Stake That Page 12

  “Uh, yeah, sure. That should be easy.” I make a face, in case he can’t hear the total sarcasm in my voice. “I’m sure they’ll be happy to let me borrow one, once I show my library card.”

  “Rayne, you are the slayer. Vampires fear you, not the other way around. Just bring your stake with you. It gives you your power. With it, you’ll easily be able to defeat anyone who stands in your way.”

  “Okay, okay. Stake will be at arm’s reach at all times.” I tuck the chunk of wood into the back of my sweatpants. “Just like this, but with a much classier outfit.” Could you imagine me wearing Juicy Couture down to the Blood Bar?

  “Rayne, this is serious business,” Teifert scolds. “Do not take your duties lightly. If Maverick is to take control of the Blood Coven, he could conceivably unite the vampires against the humans and start a war. A war that mankind is unlikely to win.”

  Nice, huh? Talk about putting on the pressure. The fate of the world lies in my hands. Suddenly I feel very weary and depressed.

  23

  MONDAY, JUNE 11, 4 P.M.

  Mike Stevens Must Die

  Monday. Did I ever mention how much I hate my school? Well, not the school itself. I’ve got nothing against the bricks or mortar or climbing ivy. It’s the cretins that inhabit it that make me want to slit my wrists on a daily basis.

  For one thing, everyone’s a clone of everyone else. All the girls with their flat-ironed hair, baby doll T’s, and low, low-rise jeans. And the guys—they literally have no idea other clothing stores besides Abercrombie and Fitch even exist.

  My friend River and her parents moved away to Boston a year ago. She says there are tons of cool skaters and Goths at her new school. That everyone’s open-minded and there aren’t really any cliques. Here at Oakridge, we’ve got nothing but cliques. And certainly no Goths besides me. So I’m the designated freak, basically, and everyone knows it.

  It’s a lonely life, but it’s still better than shopping at American Eagle.

  I usually don’t care. In fact, if anything, I’ve always enjoyed being unique. An individual. But today feels different for some reason. Instead of mocking the cheerleaders who stride through the corridors in giggling packs, or the lovebirds who press against the lockers, making out and hoping the teachers won’t walk by, or the jocks who “go long,” passing the football to one another down the hallways, I notice myself envying them all. They look so blissful. So content in their pathetic, shallow high school existence.

  And I, I realize suddenly, am totally and utterly alone. I can put on a brave front, ridicule them, whatever, but at the end of the day I’m the one who’s the joke. Because they’re happy and I’m not. They’re free and I’ve got the weight of the world on my shoulders. All this time I’ve thought myself superior to them, but really I’m more pathetic.

  As I walk down the hall, I feel the stares of the other students burning into my backside. They’re laughing at me. They think I’m a weirdo. A loser. And I hate to say it, but maybe they’re right. I mean, my own father doesn’t even think I’m worthy of a birthday cake. And he was there at my conception.

  Anger churns deep in my gut. I harden my face to match their stares, forcing myself not to cry. Screw them all. I don’t need them. I don’t need Dad. I don’t need anyone.

  And then I run into Mike Stevens.

  I hate Mike Stevens more than anyone at my school. If I’m the designated freak, he’s the designated golden boy. Captain of the varsity football team, even though he’s a junior. Student body president. Ash blond hair and sparkling green eyes. And a cocky smile that says he knows he’s worshipped by half the school and feels he deserves everything life’s dished him.

  When we were in elementary school and everyone was like everyone else and there were no cliques, Mike Stevens and I used to play in the mud together at recess. When we were six, he kissed me.

  That was a long time ago. We don’t bring that up much. Actually, ever. In fact, I’m not sure he even remembers, which is probably a good thing.

  These days we’d rather hurl mud at each other than play in it. And today he had the perfect weapon. My hickey.

  It’s not a hickey, of course. It’s a bite mark from a vampire. But that’s not something I can convince Mike of, obviously. Sigh. I thought the mark had faded enough to stop wearing a turtleneck, but evidently not.

