Blood Orange Soda: Paranormal Romance (28 page)

“The Greeks invented the Olympics, you dumbass!”

“Yeah, but what’s a Greek accent?” he asks.

“Hell if I know. ‘It’s all Greek to me’,” I jest.

“What? Greek is Greek to you? How does that make sense?”

“Forget it! You wanted to walk to school, so what’s on your mind?”

Weezer flicks his cigarette and spits onto the tracks. “Why would you assume something is on my mind?”

“Because you always sleep late and barely make it for the first bell,” I remind him. “You walk with me when you want advice.”

“I’m so predictable. Thank God you’re my friend, or I’d have to kill you,” he says.

“What’s up?”

“Angel and I are taking a break,” Weezer says with a serious tone, no joking, no accents.

“You broke up?”

He walks faster. “She said we’re taking a break. Is that a breakup?”

“Yeah, it’s over,” I reply. I’m sure I didn’t cause the breakup, but I still feel bad about Angel’s kiss. I realize this is my opportunity to talk with Weezer on a deeper level. He’s my friend and I owe him the truth, at least most of it.

“Angel stopped by my house the other night. She was all upset about the fight and she has mixed feelings about Shelby and me transforming into Vampires.” Weezer shoves his hands deep into his pockets as he listens. “She said it’s only a matter of time before you transform, too. She’s a Normal and she’s feeling like an outsider, you know what I mean?”

“Yeah, I know—”

“I promised her nothing would really change. We’d stay friends whether we were Vampires, Goths, or Normals. And I admitted to her that for the past few weeks I’ve been taking Blood Orange Soda.”

“Oh, seriously?” Weezer says, before he comes to a stop in the middle of the tracks.

“Yeah, my Uncle Jack thought I should transform faster.”

He looks me over more closely in the morning sun. “I
thought
you looked bigger. Shit, why didn’t you tell me?”

“I dunno, it was stupid,” I say. “I knew you weren’t ready to transform. You said you might
never
transform. I wasn’t sure what you’d think of me speeding up the process.”

There’s a long silence. I know Weezer is thinking hard about our friendship. He breaks the silence with a stupid hug. “What can I say? You’re so beautiful. Oh, and strong, too!”

“Knock it off, Freak,” I say, pushing him away.

“No, seriel, thanks for telling me. It’s cool that you’re so fearless about your decision. You
know
who you are.”

“Hang in there. You’ll know if and when you want to transform—”

“Man, on Blood Orange Soda you’ll whip Bao’s ass tomorrow night,” he says.

For a second I debate whether to tell Weezer about my arrangement with Bao. “He’s on Soda, too. This fight will be intense, but I’m letting him win.”

“What? Take that mother fuggar down for all of us!” Weezer demands as we start walking again.

“He knows my mom has been taking blood transfusions,” I explain. “If I don’t take a dive in the fight, Bao will turn in my family.”

“What proof has he got?”

“Bao knows the dealers, the gangs. I can’t risk it, Weezer. I can’t have Jack in prison!”

“Damn, Bao’s more of a bully now than he ever was. He’s bullying your entire family, man. That sucks!”

I haven’t thought about my predicament that way, but Weezer has a good point. Bao is more of a threat to my family than I’ve realized. He could hold this over me for a long time. I just hope that Bao follows through on his side of the deal—to leave me alone.

We walk the rest of the way to school with Weezer bragging about our music and song selections for tomorrow night. In the background my mind spins, thinking about the 5k race tomorrow, Jonathan’s arrival, and of course, the fight. Everything has to go as planned.

Passing between classrooms, I notice Shelby and Angel talking by Angel’s locker. I pause for a moment as students pass by me, occasionally blocking my view. Shelby’s transforming naturally, and much slower than I am. I see subtle changes in her now; she’s taller, and her body is curvier. Angel has an athletic, farm girl physique. They seem to be in an argument, so I hold back and watch. Shelby has her hands on her hips and she’s talking fast, with her head bobbing side to side. Angel turns away for a second and then points at Shelby, as Angel says something that offends her. They’re arguing and close to fighting. I approach casually and Angel notices me first. She pulls two books out of her locker, slams it, and walks by me.

