11 Flying Solo - My Sister the Vampire

by Sienna Mercer

  ‘A barge down the Nile!’ Olivia’s jaw dropped open. ‘Lillian is going to die! But in a good way,’ she corrected herself before she could freak out her bio-dad even more.

  ‘Not for many, many more centuries. She is a vampire, remember.’ Charles returned to the study while Olivia cleared a spot at the table, swooshing her finger across the computer’s keypad to bring it to life.

  Olivia typed ‘barge trip down Nile’ into the search engine and clicked ‘Enter’. This is going to be the wedding of the decade, she thought. But then she remembered that she had just returned from the vampire royal wedding in Transylvania, and that too had been fabulous. I guess there’s no reason why they can’t both be utterly awe-inspiring affairs. It did seem to be the vampire way.

  Olivia scrolled through the list of websites. Uh-oh. Something popped into her head. Who will I go to the wedding with? Ivy had Brendan and, until recently, she would have had Jackson. Do not think about Jackson, Olivia commanded herself. Under no circumstances should she be dwelling on the J-word. Our split was friendly. Neither of us got hurt. It’s for the best and that is that. Olivia set her mouth in a line and jotted down a list of phone numbers for Charles to try in the morning.

  By the time Olivia had left Ivy’s house, the sun had dropped in the sky and was washing the clouds in soft pinks, yellows and oranges. Not a bad colour palette for a wedding, thought Olivia, wishing she had her camera.

  She fished a pair of sunglasses from her tote bag. Her eyes were a little sore after so many hours staring at a computer screen. Not that she minded. Knowing exactly what Charles was up to actually made the research fun! She yawned, covering her mouth with her the back of her hand. She was wiped! It was only 6 o’clock and already she couldn’t wait to collapse into bed.

  ‘Olivia!’ She heard someone calling her name. She span around and there was Brendan, Ivy’s boyfriend. Olivia remembered when Ivy had been too nervous even to say ‘hello’ to the dreamy vampire boy with the long hair and chiselled chin, but now Brendan was totally in love with her sister.

  ‘Hey, Brendan!’ She waved. He crossed the street at super-speed, checking to make sure no one was around. Vampires! Always using their super powers even for the simplest things, thought Olivia, smiling to herself.

  ‘Talk to Ivy today?’ Brendan asked, chewing on a snack bar that looked a lot like chocolate.

  ‘Yeah.’ Olivia walked alongside him, past the intersection of Undertaker Hill and Cemetery Lane. ‘But only for a minute. She had to run to dinner. Those time differences are killing us! What is that?’ She poked at the bar.

  Brendan held up the wrapper for her to see. ‘It’s a Taurus Bar. For energy.’ He took another bite. ‘There was a stand giving them away in the mall. Want some?’

  Olivia clutched her throat and pretended to gag. ‘Ugh, no thanks.’ She pushed it away. ‘It smells like stale cheese crackers. And what does a vampire need an energy bar for anyway?’

  Brendan shrugged, studying the shiny wrapper. ‘I don’t know. Why do I care? Who turns down free food?’

  Olivia rolled her eyes. ‘Not growing teen boys, I guess.’

  ‘Plus, it’s high in calories,’ he said, reading. ‘And in glucosamine and oxymistine.’

  ‘Ummm . . .’ Olivia glanced sideways at him. ‘Are you speaking English?’

  ‘It’s a synthetic ingredient that helps pump oxygen around the bloodstream. Great for giving an extra boost!’ He thumped his chest with his fists.

  Olivia giggled. ‘I’m not sure I want to see a vampire with extra energy!’

  ‘I’m training to get as buff as possible before Ivy gets back. I want to impress her!’ Brendan took the last chomp out of the Taurus Bar and strolled over to one of Franklin Grove’s community rubbish bins, where he tossed the wrapper. He brushed his hands off, smiling a sad smile as he walked back over. ‘I really miss her, you know,’ he said, wiping his mouth. ‘Even though I’m super excited she’s getting to go on this whole adventure and everything.’ Poor Brendan. Olivia felt the exact same way.

  ‘You know, you don’t have to do anything to impress Ivy. She thinks you’re totally cool just the way you are.’ Olivia took a hesitant step forwards, wondering if she should give him a hug, but stopped herself. I’m not sure I’ve ever hugged Brendan.

