Vampire Crush by A. M. Robinson Read Free Book Online

much I mean it, and then duck through the bushes.

Chapter Four
    True to his word, James isn’t at school the next day, or the next, or the day after that. I know I should be planning some sort of antitruancy PSA for his benefit, but right now my time is occupied elsewhere. Since Vlad and his friends arrive early in the morning and linger in the hal s until late at night, one would think that I’d have plenty of time to corner them, extract a few mundane details, and then cal it a day.
    One would be wrong.
    That’s why I’m spending my precious after-school time crouched in front of the room where the speech team practices. Lindsay told me that Nevil e joined their club on the first day and has since been laying waste to everyone in competition. At this point, I wil drag him into the girls’
    restroom and corner him in a stal if it means I can start this stupid project. The excited laughter coming from behind the door tel s me that it’s going to be a while, so I camp out on the floor and try to recap what I’ve learned these past few days about my other targets.
    Violet has been the easiest nut to crack, but that’s not saying much. She volunteered for the French club on day two, bringing our total membership to five. I’m president, but she’s nearly fluent. When I asked her if she had studied in France, she just blinked and said, “Governesses.” While it’s been nice to have someone advanced enough to talk about more than the weather and the physical
    characteristics of our classmates, she won’t stop harping on her inattentive crush. She’s found her own source of magazines, and in nearly every English class she hands me a rippled copy of Glamour with most of the corners folded down and then asks for my opinion. I don’t know how she got the idea that I’m a wel spring of boy knowledge, but I’m afraid to reveal my inexperience in case she decides to stop answering the personal questions I manage to sneak in. So far I know that her favorite color is purple, she used to ride horses in a park, and she and her friends moved here from upstate New York.
    “Look here,” she said one day before English, deflecting my question about her dream vacation and pointing a finger at an article in the dating section. “This implies that kissing on the first date is appropriate. Is that true?”
    “Sure.”
    “Then I have been going about this topsy-turvy for so many years,” she said, seemingly close to tears.
    “Have you ever thought about dating someone else?”
    She just shook her head. “No, I can’t give up on him. He owes everything to me. I refuse to let this happen again, do you hear? I refuse.”
    I decided to save the battle for another day, possibly armed with self-help books. Considering I’ve never seen her eat, I’m halfway convinced that she runs entirely on relationship advice.
    Marisabel has been a more difficult target. While her schedule puts her in French with me, she has yet to show up to repetez, s’il vous plait . I hear she spends most of her time in the bathroom, sulking and commiserating with any girl who skips class. Most of the time they’re the ones who dress in black, favor combat boots, and carry around battered copies of The Bell Jar in oversized messenger bags. Because I am scared of them, I’ve been waiting to catch her without her posse. So far, no luck.
    And then there’s James. I shouldn’t even be thinking about him. James is not my problem, he’s Lindsay’s. In fact, he’s her biggest problem.
    “I pestered the attendance aide today,” she fumed in journalism, flipping through her papers. “He hasn’t been here at al ! I told Mr. Amado so he would let me take him off my list, but he says that sometimes a journalist has to put a little work into finding her subject.”
    I just smiled nervously and told her that I understood. Even now, I feel guilty for keeping mum about James’s whereabouts, especial y since I suspect my silence is more because I want to