  “Hey, my little Goth princess,” Golden Boy says to me after first period, leaning against the row of lockers. I pull out my books and stuff them into my black book bag, trying to ignore him, even though he’s positioned himself directly in my line of sight. He’s all cargo pants and Patriots jerseyed out as usual. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

  “Not you, that’s for sure.” I growl. I am so not in the mood for this today of all days. Not when I already feel so lousy about life, the universe, and everything.

  He laughs. “Of course not. I don’t do freaks.”

  “Good. Because I don’t do Muggles.”

  At first I think he may miss the literary reference, but evidently even this illiterate fool has read Harry Potter. Those books are just way too popular. I may have to give them up for something more obscure.

  “So, witch, which warlock gave you the hickey then?”

  “It’s not a hickey.”

  “Oh, really,” he says sarcastically. “What, did you burn yourself with a curling iron like Mary Markson seems to do every Monday morning?”

  Mary Markson and her boyfriend, Nick, have been going out for eons. They’re totally most likely to get married. And she does have a tendency to show up to school with a lot of unsavory neck bruises. She insists she’s just clumsy with the curling iron, but since she never has any actual curls to back up the claim, we’re all a bit doubtful.

  “No. Not a curling iron burn. I got bit by a vampire if you must know.”

  He rolls his eyes. I knew I was safe to say that. He’d never believe me in a million years. “Ah. So that’s your type. I should have guessed.”

  “No. You shouldn’t have guessed. You shouldn’t have even noticed. What, are you staring at me from across the halls now? Stalking me?” Ever since I humiliated him in seventh grade (don’t ask) he’s made it his life’s mission to make mine a living hell. Sunny thinks he secretly has a crush on me. Which is just . . . ew.

  Mike frowns. Evidently I’ve struck a nerve. “Please. Your hickey is so big Blind Mr. Bannon the Biology teacher could see it.”

  “Good. I want the whole world to see the bite of my dark lover.”

  Jareth is not, of course, my dark lover. Or even my light one. Or any kind of lover, unfortunately. (As much as I might want him to be.) But I can’t exactly back down and let Mike win.

  “So when do you turn into a vampire then?” the stupid jock queries.

  “I’m not going to turn into a vampire, moron. I’ve just been bitten. I’d have to drink the blood of a vampire to turn into one. Duh. And they don’t just let anyone do that. There’s a waiting list.”

  “A waiting list? There’s actually enough of you freaks out there for a waiting list?” He bends over, hands on knees, and laughs and laughs.

  Grr. Did I mention I hate this guy? I notice a few students have stopped in the hallway, pretending to chat, but really wanting to take in the scene. The Goth girl against the jock boy. It’s good reality programming. But I’m just not in the mood.

  “Dude, don’t you have some cheerleaders to seduce or beer to chug? Some nerd to copy off of? I know your life’s lame and all, but certainly you must be able to think of a better way to waste it than talking to me.”

  He opens his mouth to reply, then I see him glance over at our audience. He seems to decide against what he was originally going to say and instead retorts, “Whatever skank,” extra loud, to make sure everyone hears him insult me.

  Then he hacks up a loogie and spits on me—ACTUALLY SPITS ON ME—before turning to walk away.

  I’m so furious I don’t even think. I just drop my books and my bag and run after
him, slamming my entire body weight against his retreating back and managing to knock him off balance and onto the floor. My hands take on minds of their own as I punch and slap over and over as he struggles to get out from under me. But he’s no match for my super slayer strength. If only I had my stake. I wonder if it works on Muggles.

  The fight only lasts a minute or two before Monsieur Dawson, the French teacher, pulls me off of Mike.

  “Arrêtez!” he commands. “Allez au bureau du principal!” The guy never speaks English. Which is kind of annoying for those of us who take Spanish. But in this case, even foreign-language-challenged me has a pretty good idea what he’s saying.

  “It’s not my fault. She just jumped me. For no reason. Crazy freak!” Mike says, shooting me daggers.

  Angrily I smooth out my skirt and glare back at Mike. Bastard. Now I’ve got detention and Mom’s going to be so pissed at me.

  “I’m going to get you for this, you skank freak,” Mike adds as Monsieur Dawson drags him away. “Just you wait.”

