I’ve got to hand it to Mom. She’s sneaky. She’s a good woman to have on your side.
I lead Aubrey on to the dining room and he very diplomatically says nothing about the scene in the kitchen or the rank smell of burned casserole we happily leave behind. It’s amazing. I’m not nearly that polite. Or reserved. I’d have been all over that, if I were in his shoes. So I feel the need to clarify it a little, so he doesn’t think we’re too weird. As if.
“Uncle Mortie can’t cook,” I explain. “But he brought the casserole over anyway. Mom was just saving us from having to actually eat it.”
“I see,” says Aubrey, smiling courteously. I swear, this guy is unflappable. I get a sudden urge to poke him in the ribs to see what he’d do, but I restrain myself successfully.
I rack my brain to come up with a good topic to discuss that will last longer than two sentences—me saying something and Aubrey agreeing. “So, what did you think of the turning ceremony the other night?”
He finally gets a little animated. “Oh, it was great! I’m really glad I got to see it. I didn’t know they made such a ritual out of it. In Blood Always Drips Down there was a turning, but Brighton only had his sister there to witness it. I can’t wait to have my own ceremony. I know just where to have it and what I’m going to wear.”
Whoa. That’s so … girly. I haven’t even figured out what I’m going to wear to prom yet (provided I actually get to go), and I’m the female here. It suddenly occurs to me that this incredibly handsome guy just might be gay. Wouldn’t that just be my luck? My old luck. It’s like my mom’s best friend says, all the good ones are either taken or gay. Or both.
But then why would he have invited himself over for dinner?
“You have anyone special coming to your ceremony?” Okay, not the smoothest way to ask, but it was all I could come up with on short notice and I’ve got to know. Is he gay? Not that I have anything against gay people at all. I don’t. I just don’t want to get hung up on one. I’m not one of those self-inflated girls who think they can get a gay guy to switch party lines. I mean, you bat for whichever team you bat for. Well, unless you play for both teams.
Whatever. I’m getting bogged down in sports clichés.
“Not really,” he says, which doesn’t help at all. “I don’t really talk to my family much. We don’t have much in common. And I couldn’t really tell them anyway. I wasn’t lucky enough to have vampires in the family like you. Everything I’ve learned about vampires has come from books and the vampire sessions. But I’ve done a lot of research.”
Grrr. Polite and vague. Perfect.
“Lucky, huh?” Uncle Mortie comes in from the living room and sits down. So much for time alone with the (possibly gay) love of my life.
“I’ve wanted to be a vampire ever since I can remember,” says Aubrey. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted. I read everything I could get my hands on about it. And I watch all the movies too, of course. But I’m not sure if you can really trust Hollywood about anything important. I’d trust Melman over some director any day. Brighton Powell is my hero.”
“Hmmmm,” says Uncle Mortie.
Dad comes in and saves us from anymore grilling. He shakes hands with Aubrey and they start chatting about some football team or something. That’s a good sign. Most of the gay guys I know aren’t really into sports. Well, not normal guy-sports like football and basketball. More like swim team or figure skating.
Things like that. Though I suppose there are gay guys who watch football. I mean, hey, big buff guys in tight pants. What’s not to like there? I know that’s why I’d watch it.
Mom sweeps into the room carrying a platter of pork chops and gives me a nod, my cue to go get the side dishes. We all settle in for dinner and there’s little talking going on for the first few minutes as we stuff down food. Politely, of course. As nervous as I have been all day, I’m happy to be getting anything down and even happier that I haven’t spilled anything (yet).
“So,” says Dad to Aubrey, “We hear you’re in the vampire sessions with Mina. How do you like them so far?”
“They aren’t too bad, but we don’t get to spend much time with actual vampires to get a feel for what’s really going on. Other than Ms. Riley.”
“What about your sponsor? Who do you have?”
“Bradley Sloan. But he’s on The Council, so I haven’t been able to get much time with him. He’s a busy man.”
