Vampire Kisses(45)

“I did—I mean, do. I really do. But it’s too late now.”

“It’s never too late. But speaking of late, I’m late! I have to take your father to the airport.”

“Call school,” I called to her at the door. “Tell them I’m lovesick.”



I pulled the covers over my head. I couldn’t move until night. I had to see my Alexander, to shake some sense into his pale body. To beg his forgiveness. I couldn’t go to the Mansion, and I couldn’t break in—he might call the cops this time. There was only one place to go—one other place where he might be.



I climbed into Dullsville’s cemetery with a bouquet of daffodils in my backpack. I walked quickly among the tombstones, trying to retrace the steps we had once taken together. I was as excited as I was nervous. I imagined him waiting for me, running up to me, and giving me a huge hug and showering me with kisses.

But then I thought, Will he forgive me? Was this our first fight—or our last?

Eventually I found his grandma’s monument, but Alexander wasn’t there.

I laid the flowers on the grave. My belly hurt, like it was caving in.

Tears started welling up in my eyes.

“Grandma,” I said out loud, looking around. But who could hear me? I could shout if I wanted to. “Grandma, I messed up, messed up big time. There is no one in this world more wild about your grandson than I am. Could you please help me? I miss him so much! Alexander believes I think he’s so different, and I do think he’s different—but from other people, not from me. I love him. Could you help me?”

I waited, looking for a sign, something magical, a miracle—bats flying overhead or a loud thunderclap. Anything. But there was only the sound of crickets. Maybe it takes a little bit longer for miracles and signs. I could only hope.



One day of being lovesick turned into two days, which turned into three and four.

“You can’t make me go to school!” I shouted every morning and turned over and went back to sleep.

Jameson continued to tell me Alexander couldn’t come to the phone. “He needs time,” Jameson offered. “Please be patient.”

Patient? How could I be patient when every second of our separation felt like an eternity?

Saturday morning I had an unwelcome visitor. “I challenge you to a duel!” my father said, throwing his tennis racket on my bed. He opened the curtains and allowed the sun to blind me.

“Go away!”

“You need exercise.” He threw a white T-shirt and white tennis skirt onto my bed. “These are Mom’s! I didn’t think I’d find anything white in your drawers. Now let’s scoot! Court time is in half an hour.”

“But I haven’t played in years!”

“I know. That’s why I’m taking you. I want to win today,” he said and closed the door behind him.

“You think you’ll win!” I yelled through the closed door.



Dullsville’s country club was just as I remembered it from all those years ago—snobby and boring. The pro shop was filled with designer tennis skirts and socks, neon balls, and overpriced rackets. There was a four-star restaurant that charged five dollars for a glass of water. I almost fit in, with my mom’s white threads, except for the black lipstick. But my father let it go. I think he was happy I was in an upright position.

I ran after my dad’s shots with a vengeance, each ball having Trevor Mitchell’s face on it. I hit the balls as hard as I could, and naturally they either crashed into the net or into the fence.

“You used to let me win,” I said after we ordered lunch.

“How can I let you win when you’re slamming every shot into the net? Swing easy and follow through.”

“I guess I’ve been hitting the ball in the wrong direction a lot lately. I never should have let Trevor get the best of me. I should never have believed the rumors, or wanted to believe them. I miss Alexander so much.”

At lunch the waiter brought me a garden salad and a tuna melt for my dad. I stared at my tomatoes, eggs, and romaine lettuce. “Dad, do you think I’ll ever meet someone like Alexander again?”

“What do you think?” he asked, taking a bite of his sandwich.

“I don’t think I will. I think he’s it. He’s the special one people only find in movies and gushy romance novels. Like Heathcliff or Romeo.”

My eyes welled up with tears.

“It’s okay, honey,” he said, handing me his napkin. “When I met your mother, I wore John Lennon glasses and had hair down to the middle of my back. I didn’t know what a pair of scissors or a razor looked like! Her father didn’t like me because of the way I looked and my radical politics. But she and I saw the world the same way. And that’s all that mattered. It was a Wednesday when I first saw your mom, on the university lawn, in maroon bell-bottoms and a white halter top, twirling her long brown hair, gazing up. I walked over and asked what she was staring at. ‘That mother bird is feeding its baby birds. Isn’t it beautiful?’ she said. ‘It’s a raven!’ And she quoted some lines from Edgar Allan Poe. I laughed. ‘What are you laughing at?’ she asked me. And I told her it was a crow, not a raven. ‘Oh, that’s what I get for partying too hard last night,’ she said, laughing with me. ‘But aren’t they beautiful just the same?’ And I told her right there and then that yes, they were. But she was more beautiful.”