  I sigh. I just wish I could somehow turn the guy into a vampire so I could stake him through the heart. Him and my father. The two of them should really die.

  24

  MONDAY, JUNE 11, 8 P.M.

  Parents Just Don’t Understand

  So of course Mom totally freaks out about my detention. Especially since it was due to fighting. As you can imagine, as a hippie she’s very into peace. And it’s not just peace in the Middle East—that would at least be understandable. She evidently is advocating peace at Oakridge High as well. Puh-leeze. If only she knew what an obnoxious jerk Mike Stevens is. I try to explain how he spit on me, but she starts spouting something about turning the other cheek. As if I want to get spit on my other cheek next time. Ew!

  And the worst part is that she doesn’t ground me, she wants to have a “talk.” Ugh. I hate talks. I’d much rather be sent to my room without supper and kept there ’til I grow cobwebs. Locked in a tower like Rapunzel would suit me just fine. Just as long as I don’t have to talk and share my feelings. (And, uh, grow my hair that long. I have a hard enough time with tangles as it is.)

  “You’ve been acting very angry lately,” she says, closing the door to my bedroom and joining me on the bed. I stare at my hands. This is so not fair. So, so not fair. “What’s bothering you? Is it your father not showing up for your birthday?” she adds, in that horrible pity voice of hers. Grr. Nothing’s worse than the pity voice.

  “No,” I retort. I knew she’d try that. Try to drag Dad into it.

  “I know that must have hurt a lot, sweetie. I’m really sorry about that.”

  “I’m fine,” I retort, anger welling up inside me, bubbling in my stomach, and making me feel sick. I knew we should have never told her about Dad’s supposed plans to visit.

  Mom frowns. “I don’t think so, dear. People who are fine don’t get into fights at school.”

  “They do if they’re provoked by asshole football players.”

  Mom winces a bit at the swearing, but doesn’t comment on it. “Are you having problems at school, Rayne?” she asks. “I’ve noticed your grades are slipping as well. You went from honor roll to C student this year.”

  “Yeah, well I have stupid teachers.” Stupid teachers who always favor the jocks and cheerleaders. Stupid teachers who think just because I dress in black I’m doomed to be a dropout and don’t give me the time of day. I’m smarter than all those losers I go to school with.

  “What don’t you like about them?”

  Sigh. “Nothing. They’re fine. Forget I said anything.” The less I talk, the shorter this will take. I’m supposed to meet up with Spider and I can’t leave Spider waiting.

  “I don’t want to forget you said anything. I want you to tell me what’s wrong.” Mom reaches over to touch me on the shoulder. I shrug away. I know I’m being unfair, but I can’t help it. I know if she touches me, I’ll start crying. And that’s the last thing I want. “I’m your mother, Rayne. And I care about how you’re feeling.”

  Yeah, right. She thinks she cares, but she isn’t ready to hear the truth. That her precious daughter is a weirdo. A freak. A social reject with barely any friends and a father who doesn’t even bother to show up to her birthday party.

  If only that vampire thing had worked out to begin with. I could be miles away from this miserable existence. I could be living in the lavish underground coven with magic powers and riches beyond belief. My days could have been spent reading the classics. Studying philosophy to enrich my world. No schoolwork. No parents. Nothing but bliss.

  Instead, I’m stuck here. In my mundane, horrible existence where no one understands me. Mom will never get it. She’s too innocent to understand my depravity. She’s too sweet to see the chaos that swirls under my skin. And I’m okay with that, actually. It’s better that she live her life in her daisy-strewn optimism than know what a monster she created when she had me.

  I think I must take after Dad.

  “Rayne, I love you,” Mom says, trying one more tactic. I know she’ll give up soon and in a weird way this disappoints me.

  “I know you do, Mom,” I say resignedly.

  Mom rises to her feet, her hazel eyes looking a bit watery. I feel terrible for putting her through this. For making her deal with me. Part of me wants to jump up and throw myself in her arms. Let her hold me and comfort me as I cry and tell her how much Dad hurt me by not showing up to my birthday. Take her strength since I have little left of my own.

  But I can’t find the willpower to get up from the bed. To lose face and admit weakness. So I sit scowling. More angry at myself than at her.

