CHAPTER 24
Arvin’s revelation had totally freaked me out. But I knew he was right—even if I couldn’t figure out how he could be right. After all, he’d been right about the Vivarin. I’d tried it about an hour before sunup, and the caffeine had given me the extra jolt of peppiness I needed to listen to the recording on my cell phone. And, let me tell you, there was some very interesting stuff there.
I’d been about to download it to an MP3 file and e-mail it to Jenny when Clayton had banged at my window, signaling that it was time for us to head to school. The streets were pretty deserted, and we got there in no time.
“If I fall asleep,” I said as we crept into the journalism room, “you’ll drag me somewhere dark and out of the way, right?” The last thing I wanted was all sorts of rumors flying about the valedictorian passed out in the journalism room.
“No problem,” he said. “I’ll just lock you in the darkroom.”
I made a face—because it stinks in there—but saw that he was laughing. “Okay, then,” I said. “So long as you have a plan . . .”
“Do you have a plan?” He was looking at me with interest, and I didn’t know what to tell him. There’s a long cabinet in the journalism room—we use it to lay out the paper—and I pulled myself up and sat there, legs swinging in front of me.
I shook my head, frustrated. “I have to kill him. Except—”
“You can’t kill him.”
“Kind of a pickle, huh?”
He raised an eyebrow. “A pickle? You really are as innocent as everyone says, aren’t you?”
I bared my teeth at him, trying to look anything but innocent. “Watch yourself, Greene. I’m not innocent anymore. I’m trouble.”
And—damn him—he laughed!
After a second, I laughed, too. “Fine,” I said, between giggles. “It’s not a pickle. It’s completely screwed up. Better?”
“Much. So what are you going to do about it?”
“I wish I knew.” I yawned, then looked at Clayton with a mixture of horror and determination.
“Here,” he said, quickly. “Drink.”
I found a straw shoved in my face. The straw, I saw, led to one of those soft-pack water bottles, the kind that serious cyclists wear. I didn’t need to ask what was in the bottle; I could smell the delicious scent already. Blood. Glorious blood. And, I was certain, a healthy dosage of crushed-up Vivarin.
I drank, and Clayton watched, his eyes never leaving my face. Well, almost never. Once the straw turned red, I noticed him staring at it rather than me. Can’t say I blamed him. I mean, we both knew I wasn’t sucking down cranberry juice.
As soon as I’d sucked the pack dry, I felt a bit perkier. Actually, I felt wired. “How much Vivarin did you put in there, anyway?”
He shrugged. “The box.”
Great. I was going to be the first vampire in history to OD on caffeine pills.
“We can’t risk you passing out during algebra,” he said, apparently reading my mind.
I just scowled. This whole thing was totally messing with my mood. And although I’d noticed that my mood was definitely lighter in Clayton’s presence (what was up with that?) for the most part, I was understandably grumpy. I mean, who wouldn’t be? Some freaky Latin puzzle to solve and a burning desire for revenge.
“What?” Clayton asked.
I realized I was frowning, my forehead scrunched up in concentration. “I’m having a little trouble reconciling the fact that your grandpa says I have to kill Stephen with the whole vamps-can’t-kill-their-masters thing.”
“Yeah, that’s a problem.” He sighed. “I’d do it for you if I could.”
“I know,” I said, looking at my shoes before managing the courage to look up at him with a smile. “Thanks.”
He looked so bummed that I felt all warm and tingly again. Or maybe the tingle was just the Vivarin-drenched blood working its way through my body. Either way, it felt nice. And, in case you’re wondering, vamps can blush.
“What about the others?” he asked.
“Others?”
“The other vamps. You can’t kill Stephen, but—”
“Whoa there, sport,” I said. “In case you forgot, I’m supposed to be Cooperation Girl. I start killing off Stephen’s friends, I have a feeling that he isn’t gonna be too keen on keeping me undead. Just dead dead. Besides,” I added, “if they’re above me on the vamp food chain, Stephen says I can’t kill them, either.”
“But they could kill you.”
“Thanks for reminding me.”
He frowned. “So what are you going to do?”
I lifted the corner of my mouth in a smile—the one my mother always says makes me look like I’m up to something. Because I’d been thinking about that very thing. And about the recording on my cell phone. And about the popular kids in general.
And I finally had a plan.
Well, sort of, anyway.