Southern Exposure

by Lari Smythe

  * * *

  The hall was brimming with kids, so I stopped pretending to breathe before leaving the classroom. Fidgeting with my school floor plan, I oriented the page to the hall.

  "What's your next class?"

  I looked up and Mary was staring over my shoulder. I edged away from her closeness.

  "Sorry, I just thought you might need help finding your way."

  I risked a shallow breath so I could speak. "Um, sure. I have Art next."

  She pointed past me, toward the chaos in the center of the school. "It's down this way, then to the right, just before you get to the shop."

  "Watch it geek!" A boy shouted as a group of boys ran past. He bumped Mary, almost knocking her into me. I stepped to the right and Mary caught herself against the wall. "Sorry," she apologized. Her translucent skin flushed to my chagrin. She slowly slid her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "Mind if I walk with you?"

  I nodded and we started up the hall. When we reached the intersection, Cathy emerged from the crowd.

  "Hey Mary," Cathy said, "I see you met Izzy. Where you headed?"

  "Chemistry, Izzy's got Art."

  "I just came from Chemistry. I'll take her from here."

  "See you guys." Mary headed off down the hall to the left.

  "You in GT?" Cathy asked.

  I glanced down at my schedule and then nodded.

  "Same here." She smiled. "It's this way."

  I followed Cathy down the hall to the right. We entered the Art room just as the bell rang. I'm not really sure if it was us or the bell, but everyone in the room turned and stared. We did make quite a pair. Cathy seemed to be looking for someone, but my gaze drifted away from the incredulous stares.

  "Hi, Mrs. Snyder," Cathy said with a ring in her voice I hadn't heard before.

  "Good morning."

  "Can we sit together?" Cathy's hand flashed into my view of the floor as she motioned toward me.

  "That's fine. Why don't you take the table near the window?"

  "Perfect."

  Cathy took the stool closest to the window. I set my Latin book on the corner of our table and looked up for the first time. There were the same curious eyes as in the hallway, mostly directed toward me. No one made eye contact, except for the redheaded boy next to me, and he was just plain staring.

  "Hop off," Cathy ordered, leaning forward to glare at him.

  "Freakin' d'bag," he grunted in response.

  Cathy eased back onto her stool.

  "Hop off?" I questioned. The phrase seemed totally out of place, but the boy seemed to understand and as far as what he said, I was clueless.

  "Yeah," Cathy whispered, "you know, stop obsessing."

  "Right." I replied, trying to sound as though I understood. "And freakin' d'bag?"

  "Just vulgar boy lingo. Don't pay any attention."

  Mrs. Snyder introduced me at the start of class, but didn't make a fuss. It turned out Cathy and I were the only two in GT, the rest of the class was in Art I or Art II. Cathy went up front to help hold some pictures as Mrs. Snyder explained the concept of composition. Mrs. Snyder was blonde, most of her hair pulled back in a shoulder-length pony tail, the strays flying around her willowy face. She was young, probably not much older than my combined years. Of course, I still looked the same age as the day I died—seventeen—one of the few things I knew about myself.

  The eight student tables were spread out in a semicircle around a slightly raised area in the front of the room. Mrs. Snyder's desk was on the side closest to the door. Although there was nothing specific, the Art room had a somewhat familiar feel, maybe I'd been in Art classes before. Cathy returned to her seat next to me, and Mrs. Snyder pointed out a still life on the raised platform that I hadn't noticed. It was a bit disconcerting because my heightened, vampire senses usually precluded any such surprises. Mrs. Snyder handed each of us a sheet of eighteen by twenty-four inch paper and instructed us to draw what we saw. At the top of our table we had white, black and brown Conte Crayons.

  I sat and stared at the black crayon in my hand, not really knowing where to start. Cathy was already busy at work.

  "Don't be nervous," Cathy said, "she's not judgmental."

  "Draw what we see?" I asked, glancing at Cathy's paper. She had the large Blue Doulton basin sketched out.

  "Sure, you can do part or the whole thing, whatever you want."