I can tell from the sour look that Dad and Mom share that they aren’t big fans of Mr. Sloan.
Aubrey doesn’t notice. “That’s why I was so happy to find out that Mina’s family is all vampires.” He smiles at me and I bask in the glow for a minute. “Thank you again for letting me come over for dinner.”
“How did you get mixed up with Bradley Sloan?” asks Uncle Mortie. Another non-Sloan fan, by the tone of his voice. I should check out this guy. What is that old cliché? Something about keeping your enemies close. Maybe he’s the reason why it’s suddenly so important for me to decide the entire rest of my life in just a month. The jerk!
“As I was telling Mina, I’ve wanted to be a vampire all my life. Or, at least for so long that I can’t even remember when I didn’t want to be one. I spent years researching everything I could find. There’s a lot of information out there, if you dig deep enough. Anyway, I figured out that Bradley was a vampire and I approached him last year. He agreed to sponsor me.”
“Hmmmm,” says Uncle Mortie again.
Hmmmm indeed. What about G.W. and the whole keeping things a secret? I guess members of The Council don’t necessarily follow their own rules.
“Interesting,” says Dad.
The rest of the night was pretty much Aubrey asking questions about stuff that would never have occurred to me to ask. Mom, Dad, and Uncle Mortie took turns answering him. I didn’t really get another word in the entire night. I haven’t been on tons of dates, but this by far was the most boring date I have ever been on, even if Aubrey was a pleasure to look at. So I occupied myself with cataloging his best features and comparing him to various actors. He nearly always came out on top, except for his ears. They were okay ears, but a little bit pointy.
The highlight was when Mom gave Aubrey a shorter version of the sex talk we’d had and Dad turned three different shades of purple. That was worth sitting through all the rest to see. Aubrey just hung on every word like it was the gospel and he’d seen the light.
It wasn’t until he was getting ready to leave that I got a chance to speak with him alone again. It was my last chance to figure out if he was gay or not. None of the Q&A sessions had pointed either way, darn it.
“So,” I say, “hope you had a good time.”
“Great! Thank you again for having me over. I think I learned a lot.”
Grrr. Not exactly what I was going for. Dates aren’t supposed to be enlightening. They’re supposed to be fun. Sexy. Crazy. I decide to take the plunge and just pop the big question.
“Do you have a girlfriend?”
Okay, so I kind of chickened out. I could have said “significant other” but I went the safe route instead. If he’s not gay, I really don’t want to imply that he is. Guys tend to be real touchy about that.
He looks a little taken aback, but answers with his usual politeness. “No. Honestly, between my research and the whole turning process, I haven’t had time. And it wouldn’t be fair to start a relationship up with a human anyway.”
“Right, exactly,” I say. “I know just what you mean.” But I don’t, really. He said “human,” not “girl” or even “boy.” So I’m back at square one with my burning question.
“See you on Tuesday.” He gives me a quick hug (A hug? What’s up with that?) and just takes off. No lip action. Well, that was a total waste. Either he’s gay or just not interested. Maybe because I’m not a vampire? But I’m thinking about it. That should count for something.
I go back inside and narrowly miss stepping on Uncle Mortie, who must have been spying on me from t
he peephole. Not that there was anything to see.
“Nice enough kid,” says Uncle Mortie, backpedaling into the living room, but not looking the least bit guilty. “But you could do better.”
“No one is good enough for my baby,” says Dad from the kitchen, where he’s helping Mom wash dishes. I snort. He would say that. I could bring home a Nobel Peace Prize winner and he’d probably say the same thing. He’s such a dad.
12
I wake up to my cell phone ringing. Who in the world would call me before school? Before my shower and cup of coffee? I pick it up before Mom or Dad comes into the room to turn it off. They finally got me a cell for my sixteenth birthday after essentially being locked out of using the home phone since I discovered it at twelve. Hey, what can I say? I am a teenager.
“Hello?”
“Girl, you forgot to call me again!” It’s Lorelai. That is one determined cheerleader when it comes to snooping into other people’s relationships.
