I let out a (mostly) quiet squeal and give Serena a huge hug.
22
We finally get ready to duck out of the little Council after party sometime around midnight, mostly in deference to Serena, who is totally about to drop. We met some really nice (and some really weird) vampires and have at least ten invitations to “stop by anytime we’re in town” and two recipes for a vampire-style red velvet cake. (Serena was looking a little green at that one and I totally sympathize, but I’m actually looking forward to Mom trying the recipes out. If she makes blood pudding one more time, I just might scream.)
Beverly Boudreaux grabs us before we leave to give us a stack of forms (no surprise there) but tells us to just turn them in when we get a chance so they can file them at the national level. I guess the relaxed Southern style thing extends to The Council here, which is very cool. Unexpected, but cool. If G.W. had a grave, she’d be rolling over in it. Though I guess technically she probably does have a grave. Maybe a couple. She just isn’t in any of them.
We walk Uncle Mortie back to his place and then make the drive home. Serena, of course, starts snoring pretty much as soon as we take off. I’m kind of sad to be going back to Cartville. Really, why couldn’t Dr. Musty be based in the city? He could be studying some of the vampire legends Uncle Mortie was telling us about instead of whatever he’s nosing into about the Carters in Cartville. Other than Cameron, they all seem pretty uninteresting to me.
We don’t talk much on the way back, though Mom and Dad make me swear up and down a bazillion times that I didn’t tell anyone else. Which I didn’t. Who else would I have to tell anyway? Everyone else I’m close to is already a vampire. Well, except Nathan, I guess, but that’s definitely not a conversation I ever considered having with him.
I send a couple of useless texts to George, mostly out of habit, and practice shape-shifting the rest of the way home. I’ve been working on my standard disguise:
a) long wavy red hair (not like the out of the bottle red that’s so obviously faketastic, but real honest to goodness red hair),
b) slightly slanted eyes (because I always thought it would be cool to be like half Asian and half Irish),
c) slightly bigger breasts and hips (you know, just to fill out my shirt a little more), and
d) a couple of inches shorter (to go with the whole half-Asian thing and also because I need it for the other, um, personality changes).
I have to say, I’m getting pretty good at this whole shape-shifting thing. Mom can only do, like, one little change at a time, but I can hold all of my standard disguise things in place for a good fifteen or twenty minutes without even trying. Finally, something I’m good at.
I carry Serena to my bedroom once we get back to Cartville. She has always been smaller than me, but it still feels weird to be carrying her like she weighs nothing at all. She doesn’t even wake up. When I come back out, Mom is on the phone with Ivetta. Seems she’s not only the continuing education coordinator, she’s also the new member propagandist. (Like G.W., only nicer and not so crazy. I think she actually would bake you cookies.) Mom gets Serena signed up for the next class, which starts this coming week. Feels kind of like kismet, Serena showing up at exactly the right time.
“You want to make a cake with me?” Mom asks after she hangs up with Ivetta. “I’ve got all the ingredients and I feel too wired to read a book.”
“Sure. Are you going to try the one from the lady wearing the purple boa and the giant hat with the stuffed owl on it, or the one from the guy with the poofy hair and red velvet smoking jacket?” I’d personally go with the guy’s version, since the vampire lady seemed a little off her rocker to me. She kept insisting that everyone call her Scarlett, even though her name was apparently Millicent. I guess if my name were Millicent, I might do the same. But I wouldn’t call every guy around Rhett. And she’s crazy if she thinks Scarlett O’Hara would ever have worn a hat like that.
“The one from the guy. Anson Chevalier, wasn’t it? He seemed more like a baker to me.”
“Good choice.”
Mom gets out all of the ingredients (standard cake stuff plus cocoa, red food coloring and some blood) and we set to mixing and whatnot. Dad hangs out at the counter to watch us cook and stick his finger in the batter and frosting whenever he can. He’s almost as bad as Uncle Mortie.
