We settled for the mall food court. Dullsville Mall was probably no different from any other mall in America, li had the same dress, shoe, candle, lotion, lingerie, earring stores, and kiosks as any mall. I wasn't a mall rat but rather a thrift-store junkie. But there was one thing I couldn't resist at the mall: the food court. Every time my mom or Becky dragged me there for a day of shopping, I was like a vulture on an abandoned carcass as I sampled the Ices, pizza, or free Chinese meat on a stick.
Trevor found me waiting with a slice of cheese pizza and a frozen cherry drink at a table in the center of the food court.
"At last I have you all to myself," Trevor said.
"Evidently not." I pointed to a kid from the next table, waving to us like we were his family.
"Hello," the cute boy said. The small child reminded me of Trevor when he was in kindergarten-perfect blond hair, perfect white teeth, perfectly pressed clothes.
"Children are a great judge of character," Trevor commented.
"That's why he's waving at me, not you."
"Turn around, Lance. Sorry he was bothering you." The mother picked up her son and held him on the other side of their table.
Trevor took a bite of my pizza.
"Hey, get your own!"
"I heard about the Mansion," he said. "I told you it was an eyesore. Rotting away. I can't believe you hang out in that hellhole. But maybe that's why you call it home."
"You're right. When I was there last week, we discovered a room full of flies. Just like the Amityville Horror."
"And you think that's cool?"
"Why wouldn't I? Now, do you want to continue to talk more about how gross the Mansion is-"
"No- let's get started."
I hadn't even looked at the brief question sheet. It was folded up and stuck in my English notebook. Of course Trevor kept his pristine in a folder marked "English Lit."
"Do you want to go first?" he asked. "Or shall I?"
I didn't answer.
"Please. Let me get this over with." He took out a pen, leaned in close, and began to read. " 'When you were in kindergarten, what did you want to be?'"
I glared back at him.
I remembered that first day of kindergarten as clear as if it were yesterday. I had replied, "A vampire."
"A princess," I said.
Apparently Trevor remembered my real answer, too. I guess it wasn't every day that one had a classmate as odd as I had been and still appeared to be.
"That's not what you said," he challenged. "You said, 'A vampire."
"Really? I don't recall. So you are going to write that down?" I asked worriedly.
I knew I was going to stand in front of my class and say, "I wanted to be a vampire." Trevor would then say, "Duh," and the classroom would fill with laughter and mocking students.
Trevor scribbled something down on the sheet.
" 'When you were little, what inspired you to feel this way?'" Then he paused and asked, "Looking in the mirror and having it crack in two?"
Instead of clobbering him, I laughed-the kind of laugh that escapes into the air before you can catch it. The kind of chuckle that shows a tiny form of acceptance.
Trevor obviously didn't expect me to find his remark entertaining. He was primed for a fight. We both cracked up and locked eyes. His gaze lingered a little too long, not in a creepy way, but in a way that says I'm not ready to let this moment go.
I felt strangely attracted to this nemesis of mine. I hated that we had any civility between us. But mostly I hated that I'd let my guard down.
I was born that way, I wanted to say. Perhaps a psychologist might trace my wanting to be a vampire back to time spent with my father watching Dracula movies. And when my brother was born all that changed. Nosferatu kept me company on the lonely nights they were tending to the crying Nerd Boy.
"No," I finally said. "It was when I didn't see my reflection."
"Fine, I'll write that," he said. "Next question. 'Do you still have that same wish you had in kindergarten?'"
"Yes, I'm sixteen and I still want to be a vampire," I said sarcastically. I really was masking my innermost feelings. In fact, that is exactly what I wanted to be.
I knew what Mrs. Naper was getting at. Some people change their minds along their life's path. And some people come into this world knowing exactly what they want to do. I was in the latter group.
" 'What do your parents do? Would you want to follow in their paths?'" he continued.
"What do you think?"
I took out my paper. "I bet I can answer your questions without even asking you. When you were in kindergarten you wanted to be Superman, probably because you watched it on TV and liked being a superhero. But now, you obviously don't want to run around with a pillowcase cape. You want to be a professional soccer player. But you are afraid that once you get out of this small town, where you are Superman, you'll find out there are better players with more speed and quicker moves. And it is that part of you that when doing an assignment like this would write 'real estate developer,' like your father. Because you are afraid of failure and you don't have the courage to write down what you really want to be,"
Trevor was immobilized and turned ghost white. He was blown away, as if by knowing him all these years I'd read his soul. I wasn't sure if this realization angered him or made him more attracted to me. I wasn't going to stay to find out.