“Sorry about that. I completely forgot. But honestly, not a whole lot to report. He chatted up the ’rents the whole time he was here.”
“Huh.”
Did I make it sound worse than it was? “He did bring flowers.” I neglect to mention that he gave them to my mom.
“Okay, well, that’s something. But he’s definitely behaving very borderline.”
Does she suspect that he’s gay too? Is it obvious to everyone but me? And Raven, I guess. “Borderline?”
“At this stage in a relationship,” explains Lorelai patiently, as if I’m only twelve and had just started dating (only partly true, since I have been on some dates but I’m way past twelve), “he should be showering you with attention. Sucking up to parents isn’t until at least stage five. Technically, he shouldn’t even have met them yet.”
“Ah.” I wonder how many stages there are. I’d ask, but I don’t want her to think I’m totally clueless.
“I’ll scope him out for you on Tuesday. See if I can learn anything. Maybe he’s just a slow bloomer. Or he could be attached … ”
“He said he didn’t have a girlfriend.”
She snorts into the phone. “I’ve known guys to lie.”
“True.” And I bet she has too. Cute, perky vampire-wannabe cheerleader. It’s a given.
“I’ve got to get to school. I’ll see ya on Tuesday.”
“Sure. Thanks. For the checking up thing. And all. Bye!” I guess I’ll forgive her for the early morning wake-up call. After all, I could definitely use her cheerleader-guy know-how.
You know, I don’t think that I’ve really ever been in a good stage-one relationship, much less stage five. I don’t know that I’ve ever been absolutely showered with attention. Bobby Wilson did give me flowers that one time, but I’m pretty sure it was his mom’s idea.
I drag myself out of bed and get ready for school. I’d already given Serena the scoop on the Aubrey dinner fiasco last night (I did remember to call her), so our morning ride was pretty quiet. Mondays are usually low-key days for both of us. Serena even has a CD of Monday music that she plays at the start of every week. It’s got songs like Bob Geldof’s “I Hate Mondays.” I didn’t even know he sang. He’s like some kind of activist guy now, but I guess he was big in the 80s.
Even the teachers seem to have the Monday blues today. Madame Tilly just gives us some French poetry to read (soppy love stuff, at least as far as I can tell) and Mr. Jackson only yells at someone once (he normally blows up at least five times) in Chemistry when Tim sets something on fire. And I can totally see why he’d yell then.
George stops by at lunch. I offer him a seat and officially introduce him to Serena. He’s pretty chipper. I guess he doesn’t have any existential problems to deal with, like wondering whether the potential love of your life is gay.
“How’d you like the basket weaving?” Serena asks him.
He looks blankly at her, which is hardly surprising since I hadn’t mentioned the change in lectures to him.
“It was like the history of basket weaving, actually,” I butt in. “We didn’t get to make any baskets or anything on Thursday.” I kick him under the table.
“Oh, yeah,” he says. “Like the different kinds of straw and things like that. Pretty boring.”
“Given,” says Serena. “I’m glad my parents don’t make me go to that kind of stuff.”
George gets a little twinkle in his eye and I think, uh-oh. I’m beginning to learn that look. Last time I saw it, he convinced Lorelai that there were cheerleaders in ancient Rome.
“This week should be a little more exciting. I hear Tuesday is going to be on dating rituals of the pygmies. And Thursday should be a real winner: the history of pig farming in the Midwestern states.”
I almost choke on my lunch. Where does he come up with this stuff? It’s great. I’d put him up against Uncle Mortie any day.
Serena totally buys it. “And I thought Chem was bad. I feel sorry for you guys.”
George smiles at me and gives me a sly wink. The dog. I am never playing poker with this guy. He could probably keep a straight face with a hand full of aces. Shoot, knowing him, he’d probably have five aces in his hand, just in case, and a good lie on how they got there, if you caught him at it.
