Vampire Crush(54)
Author: A.M. Robinson

"Yes," I tell Lindsay, "just try to keep me away."

Chapter Seventeen

By the time I drag my feet through Thomas Jeff’s heavy glass doors the next morning, I am running on one hour of sleep, bus fumes, and the three bites of cereal I managed to take before Caroline’s over-the-breakfast-table scowl put the fear of sisterly retribution in me. She didn’t say anything, but I knew she was mad by the way she ate three bowls of Fruity Pebbles, finishing off the box before I could go for seconds. Caroline doesn’t ingest that many carbs unless she’s getting back at someone. At least now I know the reason.

It only takes a few steps into the crowded lobby for me to realize that there’s no possibility of getting through today unnoticed. For the first time in my life, whispers dog me through the hallways, all of which involve the words "Vlad" and "party" and "engaged." When I round the corner and see Danny Baumann bending over one of the school’s anemic water fountains, I realize that this is the perfect chance to start the rumor-squashing process. I just have to get up the nerve to talk to him.

His light blond hair curls at the neck, and he is wearing the shorts that entranced me so long ago in World Geography, but I am not here to ogle. Much like the hungry lion approaches the gentle, mega-attractive antelope, I move slowly, stealthily. I catch him as he turns around.

"Hey there. I have a favor to ask you," I say, fully expecting him to ask who I am and why I am talking to him. But he just leans against the wall and wipes his mouth with his shirt, relaxed as casual Friday. When we get married, I’m going to buy him a napkin.

"Yo, Sophs," he says. "What’s up?"

"You know my name."

"Sure. You told me the difference between Uganda and Uruguay. South America, man. Crazy."

I am aflutter that he remembers our special moment, but all I tell him is that I’m not dating or engaged to or involved in any other sort of relationship with Vlad. "And I was kind of hoping you could spread the word," I finish.

"That’s not what he says. Dude is, like, madly in love with you."

"But I’m saying that it is not true. And I thought maybe you could correct people if they mention it?" I give him a hopeful smile. "Okay?"

"I dunno. I don’t want to get in the middle or anything. Guy kind of weirds me out."

That gives me pause; last week Vlad was still topping the charts. But by the time I think to ask for more detail, he’s already ambling away to do whatever Danny Baumanns do all day.

The next few hallways are better, and I start to think that maybe things aren’t as bad as the lobby made them out to be. But when I turn the final corner to my locker, the hope dies. A large cluster of people stands before it; I see sports jerseys and cheerleader costumes, but also a few pairs of ripped tights and dark band T-shirts. Morgan Michaels, my locker neighbor, flutters around the edge in a long crepe skirt.

"I’m going to be late," she accuses when I reach the edge. "This is the fourth day."

"Did someone write ‘French sucks’ on my locker again?" I ask just as the circle shifts to reveal a wall of bloodred roses where my dented, magic-marker-smudged door should be. There are dozens. Hundreds.

"Do you like it?" a smooth voice asks from behind me. When I turn around, Vlad is leaning against the opposite wall, smiling with sly expectation. Sauntering forward, he taps his cheek. "You may show your thanks as you see fit."

Well, if he insists. Turning to the locker, I rip off the rose that’s looped through the handle and throw it at his crotch, smiling when it elicits an undignified gasp. "Thank you," I say sweetly, "for making me late to math class."

There are a few snickers as I open my locker and bat away the roses that rain down. Keeping my head firmly buried in the jumble of old newsletters and orphaned pen caps, I concentrate on digging out my math book. I am pulling it out from underneath Mangez avec moi, our  p**n y-sounding French textbook, when the tips of Vlad’s boots appear beneath the locker door. I stand up and meet his eyes, matching his scowl and raising him a glare before I remember that, while he probably can’t force anything here, at some point I will either have to seduce the night crew or go home. Self-preservation kicks in; perhaps I should not provoke a hallway showdown.

"Excuse me," I say with frigid politeness and try to ease past him.

He grabs my elbow. "I thought you would like them."

"I’m allergic."

"Your eyes are not red."

"I’m sneezing on the inside."

At a loss, Vlad turns to study our circle of onlookers. When I first arrived, their faces held only curiosity. But now I’m encouraged by their obvious unease. One girl with a nose ring and Manic-Panicked hair is texting rapidly and pausing every few seconds to look up warily. I hear a few scattered "weirds."

"You all want to go to class," he booms, and while this causes a few people to hitch up their books and shuffle away, the majority stay put. He begins to look nervous, changes tactics. "Sophochka is still feeling a little out of sorts due to her recent illness," he says. "It has affected her judgment."

Oh, vomit.

"My judgment is fine," I say. "Your judgment is the one that’s out of whack."

I can’t tell what enrages him more; my words or the fact that there are witnesses. He grabs my free hand in a way that, to an onlooker, might appear to be a romantic gesture, but I can feel his thumb pressing down on the pulse of my wrist. I try to pull away, but he still has the advantage in the strength department. "You are embarrassing me," he hisses into my ear. "I would suggest refraining from that in the future."

"I have to go to class," I say loudly and catch the eyes of as many people as I can.

"Hey man, let her go," says a short and stocky guy near the front, while the girl who was texting earlier says that she’s going to go get Ms. Kate. The murmuring increases, and for a moment Vlad simply looks betrayed.

"Very well," he says loudly for their benefit, and lets me go. He scoops up an errant rose and places it on top of my binder with a flourish. "We will continue this conversation later."

I knock it off and brush past him, but curiosity makes me look back before I round the corner. I immediately regret it. I have been on the receiving end of many heated looks in my day, but nothing compared to the one Vlad is giving me now. His back is to the crowd, his head angled down so that only I can see the way his eyes follow me from beneath his drooping bangs. They are full of such raw desire, such menace, and such hatred that my body revolts. As soon as he realizes that I am watching, he scrambles to realign them into something more benign, but it is too late. I’ve already seen what a mistake it was to come today.