I Heart Vampires

by Siona McCabre

“No, it’s okay. You don’t have to explain it again.”

  “That doesn’t mean I don’t want to spend time with you.”

  “Gotcha.”

  “In fact, I should be nervous—you’re the one who ran away from me!”

  Yeah, she should be nervous, but not for the reason she thought. “Trust me, you have no reason to be nervous about me running away.”

  “Might I bring up the bathroom window incident?”

  “Might I plead temporary insanity?”

  She considered for a second. “You may,” she laughed.

  “May I ask you if you’d like to hang out with me soon?”

  “What is this, Mother May I?”

  “Okay, you just killed it,” I joked.

  “My bad! But, yes, Noah. You can ask me to hang out.”

  “So,” I began, “this is me, asking you to hang out with me sometime.”

  “As friends?” She clarified.

  I sighed heavily but smiled. I couldn’t help letting my senses linger on her amazingly fresh, summery scent. She looked deep into my dark eyes, and I found myself getting lost in the rich honey color of hers.

  “As friends,” I acquiesced.

  “Then this is me saying yes,” she said.

  Ignoring my misgivings and Malcolm’s well-intentioned warning, I took a half-step closer to her. A shiver ran down my spine and I summoned all my willpower to keep the thoughts of bloodsucking at bay. For once, I was NOT going to ruin the moment. I focused only on her face.

  “Hey, Paige?” I asked.

  “Hey, Noah,” she giggled.

  “Will you go to prom with me?”

  Chapter 11

  “Hey, Mom, I’m home!” I called out.

  No response.

  I climbed the stairs to my room, where I shrugged off my backpack and tossed it in a corner. Then, in a dramatic gesture common among my angst-ridden peers, I let out a great big sigh and flung my lumbering mass onto my bed. I bounced a couple times before settling into the worn mattress.

  I was taking Paige to the prom. For one moment, it didn’t matter that I was a vampire. I let that thought sink in a bit as I stared at the ceiling. I, Noah Vance, was taking Paige Martin to the prom.

  My head was spinning.

  Granted, she insisted that it had to be as friends and nothing more, but still. Replaying the afternoon in my mind, I couldn’t figure out exactly how we’d gone from painfully awkward to prom dates within the span of a few minutes. But, hey, who was I to question the course of fate?

  I was freaking thrilled. Stupidly so, actually. A couple days ago I thought all was certainly lost. There was just one problem left: What to wear!

  Just kidding. Seriously, that was a joke.

  The one problem was Malcolm. After his whole speech about what a terrible idea prom would be for me, how could I tell him that I went ahead and asked Paige to the dance within the same hour? I didn’t have to be a genius to figure out this might tick him off. At the same time though, who was he to tell me what to do? I was still my own person—albeit a vampire. In fact, I felt pretty good about how I’d handled myself with Paige in the classroom. Maybe I was just getting better at repressing my hunger. Maybe soon, Malcolm wouldn’t have any cause to worry at all. Maybe this whole vampire thing wasn’t the end of my world after all. Maybe I could still lead a relatively normal (extra long) life.

  I was in the middle of these self-righteous musings when I heard a key in the front door. Mom set her purse down in the foyer, locked the door behind her, and placed her jacket on the coat stand.

  “Noah?”

  I pulled myself out of bed and went to the top of the stairs. “Hi, Mom.”

  “How was your day?”

  I tried not to sound too lighthearted when I responded. I didn’t want to tell her about Paige, and I definitely didn’t want to get into it with her about the prom. “It was fine.”

  “Did you hear about that Brandie girl?” She asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “I hope she turns up okay.”

  “Me too.”

  “I can’t help but wonder if there’s any sort of connection with the Esther Jones girl.”

  “No idea. I’ve got some stuff to do. I’ll be in my room. Love you.” I sat down at my desk, which was littered with homework. But I wasn’t concerned with that right now.

  I picked up my phone and texted Malcolm.

  WHAT R U UP TO?

  Several minutes went by with no response. I wondered if he was still irritated with me, even though I was the one who should have been annoyed. After all, my best friend had recently accused me of murder. Finally the phone buzzed.

