the window was already open.
The kitchen no longer smelled of potato chips and dip, of pizza and pepperoni. It smelled of mold and rot.
The kitchen was no longer bright and airy. The atmosphere thickened. Ryan coughed and said he thought he’d go back to the other room. Jennie said dimly, “Althea?” Jennie’s face was strangely blank, as if she had temporarily left her body. “I think I’ll go outdoors for a while, Althea. I think I need fresh air.”
“No,” whispered Althea. “You don’t need fresh air. Stay here, Jennie.” I’ve got to hang on to her, thought Althea, keep her indoors. Keep her safe!
But she was too afraid. She hugged herself to keep from screaming again, and that left no hands free to reach out and hold Jennie.
Jennie’s hand fumbled for the back door and could not find the knob. It did not matter. The knob turned by itself. Jennie stumbled forward and could not find the step. But it did not matter. A hand appeared to help her. A hand with long, warped fingernails. A hand the color of mushrooms.
Chapter 10
T HE DEBRIS OF A finished party filled the house: crushed napkins and empty paper plates, ice melting at the bottom of glasses and pizza crusts on coffee tables.
“What a success it was,” said the vampire. “You can be very pleased, Althea. And don’t worry about the little scene in the kitchen. I will see that nobody remembers it.”
Althea was screaming like a cheerleader, but throwing chairs and paintings and pieces of china instead of pom-poms.
“Jennie will not remember a thing,” protested the vampire. “You saw Celeste. It takes energy to have a memory. Jennie’s going to be very tired.”
The smile that had stayed on Althea’s face from Saturday’s football game all the way through Sunday’s party had exhausted her facial muscles. Now she had tics in both cheeks. Her face jumped and twitched. “That’s not what I meant!” screamed Althea. “I did not mean for you to touch Jennie! I yelled out the window. I told you to stop.”
“Once things are set in motion,” said the vampire, “they cannot necessarily be stopped.”
“It was necessary!” she shrieked. “I told you to stop! Stopping was necessary!”
“I thought you said popularity was necessary,” said the vampire. “You can’t have both, you know. And you made your choice very clear.”
“That’s not what I meant when I hugged Jennie!”
“That’s what you did, though,” said the vampire. In the dark he glowed, like a phosphorescent fungus.
Althea ricocheted off the walls, pounding them, kicking them. “You know perfectly well that I was hugging Jennie because I felt affection for her!” screamed Althea.
“We agreed that when you put your arm around a girl at your party, it would be the girl who did not matter. In any event, there’s no point in discussing it. It’s done. It’s over. There is no going back.”
Althea’s knees buckled. She tried to hang on to the wall, but the wall was flat and offered no support. She sank to the floor. The floor was filthy, where people had tracked in dirt and stepped on potato chips. “You—you—depraved—disgusting—horrible—” Althea could not think of enough words to fling at him. Jennie and I were going to be friends again! she thought. How dare he go ahead like that when he knew I didn’t mean it!
“Kindly stop placing blame on others. It’s you ,” corrected the vampire. “I told you what the arrangement would be, and you accepted. You chose Jennie. You said this one doesn’t matter.”
Althea crushed a dreadful thought. That girl sitting on the counter, the one who crashed the party—why hadn’t Althea put her arm around that girl? Nobody even knew her name! That girl didn’t matter.
Althea’s hands and heart and spine turned cold and stony. I thought that, she thought. I am a terrible person. I must not have that thought again. “Everybody matters,” whispered Althea.
“Why didn’t you feel that way with
The kitchen no longer smelled of potato chips and dip, of pizza and pepperoni. It smelled of mold and rot.
The kitchen was no longer bright and airy. The atmosphere thickened. Ryan coughed and said he thought he’d go back to the other room. Jennie said dimly, “Althea?” Jennie’s face was strangely blank, as if she had temporarily left her body. “I think I’ll go outdoors for a while, Althea. I think I need fresh air.”
“No,” whispered Althea. “You don’t need fresh air. Stay here, Jennie.” I’ve got to hang on to her, thought Althea, keep her indoors. Keep her safe!
But she was too afraid. She hugged herself to keep from screaming again, and that left no hands free to reach out and hold Jennie.
Jennie’s hand fumbled for the back door and could not find the knob. It did not matter. The knob turned by itself. Jennie stumbled forward and could not find the step. But it did not matter. A hand appeared to help her. A hand with long, warped fingernails. A hand the color of mushrooms.
Chapter 10
T HE DEBRIS OF A finished party filled the house: crushed napkins and empty paper plates, ice melting at the bottom of glasses and pizza crusts on coffee tables.
“What a success it was,” said the vampire. “You can be very pleased, Althea. And don’t worry about the little scene in the kitchen. I will see that nobody remembers it.”
Althea was screaming like a cheerleader, but throwing chairs and paintings and pieces of china instead of pom-poms.
“Jennie will not remember a thing,” protested the vampire. “You saw Celeste. It takes energy to have a memory. Jennie’s going to be very tired.”
The smile that had stayed on Althea’s face from Saturday’s football game all the way through Sunday’s party had exhausted her facial muscles. Now she had tics in both cheeks. Her face jumped and twitched. “That’s not what I meant!” screamed Althea. “I did not mean for you to touch Jennie! I yelled out the window. I told you to stop.”
“Once things are set in motion,” said the vampire, “they cannot necessarily be stopped.”
“It was necessary!” she shrieked. “I told you to stop! Stopping was necessary!”
“I thought you said popularity was necessary,” said the vampire. “You can’t have both, you know. And you made your choice very clear.”
“That’s not what I meant when I hugged Jennie!”
“That’s what you did, though,” said the vampire. In the dark he glowed, like a phosphorescent fungus.
Althea ricocheted off the walls, pounding them, kicking them. “You know perfectly well that I was hugging Jennie because I felt affection for her!” screamed Althea.
“We agreed that when you put your arm around a girl at your party, it would be the girl who did not matter. In any event, there’s no point in discussing it. It’s done. It’s over. There is no going back.”
Althea’s knees buckled. She tried to hang on to the wall, but the wall was flat and offered no support. She sank to the floor. The floor was filthy, where people had tracked in dirt and stepped on potato chips. “You—you—depraved—disgusting—horrible—” Althea could not think of enough words to fling at him. Jennie and I were going to be friends again! she thought. How dare he go ahead like that when he knew I didn’t mean it!
“Kindly stop placing blame on others. It’s you ,” corrected the vampire. “I told you what the arrangement would be, and you accepted. You chose Jennie. You said this one doesn’t matter.”
Althea crushed a dreadful thought. That girl sitting on the counter, the one who crashed the party—why hadn’t Althea put her arm around that girl? Nobody even knew her name! That girl didn’t matter.
Althea’s hands and heart and spine turned cold and stony. I thought that, she thought. I am a terrible person. I must not have that thought again. “Everybody matters,” whispered Althea.
“Why didn’t you feel that way with
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