“Will you shut up about the blog already?” I know I’m being bitchy, but you’d be too if you’d spent your night the way I had.
Rayne lies back down in bed. “I can’t believe Lucifent’s dead,” she mutters, staring up at the ceiling. When we were kids we pasted glow-in-the-dark stars all over it and some of them are still glowing—tiny pinpricks of green light. Such innocent times, then.
“I can’t believe I may be stuck as a vampire forever,” I retort. Jeez. Enough with the feeling-sorry-for-Lucifent thing already. Sunny needs pity, too. “I mean, this is going to put a serious damper on my social life. Not to mention my high school career.”
My voice cracks on the last sentence. Damn it, I don’t want to cry again. But I’m tired and stressed and afraid and I just can’t seem to help it. Once I let one tear escape, the rest start catapulting down my face like a freaking waterfall.
“I don’t want to be a . . . a vampire,” I choke out.
Rayne rolls on her side and brushes a lock of hair off my forehead, studying me with concerned eyes. “I’m sorry, sweetie,” she says. “I keep forgetting how hard this must be for you.” She kisses me on the cheek, then starts climbing out of bed. “I’ll let you get some sleep.”
“Can’t you stay?” I ask, the words leaving my mouth before I can stop them. She’s going to think I’m such a baby, but suddenly I don’t want to be alone anymore. Alone with my tormented thoughts.
She nods and gets back into bed, no questions asked. “Sure,” she says, squirming into a more comfortable position. “What are twin sisters for?”
The DJ responsible for the music playing on my clock radio should be shot. No, that wouldn’t be painful enough. He should be castrated and left to be eaten by rabid dogs. Or something. “The Monster Mash” is my morning wake-up song—puh-leeze. Inhuman, I tell you.
I press the snooze bar and pull the covers over my head. I’ve never felt so exhausted in all my life. I feel like I’m going to throw up, I’m so tired. I don’t think I even got to sleep before the sun was peeking over the horizon. And then, I fell into an almost coma-deep slumber until the DJ decided to torment me with this cruel and unusual musical punishment.
But Rayne, the suddenly evil bee-yotch who’s probably in cahoots with the DJ, isn’t content to let me sleep. She shakes me by the shoulder. “Wake up, Sun,” she commands in an overly chipper voice. So help me, if she breaks into the “Good Morning” song my mother used to sing to get us up when we were kids, I won’t be held responsible for my actions. “We’ve got to go to school.”
“I’m sick,” I mumble, resisting her shakes.
“You’re not sick. You’re just a vampire,” she clarifies, as if that makes everything okay. “So it makes sense you want to sleep through the day.”
Her words make me bolt upright in bed. OMG, she’s right! I am acting like a vampire. I stayed up all night and now I’m hoping to sleep all day. Ugh. I don’t want to succumb to these vamp urges. For all I know, it might make it more difficult to reverse the transformation if I’m all accepting of it and stuff.
“I’m up,” I say, rubbing my eyes. The sunlight streaming through the window feels like fire on my skin. I think I’ll be using the 30 SPF this morning. Or maybe the turbocharged 50+ stuff Mom keeps in her bathroom.
I sniff the air. “Ugh. What’s that awful smell?” I ask, screwing up my nose.
Rayne shrugs. “Smells like Mom’s making breakfast.”
“That sure doesn’t smell like any breakfast I’d want to eat,” I say, climbing out of bed and trying to dodge the scattered sunny parts of the room as I make my way to the bathroom.
I wash my face and notice I’m looking especially pale this A.M. Kind of like what Rayne looks like when she pancakes her face white for the extreme Goth look. Oh well, so much for getting a tan. I slather on the sunscreen, careful not to miss any pertinent parts, then head back into my bedroom. Rayne’s left by this point, and I’m more than tempted to crawl back into bed. But no, I must resist the urge. I need to keep acting as normal as possible.
Besides, if I go to school I get to see Jake Wilder. The Jake Wilder who’s wildly attracted to me. Talk about motivation!
I look in my closet for something to wear. Something that will impress Jake, preferably. Unfortunately, even though it’s meant to hit like eighty today, I don’t think my normal tank and flips are going to cut it in the wardrobe department. Too much risk for sunburn. Better to cover as much skin as possible.