“Hey, what’s up?” I ask Angel.

“Nothing,” she says with a strained smile, and then she slips into the crowd of students in the hallway.

“What’s with her?” I ask Shelby. I crane my neck to look back at Angel. She’s already gone.

“She disrespected me,” Shelby says in a huff.

“How come?”

“She’s crazy-concerned about the fight. She says I should be more concerned for you,” Shelby says. “How would Angel know how I feel?”

Okay, now I get it. All of this fits Angel perfectly, and I try to explain it to Shelby. “Angel has always watched out for me. That’s just how she is.”

Shelby rants, “What’s her problem, anyway? I told her boys fight, that’s what they do. And Angel is all ‘You’re so cold’ and ‘you don’t care.’ Then Angel says, ‘It’s a street fight’ and ‘Darius could get seriously hurt.’ And I say to Angel, ‘Who made you Reigning Queen of Goth Boys?’ and Angel gets all up in my business and in my face and saying that I’m not good enough for you, Darius. I’m like, ‘What’s with all the one-up stuff and who knows shit about shit anyway…’”

She continues her tirade without even pausing for air. She’s one long soliloquy of bitching about how Angel has no idea how she feels. Now I’m pissed with how Shelby is talking about Angel, and I can’t listen to any more of these insults, so I tell Shelby the truth behind all of this.

“I’m juicing,” I blurt out. “That’s why Angel is concerned about the fight.”

Shelby stops in the middle of her rant. “Excuse me?”

“Bao takes Blood Orange Soda and I do, too. This fight could be epic. That’s why Angel is worried sick.”

I’m trying to read Shelby’s face. She seems confused.

“How long have you been on Soda?”

“Two, almost three weeks.”

“And you told Angel but you didn’t tell me.”

“I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about it. I kept Soda a secret from
everyone
as long as I could.”

“Hmmm. Why would you think I’d have a problem with you taking Blood Orange Soda?” she asks.

“You’re transforming naturally. I figured you might not like me juicing,” I explain. “Some Vampires are strict about that stuff.”

“Why are you transforming so quickly? What’s the hurry?”

“I’m tired of bullies, and I’m ready to transform. Soda makes me stronger,” I say to her, but she doesn’t seem convinced.

“I know exactly how Soda works,” she says. “Did you take it to
resist
me?”

That’s the reason my mom and Jack wanted me on Soda, but for me it has always been about transforming for the sake of becoming a Vampire.

“No!”

“Soda makes you stronger and it also gives you more resistance, more self-control,” she says. “Is that why you’re not into biting?”

“That’s a side effect. It’s not the reason I drink Soda,” I say. “You have no idea what it’s been like for be me, bullied all through middle school—”

“But your Angel does,” Shelby says, closing her locker.

I’m not sure how to answer other than to say, “Yeah, she’s watched me get my ass beat many times.”

She finally gives me a phony smile. “You’re becoming a Vampire, Darius, and soon I will be, too. You don’t need Normals protecting you anymore.” She kisses me on the lips, her body pressing against mine. “You have me now.”

I hold her, thinking about my conversations with Angel and Weezer and how I assured each of them that we’ll always be friends, no matter what paths we choose. Now Shelby seems to be pairing up, holding me tighter, blocking paths to my other friends.

“I’m all you need, right?” Shelby asks again.

Before I answer, Marcus and Alex walk over and stand right next to us.

“Stop sucking face,” Marcus says. “Jeeezus, there are children in these hallways.”

“Sorry for the coitus interruptus,” Alex says. “When do we pick up your gear tomorrow?”

“How about three? You know where I live?” I ask.

Marcus shows me his phone and a Google map of my street. “Is that your abode?”

“That’s the one.”

“You’re locked in,” Marcus says. “Tomorrow at 15:00.”

They stand shoulder to shoulder, staring at Shelby and me still in our embrace.

“Okay, back to sucking face,” Alex says. They turn and shuffle down the hallway, weaving through students, making sucking sounds. They punch each other in the upper arms as they walk.