  I looked back at the still life, an assortment of home-goods placed on a cluster of draped chairs. I closed my eyes for a moment—concentrating—and then began outlining the draped chairs. The more I drew, the less often I looked up at the still life; but when I eased back from the table to see how I'd done, my outline only loosely resembled the still life. There was a strange familiarity with the outline that I couldn't explain. I continued drawing. My motions became almost frantic as I altered the soft pleats of the drape into jagged crevices. The silhouette of the bowl became the outline of a gentler peak, closer, in the foreground. I exchanged the black crayon for a white and began enhancing the light areas. Once the highlights were in, I began blending the edges with my pinky finger. Where is this? I asked myself. Why does it look so familiar? I leaned back to stare at the snow covered mountain peaks I'd drawn.

  "Very original," Mrs. Snyder said from behind me. She waved her hand through the air in the general shape of my drawing. "I can see the outline of the still life. Is this a place you know well, a family vacation spot perhaps?"

  "I'm not sure. Sorry if it's not what you expected."

  "I said 'draw what you see', this is obviously what you see. You have a commanding stroke, strong yet vulnerable. Very nice."

  When Mrs. Snyder moved to the next table, Cathy leaned over. "You really don't know where that is?"

  "No, why?"

  "It just seemed the way you were working you knew exactly what you were drawing."

  I looked over at Cathy's work and she'd done a flawless rendition of the porcelain basin. "Yours is incredibly realistic."

  She leaned back to examine her work. "I guess. If I don't draw realistic it comes out dark. Mrs. Snyder doesn't like it when I draw dark all the time. Figured I'd try to start the year off on a bright note, know what I mean?"

  "I do."

  "Maybe Canada or the Alps."

  "What?" I puzzled.

  "Your mountains."

  I shrugged, unsure as Cathy returned to her drawing. I continued to touch up little areas, but it was gone—the familiarity—as if the drawing were no more than a blanket draped over four chairs. I'd started school with hopes of finding some kind of connection—a link—to my human past, but mountains weren't what I'd expected. Maybe it was nothing.

  "Alright class," Mrs. Snyder started, "time to cleanup, class will be over shortly. Don't forget to put your name in the bottom right-hand corner of your work."

  The redhead next to me bolted from his chair, starting a mad dash for the sinks. Cathy and I hung back until most of the class had washed their hands and returned to their seats. As we approached the sinks, I suddenly remembered the cuts on Cathy's wrists. If they got wet and oozed blood, it could be a problem. I stopped breathing.

  "Class," Mrs. Snyder said from behind us, "I'd like you to take a look at what Cathy drew."

  Cathy and I both glanced over our shoulders. Mrs. Snyder was holding up Cathy's drawing.

  "As you can see, Cathy's done a very realistic rendering of the subject." She set Cathy's drawing back on the table and then lifted mine. She hesitated for a moment, staring at the drawing, and then addressed the redhead boy. "I'll see you after class, Andy."

  Andy shrugged indifferently.

  "Well, as you can see," Mrs. Snyder continued, turning my drawing toward the class. "Izzy's done a more imaginative interpretation."

  "Yeah," Andy mocked, "rocks." Some of the class snickered. "You see any rocks? I don't think so."

  "That's enough, Andy."

  "Don't mind them," Cathy said, turning back toward the sink. "They're just in Art s
o they can get a passing grade." She reached for the running water, but hesitated. Instead of plunging her hands into the stream of water like I feared, she pulled a paper towel from the dispenser, wet it and wiped her hands. I did the same, being careful not to rub through the thin painted membrane that covered my skin. The bell rang as we started back toward our table.

  The veins on Mrs. Snyder's forehead bulged as she quietly, but sternly chastised Andy. He appeared apathetic. "…I won't put up with that kind of behavior this year, do you understand?"

  "Whatever." Andy replied.

  "I mean it. If you want to be part of this class, there will be no more ridiculing your classmates."

  "Alright already." Andy grabbed his stuff and headed for the door.

  Mrs. Snyder turned to Cathy and I. "I'm so sorry about your artwork."

  I glanced down at my picture. In the lower right hand corner, Andy had drawn in red marker, blood dripping from my name into a pool at the bottom of the page.

  "Some of these boys can be so immature." Mrs. Snyder continued.

  "That was meant for me, wasn't it?" Cathy gasped.

  "No, no, Andy said he was just 'initiating' the new girl."

  "But last year—"

  "Would you two bring your portfolios in tomorrow?" Mrs. Snyder said, changing the subject. "I'd like to see some of your previous work Izzy, so I can get a feel for how I can help; and Cathy, I'd like to see what you did over the summer."

