She took my icy hand and squeezed it.
“And Mom?”
“Yes?”
“I’m hungry.”
“And that’s my cue to leave!” She jumped up in a dramatic fashion and made an uh-oh face.
“Very funny.” I rolled my eyes.
The jest faded from her face. Finally she left the room, alive and not crying anymore. Two victories, in my mind. I checked my phone. Four texts. Three from Malcolm:
R U OK? STILL SICK? LEMME KNOW
DID U GO HOME? WTF?
UR A LOSER.
One from Paige:
HEARD U WENT HOME SICK. FEEL BETTER! WE GOTTA GET OUR REVOLUTION ON!
The next day I dragged myself out of bed. It had been ten days since I was turned. I knew I should just stop counting. I was only going to drive myself crazy. With every day I counted, I was clinging to some small hope that things would one day return to normal. That was not only pointless, it was counterproductive.
It was bugging me more and more that I didn’t know who had done this to me. Once the initial shock wore off, I just kept wondering why. What did I do to deserve this? Why would someone do this to me? And where was this person? According to all the vampire movies I’d seen, vampires basically adopted those they turned—so why not me? Must have been another myth. As raging mad as I was at whoever had done this to me, I also felt kind of rejected by my absent maker. A pathetic and twisted thought, I know, but nonetheless true. That was the new me: pathetic and twisted.
While mulling these thoughts in my head, I gently combed back my dark hair. I slathered on my SPF four-gajillion. I got dressed in a simple long-sleeve striped shirt and jeans. I looked in the mirror. There was the sharp jaw, the once soft, now piercing, eyes. The pale, smooth skin. There I was: a cold, ivory statue. I stared at my reflection for a good, long time. I was going to have to get used to the reality that the image in the mirror was now the true me. I was going to have to swallow that bitter pill if I had any hope of surviving.
I avoided Malcolm until homeroom by slipping in through the back by the football field. I moved like a shadow through the halls until I got to the classroom, where I sat in the back. Of course, Malcolm found me right away and plopped into the seat next to me, his books falling hard on the desk.
He gave me a hard look.
“I know,” I said under my breath. “I’m sorry.”
“What is with you? Are you still sick?”
“No, I’m fine.”
“Then why did you bolt out of math yesterday? You looked like you were about to either blow chunks or rip someone’s head off.”
“I just wasn’t feeling well.” I was swimming in a sea of half-truths.
“Feel better,” Malcolm offered, wary. “And stop fooling around. You left me hanging there in a moment of dire need!”
“Sorry, man. It would have been worse if I’d spewed all over you,” I pointed out.
Malcolm considered this. “Yeah,” he laughed, “I guess you’re right.”
The homeroom teacher hushed us just in time to stand for the Pledge of Allegiance. I placed my hand solemnly over my still heart, raised my eyes to the limp flag at the front of the class, and tried to psych myself up for Day Two back at school. I had no idea what was in store.
****
Even when I’d been alive, school days had felt a bit like a blur. An endless shuffle of apathetic feet. A seven-hour stretch of muddled noise. A melting pot of ideas and papers and hurled insults and gossip. Now that I had become undead, the school day stayed monotonous, like a swath of colors all jumbled into one ugly mess, but the glimmers—like Paige’s laugh—took on a bittersweet sheen.
I was trying not to sit too close to Paige, which was actually pretty difficult considering we were partners on this history project. We’d been given the rest of the class period, a good twenty minutes, to brainstorm. I had a hard time coming up with a convincing little lie to get Paige to move over to my table because hers was in the sun. Eventually, she bought it. As she slid gracefully into the seat right next to mine, I hastily scraped the legs of my chair a foot across the floor in the opposite direction. She gave me a weird look, but I figured it was better than having her smell me. Nothing like the scent of industrial strength sunscreen to win over my dream girl. Still, I knew I was acting like a freak. “Why are you acting like a freak?” she kidded. I think.
I laughed it off. “Why are you acting like a freak?” I shot back lightly. Wow. Good one. Surprisingly enough, her eyes lit up and she giggled like I had actually said something remotely funny.