  “If you ever want to talk, I’m here,” she says. “I mean it.”

  “Thanks,” I mumble, staring at my shoes, barely able to get the word out.

  Mom pauses at the door. “I’m supposed to go out tonight, but . . . well, if you’d prefer I stay home, I will.”

  I look up. “Out?”

  Mom’s face gets red. “With David.”

  Great. She’s still seeing David. Could my day get any worse?

  “I don’t think you should go out tonight . . . or ever,” I mutter. “Not with him.”

  “Rayne, why? He’s really nice. What do you have against him?” Mom lets out a frustrated breath. I can tell she’s trying hard to be nice to me still, but at the same time she’s ready to wring my neck. “Is it ’cause you feel he’s going to replace your father?”

  OMG! Does EVERYTHING in my freaking life have to revolve around Dad?

  “Do you think I’m stupid?” I yell, scrambling to my feet, absolutely furious that she would even say such a thing. God, I wish that punching bag was here right about now. “Do you really think I’m holding out some kind of inane hope that the guy’s gonna suddenly show up at our doorstep and want to be a family again? That’s crazy, Mom! Really crazy!”

  Mom takes a step backward, her eyes wide. I think she’s afraid of me. Great. I’ve made my own mother afraid of me. I am a loser. Such a loser.

  “Then what is it, Rayne? What’s wrong with David?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with him. Nothing except for the fact that he’s an evil vampire and I don’t want him to kill you.”

  There. I said it. Let her deal with reality for once. I’m sick of sheltering her from the truth and looking like an idiot. Then again, in hindsight, telling one’s mother that she’s dating an evil vampire is probably not the best way to keep from looking idiotic.

  Mom stares at me, her eyes narrowing and her lips pressed together tightly. She pauses for a moment and then speaks slowly and deliberately. “So you’re trying to tell me that I shouldn’t date David because he’s a vampire.”

  “An evil vampire. If he was one of the good guys, I’d have no issue with it. In fact, I think it’d be kind of cool.”

  Realization lights on Mom’s face. “Is that what you two were doing the other night with the garlic and the rosary beads?” she asks in a tight voice.

&nb
sp; “Well, yes. Actually it was. It was a test. And he failed. Or passed—however you want to look at it. Bottom line, he is a vampire, Mom. And I don’t think it’s wise for you to be dating him because—”

  “Rayne, this has gone far enough,” Mom interrupts. “You obviously need help. I’m sending you back to Dr. Devlin. In fact, I’m going to see if he has any last-minute openings for tomorrow.” She turns and storms out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

  I slump back into my bed, tears of frustration springing to my eyes. Great. Just great. Now, in addition to Mom risking her life with Vamp Nerd, I’m going to be sent back to Dr. Devlin, psycho psychiatrist.

  Let this be a lesson to all of you. No matter what happens, never tell your mom she’s dating an evil vampire. It’s just not worth it.

  25

  DIARY ENTRY, TUESDAY, JUNE 12, 8 P.M.

  I <3 Jareth and I Don’t Care What U Think!

  Wow. So much has happened since I last wrote. Where to begin? I doubt I can write this as one big diary entry—it’d take me a week to type. I guess I can split it up into chapters. Not like anyone’s reading this anymore. Sigh. I kind of miss my blog. It feels lonely writing to myself. . . .

  Luckily Dr. Devlin is booked up for about a month so I don’t have to waste the evening talking to him about the symbolism of my dreams or whatever. After detention I go straight home and go straight to my room, yelling down that I’m not interested in any dinner before slamming my door and blasting Snow Patrol from my stereo.

  I turn off the light and lie on my bed, staring up at the ceiling. When Sunny and I were little we pasted glow-in-the-dark stars up there and there are still a few left, struggling to glow in their old age. It’s kind of comforting to look at them. To remember a more innocent time.

  I let my mind wander over the past week. The excitement of Dad coming. The disappointment of Dad not coming. The fight with Mike Stevens. The fight with Mom. The finding out that I have a destiny. The finding out that I have to share that destiny with a vampire who hates me. The realization that the vampire maybe isn’t so bad.