I put the sheet in my backpack and left.
I could only imagine that in the spot regarding what I wanted to be in kindergarten, he crossed out vampire and wrote psychic.
23
Alexander and I were in his attic room. My boyfriend was painting a beautiful picture of the rail yard while I attempted to write my English essay on my mom's laptop. But I was too distracted to begin to write about possible career choices-not only because Alexander was quite the handsome artist, glowing and focused on his creation, but because I could hear the muffled voices of Alexander's parents talking in their bedroom, one floor below.
I could barely make out a few words. Mr. Berkley. Sale. Romania.
"I'll be right back," I said to Alexander, but he was so engrossed in his brushstrokes that I'd probably be back before he even noticed I was gone.
I snuck down the attic stairs and tiptoed past his parents' bedroom. The door was ajar. The bathroom was only a few doors down, and if I hung out inside I'd be able to hear their voices echo off the empty walls.
"Mr. Berkley says we need to put money into renovations before this house will ever sell," I heard Mr. Sterling say as I passed their doorway. I remained by a hallway table just outside their door.
"I think it's perfect the way it is," Mrs. Sterling responded.
"I agree. I'm not changing a thing. My mother built this house the way she wanted it and it will remain that way until there is a new owner."
"Maybe it's the real estate agency we should change," Mrs. Sterling offered.
There was a slight pause.
"Constantine," Mrs. Sterling began in a soft yet concerned voice. "Perhaps we are making a mistake by putting the Mansion up for sale at all."
"I know, Cassandra. I've been wrestling with that, too. This has not been an easy decision. I've tried to explain that to Alexander, But our lives are in Europe. And now it's time for us to return. All of us. Our home has always been in Romania. We are too old to change all that now."
"I guess you are right. But I do worry-"
"I don't understand it," Mr. Sterling added, changing his tone. "Mr. Berkley said not one person has shown interest. He explained that the townspeople have told him awful things about our home. I'm not sure why anyone would say such things. No one, besides the Madisons, has been inside,"
The floorboard underneath me squeaked so loudly, I thought one would be able to hear it in Romania.
The bedroom door creaked open.
Mr. Sterling appeared, and behind him a very tall and statuesque Mrs. Sterling.
The bathroom doorway that once looked so clos
e now seemed miles away.
"Raven," Mrs. Sterling said, "We didn't know you were here."
"I was just on my way-"
"We've been meaning to talk to you," she said, "now that you've heard about the Mansion going on the market,"
I didn't move.
"I know it must be hard for you, Raven-as it is for us," Mrs. Sterling said in a soothing voice.
I nodded.
"You have done so much for Alexander," she continued. "I know it will be difficult for him being away from you. So you must promise me you'll visit."
Under normal conditions, the thought of going to Romania and seeing Alexander's family would be the thrill of a lifetime. However, if I had a choice, I'd rather vacation in Romania and visit my boyfriend on Benson Hill.
"I promise," I said in agreement.
Alexander appeared at the foot of the stairs.
"What's going on down here?"
"Nothing," Mrs. Sterling said. "We were just passing in the hall."
***
I felt a tinge of sorrow for the Sterlings. They were just as torn as we were about the move. They were making what they thought was the best decision, even if it wasn't the choice Alexander and I would make.
I couldn't concentrate on writing, and Alexander needed a break from painting. It was getting late, so he drove me home.
"I think our plan is working," I said as he walked me to my door. "At this rate, you'll be here longer than the Mansion has,"
Alexander leaned in and gave me a blissful kiss. For the first night in a long time, I actually got a good night's rest.
25
Unfortunately the next guy's face I had to see was Trevor's.
"We haven't answered everything," my nemesis said, finding me on the lawn after school.
"I think you can fill in the blanks," I replied.
"I can give you a lift home. We could do it in the car."
I glared back.
"I mean the assignment," Trevor said, raising an eyebrow.
"I'd rather walk."
"When are you going to admit that you are avoiding me because you're hot for me?"
"When hell freezes over."
"You should know about hell-you live there. How about you step up to the plate and finish the job?" Trevor challenged.
I thought for a moment. I was slightly taken with the idea of having my own goth fashion magazine like Becky and I had discussed, but I couldn't possibly share that with Trevor. I'd only be ridiculed. Instead I said, "Okay, Soccer Boy. Figure out a career for me. Something that will make me money so I can be self-reliant."
