Vampalicious!

by Sienna Mercer

  “I usually work in papier-mâché,” Alice admitted.

  “It’s performance art,” said Ivy, pulling out the only explanation she had.

  Alice’s eyes lit up. “Oh! I love performance art! Don’t you, Charlie?”

  Charlie? thought Ivy. No one calls my dad Charlie.

  “I once painted my whole body white,” continued Alice, “curled up in a ball, and hung myself from the ceiling for a piece. I called it:

  The Phases of My Moon.”

  Ivy’s father smiled uncomfortably.

  As she and Olivia led the way to the dining

  room, Ivy heard Alice say, “Wow Charlie, your house is so enormous and ultraconservative modern. You should really consider metallics!”

  Good sign, Ivy thought. She’s interested in interior design.

  Olivia and Ivy pulled out the two chairs opposite each other at the oak dining room table, which was strewn with dead rose petals atop the black silk tablecloth.

  “There are only two places,” their father said, clearly surprised. “Won’t you girls be joining us?”

  “We can’t,” Ivy said firmly.

  “It would totally defeat the purpose,” added Olivia. “You know, of our art.”

  Ivy was grateful when Alice brushed past her dad and took a seat. “Did you girls fold these napkins to look like bats?” she asked. “The Japanese say that origami is the purest art form.”

  “Yes,” Ivy’s father admitted, taking a seat at last, “that is a lovely touch.”

  “Make yourselves comfortable,” said Olivia.

  “And we’ll be back in a moment with your first course,” added Ivy.

  As her sister ladled soup into black lacquer bowls, Ivy peeked into the dining room. Her father and Alice were chatting amicably. Alice was leaning forward, her chin resting in her hands, her eyes upturned toward Ivy’s father.

  It’s working! Ivy thought.

  Everything’s going perfectly! thought Olivia. Through the crack in the dining room door, she could see the candlelight flickering warmly on Alice and Mr. Vega’s pale faces. Both of them were wolfing down their cream of plasma soup. As she ate, Alice talked about waitressing at the Meat & Greet—the enormous walk-in freezer (“Like a cave!”), how hard it was to find comfortable shoes (“If people like us can live forever, why do we still have back pain?”), how tips were divided (“Evenly”). Mr. Vega smiled and nodded attentively.

  “Anyway,” said Alice, “I think Ivy and Olivia are absolutely, one hundred percent right on. Serving food is an art!” Mr. Vega continued to nod.

  He didn’t say anything as Alice finished the last roll.

  Uh-oh, Olivia thought. Silence. She turned and bumped right into her sister, who’d been peering over her shoulder the whole time.

  “How come no one’s talking?” Ivy whispered.

  “Lesson of Love Number Two,” Olivia replied softly, “never let an awkward moment linger.” She rushed to the counter, grabbed the bottle of sparkling white wine that was chilling there, and slipped into the dining room.

  “So,” she said as she topped up the wineglasses, “you’re both actively involved with the Franklin Grove Art Museum. I’ve never been.”

  “You’ve never been?” Mr. Vega and Alice both repeated incredulously.

  “Olivia, you must go,” Mr. Vega said. “It is an excellent museum, one of the best in this part of the country.”

  “When Charlie’s right, he’s right,” Alice said, raising her glass in the air before taking a gulp.

  “Really?” said Olivia. “What’s your favorite piece of art there, Mr. Vega?”

  Her father’s eyes shifted as if he was imagining that the piece of art was right there in the room with them. “There is a piece of sculpture on the first floor that takes my breath away,” he said.

  “Which one?” asked Alice.

  “It is a late work by Carlos van Thacter, a Transylvanian artist,” Mr. Vega replied. “An enormous black granite spike rises from the floor, as if from the center of the earth. And then it bends gracefully, almost like a blade of grass. For me, it illustrates the struggle between the natural and the unnatural.”

  “You mean that big black thing by the elevators?” Alice said. “I’ve always found that cold and boring.”

  “Cold and boring?” Mr. Vega repeated. “Well, it might not be one of those cartoon collages on the second floor that everybody—”

  “My friend, Marie, made those,” Alice interrupted.

  Olivia slipped back into the kitchen.

  “Why are they fighting?” Ivy demanded.

  “They’re not fighting,” Olivia said, though she wasn’t sure. “They’re having an intellectual debate.”

  “Well, you have to stop them!”

  “What do you want me to do?” Olivia asked.

  “Clear their plates and change the subject,” Ivy commanded and pushed her sister back through the swinging door. Olivia almost stumbled right into the back of her father’s chair.

  “May I take that?” she panted, gesturing to Mr. Vega’s bowl. “So, Alice,” she said, searching her mind for a harmless subject for conversation, “how long have you lived in Franklin Grove?”

  “Three and a half years,” said Alice. “I used to live in Paris. I just love Europe!”

  Olivia couldn’t help wincing. A pan clattered in the kitchen.

  “It’s nothing!” called Ivy.

  “Oh?” said Mr. Vega to Alice, clearly interested in hearing more.

