks,” I say. “It’s mundane.”

  “Everybody’s life is interesting, especially the life of a teenager who becomes a Vampire,” she says with a wink. She seems proud of me.

  I feel myself blushing, and I hear students entering the classroom behind me. Saved by the bell again. I wonder why she wants me to continue writing about my life.

  “Congratulations to both of you,” Ms. Andreesen says.

  Shelby is sitting at her desk, obviously curious about what I’m doing here so early, and what I’m talking about with Ms. Andreesen.

  “Congratulations?” I ask Ms. Andreesen.

  “For your Transformation Party tonight. This is a big step. I think it’s wonderful that you’ve both invited Normals to join in the celebration. Some of the faculty will be there. I’ll see you both tonight.”

  Walking back to my desk, I sit as the other students arrive, looking around the classroom, wondering how many of these kids will be at the party.

  “What’s the head count on the party?” I whisper to Shelby

  “Over 200 RSVPs. Awesome, right?”

  “Yeah, cool,” I say, but it’s so over the top I feel my heart racing, nervous.

  What have I gotten myself into?

  My mom took the evening off from work because of the T-Party and to watch me run my first race. She’s upstairs in her bedroom talking on her phone, while I’m in the kitchen boxing up the last bottles of Blood Orange Soda. I’m hurrying so my mom doesn’t see what I’m doing, and I use duct tape to seal the box before I set it on the front step outside.

  Alex and Marcus are in my room in the basement, fetching our band’s gear and carrying it out to Alex’s van. They’re both sweating and bickering as they lug amplifiers, cables, and lighting equipment upstairs and out onto the driveway. When they pass me, I lift up the box again and follow them to the van.

  “What’s in the box?” Marcus asks.

 
“A gift for the Vampire Club,” I say. “Sort of a thank you.”

  He looks back at the duct-taped box. “Nice wrapping paper.”

  “It’s wrapped inside the box.” I set it in the back of the van and slide it forward, and the bottles inside clink together.

  Alex reaches into the van and shakes the box. “You giving us beer?”

  “No, of course not, it’s uh…”

  “Fine china?” Marcus asks. “Stemware?”

  “Waterford crystal bowls, perhaps?” Alex says to me in a British accent.

  “What the hell do you two know about fine china and crystal?”

  “Enough to know they go really good with beer,” Marcus says, with a deadpan expression on his pock-marked face.

  They’re anxiously waiting for me to answer them, like two boys staring at the only present under the Christmas tree.

  “No, I’m not spoiling the surprise,” I tell them. “Go! Deliver this stuff to Shelby’s.”

  They run back into my house and search the basement one more time for a couple of foot pedals for Weezer’s amp, and return and jog back down the driveway, just as Jack pulls up in his white 1973 Porsche. He parks along the curb, steps out of his vehicle, and examines Alex and Marcus in the front seat of the van. They roar past him in a cloud of black exhaust. The back of the van is plastered with wakeboarding and snowboarding decals. I guess those Gamers do play outside once in a while.

  “Who was that?” Jack says, walking up the driveway with his hands in his pockets and his gym bag over his shoulder.

  “My crew,” I respond.

  “Those featherweights?”

  “A couple of them. I have others from the Vampire Club who will be at the party and the fight.”

  Jack pulls in close and looks at the front door before saying, “Let’s talk about how you want it all to happen tonight. What time does Jonathan arrive?”

  “Between 8:00 and 8:30. If I’m onstage when he arrives, then you watch out for him,” I say, and pull my phone out and surf to Jonathan’s Facebook page. “Here’s what he looks like.”

  “I recognize him. I’ll talk with him until you’re ready to introduce him to your mom,” Jack says. “Once that happens, they’ll reminisce for a while. When are you planning to talk with him about helping your mom?”