CHAPTER 28
Friday was weird.
Okay, that’s probably an understatement in light of everything that had happened to me. But it really was. Weird, I mean.
But weird in a good way.
Or, it didn’t start out good, but then it turned good. After it turned bad, I mean.
But it was mostly good. And even the bad was good. Probably.
I think.
Okay, rewind. The whole thing started right before first period. In the halls. With lots of whispering and finger-pointing. Not at me, but at Tamara. Because Jenny had posted the MP3 file to the Watch blog. Apparently someone had taken offense, and wanted to share the outrage. They’d made up a flyer and left stacks all over the hallways.
I picked one up.
IS THIS THE VOICE WE WANT?
Tamara McKnight, the Voice of Vitriol
Check it out at
http://thewaterloowatch.blogspot.com
And vote no!
The paper held no clue as to exactly what vitriol Tamara was spouting (that was okay, though, because you only had to listen in on the gossip for three seconds to figure it out). I didn’t have to listen, though. I knew. After all, I’d made the recording.
“This totally sucks. Slumming with the likes of Richie and Danielle and the rest of these dweebs,” she’d said. “I mean, save me from a life with the dull and slow-witted.”
She’d been talking with Stephen, so there was a lot more there. Stuff that gave away the whole vampire thing. I’d actually considered posting that, too, but decided against it. It was a trump card if I needed it, but I didn’t think I would.
This morning, I’d checked on the Waterloo Watch, and Tamara had slipped in the Voice polls. Stephen was still up there (I didn’t have a tape of him—not yet, anyway), but I was actually higher than Tamara. Which was particularly funny since Jenny had only put me on as a joke.
Anyway, that’s how the day started out good. It got weird (and bad) once I got to the lab. After first period, I made excuses to all of my teachers so that I got to cut classes and go work on my fictitious science fair project.
As for my real project, I wasn’t making any progress, because I’m not Albert Einstein or Madame Curie, and Stephen’s an idiot if he thinks I’m going to figure this thing out. (I mean, I am so screwed!) For about five seconds I’d considered asking my dad to take a look at my blood and tell me if he saw anything freaky weird, but then I realized that was a totally insane idea. What could I say? “Here, Dad, I’m a vampire, and I’m trying to find a cure”?
Um, no.
Which left me to do the work myself.
At any rate, there I was, analyzing the chemical components of vitamin D because UV light induces the production of vitamin D, so I figured it was worth a shot—maybe vampires are allergic to vitamin D and it’s not about the blood at all? It was a half-decent theory. Half because I wasn’t sure about the vitamin D part, but I knew UV light was part of the problem. I knew this because I’d put a UV lightbulb in a box yesterday, wired it up, then stuck my finger inside. I’d burned the hell out of the finger, screamed bloody murder, then patted myself on the back for being such a dedicated scientist.
And, fortunately for me, my crispy critter finger was whole again after I slept. All thanks to the wonders of vampiric blood.
At any rate, I was certain that the UV component of light was key somehow, I just wasn’t sure how. And I was making no headway whatsoever.
I had my head bent over a lab table, a beaker bubbling in front of me, and my plastic goggles on, out of habit.
That’s when Derek walked in.
“You,” he said, a finger pointed toward me and his face contorted.
I took a step backward, my hands up. “Whoa, Derek. What’s up?”
“Nothing’s up. You’re down.” He poked me in the chest. “You are so going down.”
“Get a grip. I haven’t done anything to you.”
“No? What about what you did to Ennis? What about—”
“I didn’t do anything to Ennis!”
But he wasn’t listening. “And Tamara!” he yelled. “You know what’s going to happen to us if those little jerks stop coming to the bar? What are we supposed to do then? And Stephen thinks you’re some great hope? You’re just stuck-up. That’s what you are. A stuck-up little princess who thinks she’s smarter than everyone else.”
He’d backed me into a corner, and he’d brought a glass beaker with him. Now he smashed it against the side of the lab table and rushed me. I yelped and cowered, but it didn’t do any good. The glass came down, slicing my shoulder and sending pain searing through me.
The smell of blood filled the air, making me hungry even though I knew it was my own. I yelped and tried to move backward, but I was as far back as I could go.
“I don’t care what Stephen says. You’re going to ruin it for all of us!”
“But I didn’t—”
“Shut up!”
I shut up. I mean, he obviously didn’t believe me. And I was pretty much lying anyway.
“Just because I can’t kill you doesn’t mean I can’t make it bad for you,” he said. “How’d you like to be alive in little pieces, scattered all over Zilker Park?”
“Derek, come on! You don’t really want to—”
“Oh, I think I do.”
And then he lunged again, only this time he had a knife, and I screamed and—
Oh. My. God.
Suddenly he was a big cloud of ash fluttering in the air, and then falling to the ground. I blinked, terrified and relieved and I don’t know what else.
And there, standing right in front of me, was Clayton, holding a wooden stake.
“Oh gosh, oh gosh, oh gosh!” I started to run to Clayton, realized I’d have to run over Derek’s remains, and ended up sort of standing there. “He was going to rip me to shreds!”
“I know,” Clayton said, slipping the stake in his back pocket—it was a totally cool maneuver—and sidestepping Derek. Then he held on to my uninjured shoulder. I sort of stood there, kind of trembly, and still not entirely sure what happened. “You okay?”
I nodded. “I think. I mean, yes. I mean . . . thank you.” I was barely whispering. And I was looking right at him. And when I saw him leaning in, I actually held my breath even though I wasn’t, you know, actually breathing.
And then he kissed me. (Which was the good part, in case you’re wondering.) And then Mr. Jordan opened the door, and we both jumped.
“I thought I heard a crash,” he said.
“Um, yeah,” I said. “I dropped a beaker.”
“Hmmm.” He looked at Clayton. “Don’t you have a class, Mr. Greene?”
“Yeah,” he said. Then he held up a laminated card. “But I had to talk to Beth. And I have a hall pass.”
“Finish up,” Mr. Jordan said. He started to leave, then paused, eyeing both of us. “And leave the door open.”
My cheeks flamed, and if I’d drunk any more blood that day, I swear I would have been bright red. I took a step back, rubbing my palms on my jeans out of habit. Vampires, it appeared, didn’t get sweaty palms.
“Um, so, what are we going to do?” I asked.
“About what?”
“About what?! About Derek!”
He glanced at the dust. “You didn’t see him. I didn’t see him.” He hooked a finger under my chin. “You got it?”
“I got it.”
He started toward the door, then he stopped and turned back to me. “He was already dead, you know. There wasn’t any coming back for him.”
I stifled a shiver.
“We’re getting you back,” he said with a smile that left me all tingly again. “And I’ll stake anybody that tries to stop us.”
And that part was good, too.
My whole situation, though . . . this whole vampire thing? Well, it was still very, very bad.