I nod and give a little wave to Raven, just to be polite. She doesn’t bother to do anything in return. She’s obviously not real happy that I’m here or that Aubrey noticed me.
“Aubrey, we should find some seats. We don’t want to miss anything. I see two right over there.” Raven points to a spot over by the center of the room where there’s a raised platform. I don’t see any open seats, but I do note how she mentioned two seats and not three. I can tell when I’m not wanted.
“I’m over at the bar with my uncle,” I say to Aubrey, ignoring Raven completely. Two can play that game.
“I haven’t been to the bar yet,” says Aubrey, but before he can get anything else out, Raven literally grabs him by the arm and drags him off toward the spot she’d pointed to before. I give him a little wave. I’m certainly not going to follow after him like a little lost kitten. He waves back, a little confused. Maybe he’s not used to the cave girl approach that Raven seems to like.
I go on back to Uncle Mortie. “Who were those two?” he asks. What they say about vampire eyesight must be true. I don’t know how he could have seen us through the crowd or the fake smoke that had started pouring out of the ceiling.
“Two of the kids from the vampire sessions. Aubrey, the guy? He’s coming over for dinner tomorrow.”
“Oh, is he now,” says Uncle Mortie. “Handsome fellow. If you like that sort of thing.”
I didn’t bother to ask him what he meant by that. I could imagine. If Uncle Mortie had been born a woman, he’d be into the muscle-bound jock type. I just know it. I sip the lemonade waiting on the bar for me. Not bad and thankfully, not pink either.
People-watching in this place is a hoot. There are all types of vampires milling around, dancing, drinking, laughing, and having a good time. Some are dressed in regular clothes; others have on get ups ranging from sixteenth-century haute couture to stuff that could easily belong on the set of a Star Wars movie. I don’t see anybody else as pretty as the woman I ran into in the bathroom, but they all look healthy and almost, I dunno, shiny. Like if you saw just one of them in a group of regular people, you’d definitely notice them. It’s harder to pick anyone out here when they’re all over. It makes me wonder just how bad Uncle Mortie looked before he turned.
“Done with your lemonade?” I avoided looking at Uncle Mortie until he downed his O negative. Didn’t think my stomach could take it.
“Sure,” I say. “What’s next?”
“This way,” says Uncle Mortie, and takes my hand to pull me through the crowd gathering around the stage area. “I had a buddy of mine save us some good seats.”
He pulls me right past Raven and Aubrey, who are seated in the low-rent section. I give them a little finger wave and giggle as we swoop right on by there and go right to a reserved area just off the stage. Thank you, Uncle Mortie, and take that, Goth Girl. I bet Aubrey wishes he’d ditched her for me now.
It’s wall-to-wall vampires, all gathered around the stage. I don’t know what the signal was. Maybe there’s some kind of sixth sense that vampires have for when the party’s about to get started. That would explain a lot about Uncle Mortie.
After a minute or two, the whole crowd goes silent as two guys come up on the stage. The nervous-looking one is obviously the new convert. He’s an average-looking surfer dude with blond hair and a California tan. The vampire guy is much more impressive, with a wild mane of pitch-black hair and an outfit that would put any of the current crop of boy bands to shame.
Wild Man takes center stage and holds up his hands. “Thank you all for coming out tonight to welcome Scott into the fold.” The crowd erupts into a cheering, clapping mob. Shouts of “Welcome, Scott!” ring out. Scott looks almost embarrassed by the enthusiasm, but he smiles a little and gives a bit of a wave. The cheers finally die down when Wild Man lowers his hands and turns to face Scott.
“Scott, do you knowingly and willingly choose to accept the gift you are about to receive?”
Scott freezes for a moment, like a guy caught peeking into the girl’s locker room. He looks out at the crowd as if searching for an answer. Everyone is dead silent, but you can almost feel something in the air. They want him to turn and be one of them. But you also don’t get the feeling they’d turn on him if he didn’t. It’s more of a good vibe than anything else. I hold my breath waiting to see what he’ll do.
Scott finally turns to stare directly into Wild Man’s eyes. “Yes,” he says softly, “I do.”
No one cheers or anything this time, but you can practically sense the sigh of relief. I’ll have to ask Uncle Mortie later what would have happened if he’d said no. Would they just let you go? Do you become dinner? What?