So I choose a black sweater with bell sleeves that go over my hands, my favorite pair of Diesel jeans, and a pair of black boots. Now all that’s exposed is my face and neck. (The bite mark has thankfully faded!) I grab a pair of dark sunglasses from my dresser and a worn Red Sox cap. I study myself in the mirror (yes, BTW, I can still see my reflection; guess that one was a myth), sort of feeling like a Hollywood celeb going undercover to grocery shop. Not exactly the best look to attract Jake, but hey, that’s what the Vampire Scent is for, I guess.
Satisfied with my outfit, I clomp down the stairs, ready to face the world. Or at least my mother. But the putrid smell only gets worse as I approach the kitchen. Ew! What the hell is she cooking this time? Fried rotting rat?
Let me just say for the record here, my “yes, I went to Woodstock” mom has made some pretty odd recipes over the years. (Tofu manicotti, anyone?) So I can only imagine what she’s cooked up this time around. (And BTW, the Woodstock thing? She neglects to mention that she was five years old at the time and spent more time running around naked in the mud, being chased by my exasperated grandma, than listening to the music. Then again, I guess a lot of adults were doing the same thing, so who am I to judge the cultural influence the event had on her existence?)
“Burning down the kitchen, Mom?” I joke as I enter the room. The smell is almost overwhelming now, and I have to take a step back to steady myself. It’s a burnt, decomposing odor that makes me want to vomit. I pause for a moment, blinking my eyes a few times, as they’ve started watering like crazy.
“What’s wrong, honey?” Mom asks, turning from whatever horror she’s concocting, a concerned look on her face. “You look awful.”
“I feel awful,” I say, slumping into a kitchen chair, trying to resist the urge to plug my nose with my fingers. As bad as the smell is, it’s obviously something she’s slaved over and I can’t be that rude. Just hope she doesn’t expect me to eat any of it.
Mom wipes her hands on her apron and approaches me. She puts her palm against my forehead. “You don’t feel sick,” she says, wrinkling her brow. “In fact, your forehead is ice cold.”
I pull my head away before she starts wondering about my perfectly chilled vampire temperature.
“What is that . . . smell?” I manage to choke out, wanting to change the subject.
She cocks her head in confusion. “Smell?” she asks. She sniffs the air. “All I can smell is the breakfast scramble I’m cooking up.” She shrugs. “Tofu, peppers, and lots of garlic, just the way you like it.”
Gah! Realization hits me over the head like a cartoon anvil. That’s got to be it. I’ve suddenly developed the stereotypical vampire aversion to garlic. A food product I used to adore. Go figure.
“Here, it’s ready, actually,” she says, walking back over to the stove and heaping a mammoth portion onto a plate. “You want salt on it?”
What I want is for the whole thing to be thrown in the trash, honestly. Preferably the neighbor’s trash. The neighbor who lives on planet Pluto. That might be far enough away for me to withstand the stench.
But what am I supposed to say? I wonder, as she carries the steaming plate o’puke over to the table. Mom knows it’s my favorite and she made it especially for me. Maybe I can take one bite—
Oh no. I’m going to hurl.
I jump out of my seat and bolt to the bathroom. I barely make it to the toilet before my stomach releases all its contents into the porcelain bowl.
Okay. It’s decided. I’m definitely
not eating the breakfast scramble. Mom’s hurt feelings be damned.
“Sunny, are you okay in there?” Mom asks, knocking on the door and sounding even more concerned than she did before.
“She’s fine.” I can hear Rayne’s voice outside the door. Thank goodness. She can cover for me while I brush the vomit out of my teeth.
“She’s not fine, honey. She just threw up.”
“She’s just nervous. We have a huge history test today.”
“Are you sure, Rayne?” Hmm. Mom sounds suspicious. I guess that makes sense. I mean for all her peace, love, and flower-child beliefs, she hasn’t just fallen off the turnip truck either. She knows I’m an excellent test taker. It’s Rayne who has the nervous test-taking fits that she believes exonerate her from going to school on exam day.
“She’s right,” I say, exiting the bathroom with a smile. “I’m fine, Mom. Just got the old butterflies. After all, this test counts as twenty-five percent of our grade.”