  She let her arms fall to her sides. She wasn’t sure how he’d react. As Olivia pulled back, she noticed something. Brendan’s neck and forearms were splotched all over with strange grey patches. Like some kind of weird zombie rash.

  She remembered the horrible reaction she’d had to the Bloodbite Nettles she’d got tangled up in back in Transylvania. The vampire plant had made her skin red and bumpy and it itched ten times worse than any case of the chicken pox. She hoped Brendan wasn’t coming down with a weird variation of that. Maybe he misses Ivy so much he’s made himself lovesick – literally!

  ‘Brendan . . .’ Olivia said, not taking her eyes off the grey blotches. ‘Are you feeling OK?’

  Brendan cracked his neck and wiggled his fingers, shaking out his arms. ‘Yeah, I feel fine.’ He paused. ‘How have you been, since Ivy left?’

  ‘Me? Well . . .’ Olivia chewed her lip. ‘You know.’

  Brendan gave her a smile that was tinged with sadness. ‘Yeah, I know.’ The two of them gazed out across Franklin Grove. It just wasn’t the same without Ivy. Then Brendan cleared his throat. ‘Um, I like your . . . erm . . . outfit today, Olivia. Very, um, pretty.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Olivia asked. Brendan was nice and everything, but she didn’t think he’d ever noticed any outfit she’d put together until now. He looked at her hopefully. Uh-oh, she thought. I smell a rat.

  ‘That’s so sweet of you,’ she said, folding her arms and fixing on an overly bright smile. ‘What is it that you like, in particular?’ She swivelled her body from side to side, as though to give him a better view of the ensemble.

  She tried not to laugh as two pink spots appeared on Brendan’s cheeks. He waved a hand in the direction of her tunic. ‘Um, the colour. It’s very . . . grey.’

  ‘Anything else?’ Olivia prompted.

  ‘And the . . . um . . . Your hair is . . .’ He gave a big sigh. ‘OK, you’ve rumbled me. I give in.’

  ‘So what’s the favour?’ Olivia said, laughing. ‘You know, the one you’re buttering me up for.’

  Brendan lowered his head and peered out from behind his shaggy hair, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. ‘Well, see, there is one thing.’ Olivia knew it! ‘Ivy forgot about something when she decided to stay behind in Transylvania.’

  ‘She forgot something?’ Olivia repeated. ‘Like a toothbrush? Because I’ve seen the place and I’m pretty sure she’s all set. It’s like she’s going to school at the Ritz! They probably have a twenty-four hour concierge service and everything.’

  ‘No, nothing like that. Ivy, Sophia and I had made, um, plans,’ he said.

  ‘Plans?’ Olivia cocked her head.

  ‘Yeah, and they’re sort of the type of plans that need Ivy.’

  ‘OK . . .’ What kind of plans would the three vampire friends make? Blood-drinking? A coffin slumber party? A crawly feeling began to spread up the back of Olivia’s neck. She had a hunch that she wasn’t going to like where this was going.

  Brendan sighed. ‘When I tell you, you’re going to freak out. It’s a pretty big favour . . .’

  Uh-oh. Olivia felt another item being added to her to-do list – and if it was something that Brendan and ultra-goth Ivy had cooked up together, it was bound to be something that would take her totally outside of her comfort zone.

  What was Brendan going to ask – and, more importantly, was Olivia ready to hear it?

  Chapter Three

  Transylvanian vampires might not suck blood any more, Ivy thought, but I’m pretty sure they’re about to suck the life right out of me. Petra was seated in the desk next to her, doodling bats in a new black notebook. The whole classroom was arranged like something out
of a bad historical movie, with row after row of single desks and chairs. Ivy was dreading this class more than the beep-beep-beeping of her morning alarm clock. I don’t even understand why I have to be steeped in vampire mythology and etiquette, she thought, tapping her foot against the floor. She was a twenty-first-century girl, after all!

  An uptight vampire sitting on Ivy’s other side kept playing with her pearls and it was driving Ivy batty.

  ‘Hey, where are all the boys?’ Ivy asked aloud, looking around at the other students.

  No sooner had the question escaped her mouth than every girl around her burst out laughing, including Petra.

  ‘The boys?’ exclaimed the girl with the strand of pearls. ‘You thought we would have class with boys?’

  Ivy shrank back. ‘Sort of?’

