ruined it by taking pity on him.
“Eli, we should be back before too long. Why don’t you come by after you eat dinner tonight and you and Jane can work on your project for a couple of hours then?” I could not believe she was doing this to me.
“Really? That would be great. Thank you, Mrs. Jones. So, Jane, I guess I’ll see you around seven?”
Before I could even think of another excuse, he was out the door and on his skateboard, pushing down our front walk. I watched him shift his weight to turn the corner and roll off down our street. “I guess,” I said to nobody, shoving the door closed. Then I wheeled around, ready to pounce on my meddlesome mother—but she was already at the front closet, wearing an old L.L.Bean barn jacket and sunglasses, trying to dig the keys to the Volvo out of her overstuffed purse.
“What are you doing?”
“Well, I guess we’re going shopping, right?”
“Ma!” I rolled my eyes. “There isn’t really a bra sale!
You
made it up, remember? I was just trying to blow him off.”
“Jane, I know. But now he’s coming over at seven and we really do have to pick up a few things so this house looks a little more … lived in.” She looked at me, on-the-ball mother to clueless teenaged daughter. “I’d like to be able to show your guest a little hospitality.”
I wanted to say,
You seem to be forgetting that it washospitality that got us into this whole mess all those years ago.
But I had used my mouth for evil enough for one day. In a weird way, my mother even looked kind of excited as she rummaged around in the bottom of her bag and came up with a fistful of keys. So, for once, I just shut up.
six
The next morning, I stayed in bed later than usual. My atrophied stomach muscles ached. Apparently, vomiting is more of an abdominal workout than I’d remembered. “Jaaaaaaane. Time to get up, Sleeping Doody!” I opened one eye to see my little brother poking his head between the heavy velveteen light-blocking drapes on my canopy bed.
“Ugh, Zachary,” I said, calling him by the new alias he’d chosen when we’d moved to this town. “Can you never come in my room without knocking again?”
He banged his knuckles on the wall above my head. “I’m knocking! Is this good?” I grabbed a throw pillow and threw it at his head. (That’s what they’re for, right?) Zachary dodged, then darted out of my room, shouting, “Ma, Jane is throwing things at me!” I knew it was pointless to wish that the twerp would grow up, but I couldn’t help myself.
Slowly, I sat up and eased my legs over the side of the bed, gingerly placing my feet on the floor. I am not a morning vampire. I mean, most vampires don’t exactly jump out of bed whistling a tune when the sun comes up, but even before I was a vampire, I hated mornings. Even when I was just a girl, living in a little house on the prairie, getting me up and out of bed to do my chores was like pulling teeth. And speaking of teeth, my fangs were out. I was hungry and weak.
I shuffled across my bedroom carpet and switched off the humming sunlamps before my skin started to sizzle. One really small good thing about being a vampire is that you rarely sweat, so BO is not much of a problem. Bathing wasn’t something we did super-regularly back in the day, and even though I like to have a soak sometimes at night to relax, I can definitely skip a shower in the morning with no problem. I didn’t even bother sniffing my armpits. I felt around for my glasses, poked myself in the eye twice trying to get them on my face, then pulled on some “vintage” jeans, which I’d actually bought new in the nineties, and a gray hoodie from the athletic department of some school I’d gone to ten or twelve years ago.
Contrary to what you’d think, I don’t go around wearing Gothy capes or black lipstick. Any dark clothes or makeup would just accentuate how pale my complexionis, and that’s not really what I’m going for. Sure, I’d love to
“Eli, we should be back before too long. Why don’t you come by after you eat dinner tonight and you and Jane can work on your project for a couple of hours then?” I could not believe she was doing this to me.
“Really? That would be great. Thank you, Mrs. Jones. So, Jane, I guess I’ll see you around seven?”
Before I could even think of another excuse, he was out the door and on his skateboard, pushing down our front walk. I watched him shift his weight to turn the corner and roll off down our street. “I guess,” I said to nobody, shoving the door closed. Then I wheeled around, ready to pounce on my meddlesome mother—but she was already at the front closet, wearing an old L.L.Bean barn jacket and sunglasses, trying to dig the keys to the Volvo out of her overstuffed purse.
“What are you doing?”
“Well, I guess we’re going shopping, right?”
“Ma!” I rolled my eyes. “There isn’t really a bra sale!
You
made it up, remember? I was just trying to blow him off.”
“Jane, I know. But now he’s coming over at seven and we really do have to pick up a few things so this house looks a little more … lived in.” She looked at me, on-the-ball mother to clueless teenaged daughter. “I’d like to be able to show your guest a little hospitality.”
I wanted to say,
You seem to be forgetting that it washospitality that got us into this whole mess all those years ago.
But I had used my mouth for evil enough for one day. In a weird way, my mother even looked kind of excited as she rummaged around in the bottom of her bag and came up with a fistful of keys. So, for once, I just shut up.
six
The next morning, I stayed in bed later than usual. My atrophied stomach muscles ached. Apparently, vomiting is more of an abdominal workout than I’d remembered. “Jaaaaaaane. Time to get up, Sleeping Doody!” I opened one eye to see my little brother poking his head between the heavy velveteen light-blocking drapes on my canopy bed.
“Ugh, Zachary,” I said, calling him by the new alias he’d chosen when we’d moved to this town. “Can you never come in my room without knocking again?”
He banged his knuckles on the wall above my head. “I’m knocking! Is this good?” I grabbed a throw pillow and threw it at his head. (That’s what they’re for, right?) Zachary dodged, then darted out of my room, shouting, “Ma, Jane is throwing things at me!” I knew it was pointless to wish that the twerp would grow up, but I couldn’t help myself.
Slowly, I sat up and eased my legs over the side of the bed, gingerly placing my feet on the floor. I am not a morning vampire. I mean, most vampires don’t exactly jump out of bed whistling a tune when the sun comes up, but even before I was a vampire, I hated mornings. Even when I was just a girl, living in a little house on the prairie, getting me up and out of bed to do my chores was like pulling teeth. And speaking of teeth, my fangs were out. I was hungry and weak.
I shuffled across my bedroom carpet and switched off the humming sunlamps before my skin started to sizzle. One really small good thing about being a vampire is that you rarely sweat, so BO is not much of a problem. Bathing wasn’t something we did super-regularly back in the day, and even though I like to have a soak sometimes at night to relax, I can definitely skip a shower in the morning with no problem. I didn’t even bother sniffing my armpits. I felt around for my glasses, poked myself in the eye twice trying to get them on my face, then pulled on some “vintage” jeans, which I’d actually bought new in the nineties, and a gray hoodie from the athletic department of some school I’d gone to ten or twelve years ago.
Contrary to what you’d think, I don’t go around wearing Gothy capes or black lipstick. Any dark clothes or makeup would just accentuate how pale my complexionis, and that’s not really what I’m going for. Sure, I’d love to
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