  Portfolio? I didn't have a portfolio, I didn't even have any art supplies.

  "Well, you girls run along. You don't want to be late for lunch. The cafeteria can get awfully crowded."

  "See you after lunch," Cathy replied.

  I grabbed my Latin book and followed Cathy to the door.

  "Don't worry about lunch being crowded. There's a small table where I always eat and nobody sits there. Well, Mary once in a while, but nobody else. Did you bring a lunch or are you buying?"

  "I don't eat," I said without thinking.

  Cathy smiled wryly. "As weird as that sounds, I believe you."

  I tried changing the subject. "Does it really get as crowded as Mrs. Snyder said?"

  "I just get an apple and milk. They'll leave us alone—we're too 'creepy'." She made little quote marks in the air.

  We were getting close to the cafeteria and the greasy smell of pizza, burgers and fries was already strong. I stopped as Cathy pulled open the double doors and the heavy human scent was oppressive.

  "You okay?" Cathy asked, glancing back at me.

  Beyond her, the cafeteria was brimming with students. For the moment, the human scent was masked by the food, but I couldn't imagine myself in that room. Cathy's expression slowly changed from surprise to awareness, although I wasn't sure what she was thinking. It was then I realized I was shaking my head from side-to-side.

  "Ahhhh," I groaned, "I left my Latin book in the Art room."

  Cathy's eyes momentarily glanced down at the book under my arm. "I aid next period. I could get it for you," she offered.

  A group of boys suddenly got up from one of the closer tables and started for the doors. I stepped back as the boys veered to the door opposite Cathy. The last boy through the doorway, a large muscular boy—one I recognized from the parking lot—raised his arms over his head and made an animated, ghostly noise at her. When she cringed away from him, he pressed toward her. His aggressiveness triggered a burning sensation in the back of my throat—that was bad.

  "So you have a friend this year," the boy scowled at her.

  Cathy cowered, slipping off the open door toward the wall. The boy caught the door and slammed it back against the wall.

  "Did you see that?" He asked, turning toward his friends. "She tried to hit me with the door."

  Cathy was beet red, her eyes welled up with tears, that aggravated the burn in my throat even more. I stood frozen, afraid to move, afraid the slightest muscle twitch might trigger an attack. The throb of his blood pulsing through his veins was already ringing in my ears. The boy leaned his head forward until it almost rested against Cathy's.

  My voice came out in a growl, "Leave her alone." I took a step forward.

  The boy looked up surprised, but obviously amused. "You kidin' me?" He said to his friends, before turning back to me. "What?"

  Cathy used the distraction to slip away; as she did I stepped back.

  "Where do you think you're going?" He leaned forward, staring into my eyes, unprepared for what would happen. The muscles in his face tensed with uncertainty as I met his gaze and he froze in place. After a moment, he suddenly burst out laughing and turned toward his friends. "Whoa dudes, this is really a weird one."

  I glanced at Cathy. She had wiped her eyes with her arm and left a smear of blood from her wrist across her cheek. My hands began to tremble.

  "Well?" The boy droned, turning back to me, but not meeting my gaze.

  I had no breath and could not risk inhaling. Primal instinct pushed my body into an attack posture, one foot sliding back behind the other. My hands balled into fists. It was then I noticed the burn from my throat had swelled to engulf my mouth and sinuses. I was losing control. The boy, face now calm, placid, slowly tilted his head to the right, surrendering his neck to me—I was unconsciously doing that, a vampire thing, he was mine. My mouth filled with saliva as I traced my sharp teeth with my tongue. I swallowed hard.

  Suddenly the door on the far side of the hall slammed open. I broke off, glancing over at the distraction, it was Tink. That was all I needed to regain control, but as I rose to an erect posture and backed away, the largest boy in the group pushed forward.

  "Cut the crap freak!"

  If Tink had not broken my concentration, the boy wouldn't have taken another step; but as it was, I controlled the urge to strike.

  "What is it with you Emos? Who do you think you're messin' with anyway?" Behind him, his friends were pushing, laughing at the staggering boy I'd released.

  I looked up at my new adversary, his eyes almost as intense as mine. There was a slight tug and I looked down to see him pull my Latin book out from under my arm and drop it to the floor. Tink took a step toward us, but I waved him off. I slowly stooped down and gathered up the book and papers that spilled out. When I looked up, the boy had turned toward his friends.