  STUPID PHYSICS, U?

  I texted back:

  FEEL LIKE TAKING A BREAK?

  He answered:

  ALWAYS. GOT SOMETHIN IN MIND?

  A sly smile crept across my face.

  ALWAYS. CAN U COME OVER?

  He replied:

  SURE GIMME AN HOUR THO.

  An hour. What to do with yet another hour? I decided to send one more text before resigning myself to browsing Facebook, and maybe even dipping into some homework.

  THINKING OF YOU

  I typed the words into the text message box and then paused. Too mushy? Too serious? Too fast? I thought about it for a second. Then I decided I was thinking about it too much, and selected Paige’s number from my address book. I was about to hit send, my finger hovered over the button. I looked at the message one more time. Delete. I’d just gotten her to say yes to prom, I didn’t want to mess something up now.

  Vampires, goblins, and ghouls included, girls were still the biggest mystery.

  ****

  “So what’s the plan?” Malcolm asked. He was wearing his favorite Sublime hoodie. “Thanks for ditching the homework.”

  “Please. Thanks for giving me a good reason to. You do have a good reason, right? Because I’m a little behind in physics, and if I get another D on a quiz, my mom’s going to rail on me like there’s no tomorrow.” Malcolm settled himself into my desk chair while I sat at the edge of the bed. He leaned back, his hands resting behind his head.

  “I could use your help.”

  “Anything. Want me to throw a hatchet at your head again? I could fight you with a katana. Ooh! What about nunchucks?”

  “Nunchucks?”

  He shrugged, a hopeful smile springing to his face.

  I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Easy there Chuck Norris. Nothing like that tonight. I’ve been doing some research on and off the last couple weeks…”

  “On your ‘condition?’”

  I rolled my eyes. “Yes, on my ‘condition.’ But I feel like I keep running into dead ends. Or I’m still missing something. I don’t know. I could use a fresh perspective.”

  Malcolm did a stern salute and deepened his voice. “Lieutenant Perspective, at your service, SIR!”

  “I’m serious, Malcolm.”

  “I am too! Gosh, can’t a guy do a salute without getting the third degree?” He smiled, but dropped the act. “Okay,” he started, “what do we have already?”

  “So I got bitten some time the night of the party…”

  “The party that you don’t remember.”

  “Yes. Then I got really sick and turned into a vampire the next day. We know that the blond girl with the tattoo was at the party, that we were talking-”

  “Flirting,” Malcolm corrected.

  “Fine, we were flirting. No one seems to have any clue who she is, and no one has seen her since. Her tattoo is some sort of traditional Norse design. Then when I was on a vampire chat site, someone named DOUBLEHELIX1178 wanted to talk to me about a Norse sacrificial ritual.”

  “The one I researched, right?”

  “Yeah. And she knew my name.”

  Malcolm nodded purposefully. I watched him for a minute, waiting for his conclusion. He noticed me and stopped. “What?” He asked.

  “It looked like you had something, a thought?”

&nb
sp; “Oh. No, I was just waiting for you to continue.”

  “The only other thing is that I’ve been hearing a female voice, all whispery and weird, from time to time in the woods.”

  “Right, well we’ve already established that the blond chick is most likely DOUBLEHELIX1178, and that she’s probably the one who turned you into a vampire.”

  “Exactly, but then I don’t know where to go from there.”

  “Hey, what was that thing about turning into a butterfly?”

  “I guess it’s something that happens in Slavic folklore.”

  “Let’s start there.” We crowded around my computer while Malcolm navigated a menagerie of websites, hoping to find some unifying clue. It was mostly tall tales and history lessons, but then, Malcolm stopped.

  “Aha, hey, look at this,” he pointed at the screen. “Apparently the offspring of a vampire and a human can end up becoming a vampire hunter. Talk about conflict of interest, huh?” He laughed.

  “Can we stay focused?” I asked.

  Malcolm kept reading. The word “focus” was not always in his vocabulary.

  “‘And the same talent was believed to be found in persons born on Saturday.’ I was born on a Saturday,” he stated proudly, as if that meant anything.

