Bloodthirsty (18 page)

“Oh,” I said. “Cool.”

“Is that okay?”

“Cool,” I said again.

As I got dressed, I reminded myself that the more times you use the word
cool
in a five-minute conversation, the less cool you are. And I couldn’t afford to be uncool tonight.

This was a very important night. This was a make-or-break night for me. Impressing Kate’s parents could be a big step toward making me Kate’s boyfriend. Actually, it was a make-or-break night for me because I didn’t know if I was Kate’s boyfriend. We’d gone out to a movie, and she’d acted like we were just friends. But I’d met her dad when I dropped her off. Then she’d kissed me in the hallway. The kiss wasn’t even as important as where the kiss took place. This wasn’t a back-porch, beer-smeared, hidden, drunken, mistake kind of kiss. It had been deliberate. It had been public. It had declared to people, “We are together!”

But were we together? As I drove to Kate’s house, I stole glances in the rearview mirror, made serious faces, and asked my dashboard, “Where is this relationship going?” I practiced the words out loud: “Kate, would you be okay with calling me your boyfriend?” No, that seemed misogynistic and controlling somehow. It should be, “Can I call you my girlfriend?”

No. All of that sounded lame. It sounded desperate. It sounded like I was trying too hard, which is exactly what I’d done wrong with Celine. As I pulled into the driveway, I resolved not to make the same mistake with Kate and her family.

It was Kate’s dad who opened the door. We’d only met very briefly last time after the movie. Now I reasserted my impression with a super-firm and manly handshake.

“Mr. Gallatin,” I said. “Thanks so much for having me.”

“Nice to see you, Finbar,” he said. “Here, come meet Janice.”

I shook hands with Kate’s mother—more gently. Both of Kate’s parents were tall and thin. They were pretty old, too. They had white hair and they weren’t even trying to hide it, the way my mom hid her gray hair by dyeing it and my dad covered his bald spot with baseball caps that fooled no one. Kate’s mom, Janice, wasn’t a MILF, but that was preferable for me. MILFs kind of scare me. I don’t know how to work garter belts and stockings. So a regular mom was preferable. Although, to give Kate’s mom the benefit of the doubt, she probably was a MILF back when Kate’s three older siblings were young. And if she had grandchildren soon, she could definitely be a GILF.

Oh, Jesus, what was I doing with all these lustful thoughts? Kate’s parents were Catholic just like mine. Everyone knows Catholics have, like, X-ray vision for sexual thoughts. For example, freshman year at St. Luke’s we had this amazingly hot English teacher, Ms. Alexander. She was a great teacher—in fact, I stopped thinking about her chest long enough to comprehend dangling modifiers—but she quit by November. This is because she had X-ray vision and could see all the perverted things we were all thinking about her.

Or maybe she got a hint from Johnny Frackas’s “10 Goals for My Life” essay, which Sean O’Connor had stolen and written in a #11: “Do Ms. Alexander up the ass.”

Anyway, I didn’t want the Gallatins knowing all the thoughts I had about Kate. Not that I thought about #11. No way! What do you think of me? But I’m not gonna say I didn’t think about Kate when I was in bed. Or in the shower. Or in the kitchen…

“You like it spicy, Finbar?” Kate’s mother asked, poking her head out of the kitchen.

Huh? Spicy? I was startled in the living room where I was sitting on the couch next to Kate, clutching a glass of Pepsi. I began to sweat.

“Your Thai food?” Kate’s mom asked. “Do you like it spicy?”

“Oh,” I said, relieved. “Sure.”

Kate raised her eyebrow at me. She could tell I was nervous.

Kate’s parents popped in and out of the kitchen as they cooked. They were pretty easy to talk to. They asked me all about our move from Indiana. It turns out Mr. Gallatin had grown up in Illinois, and used to go white-water rafting not too far from Alexandria. Kate’s parents had all these cool hobbies. They went camping and they had a kayak. They did things I’d only seen in Eddie Bauer catalogs. They asked if my parents had any hobbies. I don’t think extreme cleaning is a sport yet, so I said my mom didn’t.

“But my dad’s thinking about taking up surfing,” I said.

When Kate and I went into the dining room, I kind of regretted being so casual about the whole “do you like spicy food” thing, considering I usually ate food that was the same color as my skin. You know, popcorn, baked potatoes, unsauced chicken breasts. Now I was staring at a veritable after-school special of different colors and shapes climbing all over each other in joy. The steaming pot that Mr. Gallatin set on the table was a dish that he called Dragon Curry.

