This Totally Bites! (2 page)

“Order! Order!”

Ashlee Lambert, student council president, banged her pink sparkly gavel on the desk.

Yes. A pink sparkly gavel. Ashlee’s mom, who is a judge, had it specially made for her precious daughter. And Ashlee clearly couldn’t get enough of the thing.

Bang. Bang.

“This meeting will now come to order!” Ashlee squealed in her high-pitched voice. “We have important business to take care of.”

“Item one,” I muttered to Gabby. “Steal the pink gavel and bury it somewhere.”

Gabby put her hand over her mouth to muffle her laughter. It was three thirty, and we were sitting
in the back of Classroom 101, the headquarters of the junior high student council. West Side Prep is divided up into three sections: elementary, junior high, and high school. The junior high student council is traditionally run by an eighth grader. But there was no doubt this year that Ashlee would be our fearless leader, even though she’s a seventh grader like me. And since the president gets to pick the cabinet, all of Ashlee’s buddies were in power positions, too.

Gag.

At the moment, Ashlee was standing in front of the blackboard, trying to get the attention of the fifteen other kids, who were talking, texting, and otherwise recovering from a grueling Monday. Our teacher-advisor, Ms. Goldsmith, was sitting on the windowsill, reading the
New York Times
and occasionally glancing out at the pouring rain, as if she wanted to escape. I could relate.

Ms. Goldsmith is the social studies teacher, and she’s young and pretty, with light brown hair and a soft, sweet voice. In that morning’s class, she had assigned us our big project for the semester: a genealogy paper about our family histories. As my friend Padma and I agreed afterward, Ms. Goldsmith
somehow made the whole thing sound fun. She’s always energetic in class, but by the time student council rolls around, she seems exhausted and pretty much lets Ashlee run the show.

“Time to take attendance!” Ashlee announced as people began to quiet down. She tossed her shiny, white-blond hair over one shoulder and batted her long lashes. “Henry, would you do the honors?”

Henry Green, vice president, stood up and took the clipboard Ashlee handed him. When he faced the classroom, I felt my cheeks get the tiniest bit hot.

Gabby snuck me a knowing smile, then leaned over and scribbled in the margin of my notebook:
Admit it.
I bit my lip and wrote back, pressing hard on the paper: Never.

“It” was the crush Gabby was certain I had on Henry Green. And okay, yes, maybe Henry is kind of cute. He’s the tallest boy in our grade, and he has wavy dark hair and light green eyes that always seem to sparkle.
But
he’s also captain of the boys’ soccer team, and a member of Ashlee’s popular crowd. Any boy I’d bother to have a crush on would never be any of those things. The boy I’d have a crush on would listen to punk music, wear all
black, and collect spiders. And maybe, just maybe, he’d look a little like Henry Green. I hadn’t met this boy yet.

Gabby started to write something back, but then Henry called, “Gabrielle Marquez?” and she jerked her head up.

“Here!” she called, smiling.

Gabby freely admits that she thinks Henry is cute and smart — they’re in Ms. Goldsmith’s fifth period social studies together, and she says Henry always gets A’s on his tests. But Gabby’s real crush is Milo, a boy in her ballet class. She’s sure any boy brave enough to take ballet has got to be cool (but she and Milo haven’t spoken yet).

Henry glanced back down at the alphabetical list. The corner of his mouth turned up slightly. “Pale Paley?” he called out.

I bristled. That’s the other thing about Henry. He thinks it’s so-o funny that my last name is Paley, and my skin is pale. Whenever I pass him in the hallway, he’ll smirk at me and make that same joke. Which is another reason I’d never actually like him.

“Here,” I said, glancing down at my desk. “And it’s, um, it’s Emma-Rose.”

“Yes, please stick to real names, Henry,”
Ms. Goldsmith spoke, looking up from her newspaper.

When Henry was finished with attendance, Ashlee wrote: Halloween Dance!! across the blackboard, her charm bracelet jangling.

“All right, everyone,” she said, straightening the white belt she wore around her peach-colored dress. (My mother would have definitely approved of Ashlee’s all-pastel-all-the-time wardrobe.) “First off, the date of the dance has been moved up one day to accommodate the high school’s dance schedule. Our dance is now taking place
on
Halloween — Friday, October thirty-first. That means we have less than two weeks to arrange everything.”

