Eighth Grade Bites (6 page)

And what about the moving letters? Had he imagined it? Aunt Nelly would say he'd been under a lot of stress lately, that it had been a trick of the mind, that handwriting couldn't move around on its own. She'd probably be right, but the entire event, imagined or real, still freaked Vlad out.

“Now, back to zombies,” Mr. Otis began as he returned to the front of the class. “Any guesses on what their diet consists of?”

Morning passed quickly into afternoon and Vlad entered the lunchroom, finding Henry sitting at the table near the window, waving him over. Henry shoved an entire Hostess cupcake into his mouth and grinned. The white filling squished out between Henry's teeth, eliciting a chuckle from Vlad.

Vlad sat across from Henry and slid the sandwich out from his brown paper sack. He bit into the bread and one of the capsules of blood burst open, spraying the roof of his mouth with crimson sweetness. He swallowed the liquid and finished his meal. After tossing the empty bag and stained, soggy plastic wrap into the garbage, he let out a loud burp. “Excuse me.”

Henry laughed and offered him a cupcake, which Vlad immediately stuffed into his mouth. Sure, human food didn't help him out nutritionally, but some of it just tasted good.

Henry asked, “So when are you asking Meredith to the Snow Ball? It's coming up soon, you know.”

Principal Snelgrove passed behind Henry and slowed his steps, peering over Henry's shoulder at Vlad.

Vlad shrugged. “I'm not sure I'm going to.”

Henry said, “Why not? You've only been crushing on her since the third grade. And a girl like Meredith you have to ask well in advance.”

Behind Henry, Vlad could see Meredith talking with her girlfriends. When she looked over at Henry, her blush deepened. Vlad shrugged again. “Better to be crushing
on
her than have my heart crushed
by
her. Besides, I think she likes someone else.”

Henry slanted his eyes. “Like who? You're making excuses again. Just ask her, Vlad. She's just a girl. Worst thing she can do is say no.”

But that wasn't the worst thing Meredith could do. She could laugh. She could tell her friends all about how the pathetic, pale kid asked her on a date, and word could reach Bill and Tom—more fuel for the fire. Vlad would rather die.

Or worse, go to the dance alone.

Mr. Otis, who'd also taken on Mr. Craig's homeroom duties, was leaning back in his chair, his feet propped carelessly up on the desktop, when Vlad approached him after the final bell. The teacher wasn't wearing a smile, but more the hint of one. “The infamous Vladimir Tod. What can I do for you?”

Vlad couldn't recall ever having done anything remotely infamous, but he nodded and withdrew the scrap of paper from his shirt pocket. “I'd really rather pick again, if you don't mind.”

Mr. Otis sat up and clucked his tongue. “That wouldn't be fair to the rest of the class.”

Vlad didn't much care what was fair, only that he was a little more than hesitant to reveal the details of his true identity. He had hoped only to discuss vampire lore with the class, having become quite adept at separating the truth from the enormous number of lies spread by various media over the years. He'd much rather write an essay on werewolves or warlocks anyway, even though a thousand words on any of the creatures on the list didn't strike him as terribly exciting. Vlad lifted his shoulders and dropped them again slowly. He had no reason to offer but the truth. “I'd just really rather pick again.”

Mr. Otis paused with his hand on the brim of the top hat. Then, with an assenting nod, he nudged the hat toward Vlad, who reached in and withdrew another slip of paper.

Vlad gazed at the paper with direct intensity, wondering if the letters would move this time. He unfolded it and furrowed his brow.

Mr. Otis stood and, after emptying the remaining slips of paper into his bag, popped his hat onto his head. “Fate can be cruel, Mr. Tod. I look forward to your oral presentation from a vampire's point of view.”

Vlad's feet felt like they were frozen to the ground. There was no getting out of this, as far as he could tell. And why did Mr. Otis seem so insistent, so anxious that Vlad tackle the very topic he wanted most to avoid?

The answer was easy.

Because teachers, no matter how kind, no matter how friendly, are sadistic and evil to the core.

Vlad swung his backpack over his shoulder and slipped out the door without so much as a grunt or a glance in Mr. Otis's direction. Vlad thought about Mr. Craig and wished that wherever his teacher was, he was safe. And would return soon.

 

“It can't be all that bad. Maybe you just need to shift your outlook a bit.” Nelly smiled.

Vlad found little comfort in her words. “You don't understand. That paper said
werewolf
, not
vampire
, when I pulled it out of the hat. I know it did.”

Nelly pursed her lips. After a moment of silence, she said, “I think you've just been under a lot of stress. Words don't rewrite themselves, Vladimir. It's just not possible.”

Vlad wrinkled his forehead and picked at the corner of his English book. “And who wears a top hat? This guy is weird.”

Nelly sighed. “Vladimir, give him a chance. You don't even know him.”

But Vlad wasn't sure he wanted to know Mr. Otis. “I don't know, Nelly. Something just doesn't feel right.”

Nelly flashed him one of her overly concerned looks. Vlad didn't want to argue and he certainly didn't want Nelly thinking he was crazy. He offered a smile, plastic as it was, and flipped open his notebook. “You're probably right.”

“This project isn't all bad, Vladimir dear. You can finally get all your secrets off your chest without worrying about being exposed. And who knows? It might be fun to speculate about future abilities. And you could throw in some of those silly stereotypes just for laughs.” She sipped the last of her tea and yawned. “I need to get some rest. Don't stay up too late.”