“Shouldn’t we make an extra one without the blood for Serena?” he asks after wiping some frosting off of his face. “She won’t like blood.”
“Not for long,” I say. That makes us all pause for a minute.
Mom goes to get out more of everything for another cake just for Serena. “Are you sure this is what Serena wants to do? What she should do?” She’s lost all her happy look from cake baking.
“Why shouldn’t she?” I start measuring out more flour and dump it in the bowl. “Serena gets away from a terrible situation at home and I get my best friend back. Forever. What exactly is the problem here?”
“Her parents must be worried sick, not having heard from her in a week and not knowing where she went.” Dad also looks totally dismayed, even with more frosting on his nose.
“Her dad maybe. Her mom? I doubt it.”
Funny. Now that I think about it, I turned because I wanted to stay a part of my family. Serena’s going to turn to get away from hers. Kinda sad.
“Do you think we should call her father?” asks Mom.
“What?” I almost knock over the bowl filled with flour. “Mom, didja eat too much frosting or something? A phone call from the dead?”
“Mina’s right,” says Dad, which is something I ought to write down in my journal considering how often (as in never) I hear that. “We can’t very well call Harry out of the blue since we’re supposed to be dead. I’m sure that would be a fine and a half.”
Mom and I finish mixing, then put the cakes in the oven, making sure to mark the human-friendly one so we don’t accidentally make Serena barf. Then we all sit and watch the oven while they bake and think about the whole Serena situation. At least that’s what I’m thinking about. Dad might still be thinking about frosting, seeing as how he keeps sneaking a finger full.
By the time Serena wakes up and stumbles to the kitchen, we’ve all had a slice or two of cake. (Or three—I admit it, I really love the whole not gaining weight thing. It might actually be the best part of being a vampire.) There’s still another hour before school starts when it occurs to Mom that yes, today is in fact a school day.
“Serena!” she practically yells, making both of us jump, but especially Serena, who’s still in that I’m-not-quite-awake-yet fog. I kind of miss that.
“Yesh?” I’m sure that was supposed to be a “yes,” but it only made it halfway there.
“We need to register you at school! I need to call Josh and see if I can get some papers from the VRA for you.”
Oh great, the Josh-erator. “It could wait a day, Mom, don’t you think?”
“No, no,” she says, still all in a panic and frantically flipping through her purse looking for her cell phone. “If we’re going to be responsible for Serena, then we need to be responsible. That means school. Now both of you, go get dressed.”
Mom can be really whacked sometimes when she gets something in her head. Serena’s already missed a week of school traveling here and she was probably studying all different stuff in California than here anyway. One more day really wouldn’t matter. But then again, it’ll make my day that much better. It’ll be just like old times again! Except for all the Southern accents and the weird things they say here and the fact that all the kids (except Kacie) seem to think I’m some kind of trendsetter. Did I tell Serena about that? I can’t remember. I’ve been trying to just lend an ear on the whole divorce drama, rather than telling her all about my problems. You know, be the good friend. Though technically, I guess being popular isn’t an actual problem. But I’m finding it really annoying.
I put on my standard jeans and T-shirt (ha, I think I might be single-handedly
responsible for an increase in denim sales in the area) and watch Serena dump everything out of her bag and start picking through the pile.
“Eighties, huh?” I say.
“I couldn’t decide between the seventies or the eighties. I was watching some movies again—”
“Let me guess … Pretty in Pink? The Breakfast Club?”
“Yeah. I was on a John Hughes memorial kick.” She smiles at me. “I knew you’d understand.” Ha, not exactly, but I do understand how her mind works. We’d watched all those Brat Pack movies with Mom and her friend on a Girl’s Night a year or two ago. Feels like forever ago now.
Serena finally picks out some black leggings (probably a recycle from her Goth days), a bright green Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles T-shirt and a polka-dotted pink and blue tutulike skirt. That plus a bright yellow banana clip completes the look for the day. Seriously. I have no idea where she finds this stuff. The kids at school are not going to have any idea at all what to think about Serena. I can’t wait.
