Vamplayers (16 page)

“I can’t believe how rude you were just now,” Cara says.

“Me? Rude?” I turn around to face them, hardly believing what I’m hearing. “What about you guys? Bianca? In my bed? I’ve heard of switch-hitting before, but don’t you guys think you’re taking it to the next level with this chick?”

I’m whispering so low they can barely hear, but of course we can hear a fly buzz at the window, so it’s no great feat for them to lean closer and continue telling me how wrong, stupid, and pig-headed I am, have been, and probably always will be.

“Hey,” Alice says, “we’re doing what we’re supposed to, remember? This is our job. Your job too if you weren’t so busy hanging around with your fan boys.”

“How can I join you when half the time I don’t even know where you are?”

Cara shakes her head. “You know how it gets on assignment. This isn’t your first time at the rodeo. An opportunity presents itself, you take it.”

“Fine, yeah, I get that, but would a heads-up be too much to ask? Like tonight. I sat there like a fool all dinner wondering where you two were.”

They stand there, tapping their feet, ignoring my question.

“And what was with that crap out in the woods earlier?”

“What crap?”

“What woods?”

“Don’t play me. Out by the picnic area when you were with Bianca.”

They smile at each other, frown at me.

“We were just playing,” Cara says.

Alice looks right at me. “Yeah, can’t you even take a joke anymore?”

“It didn’t look like a joke, you two. It looked creepy is what it looked like. And what about the whole spitballs-in-the-hair incident?”

They lean together, check to see if my bedroom door is closed. It is.

Alice says, “That was Bianca’s idea.”

“No duh. So why did you join her?”

“We had to,” Cara says. “How would it look if we didn’t?”

“I dunno, like maybe
you were my Sisters?”

They share another side eye.

“And quit doing that.”

“Doing what?” they ask oh-so-innocently.

“Giving each other the googly eyes all the time. We’re Sisters, dammit! You include me. I asked you a question. Where were you tonight?”

They avoid the side eye, although I know it’s tempting.

“Bianca asked us into town,” Cara says. “We figured it would be a good idea to accept. Wouldn’t you have done the same?”

“Okay, yeah, but isn’t the goal to get all three of us accepted into her fold? How is she supposed to warm up to me when you guys keep shutting me down?”

“Hey,” Alice says, “it’s not our fault you took a detour to a galaxy far, far away our first day here. How were we supposed to explain
that?”

“All right, I get it, but we need to regroup, get our heads in the game. You’re right. You’re doing what you’re supposed to, but I’m sorry. I feel left out.”

There is another awkward silence.

I shake my head. “Has she at least said anything about Tristan yet? I know you’re having fun with your new girlfriend and all, but you do remember Tristan, don’t you? Our potential Vamplayer?”

They share another look. I let it go this time.

“Bianca’s being coy,” Cara says, “but give us a few days and she’ll spill.”

“Forget her,” Alice says. “What about you? Why were you in Tristan’s jacket tonight anyway? Looks like we’re not the only ones keeping secrets.”

“Well, if either of you had bothered to speak to me when you were playing hide-and-go-creep in the forest, I could have told you that, yes, he asked me to dinner and, yes, he is definitely Prime Suspect Number One on my Probably Is a Vamplayer list.”

They look a little skeptical.

Alice says, “Like why?”

Now they look a lot skeptical.

“Like, he can keep up with me when we run on the track in the morning. Like—”

“Whoa, whoa, back up, girl,” Cara says, some of the old lifeblood running through her veins. “What track? What run?”

I tell her, and she smiles, looking vaguely impressed.

“Go on,” Alice says, looking unimpressed. (Remind me: why is she First Sister again?)

“At dinner tonight, he only ate stuff with blood in it.

That perks them up. “Like what?” Cara says. I tell them.

“What, you mean not out of bags or anything?” Alice says.

“Dude, how many high school juniors do you know who consider blood sausage a delicacy?”

“Yeah,” Cara says, “but you know these prep school dudes. They’re different that way.”

This is going to be harder than I thought. “Well, he has this oddly, I dunno, European accent. What about that?”

“Like Transylvanian European?” Alice says, suddenly interested.

“I can’t tell exactly, but he’s definitely not from Alabama, if you know what I mean.”

They wait expectantly for more, but I realize that’s all I’ve got. Fast running, a fondness for blood sausage, and talking like a character from a bad (Transylvanian) soap opera.

“Hmm,” Alice says, “it’s hardly enough to send Dr. Haskins for approval to act.”

“I know, but at least it’s something. What do you guys have?”

No answer. Not a thing.

I yawn, patting my stiff brocade pillow and preparing for a long, uncomfortable night. “Well, okay then, maybe in between skinny-dipping and trips to town, you could come up with a little thing we at the Academy like to call evidence.”

Cara snaps impatiently, as if she’s on Team Alice for once, “Well, you’re going to have to trust us on this one.”

“Yeah, there’s a reason you’re still Third Sister, ‘kay? Dr. Haskins trusts us over you because we actually know what we’re doing.”

I shake my head, still concerned but so tired.

Without another word, Alice yawns and pads across the hardwood floor to her bedroom and shuts the door.

“Am I overreacting?” I ask Cara, desperate for answers, feeling unplugged, unglued, and out of whack.

She shrugs. “A little, but you’re right. We need to regroup. Give us a few days to get Bianca all the way over on Team Sisters, and then we’ll tell her the truth. Until then, ignore what you see, okay?”