Trevor opened his notebook. I could see several typed pages of his essay were already complete.
"What's wrong with a man taking care of you?" he asked. "Someone rich. And powerful."
"I already have that." I admitted.
"And blond."
"I like dark hair."
"And popular."
He did have me on that. Neither Alexander nor I were popular. But Trevor Mitchell? He could have been voted prom king in the first grade.
"Isn't fame important to you?" he asked, inching closer. "Everyone knowing your name?"
"I think they already do."
"But not for the right reasons," he said with a chuckle.
"I'm not interested in being famous. I'm interested in being me."
Trevor shook his head and jotted a few notes down in his notebook. "So where did we leave off? Do your parents want you to follow in their footsteps? "
"No. Is this over yet?" I whined.
"What do you like to do on a rainy day?" he asked.
"Sit outside."
"What do you like to do on a sunny day?"
"Sleep."
"Do you think of yourself as creative?"
"No."
"You don't?" he asked, surprised. "With the way you dress and make yourself up? I think you've always been creative. Like a clown."
"Do you want me to take you down now? Or do it in front of the class?"
"Calm down. What is your favorite outfit?"
"Hmm. My corset prom dress."
"When you close your eyes, who do you dream about?"
"Alexander."
"If you had one guy in school to kiss, who would that be?" he asked, leaning toward me.
"This isn't on the sheet. None of these questions are, bonehead!"
With Trevor, sometimes it was difficult to keep straight who was kidding who.
"I was just making sure you were paying attention. Fve finished the interview portion. Now I can just write the essay."
"So- we don't have to meet again?"
"I've finished my part," he said coyly, and gave me the completed interview sheet. "Now it's time to finish your questions about me."
Trevor's interview sheet was blank. I quickly jotted down some answers to the questions and handed it to him.
"You won't get an A for handwriting," he said.
Trevor and I rose and dusted the dirt off our jeans. "Our next date will be in front of class," he said.
I couldn't help but feel a twinge of kindness toward him, as he had inadvertently helped Alexander remain in the Mansion.
"I'm off to meet my father," he said as he got into his Camaro. "Did you hear? My dad might buy the Mansion."
I stopped dead in my tracks.
"What did you say?"
He grinned a wicked grin. "I was waiting to tell you until after I got my interview portion completed… We were talking about the Mansion at dinner last night and how word around town is no one will buy it because it's a hideous money pit. My dad said that the land upon which it sits is valuable property in its own right. It will be cheaper to hire a wrecking ball and bulldozer. Just thought you'd want to know. It'll make a great strip mall."
I was floored. I had no idea my own plan would turn against me. And of course, Trevor was just the person to do it.
"No- you can't buy it!" I said, my body filled with rage. "You can't buy it-and you can't tear it down."
"I know I can't, Monster Girl. But my dad can."
Trevor's father owned half the town of Dullsville. I wouldn't ever want Benson Hill to fall into that half.
"I'll tell my dad to save a few bricks when he tears it down. You can have them as a souvenir. I won't charge you very much, since they're worthless," he said, and rolled up his window and sped off.
26
I waited impatiently outside the Mansion's gate. "I need to speak with Alexander," I told Jameson as soon as he opened the front door.
"He's still sleeping, Miss Raven."
I guess Alexander, like me, was finally having a good night's-or in his case, day's-slumber.
"This can't wait." I spoke with authority and urgency.
"I'll see what I can do. Wait in the study."
I paced in the old, dusty, book-filled room. It was several minutes later when Alexander appeared in jeans and a T- shirt.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"Everything!" I rushed over to him. "But we have to talk privately."
"The gazebo?" he suggested. a place where no one on earth can hear us."
***
Alexander parked the Mercedes in front of the cemetery's entrance. We hurried toward his grandmother’s monument. The only sound we heard were a few crickets chirping.
"There is a buyer for the Mansion," I blurted out when we reached the monument.
"You are kidding!"
"No, and it gets worse. It's Trevor Mitchell's father." "This is awful. I thought our plan was working." "I did, too. He plans to tear down the house and built I a strip mall,"
"Tear it down?" Alexander's warm brown eves turned fiery red.
"I know. It's horrible. We did such a great job of convincing people that the Mansion was a money pit that no one wanted to buy it. Now they just want to tear it down. messed everything up, Alexander. I ruined everything "
I sat down on a cemetery bench and covered my face with my hands.
"This isn
't your fault, Raven," Alexander said, comforting me. His dark mood brightened. "He hasn't bough I the house yet. There is still time."
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