Vampire Crush by A. M. Robinson

“What’s the real relationship between Vlad and Marisabel?”
    His eyes widen. “That’s not … I don’t … they’re siblings,”
    he finishes lamely.
    “Right. Then what sort of company do Vlad’s parents work for that sends them on an extended business trip to Europe? And how are your parents okay with six teenagers living together? And what does Vlad mean when he says that he’s—”
    He stands up so quickly that the student desk crashes forward. Before I can react, he leans toward me and grabs my hand, his grip crushing. “It was wonderful chatting with you,” he says. “I mean it; I enjoyed our talk. But you should stop asking so many questions,” he says. “Please.”
    And then he’s out the door before I can even ask him to wait.
    I replay the interview on the drive home, cursing myself for being too aggressive and wondering about the tattoo and Nevil e’s mysterious “they.” I think back to the tiny snippet I overheard that first day in the cafeteria, when they were at odds over the importance of going to Basic Skil s; Vlad definitely acts as though he is the boss of something and an organization of some sort would explain why they al arrived knowing one another. As I pul into the driveway behind Caroline’s silver VW Bug, I brainstorm possibilities
    —a cult? A social experiment? A new low for MTV reality shows?—but al of them seem preposterous and none of them explain why his number-one priority upon arriving was to make a beeline for Caroline.
    Which reminds me: The first order of business is to convince my sister to dump Vlad. Normal y I try to avoid discussing guys with Caroline. When we were eight, I told her that the boy she had a crush on picked his nose and she punched me. But considering that dating Vlad seems far more dangerous than a few stray boogers, I’m going to have to try again. Stil , I wish I could delay the talk until later, like after she’s eaten a tub of ice cream. Or better yet, after she’s been accidental y hit with a tranquilizer dart while on African safari.
    Caroline’s bedroom is on the second floor. The door is already open when I get there, and I catch her standing in the middle of the beige carpet, trying on a pink sundress that matches the wal s and makes her look like the bal erina in a jewelry box. A tag stil dangles beneath the armpit, and she tugs at it while sucking in her cheeks and examining herself in the ful -length mirror. After a few deep, calming breaths, I knock lightly on the jamb.
    “Sophie! Okay, so what do you think?” she asks as she whirls to face me, holding out the skirt of her sundress. “I think it makes me look like a cupcake.”
    “Do you want to look like a cupcake?”
    “Sure.” She twists around to check out her butt in the mirror. “I want Vlad to bite.”
    Thank you, segue gods. “I wanted to talk to you about him, actual y,” I say as I take a seat on the edge of her daybed. “I overheard something that made me uncomfortable.”
    “Like what? Sometimes he can get a little nosy with the questions,” she says, alternating between a series of little flouncing hops and rocking onto the bal s of her feet like she’s wearing invisible heels. “I just ignore him.”
    “I heard him talking to Marisabel in the hal way, talking about you. I think he’s hiding something, and I think he’s dangerous.” Out loud it sounds melodramatic, like I’m starring in a Lifetime movie. I would cal this one He’s Crazy and Has a Fake Sister .
    She waves a hand in my general direction. “Don’t be ridiculous. Do my calves look fat to you?”
    I should have spent more time breathing outside the door.
    “Caroline, I’m serious. There’s something weird about this whole situation.”
    Caroline stops twisting in front of the mirror to catch my gaze in the reflection. “You know, I’m surprised,” she says. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you jealous before.”
    “You can’t be serious.”
    “You never go for the guys