  "That's what I'm talkin' about, bow to the master."

  The group's laughter was cut short when as I stood, I pierced the Styrofoam cup he was holding with my fingernail, sending a stream of soda down his leg. The boy dropped the cup and wheeled around.

  "You're dead!" He shouted, his face red with rage.

  "Break it up, break it up," a commanding voice boomed from behind the crowd that now filled the doorway.

  The students peeled back and a large, muscular black man stepped forward. Despite his muscular physique, he seemed gentle, like Tink.

  The boy in front of me immediately stepped back, his rage completely masked. "Hey Coach, the freak dropped her soda. Just tryin' to help."

  "Looks like we're going to need a mop," Coach said. He glanced at me. "You okay?"

  I nodded and backed away.

  "The closet's right down the hall. Derrick, you're with me."

  Derrick, the boy in front of me, started after the coach, but turned back. "This isn't over, freak," he whispered through clenched teeth. "I'm on it, Coach!" He jogged down the hall to catch up with him.

  The other boys, his friends, were acting as though they were trying to direct students around the mess. It was all very strange; the change I mean. I strayed back to the wall with Cathy. She'd wiped the blood off her cheek. Tink was gone, somehow slipping away when he was no longer needed. I had to admit, Elizabeth was right to send him. If he hadn't been here… I shuddered at what would have happened.

  "You okay?" Cathy whispered.

  "Sure. You?"

  "I don't understand what happened. They usually leave me alone."

  "They?" I pondered.

  "Derrick and his crew."
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  I could sense the history between them in her voice. "They seem, well, awfully big to pick on you."

  "Football players, they did it to show off freshman year, but they've left me alone since. I don't know what changed, unless..." She looked up, Derrick and his crew was coming back with the mop. "There's nothing to worry about as long as the coach is with them. You hungry? I'm famished."

  This completely surprised me. How, after what just happened, could she just go eat?

  She must have read the confusion in my face. "It's why they leave me alone—well usually. I just don't quit. See, if you quit, they win. You know the table I told you about?"

  I nodded.

  "Well, it took almost the entire freshman year to get it, and then last year they tried to chase me off again, but I just wouldn't leave."

  "I see." I really didn't understand. I thought the whole purpose of the Emo thing was so people would leave you alone.

  "It's not what you think. It's just what you have to do to be left alone." She pushed off from the wall. "Ready?"

  "I don't think—"

  "Right, I forgot you don't eat." She winked. "What do you have last period?"

  I fumbled with my papers and found my schedule. "History, then Software Apps."

  She smiled. "Ah, the coach. That ought to be interesting."

  "It says Mr. Singleton."

  "That's Coach. Well, maybe I'll see you after school. See ya, and thanks."

  "Sure." I called after her.

  I was surprised that I seemed to have all my control back, but I definitely wasn't going into the cafeteria. In front of me, Derrick was directing one of the smaller boys in the group to mop the floor, acting very much in charge. Every now and then, he'd shoot a glance my way. It was obvious I needed to move. My next breath stopped me in my tracks. An intense, overpowering human scent reignited my instincts. I gasped, totally the wrong thing to do since it only served to magnify the staggering aroma. That brought another glare from Derrick. I moved further down the hall.

  While the aroma was definitely human, it heralded above all the others that still lingered in the muddled, non-descript background. I couldn't find the words to describe it, but I had a different, odd reaction to it. Sure, it brought the burning thirst to my throat, but there was more. Deep down in my gut, my stomach knotted up in a painful cramp. Despite the pain, I was mysteriously drawn toward the origin, the cafeteria. Without totally realizing what I was doing, I began slinking toward the cafeteria. Inside I fought against the intense urge to feed on what could only be the sweetest blood in the entire universe. Another cramp nearly doubled me over.

  "You spew and you clean it up," Derrick's voice, now just a hollow echo, complained.

  I staggered to a stop. The lure was stronger, almost overpowering. There was nothing but the scent now, everything else had faded into the blurred background. I unconsciously licked my lips. Through the daze, a strong pronounced set of footsteps were crossing the cafeteria toward the doors—toward me. I shook myself violently, trying to regain my composure and then skirted around Derrick and the others headed for the first door I saw—the ladies room.