“Ohmygod, they’re so immature,” Shelby says, rolling her eyes.

“A couple bottles of Blood Orange Soda would do them some good,” I say to her, watching Alex and Marcus walking away. They’re similar to Weezer and me. That’s what we looked like at the start of the school year. What’s surprising is how Shelby lacks any empathy for her fellow V-Club members.

At 5:00 a.m. I’m awake as usual, despite that fact that I was up until almost 2:00 a.m. practicing my bass. Thirsty for Soda I check my mini-fridge but I’m all out, so I run upstairs to the kitchen and open the fridge; in the bottom bin I count sixteen bottles. That’s all I have left. This morning I drink only one and go for a short, easy run of three miles, resting up for my race and, of course, my fight.

I get to school early for V-Club, and today Officer Denny lets some kids through the line quickly. He’s more cautious with me, though. I take off my metals and drop them in a plastic bowl that he runs through the scanner. I shove my backpack through next.

“I hear there’s a big transformation shindig tonight,” he says.

“Shindig? Couple of Goths becoming Vampires is all,” I say, walking through the large, upright scanner. The light flashes as if I have contraband.

Denny approaches me with this metal-detecting wand and it beeps at the front of my pants. “Anything in your pocket?”

I pull out my pocketknife and rosary. “Oops.”

“The knife stays with me,” he says. “Keep the prayer beads. You never know when you’ll need them.”

He’s not interrogating me about contraband or the robberies at the blood bank. He can obviously see my transformation is happening. He must suspect something so I ask him, “Any updates on those robberies?”

“Some people have been questioned, nobody arrested…yet,” he says. “Police are closing in, though. Whatdya know?”

“Nothing,” I say, grabbing my metal from the bowl, and my backpack.

He glares at me, folding his arms over his belly. “Have a good one.”

“You too, Officer Denny,” I reply. “Have a good weekend!”

Walking across the lunchroom I look back, and he’s still watching me walk away, despite the long line of students waiting to get through security. He gives me the creeps. He must suspect something, but he obviously doesn’t have proof. I walk away, hoping the next time I see him this will all be over, a distant memory; but I’m wrong. By Monday I’ll be in serious trouble.

The only person at V-Club today is Tandi, our Queen Bee. Her black tights have holes in them, and her legs are crossed. She’s texting on her phone as I sit next to her and check the clock on the wall.

“Morning,” she says, still texting.

“Where is everybody?”

“No meeting. I cancelled it yesterday. Read your e-mail.”

“Cancelled it? Why?”

“Everyone’s talking about the fight,” she says. “Meeting would’ve been a waste of time.”

She’s pissed at me, for sure.

“Everything set for the fundraiser?”

She stops texting and looks at me with boredom in her eyes. “I took care of all the details. Play your music and promote our donation table as often as you can, okay? See ya later.”

I remain seated instead of leaving like Tandi wants me to. There’s a distinctly harsh tone to her voice. “You pissed at me?”

“Why would I be pissed?” she asks. “Everyone’s excited about
your
cause,
your
fight, as if you represent all of us. Nobody gives a rip about building schools.”

Feeling uncomfortable, I’m not even sure how to respond. “Tandi, I’m sorry—”

“No, forget it. People crave violence, and you’ll give the mob what it wants. You’re The Gladiator, eh? You’ll never return to this club after the fight.”

Even more guilt washes over me. “Look, I was selfish to use the club this way. I admit it. I promise you, I’m committed to the club. I won’t bail on you.”

She sits quietly, staring at the floor. God knows what she’s thinking, but I assume she’s about to lash out at me when she says, “Bao’s friends are gang boys. They pledge to a completely amoral flag. You could die tonight.”

“I won’t die,” I say. “I’m juicin’.”

She sighs, as if she already knows. “It’s true, huh?”

I think about my conversation with Bao and how we’ve fixed the fight to be dramatic, but I’ll take a dive. I can’t tell Tandi about it other than to assure her, “I’m fine. I can handle myself.”