  The two of them spent the entire main course talking about Europe, pausing only to rave about Ivy’s lasagna. In the kitchen, Olivia whipped heavy cream with sugar and vanilla in a ceramic bowl. “It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine,” she chanted to herself as she whipped.

  “Will you please stop saying that?” Ivy said in a deflated voice.

  “It’s true,” Olivia answered. She was determined to remain optimistic.

  “If the whole purpose of tonight was to convince our father not to move to Europe,” Ivy said, “how is them talking the whole time about Europe fine?”

  “Because it shows just how much they have in common,” said Olivia. If they like each other, she thought, he’ll stay. He has to!

  After she cleared their main course plates, Olivia prepared to bring out dessert. “Lesson of Love Number Three,” she announced, “set the mood.” She turned down the lights in the dining room and put some harp music on the stereo. Then she carried out a big bowl of grapes, plus the two dishes of blood Jell-O, topped with her special whipped cream.

  “Dessert is served,” she said smoothly, placing the dishes carefully on the table.

  “You girls have really outdone yourselves,” Mr. Vega said, seeming genuinely impressed. He took a bite, and his eyes lit up. “This topping,” he said. “It’s cream, with sugar and vanilla, right?”

  “Made it myself,” Olivia answered proudly.

  Mr. Vega looked at the dessert longingly. “I once knew someone who would have loved a sweet topping like this. I haven’t had anything like it in years.” He fixed Olivia with a pained smile. “Thank you.”

  “Enjoy your desserts,” Olivia whispered. She knew, somehow, that he had been talking about her mother.

  She took a deep breath as she reentered the kitchen.

  “How’s it going?” Ivy asked.

  “They’re totally falling for each other,” Olivia said, trying to convince herself. “There’s no way he’s going to want to move now.”

  Suddenly a huge crash sounded from the dining room. Olivia and Ivy looked at each other and rushed through the door.

  Mr. Vega was standing behind Alice, his arms wrapped around her in a bear hug. Alice’s eyes looked like they were about to pop out of her head.

  Is this some strange vampire hugging ritual? Olivia wondered.

  Mr. Vega squeezed, and Alice emitted a sickly sound that culminated in a pop. A small purple orb the size of a marble sailed out of Alice’s mouth and splat
ted on the wall behind Olivia’s head.

  Alice breathed deeply. “If I were human, you would have just saved my life!” she said, turning and throwing her arms around Mr. Vega’s neck.

  He looked at Ivy and Olivia over her shoulder. “Alice choked on a grape.”

  “Are you okay?” gasped Olivia.

  “We never should have served grapes,” Ivy blurted.

  “No, no,” Alice said. She shifted Mr. Vega awkwardly, her arms still around his neck. Now she was facing them over his shoulder. “I’m not upset.” She smiled beatifically. “This man is my hero!”

  Olivia exchanged openmouthed looks with her sister. We did it!

  A half hour later, she and Ivy were peeking around the corner at the foyer, spying on Alice and Mr. Vega again.

  “Thank you, Charlie,” Alice cooed. “I had such a terrific time. You have very strong arms, you know.”

  “It was certainly an eventful evening,” Mr. Vega answered.

  “Maybe some time we can go to the museum together and I can teach you a thing or two about art,” Alice suggested.

  Mr. Vega gave one of his close-lipped smiles.

  Alice came right up close to him.

  Kiss her! Olivia wanted to yell. Kiss her! Instead Mr. Vega said, “Bye now,” and gently pushed Alice out the door. Beside Olivia, Ivy slumped to the floor in defeat.

  Mr. Vega turned toward where they were hiding. “You can come out now, girls,” he called.

  Uh-oh, thought Olivia. She recognized the tone of his voice: it was the one used by parents everywhere to indicate when you’re in big trouble. “Thanks for participating in our art project, Mr. Vega,” Olivia said hopefully as she and Ivy came out into the open.

  He walked toward them. “If this were an art project,” he said, “you two would get an A. Tonight was creative, unexpected, and memorable. And really, Ivy, the lasagna was superb.”

  “Thanks, Dad,” Ivy said.

  “But as a date”—he sighed—“I would have to give it an F. Even without the Heimlich maneuver.” He looked at them sternly. “This wasn’t an art project, was it?”

  Olivia and Ivy both shook their heads. “Alice is a lovely person and a talented artist, but I am perfectly capable of choosing my own dates. In any case, there’s no point in my starting a relationship when we’re about to move.”

  “But that’s exactly why we—” Ivy began to say, but Olivia stopped her with a look.

  It’s no use, Olivia thought sadly.

  “Olivia, I’ll drive you home now,” Mr. Vega said. The conversation was over.

  During the car ride, Olivia sat staring straight ahead, thinking about how miserably her plan had failed. Next to her, she could hear Mr. Vega occasionally sighing as the streetlights illuminated his pale face.

  This sucks, she thought, and she didn’t mean it in the good way vampires did.

  Chapter 5

  The next day at lunch, Olivia slapped her tray down and slumped into a chair.

