“Sorry!”
“S’okay. I’m sure you had your big date on your mind.” She finishes her sandwich and carefully wraps up all the stray bean sprout bits and whatnot all nice and neat. Hmmm. I wonder if George is into neat-freak-faux-Goth girls?
6
I get to the Coffee Café within record time after school, making my first stop the kitschy retro bathroom after checking to make sure Aubrey wasn’t there yet. I’m not the girliest of girls (I only own like five pairs of shoes and just one lipstick that I borrowed from my mom and never gave back), but I’d gotten up an entire hour earlier just to pick out my outfit. And that was after lying there and obsessing about it half the night. Considering how much I love sleep, that’s really saying a lot for how hot Aubrey is.
I’m still not entirely happy with what I wound up wearing, but I figure he saw me last night in my oldest pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Anything is bound to be an improvement over that. If I’d known there was going to be a hottie in attendance, I’d have put much more effort into it. So, today I’ve got on this dark red shirt that my dad hates (cleavage alert!) and my best pair of butt-hugging low-rider jeans. At least I’m tall enough to pull them off.
A last check in the mirror shows that, sadly enough, my freckles have not melted away and my mop of reddish-brownish-blackish hair (Mom likes to tell me that my hair just couldn’t decide which part of the family it wanted to look like.) has started frizzing out, as per usual. Not a big surprise. Someday I’m going to live somewhere without humidity. I apply just a bit more lip gloss, check my teeth, and pop my last breath mint. This is it.
I come out of the bathroom and still no Aubrey. I should have asked him where he was coming from so I’d have some idea when he’d arrive. I grab a booth toward the back, where I can see anyone coming through the door, private enough so that when he does arrive, it’ll be nice and secluded. Perfect.
Fifteen minutes later and I’ve:
a) rearranged and color-coded all the sweetener packets,
b) ripped a napkin into teeny tiny shreds and subsequently pocketed the shreds, hiding them in the pocket of my too-tight jeans, to the great amusement of the guy sitting next to me (voyeuristic jerk), and
c) been asked three times by a snotty blond waitress if I wouldn’t like something while I was waiting, because she thinks she’s going to get stiffed on the tip by a teenager. Which she might. Since she’s being snotty.
Aubrey finally comes in the door twenty minutes later and peers around the café looking adorably confused until I start waving my arms in an uncomfortably close imitation of Raven the Goth Girl. He sees me and comes over with a meltingly hot smile. Even the snotty waitress takes notice and straightens her little bow tie. She won’t be so snippy when she comes over next time, I’ll bet.
“Hey, Tina,” he says as he sits down.
Okay, so he’s way late and he can’t get my name right. But man, is he hot. “Uh, actually, it’s Mina. But lots of people do that, don’t worry about it.” Way too many people, actually. But it would have been really nice if the cutest guy ever hadn’t done it.
He doesn’t look remotely worried about it. “Right,” he says. “Mina.” He smiles vaguely at me and runs a hand through his hair so it flops perfectly over his forehead. “So, Mina, what’s it been like living with vampires all this time? What are your parents like?”
Out of all the things that I had potentially thought we might talk about, my parents were not on the list. I figured maybe school would come up, or our impending decision on vampirism, maybe, or even (hopefully) something like, Gee, Mina, you sure do look hot in those jeans.
“Oh, well, they’re pretty normal actually. I mean, they have regular jobs and everything. They aren’t any weirder than anyone else’s parents or anything.” After all, everybody thinks their parents are weird to some extent. I just happen to know exactly what my parents’ particular weirdnesses are.
I didn’t say anything that funny, but he laughs, showing off all his sparkling white teeth and I melt a little more. And I’m not the only one. I swear that I saw the waitress fan herself out of the corner of my eye. I ignore her in the hope that she backs off for a while. At least he’s finally here and we’re talking.
I rack my brain for something else clever to say. “Dad does say he’s a Type AB Negative kind of guy.” Actually, he says that as a joke sometimes when he’s hanging out with Uncle Mortie. I don’t know that you can really tell the difference between the blood types. Maybe you can. Maybe he hasn’t been kidding about that all these years.