“Okay, so, romance,” she said.
“Huh?”
“Romance. That’s our topic.”
“Right, right. Romance. Yeah.”
She looked at me and, for a moment, she seemed unsure of herself. “Romance. What a joke, huh?” That wasn’t what I was expecting. I began to stutter my way through a response. “Well, um, not necessarily, if the person is, you know…”
She cleared her throat and changed the topic. “What do you think we should focus on? For the project?”
Your amazing hazel eyes. How I want to make you smile because when you do you almost seem to float. Your soft hair that always smells like fresh strawberries and shimmers in the sun.
“I don’t know.” I answered lamely.
“Well,” she started matter-of-factly, “we could go with a basic analysis of the courting rituals at the time of the French Revolution.”
I shrugged. We could do better than that. Paige read my disinterest and continued.
“Or, I guess we could go nontraditional and talk about the romantic ideals the revolution was all about?”
I cocked my head to the side, considering. It didn’t sound like a winner. I wouldn’t have cared nearly as much if I didn’t want to impress Paige so badly. I really didn’t want to let her down. This train of thought led me, once again, into an awkwardly long, contemplative silence. I realized she was staring at me, eyebrow raised.
“Any thoughts, Noah?”
Other than I love how you say my name and it makes me want to grab you and kiss you right here in the middle of class?
“Uh…” Come on. Time to pull some magic, Noah.
“Oh, yes, the famous ‘Uh’ romance. How could I forget? It practically defined the French Revolution!” she teased. “How about we do something about specific romances? And we do a compare and contrast? Like, we could take a romance that was famous in the royal family during that time, and find some peasant lovers or something, and talk about the differences between them and—”
“And the impact of the revolution on each. Yeah, that’s good. I love it.” She smiled at me. I gave a half-smile back. I was too aware of my razor sharp, frighteningly canine fangs to let myself smile like I wanted.
****
One of the saddest things about being a vampire was that food no longer tasted good. And I used to love food, more so than the average beast of a teenage male. No longer did the succulent gooey goodness of cheese smothering anything and everything make my mouth water and my eyes larger. No longer did the juicy burst of meaty flavor in a burger satisfy. No longer did the sweet tang of fresh fruit quench the thirst for flavor.
My thirst now was only for the thick, the warm, the metallic. Therefore, lunchtime had become a depressing charade.
When I finally shuffled into the cafeteria, Malcolm and Celia had their lunches and were settled in at a table toward the back.
Malcolm was already digging into a big stack of mac and cheese. He looked up only when I plopped down into the chair across from him. “Dude, not to be mean or anything, but whatever that lotion you’re wearing is, it’s ruining my appetite,” he said through giant globs of bright orange pasta.
I rolled my eyes and scooted my chair away from the table. He smiled through the orange goop.
“I’m kidding! Chill,” he laughed.
Celia just shook her head. Her black hair bounced around.
“Malcolm,
” she scolded, “that is disgusting. Could you please close your mouth when you eat?”
“Hey, Celia, do you like—” he started.
“No! I do not like seafood, and I definitely do not want to see your food, thank you very much! Are you five?” A smile playing at the edge of her lips betrayed her harsh tone.
“Speaking of which,” Malcolm said, “where’s your food, Noah?”
“Huh?”
“Your lunch,” Celia repeated.
Oh yeah, about that, I don’t eat anymore.
Instead, I said, “I’m just not hungry right now.”
“Are you sure you’re okay? You’ve been acting pretty strange since you got back,” Malcolm pointed out.
“Yeah, I’m just not a hundred percent right now, you know? It takes awhile after you’ve been really sick and all.”
I could see Malcolm wasn’t buying into my lies anymore. I guess from now on I would just have to force the food down to avoid making Malcolm even more suspicious than he already was. He already knew I was a terrible liar.
“You sure?” Celia asked. “You can have some of mine if you want.”
“Thanks, but I’m okay. Really. I’ll get some of my own in a minute.”
