hide?â
âNot like vampires. I mean, maybe if he were an actual werewolf, heâd have something to hide, but Iâm talking essence. A vibe. A werewolf isnât in control of what happens to him. The monster comes out and takes over, but the rest of the time heâs a regular, warm-and-fuzzy guy, like a really sweet dog.â
âSo youâre calling Ben a dog?â
âNo, Benâs hot, but heâs also sweet.â
âOkay, so whoâs a vampire?â
She thought for a second. âMalcolm. Malcolm Sweeney is a vampire.â
Evy had kept a thing going with Malcolm Sweeney for a solid three months, which for Evy was kind of a long time. She ended it, but I couldnât ever tell if she was really done with him.
âOkay, so being a vampire is a bad thing?â
âNo. No, not at all. I hooked up with him, didnât I?â
Evy luxuriatedâthatâs the only word for itârose up with her knees to the side, mermaid-style, and stretched her arms out in all directions, rolling her wrists so her hands did a grasping dance against the black sky. For a second, it looked like she was catching stars.
âBut you get the vampire vibe,â she said.
I did. Malcolm was thin and sleek with thick, black hair that seemed immune to mussing. âHis mom is half Japanese,â Evy told me once, supremely delighted to possess the secret of Malcolmâs hair.
Malcolm was nice enough, but there was an edge to him, like a constant, electrical hum. Evy pushed his buttons, but he rarely lashed out. Instead, the hum went up a few watts, Malcolmâs smile tightened, and he seemed to file the slight away, to bring out and exploit at a later date.
That was part of why it never really clicked between Evy and Malcolm. She liked immediate feedback, a pot boiling over. Malcolm simmered.
So Malcolm was a vampire, âbecause heâs calculating,â Evy said. âHe doesnât act on impulse. A vampire is all about control.â
âIs he draining ?â I asked, fishing, and Evy took the bait, lying down beside me so close that the weight of her hair tugged against mine.
âMalcolm was exhausting,â she offered, a smirk in her voice. âHe wasnât happy with me how I am. He acted like he was, but he wasnât. Itâs that control thing again.â
When Evy had first started seeing Malcolm, Iâd been jealousâa little. Not that I would ever let a guy come between me and Evy, but Malcolm . . . I sat behind him all last year in History, where Mr. Reyes taught by writing notes on the board for us to copy. Because I was fast at copying things down, I had a lot of time to study the way the light hit Malcolmâs hairâthe color of the blackest coffee, I decided, or dark chocolate, shining sky white in a shaft of sun.
But all that was dumb because a guy like Malcolm wouldnât be interested in a girl like me. In books, guys like Malcolm notice whatâs inside, whatâs underneath, but in real life they mostly just hook up with girls like Evy.
When they started dating, Iâd been happy for them. I wrote it in my diary: âIâm happy for Evy. She should have a good guy who loves her. And if I care about Malcolm at all, I should be happy that he has Evy. Sheâs the best present I could give him.â
âGive him,â like Iâd made it all happen.
I meant I was giving her up. Giving up so much of Evy to Malcolm was a sacrifice, one I told myself I was happy to make if that was what Evy needed.
âOkay, so Malcolmâs a vampire,â I said, âbut what about guys who donât fit either category?â
âThey all do, more or less,â Evy said.
âJamal.â
âWerewolf. Have you seen him wrestle?â
âSo werewolves are good at sports?â
âItâs an animal thing. Vampires can be strong, very strong, but theyâre not so prone to . . .
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