“Okay. If you’re sure . . .” Mom says, still looking doubtful. “But you know, Sunny, you’d probably feel more confident if you had stayed in and studied last night instead of going out. I didn’t even hear you come in.”
Shoot. I’d forgotten about that.
“I was over at a study partner’s house,” I say, crossing my fingers behind my back. “We were going over history and kind of lost track of time.”
Okay, before you think I’m a horrible person for lying to my mom, technically I’m not fibbing whatsoever. I was at Magnus’s “house” last night and we were talking about history. The history of King Arthur, the crusades, and vampires, to be exact. But since there really isn’t any test to begin with, I think I’m owed some creative license over what I studied to pass it.
For a moment Mom looks like she doesn’t buy my explanation. But then she shrugs. “Okay, sweetie. I’m glad you studied. I’ve got to get to work.” She reaches over and kisses me on the forehead and then does the same to Rayne. “Have a good day, girls. And good luck on the test.”
I watch as she heads to the front closet to retrieve her handbag. I feel bad lying to her. As far as moms go, she’s pretty cool. Not like some of my friends’ moms who act more like prison wardens than parents. She’s always been the “Friend Mom.” The one who promises she’ll never judge us for telling her things. The type who’d rather we ask for condoms or birth control than go out and have sex without telling her. She’s open and accepting and loving.
But I still don’t think she’d get the whole vampire thing. After all, “Friend Mom” does not necessarily equal “Accept That Your Daughter Is Turning Undead and Be Cool with That Mom.”
“Bye, girls,” she says, waving as she exits.
“Bye, Mom,” we chorus.
Now alone, Rayne and I let out nervous laughter.
“That was close,” I say, heaving a sigh of relief.
“No kidding,” Rayne agrees. “Though I do think she’s still a bit suspicious.”
“She probably thinks I’m pregnant and having morning sickness or something. Throwing up at the sight of food.”
“Nah. She knows you better than that,” Rayne says with a laugh. “My little Sunny the Innocent,” she coos, tousling my hair.
“What-EVER,” I say, making the W with my fingers.
Rayne smirks. “Now if it were me throwing up, we’d already be in the car on the way to the clinic.”
“Yes, indeed, ’cause you are a skanky ho,” I say gleefully. Rayne playfully punches me in the arm. She thinks it’s funny, go figure.
“Actually you’re the skanky ho this time around. The bitch who stole my blood mate,” she replies with a laugh. “And speaking of, how was the oh-so-dreamy Magnus last night?”
For some reason her question makes my face heat in a blush. Though judging from how fair my skin is now, it probably doesn’t even register a dusty rose.
“He’s fine,” I say. “Upset about Lucifent, of course. I mean the guy was his sire and all.”
“Lucifent was Magnus’s sire?” Rayne says, raising an eyebrow.
I smile, happy to finally know something she doesn’t. “Yup,” I say, and relate an abbreviated version of the tale.
When I’m finished, Rayne releases a long, dramatic sigh. “Wow,” she says dreamily. “My blood mate was a knight in shining armor. How cool is that?”
I shrug. “Yeah, he’s actually an interesting guy when he’s not being all arrogant and rude.” I pause, then add, “Which is ninety-nine percent of the time.” Don’t want Rayne to get the idea that I’m developing some kind of affection for Magnus, since I’m so not. In fact, I think a change of subject is in order here. “Now go toss out that disgusting garlic concoction before I gag again.”
“Okay. I’ll take it outside.” Rayne disappears into the kitchen, and moments later she and the smell exit the house and the air becomes relatively clear again.
As the smell fades, I realize I’m suddenly ravenously hungry. I enter the kitchen, searching for a garlic-free snack. I peer into the fridge. Not much there. Then my eyes fall on a package of hamburger meat in the very back of the fridge.
My mom’s a strict vegetarian, you see, and brought me up that way as well. But my sister could never lose her taste for red meat. So once in a while she gives in to her carnivorous urges and enjoys a good burger.
I stare at the hamburger, suddenly realizing my mouth is watering. In fact, I’m suddenly craving it so badly that I think I might be drooling a bit.