Groans echoed throughout the classroom. My stomach sank, and Gabby and I exchanged disappointed glances. Mom’s opening gala at the museum was on Halloween! Plus, Gabby and I had been planning on trick-or-treating in my apartment building before I left for the party. We knew we were getting a little old for it, but our yearly tradition was too much fun to give up.

“So the high school gets to have
their
dance on Saturday?” cried Zora Robinson, a friendly eighth grader who wore her dark hair in pretty cornrows.

“Total injustice!” said Roger Chang, student council secretary, Henry’s best friend, and captain of the basketball team.

“What about trick-or-treating?” asked Eve Epstein — student council treasurer, Ashlee’s best friend, and my number one tormentor in gym class. Ashlee leveled Eve with a look, and then responded in a tone so icy it made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

“Seriously, Eve? Don’t tell me you
still
go trick-or-treating?”

Silence.

“Oh. Uh.” Eve laughed nervously, fiddling with her charm bracelet; it was identical to Ashlee’s. “No. Of course not! I was just kidding!” Her face bright red, she stared down at her patent leather ballet flats — which were also identical to Ashlee’s.

Princess Ashlee keeps her subjects in check!
Gabby wrote in my notebook. In response I drew a quick sketch of Eve with X’s in place of her eyes, and her tongue hanging out of her mouth. Gabby giggled.

“But the dance doesn’t start until seven o’clock,” Henry spoke up, sticking his hands in the back pockets of his jeans. “So, for those of you who, you know,
might
want to go trick-or-treating beforehand, you’d
have time.” He ducked his head, smiling. I hated that I thought he had a nice smile.

Ashlee rolled her baby-blue eyes. But when Henry glanced at her, she pasted on a fake grin and changed the subject to the school’s new recycling program. Meanwhile, Gabby wrote me another note:
Whew! Candy, here we come!

I nodded, but I didn’t have the heart to write back. I was glad that trick-or-treating was still on. But Mom’s gala, like the dance, was scheduled to begin at seven o’clock.

I’d been looking forward to the gala so much. I even had my outfit picked out: a short, black satin skirt with a tulle hem, and a ruffle-front purple top. There were supposed to be fancy hors d’oeuvres, live music, and famous people — at the last gala, Mom had met the mayor and at least four movie stars.

At the same time, though, I couldn’t miss the dance. I knew Gabby, Padma, and Caitlin really wanted to go, and, despite my issues with Ashlee and her crew, I wanted to be there, too. It would be so fun dressing up in costume — I was deciding between a Goth ghost or Hermione, or possibly a Goth Hermione — and dancing with my friends.

So what am I going to do?
I wondered, chewing on the end of my pen. Gala or dance? I couldn’t attend both. Somehow, I’d have to choose.

An hour later, I arrived home, eager to discuss my Halloween problem with Dad. I hadn’t been able to talk to Gabby because her mom had picked her up from the meeting to take her to the dentist. But I hoped Dad would give me good advice.

As I dropped my soggy umbrella in the foyer, I heard voices and laughter coming from the living room. That was odd. Dad was usually still in his study at this time, and Mom didn’t get home from work until six o’clock. I took off my backpack, shook out my rain-damp hair, and headed down the shadowy hallway. I passed Bram, who was asleep on his big pillow, then turned into the living room. What I found there made me gasp.

Mom and Dad were sitting on the sofa with the strangest-looking woman I had ever seen. She had white-white skin, ruby red lips, and black hair piled up on her head in an elaborate bun. She wore a velvet choker with a glittery black butterfly pendant, and her flowing black dress was printed with bold
slashes of red. Her long nails were painted crimson, and black eyeliner made her eyes look big and dramatic.

The woman glanced over at me, and her whole face lit up.

“Emma-Rose! My dah-link!” she exclaimed in a heavy accent. She rose so gracefully from the sofa she seemed to be floating. “At last, ve meet.”

“Um,” I said, glancing at Mom and Dad for help. I wanted to ask the woman,
Who are you?
but I thought that might seem kind of rude.

“Come on, honey,” Mom said, waving me forward. “Give your great-aunt Margo a hug.”

I was so shocked I could barely move.
This
was Great-aunt Margo? She looked nothing like my grandmother, her sister. Grandma, from what I remembered, had been silver-haired and wrinkly, with Mom’s twinkling gray eyes. Great-aunt Margo’s face was smooth and ageless, and her eyes were a deep, almost navy, blue.