  “Is your dad a vampire?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Okay, then. Let’s move on.”

  “How cool would it be to be a vampire hunter?” He mused to himself.

  I cleared my throat loudly and gave him the eye. He suddenly snapped out of it.

  “Oh. Right…sorry.”

  “It’s okay. You know, maybe we should call it a night. I don’t feel like we’re getting anywhere. The DOUBLEHELIX1178 mystery will have to wait I guess.”

  “Sorry, man, I wish I had some idea of what it all…” he trailed off.

  I could tell the wheels were spinning. “Malcolm. What is it?”

  “Hold on. What if the ‘one-one-seven-eight’ on ‘Doublehelix’ means something?”

  “Like what? A date? January first, nineteen seventy eight?”

  “No. That Norse human sacrifice thing I told you about, that kind of thing was happening around the ninth or tenth century.”

  “So?”

  “SO, what if it’s her age?” He grabbed a calculator off my desk and punched in a few quick numbers. “Two thousand eleven minus one thousand, one hundred and seventy-eight is eight hundred and thirty-three. Right around the time those rituals were happening. I’m willing to bet that’s Doublehelix’s birthday. Or, you know, death day. Whatever.”

  Even though Malcolm plus calculator usually equaled disaster, I think he was on to something. Then, it started to dawn on me. “She could have been one of those girls, one of the slave girls who was going to join her master in the afterlife. She was telling me where she was from.”

  “Only, clearly, she didn’t make it to the funeral pyre.”

  “I still don’t know what that means, though. I don’t know how that helps me.”

  “I don’t know either, but if she’s been doing the vampire thing for this long, she must know what she’s doing. She must have picked you for a reason.”

  ****

  The morning after our little study session, I was ready to head into school, feeling hopeful for once. I had made a move on Paige (even if it was a purely “friendly” one), and was one step closer to figuring out the mystery of my making. I was beginning to feel more in control, and it felt good. I was ready to walk through those double doors and down those suffocating fluorescent hallways with my head held high.

  Even Mom noticed the change as I came bounding down the stairs and into the kitchen looking for my iPod. She was hunched over a bowl of Cheerios in her pink robe. She had combed her hair, and the dark circles that had hung beneath her eyes for the first couple weeks after my transformation were finally lightening. I knew she was under a lot of stress to do her normal job as well as secure a steady food supply for her unnatural son, but for once, she, too had a glimmer of hope in her eye.

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “Morning.”

  “Have you seen my iPod?”

  “I haven’t. Where did you leave it last?”

  “If I knew that I wouldn’t be asking you.”

  “Be nice to your mother, dahling,” she said in her terrible faux-British accent.

  “Please don’t refer to yourself in the third person. It’s unbecoming,” I replied in mock politeness, mimicking her accent.

  She smiled and shook her head. “You better watch that tone of yours. Someday someone might take you seriously,” she warned in jest.

  “Ooh, heaven forbid!”

  “So, you were up late last night with Malcolm.”

  “Technically we’ve been up since early this morning.”

  “Tomato, toh-mah-toh.”

  I checked near the sugar jar—no iPod.

  “So what were you doing?” she asked.

  “Oh, nothing. Just hanging out.”

  “It’s so nice to see you two getting along again.”

  Yeah, just barely. “For sure.” I checked near the change tin—no iPod.

  “Noah?”

  “Yes?” I answered distractedly.

  “I know there’s been a lot going on lately. I’ve been working more hours and you’ve been…dealing with a lot.”

  “To put it lightly,” I mumbled.

  “Hmm?”

  “Nothing, sorry. What were you going to say?”

  “Oh, just that I feel like we haven’t spent much time together lately.”

  Aside from the time I spent inside your head, watching TV? Yeah, I suppose so. “Ohhh-kay.”

  “I just miss my Noah.”

  “Come on, Mom. I’m not five anymore.”

  She grinned and wrapped me in a big pink fuzzy hug. Her hair smelled like tea tree shampoo.

  “Gah, okay, I have to go to school!”

  “Bye, sweetie!” She planted a quick kiss on my cheek and then went back to her bowl of soggy Cheerios.