A robed and hooded figure (Geez, these people have seen too many horror movies or something) comes on stage and hands Wild Man a golden goblet encrusted with jewels. I’m no expert or anything, but they look real to me. That thing must be worth thousands. And it looks ancient.
Wild Man takes the goblet in one hand and holds his other just above it. Before I have any idea of what’s going on and can prepare myself, the hooded vampire pulls out an antique knife and slices Wild Man’s wrist open. I jump in my seat and Uncle Mortie takes my hand. I hear a gasp behind me that sounds suspiciously like Goth Girl.
Blood slowly drains from Wild Man’s slashed wrist into the goblet. I can’t look away from it and neither can Scott. It’s mesmerizing the way it steadily drips, drips, drips. The wound begins closing up and the cut is healed completely by the time the goblet is about half full.
I feel like I should be totally grossed out, but I’m not. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s the whole solemn ceremony feel or the subtle encouragement I can feel emanating from the vampires around me, but I’m not nearly as freaked out as I think I should be. Uncle Mortie squeezes my hand.
Wild Man hands the goblet to Scott, whose hands are noticeably shaking. He slowly raises the goblet to his lips, hesitates a moment more, and then tosses the whole thing back like he just wants to get it over with. Meanwhile, more hooded figures have brought an ornate carved chair out and placed it on the stage just behind Scott. They gently push him down into the chair and he closes his eyes.
The crowd starts a low chant of “Scott, Scott, Scott,” which you’d think would come across like people cheering for a basketball player or something, but it doesn’t. With the dim lighting and remnants of smoke swirling around, it’s almost like a dark cocoon has covered the whole room. The whole place feels like liquid around me. I shiver a little and Uncle Mortie squeezes my hand again. I’m glad he’s here with me, even though it is Uncle Mortie.
Scott suddenly throws his head back and I nearly jump out of my seat again. Good thing Uncle Mortie has a death grip on my hand. The chanting seems to swell around us. Scott looks like he’s blurring around the edges, but he doesn’t seem to be in any pain. At least, he’s not screaming or anything.
The blurriness fades away and suddenly he seems crisper than before. More there. His muscles are more defined and his eyes, when he opens them, are now a startling pure blue. His California tan has faded to a mere memory. He smiles at everyone and stands up and the crowd goes absolutely wild again. Vampires start pouring on to the stage to hug him and shake his hand.
“That’s it?” I ask Uncle Mortie.
“Pretty much. He’ll be experiencing a lot of internal changes over the next few weeks, but he’s officially a vampire now,” he says. “What did you expect?”
I don’t know what I expected. I guess from movies and books I thought that there’d be bone-crunching pain or something like that. Or you had to seriously kill yourself or something. Or someone was supposed to bite you, rather than you drinking their blood. “I dunno. I guess … I mean, well, I guess that wasn’t so bad.” Aside from the whole slashing the wrist open thing.
“Nah,” says Uncle Mortie. “Not bad at all. It actually feels kind of good, like a rush of adrenaline.”
“But what about the whole biting thing? Isn’t tha
t how you turned Dad?”
“Yeah, though it’s actually very rare to get turned that way. Some of your blood has to mix with your victim’s blood or be ingested by them. Biting by itself won’t turn anyone.” He looks at me as seriously as I’ve ever seen him look. “I’m not proud of what happened with your dad. I didn’t mean to turn him. I just really didn’t know what I was doing at all during that time. I want you to know that I regret the impact this has had on all your lives.”
I pat Uncle Mortie on the hand at a complete loss for words. I’m not used to him going all soul-searching on me. My earlier question occurs to me and I change the subject. “What would have happened if that Scott guy decided not to go through with it?”
Uncle Mortie looks around at the crowd still flowing around us. “We’ll talk about that some other time,” he says. “This isn’t the best place for that discussion.”
Ah. Maybe you do become dinner.
11
1:03 A.M.
SereneOne: Mina, r u up?
SereneOne: Helllooooooooo
SereneOne: u theeeeeeeeerrrreeeeee???????