But as she approached me and spread her arms wide, I realized something. A chill raced down my spine.

Great-aunt Margo looked like …
me.

An older — and sort of beautiful — version of me, to be sure. But there was a very strong resemblance.
Does she see it, too?
I wondered as she wrapped me in a big hug. She was surprisingly strong, and practically squeezed the breath out of me. Her cheek, pressed against mine, was cold, but the embrace itself felt warm and inviting. She smelled like rich, flowery perfume.

As Great-aunt Margo drew back, my eyes landed on her butterfly choker. Up close, I could see that the pendant was not a butterfly after all. The black wings were long and had a familiar crooked shape.

“It’s … it’s a bat!” I exclaimed, then immediately felt silly.
Those
were my first words to my great-aunt? Pure brilliance. “I mean — it’s really cool,” I added honestly, gazing at the tiny, bejeweled creature. The pendant was totally something I would have bought for myself.

A slow smile spread across Margo’s face. Her teeth were very white against her red lips. “You like it, dah-link?” she said. “Then you must see my collection.”

“Oh, are you a jewelry designer?” I asked eagerly. I’d always assumed my artistic abilities came from
Dad, but maybe I’d inherited them from Great-aunt Margo.

“No, Margo is a biologist,” Mom interrupted, standing up and walking over to us. I felt a wave of disappointment. It seemed like Great-aunt Margo would have a much more glamorous job. “A famous one, in fact,” Mom added. “She’s Romania’s leading expert on the
Desmodus rotundus.”

“What’s that?” I asked, wishing I paid better attention in science class.

Great-aunt Margo smiled again. “The common vampire bat.”

Goose bumps broke out on my arms. “Aren’t those … aren’t those the kind that suck people’s blood?” I heard my voice turn a little shaky. I remembered catching a glimpse of some Discovery Channel special last Halloween.

“Yeah, but don’t worry,” Dad laughed, getting to his feet. “The ones Margo brought over here have been dead for a long time.”

“Here?” I echoed, glancing around the living room. There were bats in our apartment? I was grossed out, but also kind of fascinated.

“They’re in the guest room,” Dad explained, smiling at my expression. “Margo is also an expert on
taxidermy — the art of treating and stuffing a dead animal’s skin to make it look alive again.”

“Like in the museum?” I asked, thinking of the stuffed bears, wolves, and deer that were displayed at the Museum of Natural History. I’d grown up visiting those animals, but never really thought about the fact that they weren’t statues. They’d once been
alive.

“Exactly,” Mom put in. “That’s Margo’s contribution to the Creatures of the Night exhibit — she’s providing us with the world’s largest collection of stuffed bats.”

So
that
was what Margo had meant by her “collection.” I felt my heart start to thump. The guest room was next door to my bedroom. Maybe I would peek inside later.

Maybe.

Great-aunt Margo raised one dark eyebrow at me, as if she could read my thoughts. I glanced away from her quickly. I imagined the IM I’d send Gabby later:
My great-aunt is a little weird. Even weirder than me!

“Okay, enough work talk,” Mom said, clapping her hands. “Who’s hungry?”

“I was planning to grill some burgers,” Dad said
as Mom ushered us out of the living room. “Sound good to everyone?”

“Can you actually make mine a veggie burger, hon?” Mom asked. She must have been inspired by Gabby.

“And please make mine rare?” I requested.

Dad smiled at me and said, “As always.”

“Yes, I prefer rare as vell,” Great-aunt Margo said, resting a delicate hand on her stomach. “It vill be lovely to eat a real meal. Airplane cuisine leaves much to be desired.”

We all walked down the hall toward the dining room, where a big salad bowl was already on the table, along with four place settings. As we passed Bram on his pillow, he jolted awake, his ears pricking up and his back arching.

“He must have heard the word
burgers,”
Dad chuckled, reaching down to give our dog a pat. I watched Bram, sensing something strange about him.

Bram looked at Great-aunt Margo and growled softly. Then he opened his mouth, threw back his head, and let out an ear-piercing howl. I had never heard Bram — or any dog — make that kind of sound. Before Dad could stop him, Bram hopped off
his pillow and scrambled down the hall, his nails click-clicking on the floor.

“What on earth?” Dad gasped. He stared after Bram, who’d practically left a cloud of dust in his wake.