23
As soon as Eugenie is done signing Serena in (and mercifully not making any comments on Serena’s whacked-out hair), Henny hones in on Serena like a homing pigeon. (Or do they just carry messages? Whatever.)
“Hi, Mina,” says Henny, not even taking her eyes off Serena for a second. “Who’s your friend? Is she from California? Is she enrolling too?” Serena (atta girl!) stares right back at her.
Officially, Serena is Mom’s (oops, Mari’s) second cousin once removed come to stay with us while her father is overseas on a diplomatic mission (the Josh-erator totally pulled that one out of his butt). Serena’s already committed her cover story to memory. I wish I were that fast.
“I’m Serena, Mari’s cousin and Mina’s friend. And yes, I just registered for classes. I have the same schedule as Mina.” (Thank you, Josh-erator!) “I’m going to be staying here while my dad is in Timbuktu. And I can talk pretty well myself, if you have any other questions.”
I try to keep from laughing. The Josh-erator hadn’t specified a country, but I sure hope Timbuktu is an actual place in case anyone looks it up. Henny has no shame, though, and doesn’t look at all put out. She grabs Serena’s arm and starts walking to class.
“So, are you from California too? Where did you find that shirt? Have you known Mina long? How long are you going to be here? Is that an actual tutu?”
I follow along behind. I’m actually kind of glad Henny is doing her thing. If Serena does decide to go through with everything (thank goodness she’s still almost Goth pale, so the turning won’t be as noticeable), I’m sure Mom will make her finish out her senior year here with me. Henny is sure to make her feel, if not exactly welcome, at least like someone is intensely interested in her. Which she is. Because Henny is intensely interested in everyone, but especially anyone not from around here. And considering that the buzz about Serena is already building to a fever pitch, it’ll be nice to have someone be on the good side of it. Because a lot of the buzz I’m overhearing? Not so good.
It pretty much sounds like this, over and over again:
Did you see what she’s wearing?
Is she with Mina? Are they related?
Is she from California too?
Who is that? What is that?
Not that I’m particularly surprised. I love Serena. She’s so cool she doesn’t care if you think she’s cool. She’s totally herself and loves to dive deep into all kinds of weird self-expression (at least, that’s what Mom always called it when Serena would show up dressed as everything from a sixties radical to one of today’s pop stars) and doesn’t care at all about what people think of her. The only person who’s ever made her nervous about how she looks is Nathan, and she got over that pretty quick.
Most people just don’t get her because they only look on the outside (the part with the tutu). I’ve kicked a bunch of people’s butts over the years defending her, and from what I’m eavesdropping on, there’s gonna be some serious butt kicking going on here at Cartville High. Or at least verbal sparring, which I also have a black belt in … sometimes. Maybe it’s more of a brown belt. And we haven’t even run into Kacie yet. I’m so not looking forward to that.
Halfway through second period English I’m about ready to go medieval on someone. A few someones. And I mean that in a totally Vlad the Impaler kind of way.
The worst are the girls who act as Kacie’s backup singers. Outwardly, they’ve been nice to me (whenever she’s not around, anyway, and whenever she is, they mostly just bobblehead it because they’re chickens), but I could always tell that they were total Kacie clones. They even dress like her, and if there’s one thing this world does not need it’s a couple more skinny, buttless white girls in too-tight pants. There are three of them in my English class: Stacey (truly the cloniest clone, right down to her name), Lala (not kidding, and yes, I’ve had that joke on my tongue since I met her, but I’ve held onto it since I’m sure she’s heard it before), and Adrianna (the quietest one).