SereneOne: Mina, Mina, bo-bean-a
MinaMonster: ok ok i’m up! u happy? I gotta rmember to log off this thing b4 i go 2 sleep
SereneOne: srry to wake u, i know u need that beauty sleep…but tonite was soooo sweeeettt!
MinaMonster: nice lol
SereneOne: srry u missed it, but it was sooo awesome. u have an ok time with Mortie?
MinaMonster: not too bad. but tell me bout u-wht happened?
SereneOne: bore city at first. no one wuld get in the pool n i didnt know eny1 enuff to talk to em. but then Nathan ‘accidentally’ knocked Bethany in…
MinaMonster: no way!!! lol!!
SereneOne: yah, knew u’d luv that
MinaMonster: i’d pay major $$$$ to c tht!
SereneOne: then everybody was jumpin in n out and it was hot. nd did i mention Nathan’s house is friggin humungo???. he like has his own living room
MinaMonster: jealous much?
SereneOne: an i did talk to Chris sum
MinaMonster: and?? and??
SereneOne: eh, nm. think he’s datin that Lisa chickk. the l that plays hockey…
MinaMonster: omg
SereneOne: yah, anyway, u go back to sleep. c yah monday
MinaMonster: Nighty-night
Sunday morning was a complete waste. I spent the whole time checking my hair, checking my outfit, checking to make sure Mom wasn’t going to cook anything gross, cleaning my room (like Aubrey’s even going to see it, but hey, who knows), and acting like a total freak.
“Good heavens,” Mom said, after I’d asked her for the third time what she was making for dinner (pork chops, green beans, and mashed potatoes with pineapple upside-down cake for dessert—yum). “You’re acting like you’ve never even seen a boy before. Calm down!”
So here I sit in my room. My sparkling clean room. I don’t even recognize it. I even hid Mr. Lumps, my old teddy bear, in the closet. Mom is right. I need to get a grip. After all, he’s just a boy.
A really, really, really hot boy.
Coming to my house. For dinner.
I change clothes (again) into a short denim skirt and a sexy light blue camisole. Too blue. I try a pair of khakis and a button-down shirt. Too prep. Five outfits later and I’m back where I started in a pair of jeans and a nice top. Oh well. He’d better like the real me.
I sit down at my desk and pull out a sheet of college rule paper. (I hate wide rule. It’s too big. I only use it when I have to write a certain number of pages in Ms. Tweeter’s class. That’s a trick that I learned from Tim Mathis, so I guess he is good for something.) Is it crazy that I even babble in my own mind? Oh man, I hope not. I’d be certifiable.
All in all, this has been a memorable weekend. First Nathan, then the whole turning ceremony thing, and now Aubrey over for dinner. I’m not sure which thing I’m most psyched about.
On the one hand, I’ve known Nathan for years and have been totally lusting after him for pretty much all that time. Except for that one summer I spent dreaming about Vin Diesel. But that’s another story. He’s totally cute in a preppy, jock-ish sort of way. Nathan, that is. Not Vin Diesel.
But Aubrey … Aubrey is hot in like a movie star kind of way. Like Brad Pitt before he got all stubbly and cut his hair short. Or Ashton, if he wasn’t all over Demi Moore. I mean, what’s up with that anyway? Cradle robber. And just to be fair, Harrison Ford and that Calista Flockhart totally gross me out too. Keep within your age group, people!
Anyway. Aubrey has this whole older man feel. I know he’s the same age, but he’s just kind of worldly. Nathan’s more like the boy next door.
I can’t believe I’m sitting here debating the relative merits of two really hot guys, either of which would trump every other guy I’ve ever dated. By far. Me, Mina Hamilton, who hasn’t had a real date since second quarter with that guy Serena set me up with. It was a total flop. He was addicted to one of those online role-playing things and all he could talk about was his hit points and armor rating.
Another plus for both Nathan and Aubrey. They don’t seem like the type to be addicted to a computer game.
So, my list so far:
Other than the vampire thing, they seem to match up fairly evenly. But that one thing does make a big difference. If I decide to turn, it’s not like I could keep going out with Nathan. I mean, if he’s truly interested. He seems to be. Or could I swing it? Have to ask Mom how that whole dating-another-species thing works. I guess it’s like another species. Or race maybe? I don’t know if there’s really a good scientific term for it. I mean, you can’t breed anymore … though breeding makes it sound so, I don’t know, clinical.
