overturned school bus. It must have been pretty grisly, because Dad told me not to look. But I wasn’t looking at the wreckage; I was more interested in all the confused blue kids who were wandering around, darting past the slow-moving traffic and sometimes passing right through cars. I remember saying something to Dad about how kids shouldn’t walk in the middle of the highway. Of course, he couldn’t see what I was referring to. I was only three years old, but that was when Dad could no longer deny that I had the same abilities as my mom.
Mom, of course, had realized this much earlier—when I was just a few months old. When I was six, she told me about the day she took me for a walk in my stroller past old Mr. Albertson’s house. Mr. Albertson had died years earlier, but he’d built that house with his own hands, and he wasn’t about to leave. As long as its new owners took good care of the place, he was a very polite, quiet ghost. That day he was in the yard, inspecting the front porch steps. He paused long enough to make silly faces atme, which made me laugh. To anyone else, it would have looked like I was shrieking gleefully at an empty yard, but Mom knew better. She’d wondered if I would have abilities like hers, and my reaction to Mr. Albertson proved I did. After that, she raised me to see ghosts as a normal part of life, although she’d emphasized that being able to see them was something special, and that I shouldn’t broadcast my ability because not everyone would understand it.
I wasn’t sure why I told Tim all that. It’s not like I’m usually eager to outline all the ways I’m weird and freaky. He was just so genuinely interested that…I guess it made me feel sort of important. It was nice to share all that with someone without being ridiculed.
Still, now that my mom had come up, I was pretty sure I knew where the conversation was headed. I didn’t want to talk about her, or the night she died, or anything like that, so I changed the subject. “So why doesn’t Isobel like you?”
“Oh.” He looked a little sheepish. “Isobel doesn’t really like anyone. But me in particular…She doesn’t like me because I’m a vampire.”
Okay. What the heck was I supposed to say to that?
He continued immediately, saving me from the obligation of a quick reply. “Half vampire, really. But that still counts.”
“Ha-ha. Counts. Vampire.”
“I’m not kidding, Violet. I’ve always known I was…different.”
“Haven’t we all?” I wanted to point out that he didn’t know what “different” was unless he too had gotten in trouble in kindergarten for insisting that the long-deceased teacher said it was okay to go to the bathroom. Mrs. Bloomington had once taught kindergarten at Palmetto Elementary, but she’d also been dead for over fifteen years. My current teacher had neither appreciated nor condoned my disappearing act and my excuse that her late predecessor had given me permission to leave the classroom. That was before I really understood that not only could most people not see ghosts, but that they didn’t even believe they existed. And how was I to know that the authority of a living person outweighed a dead one?
“See, my dad left my mom before I was born,” Tim said.
“Have you ever met him?”
“No. I used to ask Mom about him, and all she’d say was that he drained her dry, financially and emotionally. Then I saw this old Dracula movie on cable, and…I dunno. I guess my imagination kind of took over. Plus, I like rare hamburgers, and I can see pretty well in the dark, and I really hate garlic and sunlight.”
“You were just in the sun half an hour ago, on the way home from the bus stop.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t like it.”
“You weren’t even wearing sunglasses!”
“I forgot them at home today.”
I was tempted to tell him he was being ridiculous, but the thing was, I felt like I was the last person to chastise someone for their beliefs. I mean, hello?
Mom, of course, had realized this much earlier—when I was just a few months old. When I was six, she told me about the day she took me for a walk in my stroller past old Mr. Albertson’s house. Mr. Albertson had died years earlier, but he’d built that house with his own hands, and he wasn’t about to leave. As long as its new owners took good care of the place, he was a very polite, quiet ghost. That day he was in the yard, inspecting the front porch steps. He paused long enough to make silly faces atme, which made me laugh. To anyone else, it would have looked like I was shrieking gleefully at an empty yard, but Mom knew better. She’d wondered if I would have abilities like hers, and my reaction to Mr. Albertson proved I did. After that, she raised me to see ghosts as a normal part of life, although she’d emphasized that being able to see them was something special, and that I shouldn’t broadcast my ability because not everyone would understand it.
I wasn’t sure why I told Tim all that. It’s not like I’m usually eager to outline all the ways I’m weird and freaky. He was just so genuinely interested that…I guess it made me feel sort of important. It was nice to share all that with someone without being ridiculed.
Still, now that my mom had come up, I was pretty sure I knew where the conversation was headed. I didn’t want to talk about her, or the night she died, or anything like that, so I changed the subject. “So why doesn’t Isobel like you?”
“Oh.” He looked a little sheepish. “Isobel doesn’t really like anyone. But me in particular…She doesn’t like me because I’m a vampire.”
Okay. What the heck was I supposed to say to that?
He continued immediately, saving me from the obligation of a quick reply. “Half vampire, really. But that still counts.”
“Ha-ha. Counts. Vampire.”
“I’m not kidding, Violet. I’ve always known I was…different.”
“Haven’t we all?” I wanted to point out that he didn’t know what “different” was unless he too had gotten in trouble in kindergarten for insisting that the long-deceased teacher said it was okay to go to the bathroom. Mrs. Bloomington had once taught kindergarten at Palmetto Elementary, but she’d also been dead for over fifteen years. My current teacher had neither appreciated nor condoned my disappearing act and my excuse that her late predecessor had given me permission to leave the classroom. That was before I really understood that not only could most people not see ghosts, but that they didn’t even believe they existed. And how was I to know that the authority of a living person outweighed a dead one?
“See, my dad left my mom before I was born,” Tim said.
“Have you ever met him?”
“No. I used to ask Mom about him, and all she’d say was that he drained her dry, financially and emotionally. Then I saw this old Dracula movie on cable, and…I dunno. I guess my imagination kind of took over. Plus, I like rare hamburgers, and I can see pretty well in the dark, and I really hate garlic and sunlight.”
“You were just in the sun half an hour ago, on the way home from the bus stop.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t like it.”
“You weren’t even wearing sunglasses!”
“I forgot them at home today.”
I was tempted to tell him he was being ridiculous, but the thing was, I felt like I was the last person to chastise someone for their beliefs. I mean, hello?
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