Serena plows through a couple more bites of her salad and steals one of my fries when she thinks I’m not looking. George is telling a story about the time he accidentally shaved off one of his fellow foster kid’s eyebrows (just the left one) when she gets a bright idea. I can tell because she suddenly starts tapping her index finger against the table and starts wiggling in her seat. That’s her oh-hurry-up-and-finish-your-story-so-I-can-tell-you-what-I-just-thought-of thing. She’s too nice to actually interrupt, but George must pick up on it, ’cause he hurries up the end of the story.
“I’ve got a great idea,” says Serena.
“About shaving eyebrows?” asks George.
“No,” she says and rolls her eyes at him. “About you.” That shuts him up and me too. I lean forward. What’s she got up her sleeve? Serena’s great ideas generally fall into two categories: something that sounds like a great idea but will wind up getting me in a lot of trouble or something that sounds like a terrible idea, will more than likely get me in trouble, but usually works out in the end.
“Nathan mentioned the other night that we all ought to go out sometime and do something. Well, I was thinking it would be kind of odd for just the three of us to go out. You know, someone would always be the odd man out. So I was thinking George could come with!”
I’m not sure which of the two categories this idea falls under. It sounds like a straightforward enough idea, but somehow, some way, I’m sure there’ll be trouble in it for me. But maybe this is just Serena’s backhanded way of asking George out. After all, she kind of hinted that she thought he was cute, and that jock guy she was lusting after was a complete dud (big surprise).
So I say, “Sure, whaddaya think, George?”
He looks like a cornered rabbit for a minute, then squares his shoulders and says, “Why not.” Heh. Brave man.
“Great,” says Serena. “I’ll set it up. It’ll be fun!”
George looks like he has serious doubts, but then he launches into another story about the time he accidentally glued himself to his desk in the fifth grade and soon we’re laughing so hard that I forget to be worried about it.
Serena’s got a mind like a steel trap though and she doesn’t forget about it at all. She corners Nathan as soon as we get to sixth-period English. I swear, get the girl out of the Goth and next thing you know, she’s a regular spitfire.
“So, Nathan,” she says, all coy (which works much better in a low-cut T-shirt and jeans than in Goth getup, let me tell you). “About what you said the other night? About all of us maybe going out and doing something?”
“Yeah?”
“I was thinking maybe this Friday? You, me, Mina, and our friend George?”
“Sure,” he says. “Sounds great. I think Jill Maso
n’s having a little get-together. We could check it out and then maybe crash at my place. That work for you guys?” He looks from me to Serena and back again.
“Perfect,” we say in unison. He laughs.
“Always together, never apart. It’s the Serena-Mina!”
If I’d known how simple it was to get into the in crowd and hang out with Nathan, I’d have tried it years ago. Apparently, all you have to do is ask. Who knew?
Ms. Tweeter interrupts my train of thought as she sweeps into the room. Today she’s dressed as a bat, I suppose because of the whole vampires-turning-into-bats thing. Oh, she’s batty all right.
But here’s the real scoop, which I gathered during vampire lesson number one. Yes, shape-shifting is possible, though not all vampires can manage to do it. However, there’s this little thing called matter transference. Something as big as a person can’t shape-shift into something as little as a bat. You could shape shift into a huge monster bat, but that’s a tad bit conspicuous. And it takes years of practice before you get it right—not that I’m not going to try the bat thing if I turn. Oh, no, I’d much rather try turning into something a bit more furry and less flighty. I weigh about 115 pounds soaking wet, so I figure I could easily shape shift into:
a) A pretty big dog like a German shepherd or a rottweiler and terrorize Mrs. Finch’s stupid cat and get it to stop using our lawn as his private litter box, or
b) Some kind of zoo animal and slip into the animal cages at night and check out what really happens in the reptile house, or
c) The school mascot (Jimmy IV, a hulking bulldog with seriously bad breath) and sneak into the boy’s locker room. Though I’ve heard it really smells in there. Like Doritos and gym socks.
Sucks to Be Me: The All-True Confessions of Mina Hamilton, Teen Vampire (maybe) Page 9