  On my way to the door, I stuffed my hands into the pocket of my hoodie and discovered my iPod. Genius. I rolled my eyes at my own stupidity, pulled my baseball cap low over my eyes, popped in my earbuds, selected Gogol Bordello, and made my way over to the bus.

  It had been awhile since I’d ridden the big yellow death mobile. Normally I’d leave early enough to walk or have Mom drive me to school. I figured that as long as I was listening to music, no one would bother me. When I arrived at the bus stop, I stood a good ten feet away from everyone else. No point torturing myself, right?

  I watched coolly as my fellow classmates joked and jostled each other, making cracks about each other’s clothing and complaining about the early hour. I could no longer relate.

  There were a couple underclassmen waiting at the bus stop as well—a brother and sister. They were fraternal twins, nice enough, I suppose, just very quiet. They stood a few feet behind my classmates and clutched their binders in silence. The others took no notice of them. I started to wonder, in all our self-interested endeavors at school and personal dramas, how many people went completely unnoticed. I also wondered if some people preferred it that way.

  Finally, through the somber strum of guitar and vocal lament of Eugene Hütz (“When Universes Collide” is such a good song), I heard the familiar monstrous hum of the bus, chugging its way to the top of the hill, where we all waited impatiently. As we all shuffled onboard, I snagged a spot toward the front, figuring all the Chatty Cathys liked to sit in the back. It was a double seat, but I sat away from the window to prevent anyone from sitting next to me.

  Before long we reached another stop, where I noticed Classie waiting. As always she had her side bag brimming with papers in what seemed like a chaotic jumble. When she got on the bus, she took one of the few remaining seats two rows directly behind me. I half smiled at her as she passed me. For a moment she looked confused but then smiled back at me before she sat down. I went back to g
azing out the window at the monotonous scenery: a repetitive sequence of deep green trees, ash-colored pavement, and muted-color houses.

  Through my daze fueled by gypsy-rock anthems, I picked up on Classie’s voice, small yet biting. I quickly glanced behind me to see one of the jocks giving her a hard time about something. I lowered the volume on my iPod until I could hear the conversation behind me clearly.

  “Go away,” Classie said quietly.

  “Tell me what your button says,” The jock, Jeff, responded dryly.

  “Just leave me alone.”

  “I’m just asking you a simple question!” Jeff laughed in mock insult.

  There was a brief silence, and I could tell Classie was hoping if she just ignored him he’d stop bothering her.

  “Well?” Jeff prodded.

  “Well, what?”

  “Well, why don’t you tell me what your button says?”

  “What, can’t you read?” Classie snapped.

  Classie: 1

  Jeff: 0

  “I can read, and apparently you can too,” Jeff shot back.

  “Is that your best comeback?”

  I glanced quickly over my shoulder in time to see Jeff angrily grab Classie’s bag from beside her. She reached out to try to get it back, but Jeff pulled it just out of her grasp. By this time he had a mini audience.

  Classie’s eyes burned with frustration. “Give it back.”

  Jeff took a close-up look at a button on her bag and laughed mockingly. “‘I read banned books.’ Interesting pin, Classie.”

  “Give me my bag, Jeff.”

  “Are you a communist?”

  “Communist books are not banned, you moron. I hate to break it to you, Jeff,” her voice was dripping with disdain, “but the Cold War is over, so how about you shut up and give me my bag back, you ignorant Neanderthal?”

  Classie: 20

  Jeff: Negative 5

  “How about your bag takes a nice little trip out the window?” Jeff taunted.

  At that, Classie lost her cool. “No!”

  Jeff had one of his burly jock friends block Classie from getting to her bag as Jeff moved to the other side of the bus. The other students parted like a wave in front of him.

  That was it. I’d had it. Yes, I was trying to keep a low profile, and yes, I was trying to avoid violence of any kind, but this was too much. Jeff needed to be taken down a notch. I quickly moved into Jeff’s way, blocking him from the half-open window at the other side of the bus. Considering it wasn’t a huge bus, when I reached Jeff, I was right up in his face. I did my best to hold my breath when I wasn’t talking. He was clearly not happy.