Vampire Crush(51)
Author: A.M. Robinson

"Marcie went back next door," James says from behind me, and I whirl around to find him leaning against the entryway, watching me calmly. I slam the door shut, embarrassed to be caught rudely poking around in his refrigerator, but he just asks me if I want a drink. "I have water. Well, water and . . . I have water." While I’m still struggling to overcome my shame, he moves to the cabinet and grabs a novelty mug that says, "Don’t Let the Bastards Get You Down." After filling it, he hands it to me. "This was left here, by the way. It’s not a personal motto."

I take a sip. The water has a metallic edge, and I’m pretty sure that’s dust I’m tasting on the rim, but I am nervous enough that I drink it anyway. "So how were you able to get rid of Marcie?"

"She spotted Neville and Marisabel on the stairs, and I told her we were busy working on a group project for school," he says. "I don’t think she really bought it, but I still have enough sympathy points that she wasn’t going to challenge me. But you might not want to ever go home."

I can only imagine. I look around for a place to sit down, but there are no chairs, only a precarious-looking folding table set up in one corner. Crossing my fingers that it doesn’t collapse beneath me, I jump up and joke that maybe I could stay here.

He takes a seat beside me. "Why not?" he says. "Everyone else is. Just don’t say that you want the bedroom with the purple curtains."

"I would definitely want the one with the bed," I say and then realize how that sounds. I wonder if I will ever be able to flirt intentionally, as opposed to just accidentally.

"Really?" he says, a little too innocently.

I can do this – I can say something flirtatious and mean to. "Or maybe not. You were always horrible at sharing your things," I tease, but then realize that was just an insult said with an eyebrow wiggle.

James leans in close enough that our arms touch and he smiles, slow and deliberate. "I’ve gotten better."

I think all of my internal organs just evaporated. "Why do you have a bed if you don’t sleep?" I blurt. "It looks new."

"Yeah, that’s not where I thought this conversation was going at all," he says before settling back against the wall. "I ordered it. I mean, I sit on it. And sometimes if I close my eyes and lie still for a long time I can . . . blank out for a little bit. It feels like sleeping." He rubs his eyes. "I guess I should get used to it."

In the midst of all the fighting, and preparing, and fielding my stepmother, we haven’t had a chance to think about Vlad’s big party revelation. "Do you want to talk about it?" I ask.

"What’s there to talk about?" he asks bitterly. "I was stupid enough to believe Vlad, and then I was stupid enough to follow Vlad. It serves me right."

"But that doesn’t mean – "

"It’s fine, Sophie," he says in a way that suggests it’s not fine at all.

Unsure of what to say, I look around the room. The previous owner left a decorative plate over the window. Pumpkins dance around the rim, and the central figure is an apron-wearing turkey. Someone went a little crazy at a Yankee Peddler Party.

"I should take that down," he says. "It’s weird. And sometimes I think it’s staring at me." Realizing that he’s answered an unspoken thought again, he shoots me an apologetic look. "Sorry. Your opinion on the plate was very strong."

It’s a little eerie how much I’ve started to take the mind-dropping in stride. "There are worse things, you know."

"Than inheriting turkey apron plates?"

"No! Worse things than being a . . . well, you know."

He doesn’t answer at first, and I assume I’ve tried to push too far again. But then he says, "Like what?"

I hate it when people ask for examples. "Well, you could be dead dead, for one thing. And don’t even say that would be better," I order before he has a chance to say anything stupid.

"I wasn’t."

"Good. And you could be one of those vampires who looks like Batboy and has to sleep in the dirt of his homeland."

His lips twitch into the tiniest smile. "Tell me more, vampire expert."

I choose to ignore the subtle mockery in his voice as long as this makes him feel better. "You could get all bumpy when you want to, er, drink." I watch him, nervous that he can sense my lingering uneasiness with his new diet, and then point to my forehead. "Like a Klingon. Or an allergy victim."

"You sure do know a lot about vampires," he says, leaning close enough that our shoulders touch again.

"I know a normal amount," I say, embarrassed and more than a little distracted. "I can find you twenty people who know more. Most of them have book deals." I suddenly remember something else. "Oh! Oh! You could’ve lost your soul."

"Lost my soul?"

"Yeah. And while it doesn’t completely rule out romance, it makes it trickier."

"We wouldn’t want that."

"Nope," I agree before realizing that the atmosphere has suddenly turned . . . crackly? I don’t know. What I do know is that his eyes are warm as he leans forward; this is either a kiss or a very slow head-butt. And as much as I would like to make out right now on this card table, I don’t think that I can add another Serious Life Development to the pile. Not with everything else swirling around me.

"Vlad wants to marry me!" I blurt when he is only inches away.

He pulls back, obviously uncertain how to react. "Congratulations?" he tries.

"No, I mean, I want to figure out this Vlad thing before I can think of . . . anything else," I say.

"Oh," he says. "Okay."

"Right."

"Yes, right."

There’s a moment of awkward silence. "So . . . any great ideas? I think that we should tell him there’s a one-day boot sale in an abandoned warehouse and then pour molten lava on him from way high up in the rafters."

James just looks at me with an expression that I am choosing to interpret as admiration. "You are an interesting person, Sophie McGee," he says. "A strange, interesting person."

Says the teenage vampire who only buys furniture he doesn’t actually need. "What’s your idea then? Preferably something that can be done by Monday."

"Why Monday?"

"School."

"You’re kidding me."

"There’s a soccer game that I have to cover."

"So find someone else to do it."

"Yeah, because pawning off articles is going to look really good when Mr. Amado is about to pick editor in chief. Anyway, since he thinks he’s already found me, maybe he won’t even go."