Thankfully, the doorbell rings and I stop that train of thought to leap up, bonk my knee on the desk, and sprint to the front door before anyone else can get there. I take a deep breath, paste what I hope is a sexy, intriguing, New-Me smile on, and open the door.
“Hey, Mina,” says Uncle Mortie, handing me a casserole dish. “Thought I’d invite myself over for dinner so I can check out this guy.” He looks me up and down. “You have a toothache or something?”
Oh great. As if one overprotective male relative wasn’t bad enough. And I guess I need to work on my sexy smile.
“Mortie?” Mom calls from the kitchen. “Is that you? I didn’t know you were coming over.” She comes out into the hall. “I’m not sure I have enough pork chops to go around.” Yes! Go home, Uncle Mortie!
“Never fear, my dear, I brought my famous casserole to share.” I hand Mom the casserole dish. She takes it and tries to hide her grimace of utter horror. Uncle Mortie’s casserole is famous all right, but not in the way you’d want. I think it’s the only thing he can cook, if you can call what he does to unsuspecting food cooking. It’s supposed to be a tuna-salmon-cheese-bacon-noodle-rice-potato-surprise, but it pretty much just comes out like congealed leftovers that were left out on the counter too long and then refrozen.
“How nice,” says Mom gamely. “We’ll just, uh, reheat it.” She hands it back to me and whispers “Put it in the oven at 450.”
I head to the kitchen while Mom and Uncle Mortie chat it up. Four hundred fifty degrees sounds a little high to me, but what do I know? I’m a better cook than Uncle Mortie, but I’m not exactly Martha Stewart or anything.
The doorbell rings again and I almost drop the casserole dish as I’m popping it in the oven, which would have solved that problem. I do a fast walk (can’t be seen running to the door now, since Mom’s probably already answered it) and find Aubrey shaking hands with Uncle Mortie and Mom holding a bouquet of flowers. How nice is that? I can’t believe he brought me flowers! Nathan is going to have to work a little harder …
“Hi, Aubrey,” I say, slowing down my fast walk to a saunter. Don’t want him to think I’m too anxious.
“Hi, Mina.” He smiles one of those mouthwatering smiles at me and I melt a little inside. �
�I was just telling your mother how much I appreciate her letting me come over for dinner.”
So, he’s a bit of a suck up. That’s okay. Certainly can’t hurt as far as parent points go. Uncle Mortie shoots me a bemused look. I can only imagine what he’s thinking. I bet he’s never sucked up to anyone in his life. Lied to them, yeah.
“I’ll just go put these in some water,” Mom says. “Mina, why don’t you give Aubrey the grand tour?” In other words, stay out of my hair while I try to find another pork chop for Uncle Mortie, but make sure you don’t stay in any one room too long or I’ll have to go check on you.
So I give Aubrey the “grand’” tour, which is really not all that grand. Our place is okay, but it isn’t anything to write home about. Does that make sense? How could you write home … about home? Anyway, I dutifully lead him around, pointing out the highlights. You know, here’s a picture of me when I was a cute little kid. Here’s Dad’s bowling trophy. Yeah, I know, I can’t believe he bowls either. Yep, my mother knits, don’t sit on that afghan, she’s not done with it yet. And here’s my room, cleaner than it has ever been in the entire history of me having a room.
Aubrey ooohs and aaahs in all the appropriate places, periodically asking questions about how long we’ve lived here (since I was like seven or so), what Mom and Dad do for a living (middle-school teacher and accountant, respectively), do I have any brothers or sisters (nope), do they do any work for The Council (have no idea, but I sincerely doubt it). We end up in the kitchen where an absolutely horrific burning smell is coming from the oven. Uncle Mortie’s casserole! Aubrey’s wrinkling his nose as politely as he can and I rush to the oven to take it out, but Mom waves me away. “I’ve got it,” she whispers. “Go ahead and take Aubrey to the dining room.” In a louder voice she calls out, “Oh no, Mortie, it looks like I’ve ruined your casserole!”
Sucks to Be Me: The All-True Confessions of Mina Hamilton, Teen Vampire (maybe) Page 8