“Why?” I ask of her forehead as she avoids my eyes. I wish she’d look at me for once. “What am I going to see?”

“Well, you know how girls get when they take sides. It could get ugly tomorrow and the next few days, so just don’t take it personal.”

“What does that mean?”

But she’s already walking away.

Could
get ugly?

Uglier than standing me up for dinner tonight?

Uglier than spooking me out in the woods?

Uglier than giving Bianca my frickin’ bed?

Uglier than firing spitballs at my back?

If that’s not ugly, what does tomorrow bring?

Chapter 22

I
get my answer at sunrise. It’s not pretty. In fact, the whole next day is a scene straight out of
Heathers.

The unrated version.

For vampires.

I wake up late, sore, crooked, my throw blanket on the floor, feet freezing, pillow behind my back, facedown in this hundred-year-old (probably) bedbug-infested (likely) couch.

The girls giggle in the bathroom.

I’ve woken up in an episode of
The Twilight Zone
called “Opposite Day at the Crazy Dorm for Back-Assward Giggly Girls Who Steal Your Bed at Night and Wear Your Makeup the Next Morning.”

It’s like all of a sudden those three are the Sisters and I’m the bad guy.

I unfold my bent body off the couch and slink over toward them, a stranger in my own dorm room.

I clear my throat, indicating I’d like to use the bathroom at some point, and they look at each other, roll their eyes at me—
roll their eyes at me
—and go back to giggling and mascara swapping.

I blow my hair out of my face, stomp into my room, notice Bianca hasn’t even had the decency to make my bed, gather my backup makeup kit, some panties, a bra, and some ridiculous outfit, and then stomp out of the suite and all the way to the bathroom down the hall. (Gross.)

Believe it or not, the day only gets worse from there.

Nightshade is all abuzz about this new allegiance. It’s like a red carpet opening for some
Sex and the City
remake, high school edition.

For one, the trio seem to have acquired a whole new wardrobe, like, overnight.

Is that what they
really
went to town for?

Bianca is in an emerald dress, no bra—and, man, are these halls frigid. The vague outline of some daring porn star panties press against the silky green material, and a slim raven belt is wound twice around her hourglass waist. Her emerald heels clatter so loudly through the marble-tiled halls they must have taps.

Cara is in a snug white jumpsuit with all black accessories: heels, belt, scarf, shades. Her corn-rows are gone, and she’s somehow had her hair straightened. It looks fab, but it’s odd to see this honor student pulling off the sleazy-weazy look.

Alice, of course, is working the
Lady in Red
look: suede pants, platform pumps, lambskin jacket, big sunglasses.

It’s like they’re in some all-girl band and they’ve chosen their colors.

The rock star comparison doesn’t end there.

I only have one class with them (which is starting to feel like one too many), but in the halls—er, their own personal catwalk—I practically hear paparazzi cameras capturing their every long-legged, high-heeled, hip-swishing step.

They walk arm in arm everywhere. To the bathroom, to the water fountain, to their lockers.

Bianca is in the middle, natch, Cara on the left, Alice on the right.

I watch, like the rest of the school, transfixed by their beauty, their perfection, their sudden popularity. We’re only juniors, but it’s like overnight my Sisters have joined Bianca at the top of the popularity heap.

Even senior girls stand by, nearly bowing as the new Sisters slink past.

They look at no one, answer no one, talk to no one, least of all me. They simply walk into and out of classes, turning heads, making waves while kids part for them like the Red Sea.

I feel bad for the pretty young things Bianca used to hang with before Alice and Cara moved in on their territory. (Not that they feel bad for me, of course.) You can see them in the halls, standing off to the side, leaning forward on their hooker heels when Bianca and her new friends breeze by, their expressions expectant, their hands waving out
remember me?
gestures. Then comes the depression— I’m talking bereavement—when Bianca surges by without so much as a wave.

I normally don’t give much thought to what happens to the other humans when we swoop into a school and do our thing, but pain is writ large on these girls’ faces. I gotta say, for the record, Cara and Alice suck.

By the time we get to PE I’m prepared for anything, except what actually happens.

I’ve been kind of dreading the whole locker room smack down moment I’ve been expecting all day, but luckily that’s out of the picture. What actually happens is way worse, but at least it’s not in a locker room. There’s that, you know?

A note on the door says, “No uniforms today. Meet in gym.”

I bypass the locker room and saunter into the gym, looking forward to seeing Zander for the first time all day.

Unfortunately, Tristan has him in a headlock, and Bianca’s poking Grover in the chest with her long, solid nails. (Or claws? It’s hard to tell from across the gym.)

I don’t see Coach Wannamaker, a sub, a dean, or any adult for that matter, but we’ve still got a few minutes before class starts.

Zander’s face is red and blustery, like he’s not getting enough air.

Protocol says I’m allowed to reveal myself to save a human life and
only
to save a human life, and I’m thinking this might be the day.

A dozen or so other kids are scattered around the cretins, either cheering or cringing depending which color of ball they got during Vampire Smack Down Dodgeball Armageddon the other day.

Ignoring them, I stomp to Tristan and yank his hand off Zander’s neck in one swift, powerful motion.

He looks vaguely ticked off until he sees it’s me who’s spoiling all his fun. Then he looks really PO’ed.

“What is your problem?” I shout, but his grip is firm and it’s all I can do to wrangle Zander away.

“Ask your boyfriend.” Tristan shoves him.

We both go tripping backward, our shoes squeaking on the gym floor. Zander looks more flustered than I feel as he yanks his hand from me and looks away.