The Gallatins didn’t say grace, so I couldn’t put off this meal any longer. There were hunks of chicken on my plate covered in green and red flakes. The chicken smelled spicy, but maybe just those red and green flakes were spicy. When no one was looking, I scraped off the red flakes first. Then I began on the green, but Mr. Gallatin turned to speak to me and I panicked and popped the half-naked chicken into my mouth.

“So what makes a sophomore like Kate cool enough to hang out with you, Finbar?” Mr. Gallatin asked.

“She’s—” I began. But the Dragon Curry flavor hit me.

I couldn’t swallow. It was so, so freakin’ hot. But I couldn’t be rude, either, and spit the chicken out. When I opened my mouth again, the sting of my own breath made me gasp.

“Hot!” I exclaimed. “Oh, God, hot!”

Silence ensued. There had been the usual pleasant dinner noises of forks clinking on plates, ice in glasses, and of course the deadly hiss of the Dragon Curry in its lair. Now there was silence. Kate’s father had asked me why I liked her and I had said, “She’s… hot.” Actually, I hadn’t
said
the word
hot
, I’d
ejaculated
the word
hot
. I couldn’t look at Kate’s parents.

But I did glance briefly at Kate, turning my head with a tensed neck. Kate was laughing, silently, with her mouth full.

Mr. Gallatin spoke up.

“Well, Finbar,” he said.

I looked up in dread, my face as red as the flakes I’d scraped from his chicken.

“You need some hot sauce on that?”

Kate’s father and Kate both laughed at his joke, and I attempted to simultaneously laugh and sigh in relief, but Kate’s mom rolled her eyes.

“You know when we were dating and I laughed at your jokes?” Mrs. Gallatin said to her husband. “I was faking it.”

Now I laughed aloud. In that moment, Mrs. Gallatin was so unexpectedly bold and straightforward. She was so much like Kate.

“Maybe some rice will absorb the heat,” Kate’s dad said more practically. “I’ll go get some.”

When Kate’s dad returned with rice, he said, “In all seriousness, Finbar, we’re glad Kate has found a friend like you.”

Well
, I thought smugly.
More than a friend. Your daughter kissed me in the hallway. With a little bit of tongue.

Of course, I didn’t mention this.

Kate’s father continued, “Someone who…”

Someone who is sexy? Dark and mysterious? No, he wouldn’t say that. Someone who really cares for Kate? Someone who’s become very close to our daughter? Was this leading into the boyfriend/girlfriend talk?

“Someone who’s interested in schoolwork,” Kate’s father finished. “A really
nice kid
.”

My death knell had rung. Boom, boom, boom. Done, done, done. No more chance with Kate. That was the
worst
thing he could have possibly said! Wow, this dad was crafty. That comment was the verbal equivalent of a chastity belt. I wish he had said: “A kid with rampant acne.” “A kid with incurable halitosis.” “A kid looking at five to ten years in the state penitentiary.”

Nothing could have ruined my chances faster with a high school girl than being labeled a
nice
kid. I thought this would be the night I found out whether or not I was Kate’s boyfriend. Well, I guess I’d found out. A
nice kid
isn’t a boyfriend. A
nice kid
is a friend.

Of course, I nodded and smiled. I hid my disappointment.

“Now for dessert,” Kate’s dad began. “We have another Thai specialty. An extra-spicy—”

Kate’s mother interrupted, rolling her eyes. “We have ice cream. But Kate, why don’t you show Finbar the Bat Cave while we clean up? You can eat dessert later.”

Kate’s “Bat Cave,” which was their name for the basement, really rubbed the salt in the wound of our nonexistent romance. It was the coolest place in the world. My non-girlfriend was Batman. And I was her Alfred, pale and dependable. But seriously, back to this basement. They had a full-sized pool table, an air-hockey table, even a skee-ball machine. I was envious of Kate and her brother and sisters. And whoever would be Kate’s boyfriend. I was pretty envious of him for a lot of reasons.

“We have the best movie channels,” Kate told me when I went to sit next to her. Damn. What soft leather.

“I watch, like, six movies every weekend,” she continued. “Oh my gosh,
Bloodthirsty
the movie is on. Have you ever seen it? This movie is hysterical. It’s basically pornography.”