“Really?” Aubrey leans forward a little and I catch a whiff of musky cologne. Like he needed any more animal magnetism.
“Yeah, and my mom sometimes makes this nasty English dish called black pudding. It’s got pig’s blood in it, though, not human.” Geez, at least that’s what she told me. She wouldn’t have fed me real human blood, would she? No. No. I’m sure she wouldn’t.
“Oh? So they eat?”
“My uncle Mortie says there’s no reason not to enjoy food.” Man, and he certainly does enjoy it. He’s just lucky that vampires don’t gain weight. He’d be at least three hundred pounds by now if it weren’t for that.
Aubrey leans forward even more. I can see the flecks of gold and amber in his green eyes. He’s so close I could lean forward just the tiniest bit and kiss him. I don’t do it, but just thinking about it gives me a warm feeling and I blush. He doesn’t seem to notice. He probably has that effect on all the girls.
“So your uncle is a vampire too?”
“What? Oh, yeah. Actually, he’s the one that turned my dad and mom.” Shouldn’t we be talking about something else? Like … us? “And he’s my sponsor.”
“Wonderful. I’d love to meet him. And your parents. Maybe I could come over for dinner sometime?”
Wow. Whew. This isn’t going anything like I thought it would. He wants to meet my parents already? And my uncle? Do boys normally want to meet your uncle? I think not. But it has to be good that he wants to come over for dinner, right? I’ve never invited anyone over for dinner before. Except Serena, but she doesn’t count.
“I’m free this Sunday,” he continues when I don’t say anything right off.
I guess he’s a proactive kind of guy. “Okay, I’ll check with my mom. But are you sure you wouldn’t rather, you know, go to a movie or something instead?”
The waitress picks that minute to interrupt. I bet she was listening in, the snotty thing. “Hi,” she simpers, “can I get you anything?” She’s staring soulfully into Aubrey’s eyes and totally ignoring me. “Anything at all?” Her hand flutters suggestively over her chest. That is so-o-o-o-o obvious.
“How about a couple of lattes,” he says politely, and turns back to me without even another glance at Ms. Snotty-pants. Yes! Though he could have asked first. I’m really more of a straight espresso kind of girl. I mean, if you’re going for the caffeine high, you might as well be committed to it. “So, do you think Sunday will be okay with your parents?” The waitress wanders off looking disappointed. I wonder if she’ll even remember to get the lattes.
“I’m pretty sure,” I say. I can’t imagine why Mom would say no. Shoot, she’ll probably be all excited. It’s not every day her little girl brings home the hottest guy in town.
“Great, here’s my number.” He pulls out an actual card and hands it to me. Talk about prepared.
“Wow, were you a boy scout or something?” I tease him.
He looks confused, which is a very cute look for him. As if any look wouldn’t be cute on him.
“I just meant that you were prepared.”
“Oh, I get it.” He laughs. “It’s a calling card like they used to use in the old days. You ever read Melman? Brighton Powell started using them back in True Love Has Teeth. I thought they sounded cool. Besides, they make it easier when people ask for my number. I’ve got my cell and my e-mail on there. It’s best to call, though. I don’t spend a lot of time online.”
; I don’t understand half of what he’s talking about, but it does make me wonder how many times he gets asked for his digits. I’m betting a lot. I bet if I left him alone for even five minutes that waitress would be on him like a bee on honey. Or is that a fly? Whatever, she’d be stuck on him like glue.
“Well, I’ll give you a call later after I check with my mom. I’m sure it will be fine.”
“Great,” he says again and gets up. “I can’t actually stay for the lattes, but please let me cover them.” Before I can say anything, he pulls out some bills and lays them on the table. “Hope to see you Sunday.” And then he’s gone.
“Bye.” I call out to the rapidly closing door.
The waitress drops off the lattes. “Where’d your friend rush off to?” she asks with no trace of the sweetness she’d had earlier while talking to Aubrey.