Suddenly, my hand reaches involuntarily to the raw meat, as if it’s taken on a will of its own. My stomach growls in anticipation. It looks so luscious. So red. So delicious.
I look around to see if Rayne’s back. She’s probably still burying the garlic mess. I have time. I grab the package and tear it open, greedily grabbing handfuls of raw meat and shoveling them into my mouth, rejoicing in the bloody juices flowing down my throat. I swear, a chocolate peanut-butter sundae with extra whipped cream and chocolate sauce could not taste half this good.
“You know that’s a real good way to develop E. coli.”
I whirl around, mouth full of raw meat, to see Rayne standing there with a smirk on her face. I suddenly realize what I’m doing. Horrified, I spit the meat out into the sink, trying to force myself to throw the rest up.
“Oh my God. I can’t believe I just did that,” I cry, absolutely mortified. “That’s so disgusting.”
“It’s okay. I’m sure vampires are immune to food-borne illness,” Rayne says.
“But it’s so . . . gross!” I stare at the rest of the beef, fighting the nearly overwhelming urge to dig back in. “I can’t believe I just ate raw hamburger. It’s all bloody and slimy and—”
“Don’t beat yourself up over it, Sun. You’re just giving in to your vampire urges, is all.” Rayne shrugs. “Pretty soon you’ll have to be moving on to live blood, though.”
I narrow my eyes. “I am sooo not partaking of live blood.”
“You will if you’re hungry enough.”
“No. I won’t. I definitely won’t. Cross my heart, hope to die. I vow on my prom date with Jake Wilder,” I promise. “I will never, ever be that hungry.”
My stomach growls in response. Uh-oh.
12
Roses Are Red, Blood Is Too . . .
“Sunshine McDonald, please report to the principal’s office.”
I perk up out of my sleep-deprived coma at my name being called over the loudspeaker system. I’m in trig class, which I hate, and have been hiding out in the back row, head in my hands, trying to do the whole “look awake while sleeping” pose.
I’m so tired. So, so tired. I don’t know how I’m going to get through this week, let alone the rest of my existence. If Magnus doesn’t find a vampire antidote, I’m doomed to be a high school dropout.
I glance over at the teacher to make sure he’s heard the announcement. He must have, as he simply waves me toward the door with a saucy smile. Ew. He’s like the fifth male tea
cher today to flirt with me. This Vampire Scent thing is great for boys my age, like Jake, but when it starts affecting pervert adults it gets a little freaky.
I rise from my seat, thanking Lover Boy with a nod, and he goes back to calculating huge incomprehensible math problems on the board with a big goofy grin on his face. Major ew-age.
I’m happy to step into the hallway, away from class, but I soon realize this might be going from the frying pan to the fire. I have no idea why I’m being summoned to the principal’s office, but usually that sort of thing is never good. Then again, I’ve done nothing wrong. I haven’t said or done anything weird, I haven’t bitten any of the student body. I did run out of home ec class after the teacher announced we were going to bake cheesy garlic bread, but I later blamed that on my aversion to carbs due to my South Beach Diet.
I arrive at the glassed-in office and step inside, my heart beating furiously. I so don’t need to get in trouble on top of everything else.
“Hi, I’m Sunshine McDonald,” I say to Miss Rose, the longtime school secretary sitting at the front desk. “You guys called me?”
Miss Rose looks up. She’s an older woman, probably in her sixties, wearing a prim little pastel suit with a perfect string of pearls. Got the Barbara Bush look down pat.
But when she sees me, her demure smile morphs into what looks like a lecherous grin.
“Hi, sweetie,” she purrs in a low, sensual voice that no Barbara Bush look-alike should ever be allowed to use. “I’m so glad you could come down.” She gives me the once-over from head to toe. “You’re looking awfully pretty today, dear.”
I take a step back, a little shaken. Has she been affected by the Vampire Scent? She couldn’t be! It only works on guys and . . .
I start to laugh. I can’t help it. The whole thing is just so absurd. So surreal. I can’t believe I’m in school being hit on by a secretly lesbian grandma.
Miss Rose frowns at my merriment, looking rather offended. Poor thing.
“Sorry,” I say, swallowing hard to contain my chortling. “The principal wanted to see me?”