Malcolm diverted his attention to Celia, but not before studying me for a moment longer. “So, Celia,” he began, “where’s Paige?”
“She’s meeting with Mr. Halstead to talk about her project. Go figure.” Celia shot a sly glance my way and continued. “Aren’t you her partner on that?”
Malcolm could hardly contain his amusement at my attempt not to squirm uncomfortably.
“Yeah. Yeah we—we’re partners,” I stuttered.
“Then how come you aren’t in the meeting with her?” she prodded.
Malcolm eyed me curiously. I got distracted.
“Um…” I trailed off.
What was going on with Malcolm? Did he know? How could he know? That was impossible. I couldn’t gather my thoughts. Suddenly my nose began to burn, as though I’d just taken a big fat whiff of wasabi. I cringed and my eyes started to water. I blinked away the tears and tried to look normal, as though my nose wasn’t stinging like crazy.
I was staring at Malcolm. Malcolm was staring at me. Celia’s eyes were darting between us. I tried to focus on the faces before me, but the harder I tried, the stronger the burning sensation in my nose grew, until it crawled up my nasal cavity and into my head.
I saw Celia mouthing words, but by now the burn had reached an uncomfortable level (to put it mildly), and I was struggling with every fiber of my being not to bolt out the door, clutching at my face. My eyes fluttered as I tried to shut out the splitting pain in my sinuses. Malcolm’s eyes were still fixed on my face and I finally realized why. I hadn’t blushed. Normally the very mention of Paige was enough to make my face turn beet red. Celia had called me out on being partnered with the girl I’d been in love with forever and I was stone cold pale. White. Dead.
I’d always done a crappy job of hiding things from people, but this was a whole new low for me. It wasn’t like I could pull him over beside his locker between classes and slip him a note:
HEY MALCOLM! JUST SITTING IN CHEM CLASS. BOOOORING! SO, I KNOW WE’VE BEEN BEST FRIENDS FOREVER AND I THOUGHT YOU SHOULD KNOW…I’M A VAMPIRE NOW. YEAH, WEIRD, LONG STORY—HAPPENED ABOUT A WEEK AGO, WHATEVER, I’LL TELL YOU LATER. SO JUST DON’T TAKE OFFENSE IF I EVER TRY TO KILL YOU, IT’S NOTHING PERSONAL,’KAY?
Yeah, not going to happen.
Right then something snapped. The onslaught of fiery pain crystallized and then, within a second, washed away. I could smell everything again. It was no longer an atomic jumble of hot pain—every smell was clear, distinct, separate. It was as though every scent had its own channel, and though all the scents existed at once, they were not overlapping. It was similar to how I could hear everyone walking into school that first day, but you know…with my nose.
“Noah?” Celia asked. “Noah?”
“Yes, sorry. What?” I replied. I was hoping that not more than a couple seconds had gone by. It had felt like a good twenty minutes, but my judgment of time had been faulty lately.
“Welcome back, man.” Malcolm’s voice was terse.
“How was your little trip into outer space?” Celia continued to dig into her chemically colored lunch.
“I think I’m going to get something to eat. I’m a little light-headed,” I said.
I could see Malcolm raise his eyebrow ever so slightly.
“I’m sorry, I’m just still out of it.” Lame, lame, LAME.
“Yeah, sure, Noah.” Malcolm relaxed ever so slightly. Still, he knew something. He didn’t know what it was yet, and he would probably end up wishing he never did.
The bizarre tension at the table was getting to be a little much for me. I needed a breather. I promptly stood up from the table and started making my way toward the lunch line. I figured a single slice of pizza or maybe just a cookie would suffice to shut Malcolm and Celia up, at least for the rest of the lunch period.
I glanced briefly over my shoulder at our table, relieved to see that Malcolm was not scrutinizing my every move. While busy not trying to draw attention to myself, I managed to walk straight into Clarissa Falke. I turned around just in time to see her fall to the floor. The masses of paper she had been carrying—sheet music, I think—lay scattered on or were still fluttering toward the ground.