The three of them spend the entire period whispering and passing notes about Serena. Actually, what they really did was spend the entire time concocting crazy lies and passing them on. And I can’t very well do anything about it since I shouldn’t be able to hear them from where I sit all the way across the room. First they told some girl (standard prep issue) that Serena was here because she flunked out of boarding school. Then I heard them whispering to a basketball jock that her parents were failed rock stars (though how you can be a failed rock star, I dunno) and that she had multiple drug problems and had been sent here to detox. Then they told another girl that Serena was pregnant and hiding it under the tutu.
You’d think Mrs. Thompson might notice that no one is paying attention to a word she’s said about Shakespeare all period long, but she’s no Ms. Tweeter. She just keeps droning on and on about symbolism in the sonnets and groundlings and tomatoes being in the nightshade family. (Apparently people back then were idiots and thought they were poison, so when they threw a tomato at you, they really didn’t like you … okay, so I was the only one paying attention. Yes, I can walk and chew gum at the same time.)
Lordy. I need to see if I can get Henny started on some good propaganda or something. This is just ridiculous. Gossip is like an art form in a small town. Or a disease.
24
Mom is waiting at home for us when we get back from school. It’s still kind of weird to have her home all the time. She’s been baking again and the smell of cookies (sans blood, since she’s yet to find a good recipe that includes it, though she’s tried out some really horrible ones) fills the house. Actually, I can smell it all the way down the street, but Serena doesn’t get the brunt until we open the front door.
“How was school?” Ah, that’s why she baked. Unlike some parents, I think Mom actually remembers how bad high school can suck.
“Um, fine,” I say, lying through my teeth.
“Okay,” says Serena at the same time. “Though I had no idea I was such an alcoholic pregnant druggie dropout.”
“What?” Mom and I say at the same time.
“How did you know?” I ask and drop my book bag practically on my foot.
Serena laughs. “Mina, I’m not stupid. Or deaf. I may not be able to hear as well as you can, but I could hear enough. Besides, from the sour-lemon look on your face all day, I knew something was up. On the way to the bathroom after third period, I had, like, three girls ask me which druggie rock stars were my parents.”
“What did you say?” asks Mom, fascinated. She’s used to middle-school students from her teaching days. I bet the gossip at that level doesn’t remotely compare to what goes on in high school.
“Well, I told one that I couldn’t say because they were in the middle of a big legal battle over custody of me. Then I told another one it was one of the Stones and another one it was some heavy-metal band they’d probably never heard of since they probably only listen to country.”
“Oh man, that’ll be all over town by now,�
� I say while Mom laughs. “Did you catch their names? I’ll try and take care of it tomorrow.”
“Don’t worry, Mina, I can take care of myself. What do I care if a few girls I don’t even know think I’m some drugged-out rock-star spawn? It’s not like there’s a bunch of paparazzi around here waiting to swoop down on me. What can they do?”
“Talk.” Serena’s never lived in a small town before. Not that I have a lot of experience with it, but I’ve already seen how fast things spread around here. I bet Dr. Musty knows all the details by now. It’s hard to say whether my (not totally wanted) popularity will be enough to protect her by association or not.
“Sticks and stones,” says Serena.
“So, other than that, how was the rest of the day?” Mom pulls another tray of cookies out of the oven. Mmmmm, peanut butter.
“Okay. They’re studying different stuff here, but I don’t think I’ll have any problems or anything.”
“Good. That’s what I like to hear.” She hands Serena another cookie. Ha, she’s such a mom. But I guess Serena isn’t used to that.
“So, what have you been up to, Mrs. H—sorry, Mari.”
“Well, I’ve been trying to stay busy. There really aren’t any jobs in this town to speak of, so I’m looking into my options and trying to update my skills. Taking some continuing education classes, including that shape-shifting one with Mina that I’m sure she’s told you about. It’s been a little crazy, but it’s been great seeing Bob so happy with his work. He really didn’t enjoy being an accountant.”
Does anyone? Though, honestly, I didn’t have a clue that Dad hated his old job. He has been practically floating around the house since he started working with Dr. Musty.
Still Sucks to Be Me: More All-True Confessions of Mina Hamilton, Teen Vampire Page 13