  Petra leaned over her desk. ‘Have you forgotten? I told you when you first came to Wallachia that boys and girls don’t get to mix. We’re completely segregated! We’re not supposed to talk to them and we never get to have class together.’ She sighed. ‘The only time we come halfway close to mingling is Herbal Science and that’s because there’s only one greenhouse available to the entire student body.’

  Ivy did remember now. When she’d visited the Academy to look around, a duel had broken out on the school fields and everyone had run out to watch. It had made Petra’s day because they had got to be with the boys for a while. But it had only made Ivy feel uncomfortable – and she felt the same now.

  ‘Wow, how third grade!’ she said. There are some things I still can’t believe about this place.

  The room went quiet again as they waited for their teacher to arrive.

  ‘Pssssst!’ Petra poked Ivy’s arm with her pen. ‘Have you seen the Gauntlet yet?’ she asked.

  ‘No, who’s in it?’ Ivy was asking, when suddenly the door to the classroom was flung open. In flew a gigantic black bat, wings outstretched, with beady eyes and long, curved claws. Ivy ducked as it swooped over the heads of the class. Girls screamed and scrambled under desks, while others pinned their bodies against the classroom walls, wailing. Haven’t they seen a bat before? Ivy thought.

  The small black mammal finally looped back to settle on the shoulder of a statuesque female vampire, who had slipped into the room unnoticed. She was wearing a mustard-coloured, ruffle-necked blouse tucked into a ballooning hoop skirt and her hair was slicked back into a ridiculously tight bun that pulled at the skin of her face.

  The woman’s got presence, Ivy admitted to herself, admiring the confident way the vampire strutted to the front of the classroom. Even if her fashion sense does seem to be stuck in the nineteenth century. The woman clapped her hands twice.

  ‘Students,’ she said curtly, scanning the rows of desks as though she had lasers for eyeballs. ‘I am Miss Avisrova.’ The teacher bowed and Ivy had to stop herself from snorting with laughter. The motion was so formal, so contrived. Would a simple ‘hello’ not do?

  ‘As you all know, this is Vampire Etiquette. Usually we will be studying such crucial subjects as ballroom dancing, vampire cuisine and the art of telling the difference between finely aged blood and the cheap stuff one would find at a BloodMart.’ Miss Avisrova sniffed the air as if she smelled something particularly foul.

  Ivy gulped. She had no idea that the BloodMart was considered so lowbrow. It was her favourite place to grocery shop!

  ‘But today, as punishment for all the students who reacted in such an unseemly manner to the arrival of a bat –’ Ivy shrank in her chair – ‘we will forego the original lesson plan. I was going to teach you the correct way to behave at a ball.’ Well, that’s a relief, thought Ivy, doing a mental eye roll. ‘Now, however, I will be instructing you in the subtle virtuosities of conversation.’

  Ugh. Miss Avisrova was so dour, so miserable-looking. Miss Depressrova would be more fitting. Was she playing some sort of character, like in a bad audition for Transylvania’s Got Talent ? If it weren’t for the terror in the eyes of the students around her, Ivy would have believed this was all an elaborate practical joke.

  ‘Miss Lazar,’ said Miss Avisrova. Ivy kept her head still, even though her instinct was to look around for the student in question. How unlucky to be called in the very first lesson! she thought. ‘Miss Lazar!’ their teacher repeated. This time, Ivy couldn’t help pivoting in her seat a little. Lazar? It might be a student she was related to, since that was her grandparent’s last name. Ivy, of course, had the same last name that her father had adopted, Vega, but who was this other Lazar character? Maybe a cousin? The silence in the classroom rang in her ears.

  Ivy turned her attention back to the front of the class to see that Miss Avisrova was staring straight at her. Oh. Oops. Um . . . Ivy had been about to shrug, but was shrugging allowed in etiquette class? She didn’t think so. Miss Avisrova beckoned Ivy forwards with one long, slender finger. Ivy’s heart pounded like nails into a coffin lid. She slid out of her chair and walked up the long row of desks to the blackboard where Miss Avisrova was waiting.

  ‘Sit down.’ The teacher snapped her fingers and pointed at a spare chair, which had been pushed up against the front wall. ‘Miss Lazar here will be my assistant,’ she told the class.

  ‘It’s Miss Vega, actually,’ said Ivy, fidgeting in her new seat. ‘Long story, pretty dull.’ She tried to laugh but it came out fake and tinny. She pressed her lips together. Yikes, stop talking, Ivy. She attempted to pull the corners of her mouth into a tight grin, but was afraid it was probably more of a grimace.