Classie, as she was commonly known, was my age, I think. She was in my grade at least. We’d been going to school together for awhile. She seemed nice enough; we just never hung out with the same people. And now she was sitting in front of me on the floor, startled by my sudden presence.
“Classie, I’m so sorry!” I offered.
She looked up at me with her shocking green eyes, tucked a wild strand of platinum hair behind her ear, and sighed. “Hi, Noah.” Her hands began feeling the ground around her. “Could you help me find my glasses before someone steps on them, please?” she asked, a hint of panic in her voice.
“Oh yeah, right.” I hesitated. I had picked up her smell the second I bumped into her and the burn of hunger had started to creep in. Still standing an acceptable distance away from her, I started scanning the ground and within seconds had located her black and white, square frames, peeking out from under some scattered sheet music. I picked them up and gave them to her.
My sense of smell was still out of control, so as soon as I leaned over to hand her the glasses, her scent (which consisted of freshly washed blue jeans and pleasantly sweet citrus) overwhelmed my nostrils. I froze.
She took the glasses from me.
The hunger was burning a hole through my core, and I felt all my senses tingle.
“Damn,” she muttered under her breath as she began to collect the mass of disorganized papers while still on her hands and knees.
I was standing over her, frozen in concentration, working hard to resist the powerful hunger that willed me to rip her to shreds. I heard her mumbling to herself about “rehearsal,” “ridiculous timing,” “not again,” and something about the “strict grading” of the music teacher, Mrs. Carlisle. I felt bad because I gathered that, because of me, she was going to be late for some sort of rehearsal. On the other hand, I was also sort of preoccupied with trying not to kill her. I stood dazed for another few seconds, burning, aching, fighting. Bloodlust surged through my veins. My muscles began to coil. I felt a brief second of panic as I realized I was starting to lose this uphill battle when her voice jumped out at me.
“So are you going to help me or what?”
“Yeah, of course, I’m so sorry.”
“Stop apologizing and just help me get this together,” she retorted, obviously stressed. “Please. I meant to say, help me get this together, please,” she added softly.
“Sure. Sorry,” I mumbled, as we gathered her papers. I focused on resisting the urge to drink her blood.
Classie let out a laugh and her short blond hair bounced. “Would you quit ap
ologizing?” she sighed.
I took a small step back, trying to put a little more distance between us.“I can do that.”
She nodded once, flashed a quick smile, and heaved her overflowing messenger bag onto her shoulder. “All right, well, nice running into you,” she joked.
I brushed the cafeteria grime off my hands and stood up. I noticed that Malcolm was looking in my direction. But he wasn’t watching me. His eyes were on Classie.
****
The rest of the day passed in a similarly bizarre fashion. I figured out that the flood of smell I had experienced in the lunchroom and the flood of noise I experienced the day before were, in reality, just constant wavelengths that I was tuning in and out of without much control. And then a crazy hearing thing happened when I was trying to explain to the English teacher why I’d skipped class the day before.
Of course, Mom had written a note but that wasn’t good enough for Mrs. Kristoff, whose stern glare was almost enough to make my heart start beating again—just so it could race right out of my freaking chest.
As Mrs. Kristoff was partway through her interrogation, I heard a buzz begin to rise. It was quick, like on my first day back at school, but this time it was a little painful. The closest thing I could liken it to is the pressure that builds in your ears on an airplane. If they don’t pop, your head eventually feels as though it’s going to explode. When they finally do, the relief is immense, but the sensitivity to all sound is heightened. My face contorted only a little before I was finally connected to the sea of sound. I think Mrs. Kristoff mistook the twitch for remorse, because she finally let me go back to my seat.
I was beginning to suspect that stress was what hooked me into this somewhat inconvenient new power of mine. The teacher’s interrogation. The mention of Paige in the cafeteria. You get the idea.
Of course, it didn’t help that after I took my seat, I was still completely in tune with every ripple of sound to be heard within a mile radius. It also didn’t help that among this vast ocean of noise, I could single out Paige without pause. She wasn’t even speaking. She was spinning. I knew that right now she was in dance class doing ballet.
I Heart Vampires Page 6