Vampire Crush(15)
Author: A.M. Robinson

"James, what are you doing? Why are you touching her?"

Violet’s voice cuts through the din of cafeteria laughter. It’s always been prone to squeaking, but now there’s an edge to it, a tension and a disbelief that threatens to crack it right down the middle. She’s clutching at the fabric of her dress with both hands. I tear my own hand away from James’s and stuff it beneath the table in a rush of embarrassment.

"Violet," I start, but she rambles over me, growing more and more distressed.

"They said that if I gave you space you would come to your senses," she cries, her eyes skittering wildly back and forth. "They said that if I found my own activities, you would be attracted to my new and confident self. They said it. They said it. And now you are making eyes at a girl who dresses like a peasant – a male peasant – and kisses on the first date. She is a hussy, James."

The word "hussy" draws some attention, but I don’t care. So James is Violet’s mystery boy. Swinging my gaze to James, I join the forces waiting for an answer. He waits a beat before running his hands through his hair and letting out an exasperated sigh.

"Violet, I told you. I’m sorry that I hurt you. Believe me, if I could take it all back – and I do mean all of it – I would. But you have to let this go."

"But I can’t," she cries, covering her heart with her hands. "I love you."

Nothing good can come from going down this path, so I try to intercede again. "Violet," I say softly, "James and I weren’t – "

"Stop it," she hisses. "You are the reason I’m in this muddle. You and your bad advice."

The malice in her face makes my heart stop cold, and I eye her clenched fists, wondering if I am going to get into an honest-to-God cafeteria fight. But instead of launching herself at me, Violet suddenly puts a hand to her forehead and starts to sway. "I think I feel faint," she says, and then collapses on the ground.

The crowd that’s gathered around us gives a little gasp. Sighing, James bends down over her prostrate form and lightly smacks one of her cheeks. "Violet, get up. You know you can’t faint."

Her eyelids flutter. He is about to try the other cheek when Ms. Kate, now on lunchroom duty, barrels her way through the crowd.

"What’s going on here?" she booms. "Stand back, people, and give the girl some room. The bell’s about to ring." She points to the ceiling, and the bell obliges her, most likely too scared to disobey. "See? Go to your class. Stop gawking."

The ring of onlookers begins to break up, students shuffling off in twos and threes. When Ms. Kate crouches down to look at Violet, James stands up and comes back toward me. Still a little shaken, I gather my things and turn to ask one of my many, many new questions, but he nudges me toward the door.

"Let’s go."

"But Violet – "

"Is fine. Well, physically at least. You should get out of here." When we’re in the hallway, he lets go of my arm and looks at the notebook I am holding to my chest like a bulletproof vest. "Do you still need those questions answered?"

"Well, yes."

"Great." He grabs it from me, tears out the two pages with my questions for Vlad and Marisabel, and then shoves it back into my hands. "I’ll have it to you by next period," he says, starting to walk away.

"But – "

"You can pay me back by giving me a ride home today," he calls down the hall. "I’ll meet you by your car. When do you leave?"

"Six," I say, still half-dazed.

"Good. See you then." He stops for a second and gives me a look I can’t decipher. "We’ll talk," he says shortly and then disappears around a corner.

Chapter Six

My concentration is shot for the rest of the day. When I’m not trying to figure out what James is caught up in, I’m watching the door for Violet. It opens halfway through Ms. Walpole’s lecture on body paragraphs, and my spine goes rigid. For once I am actually relieved when it is only Vlad, late to class again. After a few excuses about losing himself in a library book and a round of awkward staring, she waves him to his seat. From my spot at the back of the room, I can see his wavy blond head, the tops of his shoulders, and one lean, muscular arm. Every time Ms. Walpole turns around, he slips out a ragged piece of lined paper and hunches over. He’s writing something, and for once it’s not in that little journal he slips in and out of his back pocket.

When the bell rings, Vlad scoops up his belongings in one arm and weaves through the departing students to stand in front of my desk. I blink up at him through the fluorescent light.

"You are Sophie, correct?" he asks, sounding bored with the question. He pulls out the wilting piece of paper he scribbled on all period and flicks it at me. "This is for you."

I look down to find my list of questions, which are now accompanied by answers written in a tight, florid hand.

"Thank you," I say, trying to keep my voice even despite my boiling hatred. Now is probably not the time to tell him he writes like a girl.

"I did it as a favor to James, nothing more," Vlad says and then arches one pale eyebrow. "Anything else that you would like to know? My favorite rainy day activity, perhaps?"

"No, that’s it." Jerkface. "Thanks again." Standing up, I start to brush by him, but where a normal human being would twist to avoid a butt bump, he stays rooted in place. Sucking in my stomach, I refuse to let him fluster me. I smile, a bit of bravado he acknowledges with a surprised quirk of his pale eyebrows. Ha. I’m almost in the clear when my bag catches on the back of a chair.

Damn. As I’m working on untangling it, my neck begins to tingle like I’ve been sitting too long in the sun. I look up to find Vlad eyeing it, nostrils flared, with more interest than he’s ever given any other part of my anatomy. This is the last straw.

"Could you move?"

His gaze snaps up to meet my eyes before he gives a smile that’s part sardonic, part self-mocking, and no parts apologetic.

"My apologies," he says, his voice so full of laughter that I’m surprised he doesn’t bust a gut right there. When I walk out, I don’t turn around.

The bell rings before I make it to my locker, so when I get there I’m so rushed that I almost miss the folded piece of paper that falls at my feet. There’s something chicken-scratched on the front.

Sophie,Do you know how many people I had to ask before I found someone who knew where your locker was? I told you – loner. Here are Marisabel’s answers to your questions. See you at 6. – JamesWell, I have my answers. Now I just wish I had a better idea of what possible connection he could have to all of this.