  Ivy snuck a peek at the other students still sitting at their desks. Every one of them was staring at her like she’d just hurled an insult at the Queen of England! How utterly great.

  Avisrova tilted her head and looked at Ivy. ‘In conversation,’ she said, dragging a chair to sit opposite her, ‘one must never volunteer unsolicited personal information.’ What does that even mean? Ivy wondered. ‘No, conversation is like a joust. To converse properly, you must probe at the other person. Never pry.’ Avisrova lifted her pinky as if to punctuate this point. ‘You should ask carefully selected questions, to which you will receive carefully considered answers. Allow me to demonstrate.’ She straightened her back. ‘Miss Lazar, please carefully select a question for me, so that I may show you how a conversation should proceed.’

  Ivy chewed the side of her mouth, thinking. OK . . . How about, Why are you so mad? What makes your posture so straight? Are you against wearing shoes that don’t look Victorian? Why in darkness’ name does all this snooty vampire etiquette even matter? Ivy pushed back the questions floating in her mind. They were sure to get her into trouble. Choose carefully.

  Ivy took a deep breath. ‘What’s your favourite show?’ Everyone had to have a favourite television programme, didn’t they?

  Avisrova scoffed, shaking her head. ‘How American of you,’ she told Ivy. ‘Such a trivial, meaningless question. Why would you even bother to ask it?’

  Anger flared up bright and hot in Ivy’s chest. She heard whispers coming from around the room and Ivy shot one of the girls a death squint. The girl jumped and sat up straight in her chair, making a show of smoothing the pleated skirt of her uniform.

  ‘Can you believe she said that?’ said another girl, whose hair was plaited into soft braids that fell over each side of her collarbone.

  ‘So uncivilised,’ remarked another, who was wearing a crimson ribbon as a headband. Kristina, Anna? – Ivy couldn’t remember the girl’s name and, right now, she barely cared.

  Ivy’s nails sank into her palms. She cleared her throat. ‘I mean,’ she began, feeling a slight snarl creep into the edge of her voice, ‘what’s it like shopping in the 1960s?’

  There was a collective gasp. Fine, Ivy knew the insult hadn’t entirely made sense. After all, Avisrova wasn’t dressed as a hippie. But Ivy had made her point and the astonished reaction coming from her classmates was totally worth it – she hoped.

  Avisrova shot her a death squint that it would have taken Ivy herself y
ears to master. ‘You will be punished for that,’ she barked. ‘But don’t worry. This school will train the insolent American ways right out of you, Ivy Lazar.’ Miss Avisrova glared down her nose at Ivy. ‘You will report to me at the end of the day. I will be very surprised if either of us get any supper tonight.’

  Before Ivy could stop herself, she blurted out, ‘What is this, Oliver Twist ?’

  Loud scoffs sounded around the room and Ivy caught more than a few sneers on the faces of her classmates. She sighed. Today is not off to a good start.

  ‘Oh my darkness, and then you were all like, “What is this, Oliver Twist ?”’

  Ivy groaned. Petra was skipping alongside her after class, quoting back Ivy’s run-in with Miss Avisrova for the umpteenth time. They passed the trophy case filled with polished bronze medals, plaques and trophies, awarded for everything from rugby to fencing to spelling bees.

  ‘I know, I was there,’ Ivy reminded Petra.

  A girl with a red-and-black headband and silky brown hair patted her on the back. ‘Good show, Ivy.’ She flashed a grin.

  Another student with glitzy diamond stud earrings and a fitted blazer came up and shook Ivy’s hand in the hall. ‘I’ve got to say, you’re pretty brave – if not a bit reckless.’

  Ivy bit back a laugh. She didn’t want to offend anyone, but if they thought that was reckless, these girls wouldn’t last a day at Franklin Grove Middle School. And that’s just an ordinary, run-of-the-mill suburban school!

  Ivy was about to say as much when she saw Petra peering starry-eyed through the open door of a classroom. Ivy followed her gaze to where a crowd of boys, all dressed in smart black blazers and red ties, were sitting on desks and tossing paper aeroplanes at one another before class.

  ‘What are you –’

  ‘Come here!’ Petra pulled Ivy away from her new fan club and into an alcove at the end of the hall. ‘Check it out,’ she said, digging her notebook out of a leather cross-body satchel. Petra flipped through a few pages before folding back half the notebook and holding it up for Ivy to see.