argued, batting Anne’s hands away. “It adds to the cascade effect.”
“More like the sloppy effect,” Anne muttered back. “It looks like I didn’t use enough hairspray or something.”
I clutched the sides of the chair by my legs, staring down at the black satin shimmering over my knees. Tristan had gone to ask my dad to turn him.
And yet now he was dating someone else.
What had Dad said to convince Tristan so completely to give up on us?
The doorbell rang, announcing the arrival of Carrie’s and Michelle’s dates. I went through the motions of posing for group shots in the living room while their parents buzzed around us, their camera flashes blinding me as my mind circled in confusion. Tristan’s actions didn’t make sense. First he made me think I would never get him to see the reality of our situation. Then he apparently went on a suicide mission to my dad to ask to be turned even though he knew the turning process could only result in his death and the start of a brand-new war between the vamps and the witches. And now just a few weeks later…he was dating Bethany Brookes.
The camera flashes stopped, but my thoughts didn’t. Nor did the lump in my throat go away.
Michelle and Carrie rode with their dates in Carrie’s car, and Anne and I followed in Anne’s truck to the JHS campus where the dance was being held in the cafeteria. I was momentarily distracted by the process of trying to exit the truck without revealing my underwear to everyone in the parking lot. Slits in dresses were both a blessing and a curse, allowing us to walk but making the climb out of a truck a real problem. Then we were all together again and stumbling on our heels across the parking lot and into the cafeteria.
The inside of the circular room had been transformed for the night. The dance committee, headed by the senior cheerleaders, had chosen Night at the Movies for the theme. We navigated our group around twelve-foot-high cardboard reels of movie film and equally giant buckets filled with yellow and white balloons tied in bunches to look like enormous popcorn, as a white fog from an unseen fog machine swirled around our ankles. Most of the tables and chairs had been removed to allow room for dancing, so we cut straight across the room toward the back.
Anne led us all up a set of carpeted stairs I’d never paid attention to before. They ended at a loft space above the kitchens and serving area. Tonight the second floor was decorated with a shimmering silver curtain backdrop and several movie reels as props for professional photos, which Anne insisted we had to have taken of our group right away in order to beat the line she was sure would develop soon.
Wait a second. Photographs. Now that I was definitely turning into a full vamp, were photos a problem? I’d had plenty taken before, of course. And earlier at Anne’s house, I’d been too in shock about Tristan to think about all the pictures the parents were taking of us.
But now I had time to think. And freak out. Wasn’t there some rule about how vampires couldn’t show up in photos? What if that was true? I’d never asked Dad about it. We’d covered everything else…the bloodlust, draining with a kiss, stakes, decapitation, holy water, garlic, crosses and churches and Bibles and holy ground and fire, even how our hybrid race of vamps was supposedly the creation of the demoness Lilith, who according to Jewish myths was once the true first wife of Adam. But vamps and photos? Nope, we’d missed that one. Was my vamp side developed enough that this would apply to me too now? Would I simply not show up in the photos and freak everyone out later?
A quick call to Dad would clear the question right up. I fumbled in my handbag for my cell phone.
“Sav, it’s our turn.” Anne tugged at my wrist.
“Wait, I just need to make a quick—”
“Later,” she said, pulling me ever closer to the silver tinsel-draped backdrop where the others were already being posed
“More like the sloppy effect,” Anne muttered back. “It looks like I didn’t use enough hairspray or something.”
I clutched the sides of the chair by my legs, staring down at the black satin shimmering over my knees. Tristan had gone to ask my dad to turn him.
And yet now he was dating someone else.
What had Dad said to convince Tristan so completely to give up on us?
The doorbell rang, announcing the arrival of Carrie’s and Michelle’s dates. I went through the motions of posing for group shots in the living room while their parents buzzed around us, their camera flashes blinding me as my mind circled in confusion. Tristan’s actions didn’t make sense. First he made me think I would never get him to see the reality of our situation. Then he apparently went on a suicide mission to my dad to ask to be turned even though he knew the turning process could only result in his death and the start of a brand-new war between the vamps and the witches. And now just a few weeks later…he was dating Bethany Brookes.
The camera flashes stopped, but my thoughts didn’t. Nor did the lump in my throat go away.
Michelle and Carrie rode with their dates in Carrie’s car, and Anne and I followed in Anne’s truck to the JHS campus where the dance was being held in the cafeteria. I was momentarily distracted by the process of trying to exit the truck without revealing my underwear to everyone in the parking lot. Slits in dresses were both a blessing and a curse, allowing us to walk but making the climb out of a truck a real problem. Then we were all together again and stumbling on our heels across the parking lot and into the cafeteria.
The inside of the circular room had been transformed for the night. The dance committee, headed by the senior cheerleaders, had chosen Night at the Movies for the theme. We navigated our group around twelve-foot-high cardboard reels of movie film and equally giant buckets filled with yellow and white balloons tied in bunches to look like enormous popcorn, as a white fog from an unseen fog machine swirled around our ankles. Most of the tables and chairs had been removed to allow room for dancing, so we cut straight across the room toward the back.
Anne led us all up a set of carpeted stairs I’d never paid attention to before. They ended at a loft space above the kitchens and serving area. Tonight the second floor was decorated with a shimmering silver curtain backdrop and several movie reels as props for professional photos, which Anne insisted we had to have taken of our group right away in order to beat the line she was sure would develop soon.
Wait a second. Photographs. Now that I was definitely turning into a full vamp, were photos a problem? I’d had plenty taken before, of course. And earlier at Anne’s house, I’d been too in shock about Tristan to think about all the pictures the parents were taking of us.
But now I had time to think. And freak out. Wasn’t there some rule about how vampires couldn’t show up in photos? What if that was true? I’d never asked Dad about it. We’d covered everything else…the bloodlust, draining with a kiss, stakes, decapitation, holy water, garlic, crosses and churches and Bibles and holy ground and fire, even how our hybrid race of vamps was supposedly the creation of the demoness Lilith, who according to Jewish myths was once the true first wife of Adam. But vamps and photos? Nope, we’d missed that one. Was my vamp side developed enough that this would apply to me too now? Would I simply not show up in the photos and freak everyone out later?
A quick call to Dad would clear the question right up. I fumbled in my handbag for my cell phone.
“Sav, it’s our turn.” Anne tugged at my wrist.
“Wait, I just need to make a quick—”
“Later,” she said, pulling me ever closer to the silver tinsel-draped backdrop where the others were already being posed
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