“He had to go,” I say, even though I have no idea why he took off so fast either. It’s none of her business anyway.
She looks at me speculatively. “He’s not that actor, is he?”
I’m not sure which one she means, since technically it could be any number of actors. He is, after all, just that hot. I briefly consider telling her he is, but I’m not a liar at heart.
“Nah,” I say and then pretend to look carefully around the place like I want to make sure no one is listening in. I lean forward and so does she. “He’s that singer,” I whisper.
Okay, so I am a little bit of a liar.
10:35 P.M.
SereneOne: soooo…how’d it go?
MinaMonster: idk. kinda weird
SereneOne: weird?
MinaMonster: yah. he kept askin bout the fam
MinaMonster: & he jetted prtty fast outta there. didn’t evn drnk the coffee
SereneOne:??
MinaMonster: i know, rite? but he’s coming 4 dinner on sunday
SereneOne: omg!!! no way! i have 2 come by and see this Greek God!
MinaMonster: no can do. this 1 is mine! :-P
7
Amazingly, I run into George five times in the hallway between classes. It turns out we have three classes right next door to each other. I have no idea how I never met him before. He even has World History right next door to my English class. I must totally zone normally.
“Ms. Tweeter, huh? I’ve heard she’s a hoot. I’ve got Simpson for senior English and he’s completely boring.”
“You have no idea,” I say. “You won’t believe it, but we’re doing Dracula now and she’s been dressing up every day as a different character.”
“Too funny,” says George. “If she only knew—”
I cut him off, which is rude yeah, but he really needs to get a grip on the whole “Don’t Tell” policy. “Um, yeah. Anyway, we still on for the tutoring session tonight before G.W.?”
“G.W.?”
“Oh, yeah, sorry. Ms. Riley. I like to think of her as Grandma Wolfington. You know, like the wolf in sheep’s clothing kind of thing.”
He gives his mini-belly laugh as opposed to his polite chuckle. It’s pretty easy to classify his level of enjoyment. I give the “G.W.” a four on a scale of ten.
“I like that.” he says. “I’ll see you tonight.”
Today Ms. Tweeter is dressed up as Van Helsing. At least, that’s my guess. She’s got this weird Sherlock Holmes cap on and a long tweed overcoat (where she found that in California is anyone’s guess). The crowning touch is a big wooden stake stuck in the back pocket of her khakis. I wonder if I should be insulted just on principle.
“Just a reminder,” says Ms. Tweeter, in a bizarre accent that sounds vaguely Scottish or possibly Hungarian, “your term paper ideas are due tomorrow. I’m also going to be splitting you into teams of two for a group project on Dracula. We’re going to do that the diplomatic way by picking names out of a hat, so no grumbling.” She pulls the hat off her head and has everyone write their names on a slip of paper and drop it in.
I can’t believe she’s piling this much work on us so close to the end of the year. Geez, obsess much, Ms. Tweeter? I think she’s got a serious thing for fangs and capes or something. And a group project? Double ugh.
I cross my fingers. Please, please, please don’t let me get Bethany. The last time I had to work with her on a group project, it got really ugly and I got detention. Which really stunk, since she got detention too, and then I was stuck sitting in detention with her. Which wound up getting us both extended detention.
“If you pick a name from the hat of someone that already has a partner, just pick a new name. Justin Zabrowski, you’re up first.” That’s the sucky thing about having a last name right in the middle of the alphabet. Even if a teacher like Ms. Tweeter goes wild and reverses the order from the normal A to Z, you’re always stuck in the middle. I cheer silently when Mark Vail draws Bethany’s name. I’m home free.
We make it all the way to my name without anyone picking me. Serena’s already been chosen (she got Tim, sucks to be her) and Mark’s stuck with Bethany, so I don’t really care who I get. I reach my hand into the hat and hand the slip to Ms. Tweeter without even looking at it.
“Nathan Able,” she reads off.
Whoa. I just make it back to my seat. Serena gives me a not-very-well-hidden big thumbs-up and a grin to match. I hope Nathan didn’t notice. It had totally not occurred to me that I could get Nathan as a partner. Things never work out that way for me. Maybe I really am at a turning point in my life. First Aubrey asks me out and now this. I’m finally having some luck in the guy department.