  Brendan eyed her suspiciously. “Wait a minute,” he said, looking from her to Ivy. “Did you two switch again?”

  “No, Brendan.” Ivy rolled her eyes.

  “He’s right.” Sophia studied Olivia’s face.

  “The real Olivia would never sulk like this.”

  Ivy blinked with frustration. “That is the real Olivia!” She waved her black-nailed hands in front of Sophia’s face. “And I’m the real Ivy!”

  “Likely story,” said Brendan, unconvinced.

  “Will you please tell them, Olivia?” Ivy begged. Something surged through Olivia’s chest, like a crowd doing the wave. “AREN’T I ALLOWED TO HAVE A BAD DAY?” she shouted.

  Everybody stared at her, speechless.

  “Sorry,” Olivia said softly, wrinkling her nose.

  “Ivy probably already told you that last night was a total failure.”

  “It’s okay,” Sophia said gently. “There’s always chaining ourselves to Ivy’s mailbox.”

  “It was a good plan,” Olivia said stubbornly.

  “Even if Alice wasn’t the right girl, there must be someone in Franklin Grove our father could fall in love with!” She angrily broke a celery stalk in half, and Brendan flinched.

  “We could try speed dating. We could hold a singles party. You people have online dating services, don’t you? There has to be something we can do!”

  “Olivia,” Ivy said, reaching across and touching her hand gently. “It’s a dead end. Even if we had a vamp goddess, we don’t have enough time to make a romance work. Besides, Dad would see it coming from a mile away.”

  Olivia nodded grudgingly. She knew her sister was right.

  Brendan tapped the table with his fork. “As the only male member of Operation FANGED,” he said, “I hereby pronounce Plan B—”

  “Dead,” they all said together.

  “Time to come up with Plan C,” Ivy said hopefully.

  Aren’t I usually the optimistic one? Olivia thought. “While we’re coming up with plans,” she said, her throat suddenly dry, “can we come up with one to get me out of tonight?”

  “Why? What’s happening tonight?” Ivy inquired. “My mom got me a surprise.” Olivia winced.

  Suddenly she realized that she had the worst headache ever. “She sprang it on me this morning. We have two tickets to see a show tonight.” Ivy looked confused. “I thought you love the theater.”

  “I do,” said Olivia. “Just not shows with flying monkeys in them.” Saying the words “flying monkeys” sent a horrible chill down her spine.

  “Flying monkeys?” Ivy turned to Sophia and

  Brendan, but they both shrugged. “Olivia,” she said finally, “did you take Bethany’s VitaVamp again?”

  Olivia shook her head and a heavy sigh racked her body. “I’m seeing Wicked.”

  “Isn’t that like The Wizard of Oz?” asked Brendan.

  “Yes, but from the witch’s point of view,” Sophia told him. “How deadly is that? That show sold out ages ago!”

  “I’d kill to see Wicked,” moaned Ivy.

  “Well I’d kill not to,” said Olivia weakly. “I saw The Wizard of Oz once, when I was eight years old, and I’ve had nightmares ever since.”

  “What kind of nightmares?” asked Sophia.

  “That witch,” croaked Olivia, “and her monkeys.”

  “You mean the winged things dressed as bellhops?” Brendan quipped.

  Ivy hit him in the arm, as if to say, This is serious. “So if it gives you nightmares, why are you going, Olivia?” she asked.

  “Because my mom’s convinced it will help me,” Olivia explained. “She blames herself for letting me watch the movie when I was little. She thinks that because this show’s all about the nice side of the witch, it will end my suffering or whatever.”

  “Your mom is taking you to see a musical as therapy?” Brendan laughed.

  “It’s not funny!” Olivia snapped. “Once I see Wicked, I’m going to need therapy.”

  “Come on, Olivia,” said Sophia. “You’re not going to—”

  “I’ll FREAK!” Olivia cried hysterically. She pressed her sweaty palms onto the table. “That witch and her monkeys,” she said again in hushed terror.

  “Can’t you talk to your mom?” asked Ivy. Olivia closed her eyes. Her headache was getting worse by the millisecond. “That’s the worst part. She’s all pleased with herself for finally finding a way to help me ‘heal the wounds of my childhood.’ It would break her heart if I didn’t go.” She opened her eyes, and her head throbbed.

  “Can someone help me?” she squeaked.

  Ivy’s lips curled into a smile. “I can.”

  Olivia’s vision cleared slightly. “How?”

  “We’ll switch!” Ivy announced.

  All at once, Olivia’s headache lifted.

  “You can be me at my house, packing boxes for the move,” Ivy explained, “and I’ll be you and go see Wicked.”

  “You would do that?” Olivia gasped.

&n
bsp; “Yes,” Ivy said, sighing as if a great burden had been placed upon her, “I would be willing to see a sold-out musical I’ve always wanted to see if it would help my beloved twin sister avoid emotional distress.”

  Brendan and Sophia groaned.

  “Having an identical twin rocks!” Olivia exclaimed. Suddenly she realized she was thirsty and starving. She chugged the glass of water on her tray and put the celery stalk she was holding in her mouth.