On the screen, Virginia White, played by an anorexic model in a push-up bra, was spying on Chauncey Castle, some British “serious actor” with powder all over his face, as he examined vials of blood at his desk. After unscrewing the top of one of the vials, he brought it to his mouth and drank it. Virginia gasped and Chauncey turned around to catch her spying.

I turned to Kate and said, “I thought girls loved
Bloodthirsty
.”

“They just like this movie because it’s rated, like, triple X and they’re not allowed to see it.” Kate rolled her eyes. “It’s
forbidden
.”

I tried to look dark and dangerous. “Do you like forbidden things?” I asked.

“No,” Kate said flatly.

“Well, what about
Bloodthirsty
the book?” I asked. “Girls definitely love the book.”

“The girls in
your
class love it,” Kate told me. “People didn’t even know Ashley Milano could read until
Bloodthirsty
came out. And Kayla Bateman fell off the elliptical machine because she was reading the handcuff scene.”

“Maybe she was just top-heavy,” I suggested.

“Oh my God, that reminds me!” Kate said, sitting up cross-legged on the leather. “I wanted to tell you something
hysterical
that I heard Jenny Beckman saying.”

Oh, God, what was it? Jenny was around me way too much. She could have said anything about me. No, calm down. Maybe it wasn’t about me. Where was this unnatural belief that I was the center of the universe coming from?

“She and Kayla Bateman were talking about you, and…”

Uh-oh. Uh-oh. It was about me. Had I been caught in a Nate Kirkland moment? But I only ever scratched my nose in public! Never picked! It had been a scratch, I swear!

“They, like, think you’re a vampire,” Kate said. She waited, smiling, expectant, as if she’d just finished the punch line of a joke.

My first thought was,
Duh, of course I’m a vampire
. The knowledge was pretty widespread now. Ashley Milano had even lent me the sun shield from her Oldsmobile to protect my skin when I walked to the parking lot. And the girls who had started with garlic bread had since approached me with a silver crucifix and a stick that vaguely resembled a wooden stake. While I was glad these girls believed I was a vampire, I was also kinda bummed out they were trying to kill me.

“Oh.” I pushed a pathetic laugh up from my stomach.

Kate, expecting me to give a full-belly laugh of the type perfected by Santa Claus, recognized the lameness of my reaction. Damn my weakness for smart girls.

“You knew they thought that?” she asked.

“I don’t know, I mean, I heard something,” I said. “But uh, obviously, I thought it was a joke.”

“Didn’t you think it was
completely ridiculous
?” Kate said, opening her eyes wide at me.

“Yeah, I guess….” I shrugged and looked back toward the screen.

Chauncey Castle was drizzling blood down Virginia’s chest and then licking it off. In between moans, Virginia told him:
I know that you are dangerous. But my passion for you is dangerous, too.

“So why didn’t you tell them you’re… a human?” Kate asked. She was grinning broadly and, as she thought of me as a vampire, she burst out laughing. She even threw her head back.

“Oh.” I shrugged again. My shoulders were getting sore from all this shrugging. “I mean, there were a lot of people who thought… or assumed… like…”

“Really?” Kate said. “I thought maybe Jenny just told Kayla, because Jenny’s a little, ya know…”

“So,” I ventured weakly to Kate. “You didn’t think I was… a vampire?”

Kate laughed louder than an entire audience at
The Colbert Report
. Her laughter was enormous, taking up all the space in the room, and I was suddenly very, very small.

“Are you kidding?” she asked. “Did you
want
me to—”

“But,” I ventured, “what about my sun thing?”

“What?”

“You didn’t think it was weird that I can’t go out in the sun?” I nudged.

“Aren’t you Irish?”

“But you didn’t think I was… dark and mysterious?”

“You drive a Volvo.”

“Edward Cullen drives a Volvo!” I jumped up in my own defense.

“Did you buy that car to be like Edward Cullen?” Kate asked.

“No!” I said. “My dad liked the gas mileage… but, wait. You didn’t think I was a vampire? Or that I was, like, scary? Or that I beat people up all the time?”

Kate shook her head. “Not even close,” she told me with a certainty that made me depressed.

“So… but…”

I tried to think for a minute, but on the screen Virginia White’s blood was being sucked out. Her semi-horrified, semi-orgasmic moans distracted me.

“But what?” Kate prompted.

“So why did you, like, you know… in the hallway…?”

“What?”

“Why did you kiss me?” I asked. “Why do you… did you… whatever…
like
me, if you don’t think I’m scary or a vampire or beat people up all the time?”