We split out into our teams for the second half of the class. I give Nathan a weak smile and pray that my hair hasn’t gone completely puffball. Now my problem is going to be getting through the project at all, because my tongue gets totally tied whenever I’m in close proximity to him. It’s something about his eyes (warm, chocolatey, velvety brown) or maybe his hair (classic Californian blond with natural sun streaks) or maybe just the whole package (built, but not too built; thin, but not too thin; and a butt that I think even my mom would look at twice).
“Hey, Mina,” he says. “I guess we’re working together.”
“Yeah,” I say. Brilliant answer. I’m sure to stun him with my dazzling wit. I have got to pull it together. I remind myself that I actually carried on a conversation with a hot guy just yesterday. A short one, but still. A short conversation, that is. Aubrey’s pretty tall.
“Well, you have any ideas?”
“I hadn’t really thought about it,” I admit. And just now I’m having a hard time concentrating because he’s looking at me with those beautiful puppy-dog eyes. “But I’m sure the weirder the better, as far as Tweeter is concerned.” I give him what I hope is a cute nonthreatening smile. “I know I can do weird, no problem, but are you even capable of being anything other than perfect?” Okay, maybe that was a little too thick, but he laughs, which is a good sign
“I’m sure I can manage. I was thinking we could do a reading from the book? Maybe even pick out something weird and unexpected or work in scenes From Dusk Till Dawn or some other vampire movies? Like a compare and contrast kind of thing? What do you think?” He grins at me.
“Sure.” I smile back. “I love Tarantino. And we could get all dressed up and kind of act it out. I bet Tweeter would love that. Maybe even spray some fake blood around or something.”
We sit and chat for the rest of class about all the stupid vampire movies we’ve seen and how Tarantino is a genius. We actually have a lot of movie stuff in common, which I wouldn’t have guessed. I’d have thought he would be more of a normal action flick kind of guy. Best of all, he agrees with me that a Sin City sequel is worth camping out for and that Clive Owen has got to be in it.
I manage to:
a) actually speak in (mostly) complete sentences,
b) not say anything incredibly stupid, and
c) get Nathan’s e-mail address and phone number. Woo-hoo! I am definitely turning over a new leaf here.
Despite the fact that Dad dropp
ed me off early, George is already sitting outside the community center when I arrive. I’m guessing that the assortment of oddball adults filtering out are from the adult version of the “Phlebotomy Club.” They look too secretive to be coming from a flower arranging class.
“So,” he says, “Whaddaya wanna know?”
“I don’t know.” I counter. “What did I miss?”
“Mostly vampire history, honestly. She went over the whole thing from the very first vampire back in the twelfth century to today, ad nauseum.” He hands me a notebook. “It’s all in here.”
“Good, I’m glad I missed that.” I glance through a few pages of the notebook. “I just can’t believe you took notes.”
“It was the only way I could stay awake.”
I know the feeling. History is my worst subject. Once the teacher starts in on all the dates and place names and stuff like that, my brain goes completely numb.
“She’s not actually going to test us on this stuff, is she?” Flipping through the notebook, I can tell it’s really full of detail. He takes good notes. And doodles a lot. I notice one pretty good caricature of Grandma Wolfington pacing the room and yapping. She really does look kind of wolfish.
“Oh, God, I hope not,” he says. “I wrote it down, but heck if I actually remember any of it. And there’s no way I’m rereading it. It was boring enough the first time around.”
“How did you get involved with all of this anyway?”
“In what?”
“The whole vampire thing. Ms. Riley made it sound like no one else had any vampire relatives. And it’s not like they advertise or anything.”
“Oh.” He turns quiet a minute like he’s thinking about it. “You’re right. I don’t have any vampire relatives. I don’t have any relatives at all, actually.”
Sucks to Be Me: The All-True Confessions of Mina Hamilton, Teen Vampire (maybe) Page 4