“I won't. But
Nosferatu
is on cable tonight, so I'll probably stay up to watch it.” He wasn't sure why exactly, but the older, the cheesier a vampire movie was, the more it lifted his spirits.
Nosferatu
was his favorite, as the pointy-eared, bald-headed monster had sent him into hysterical fits of laughter on a number of occasions. Nelly found the movies ignorant and insulting, but supported Vlad's fondness for them just the same.

“Finish your homework first.” Nelly was already across the room when she paused and threw him another worried glance. “You don't sleep enough.”

“Aunt Nelly.”

“Okay, okay. I'll see you in the morning.” She slipped upstairs and out of sight.

Vlad took out the instruction sheet Mr. Otis had handed out, and scanned it. Maybe he should get started on the essay right away so that it wasn't looming over him for the rest of the term. Determined to get it over with, he opened his notebook, picked up a pen, and began to write.

He sat back for a moment, examining what he'd written. It had been easier than he'd expected to confess his true nature, so Vlad tightened his grip on the pen and continued to write. He went into the details of his hovering ability and telepathy, exploring the question of why he had them. With a laugh, he then threw in speculation on why vampires had no reflection and couldn't be photographed. It was a ridiculous notion, as Vlad had never had problems with either. He'd managed to show up in every school photo since kindergarten and, to date, he hadn't heard anyone on the yearbook committee complain. And judging by the slew of pictures he had of his dad, it wasn't much of a problem for other vampires, either.

After a paragraph on how stupid people were to think that any living being could live forever, he paused again and wrote one final line.

A thousand words had come much easier than Vlad had expected.

He read the paper over again and resisted the urge to erase nearly every word.

After scarfing several handfuls of potato chips and drinking a blood bag, Vlad flopped down on the couch and immersed himself in the world of Count Orlok—the creature known in the cinematic world simply as Nosferatu. The movie had just reached the part where Count Orlok is traveling by raft when Vlad's mind began to wander down whatever road had taken Mr. Craig from Bathory Junior High.

Rumors at school had echoed the suspicions of both the police and the media. Someone was responsible for the disappearance of the well-liked eighth-grade teacher, and no one knew whom to blame. People were saying that nothing seemed to be amiss. Mr. Craig's car still sat in his driveway. His belongings remained in their usual arrangement. His bank account hadn't been touched. If Mr. Craig had vanished of his own accord, he'd left with nothing but the clothes he wore, and that wouldn't have gotten him very far from the small suburban town of Bathory.

Forgoing the rest of the film, Vlad clicked off the television and tiptoed upstairs.

Amenti—Nelly's fluffy, plump black cat—rubbed against Vlad's legs. Vlad stroked her soft fur, and she arched her back in response. Nelly had named Amenti after the Egyptian goddess who was said to have guarded the gateway to the after-life. The goddess, much like the cat, had beautiful hair and practically lived in trees. It was a fitting name, as Vlad had come home on a number of occasions to find Amenti's pudgy body wedged in the lowest crook of the old oak tree in the backyard, though he was confounded to explain just how she had managed to waddle her way up there.

After a brief interval in his bedroom to retrieve his jacket and one of the many photo albums he'd found in the attic, Vlad grabbed several candles from the drawer in the library and stuffed them into his coat pocket. Amenti nudged his ankle with her forehead, demanding his attention once again. Vlad reached down and scratched behind her ears. She purred happily and slinked away. He moved down the stairs, careful not to make a sound, and slipped out the front door into the brisk night.

The streets were empty and dark. Vlad avoided the side-walks, choosing instead the small beaten paths that wove between this house and that—the mark of many kids before him who'd been in search of the quickest route between school and home. Vlad rounded each corner with a careful step and threw a glance in each direction. He hadn't yet been caught out after curfew, but there was always a chance that he might be.

He reached the side of Bathory High and paused briefly when he heard laughter. It was likely just the goth kids who often occupied the high school's steps after dark. Vlad slipped around to the back of the school. Bathory High School had been built up in the hollowed-out remains of a very large, very old Catholic church. It was well known that the church had been deserted sometime in the mid-1800s, as a result of some sort of horrific affair, but locals had protested tearing the historical building down. Then, nearly a hundred years later, a wealthy businessman had purchased the property and developed it into what had been known as Bathory Preparatory Academy. Twenty years later, the school became a public institution.

It was probably the most interesting thing about Bathory.

When Vlad reached the back of the school, he looked around to be certain he was alone, then closed his eyes and willed his body upward. His feet left the ground and he floated up to the school's belfry.

The bell tower was large and square. Several arching windows lined its walls, open to the elements at all times. Vlad walked along the ledge and looked down on the group of teenagers on the front steps. They wore black from head to toe, merely shadows amid more shadows. Vlad smiled. He slipped inside one of the windows and dug the candles from his pockets. Small mounds of wax dotted the room—remnants from previous visits. Vlad placed the new candles on the floor and lit their wicks with a lighter he kept on one of the windowsills, illuminating the room with a soft glow.

The bells had long been removed from the tower, and the only door had been sealed shut when the building became a school. The only way in or out was through the windows, and the ground was four stories below them. The room was large and empty but for several books that had been banned from both the school and the town's library and a framed photograph that had been propped against a stack of stray red bricks at the center of the room.

Vlad knelt and moved the candle closer to the picture. “Hi, Dad.”

Tomas Tod smiled back—a portrait of happiness forever fixed.

Vlad looked around his sacred space and sighed. “I should get a chair.”

He placed the photo album on the floor near the candle. The cover was green leather. On the front was a family crest. Vlad flipped to the first page and smiled at the photograph of his mother, Mellina. She was standing near an old car, looking young and pretty. Her eyes twinkled. On the hood of the car sat a younger version of Nelly, wearing a bright, happy grin. Vlad turned the page.