stairway and settled at the back of Althea’s neck.
She had forgotten the vampire. Saturday—the game—the cheering—the victory—the party at Michael’s afterward! There had been no room for thoughts of vampires. She had been all-teenager, all-high-school, all-pretty girl.
Ryan wanted to look in the tower room.
What shall I do? she thought. How can I stop this? Where is the vampire?
What if he appeared in front of people? What if they saw him?
“It’s locked,” said Ryan pleadingly. “I can’t get in.”
Althea smiled at him helplessly, as if locks on attic doors were the natural order of things and she could no more solve that problem than she could change the constellations in the sky. She pretended that the din of rock music made hearing and speaking impossible.
Ryan made sign-language gestures, and they went into the kitchen for something to drink.
How bright it was in there! The big double-wide fridge was open, with heads of two guests crammed in, inspecting the contents. On the counter perched a girl Althea didn’t even know, crunching ice and eating potato chips. Somebody crashed my party, she thought, and she was oddly thrilled. You knew you were somebody when outsiders poured in, wanting to be part of the action.
I’m the action, Althea thought, and when Ryan spoke to her, she grinned widely and sparkled and giggled.
Ryan was only slightly taller than Althea, but much, much broader. He was wearing many layers: white shirt under a dark blue fleece vest, with a darker leather jacket. It was a good choice; a little sober, perhaps, but oh! so appealing. Thick as football armor, thought Althea. What would Ryan do if I hugged him? He’d probably hug back. It’s that kind of party. But I’ve never hugged a boy. Do I start now? In my kitchen? With all these witnesses?
“You’re hoarse,” said Ryan worriedly. “Here. Have orange juice. Pack in that vitamin C.” He pushed away the two heads at the fridge as if breaking up a huddle on the field, and one of the heads that popped up was Jennie’s.
“Althea’s voice is always hoarse like that,” said Jennie, smiling at the memories of their shared childhood.
Ryan was disbelieving. “Come on. That’s from too much cheerleading.”
“You can never cheer too much,” said Kimmie-Jo, taking her second Coke.
Jennie embarked on a long story of how she and Althea had once decided to be the jelly-doughnut-eating champions of the world. “It was sixth grade,” said Jennie fondly, “and every single Saturday night we slept over at your house or mine, Althea. Remember? We began on jelly doughnuts on a Sunday morning. By Sunday afternoon … ”
Althea had not thought of those sleepovers at Jennie’s in a long time. What fun they had had, just the two of them!
“We had the nicest times, didn’t we, Althea?” said Jennie softly.
Althea was filled with remembrance. They had had the nicest times. Althea’s eyes grew teary. “Oh, Jennie, I’ve missed you!”
The girls moved toward each other, tentatively at first, and then springing across the kitchen. Althea even forgot Ryan. She thought only of that special friendship, the lovely silly years when life was golden, and doughnuts were good.
“I’ve missed you, too!” cried Jennie. “I don’t know what happened when we hit high school. Something came between us! Let’s not ever let that happen again!”
“Never!” cried Althea, full of friendship, full of love. She put her arm around Jennie’s shoulder and hugged her tight.
Beyond the kitchen window, between the hemlocks, a path like a black sidewalk grew over the grass, slid across the porch, and crept through the silent windowpane. It left slime, gleaming like entrails.
Althea released Jennie and leaped back. “I didn’t mean that!”
Jennie and Ryan stared at her.
Althea said, “I didn’t hug you. You aren’t my choice.” Althea ran to the window to open it, screaming into the dark, “She isn’t my choice.”
But
She had forgotten the vampire. Saturday—the game—the cheering—the victory—the party at Michael’s afterward! There had been no room for thoughts of vampires. She had been all-teenager, all-high-school, all-pretty girl.
Ryan wanted to look in the tower room.
What shall I do? she thought. How can I stop this? Where is the vampire?
What if he appeared in front of people? What if they saw him?
“It’s locked,” said Ryan pleadingly. “I can’t get in.”
Althea smiled at him helplessly, as if locks on attic doors were the natural order of things and she could no more solve that problem than she could change the constellations in the sky. She pretended that the din of rock music made hearing and speaking impossible.
Ryan made sign-language gestures, and they went into the kitchen for something to drink.
How bright it was in there! The big double-wide fridge was open, with heads of two guests crammed in, inspecting the contents. On the counter perched a girl Althea didn’t even know, crunching ice and eating potato chips. Somebody crashed my party, she thought, and she was oddly thrilled. You knew you were somebody when outsiders poured in, wanting to be part of the action.
I’m the action, Althea thought, and when Ryan spoke to her, she grinned widely and sparkled and giggled.
Ryan was only slightly taller than Althea, but much, much broader. He was wearing many layers: white shirt under a dark blue fleece vest, with a darker leather jacket. It was a good choice; a little sober, perhaps, but oh! so appealing. Thick as football armor, thought Althea. What would Ryan do if I hugged him? He’d probably hug back. It’s that kind of party. But I’ve never hugged a boy. Do I start now? In my kitchen? With all these witnesses?
“You’re hoarse,” said Ryan worriedly. “Here. Have orange juice. Pack in that vitamin C.” He pushed away the two heads at the fridge as if breaking up a huddle on the field, and one of the heads that popped up was Jennie’s.
“Althea’s voice is always hoarse like that,” said Jennie, smiling at the memories of their shared childhood.
Ryan was disbelieving. “Come on. That’s from too much cheerleading.”
“You can never cheer too much,” said Kimmie-Jo, taking her second Coke.
Jennie embarked on a long story of how she and Althea had once decided to be the jelly-doughnut-eating champions of the world. “It was sixth grade,” said Jennie fondly, “and every single Saturday night we slept over at your house or mine, Althea. Remember? We began on jelly doughnuts on a Sunday morning. By Sunday afternoon … ”
Althea had not thought of those sleepovers at Jennie’s in a long time. What fun they had had, just the two of them!
“We had the nicest times, didn’t we, Althea?” said Jennie softly.
Althea was filled with remembrance. They had had the nicest times. Althea’s eyes grew teary. “Oh, Jennie, I’ve missed you!”
The girls moved toward each other, tentatively at first, and then springing across the kitchen. Althea even forgot Ryan. She thought only of that special friendship, the lovely silly years when life was golden, and doughnuts were good.
“I’ve missed you, too!” cried Jennie. “I don’t know what happened when we hit high school. Something came between us! Let’s not ever let that happen again!”
“Never!” cried Althea, full of friendship, full of love. She put her arm around Jennie’s shoulder and hugged her tight.
Beyond the kitchen window, between the hemlocks, a path like a black sidewalk grew over the grass, slid across the porch, and crept through the silent windowpane. It left slime, gleaming like entrails.
Althea released Jennie and leaped back. “I didn’t mean that!”
Jennie and Ryan stared at her.
Althea said, “I didn’t hug you. You aren’t my choice.” Althea ran to the window to open it, screaming into the dark, “She isn’t my choice.”
But
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