"When I was young," I began, "I wanted to be a vampire."
My classmates snickered. I pursed my lips and clutched my fist.
"Settle down," Mrs. Naper commanded.
I looked to Becky, who gave me the thumbs-up sign.
"And since then," I continued, "I've lived my life in a way and style that reflects that. It never mattered to me what other people wore-"
"Obviously," I heard someone say.
"Or said" I continued. "And because of this I've always been an outcast. Just by being me. So I imagine that I'll find a profession that suits me-perhaps being an editor of my own goth fashion mag ," I said enthusiastically. "But as we are looking toward our future, I'm not sure it matters what we want to be but rather who we want to be. Someone honestor deceitful?Someone kind or cruel?Someone loyal or unfaithful? In any profession we can elect to be any of those things. I think this assignment is not only about what we choose to do but about who we choose to be. I choose to always be loyal to myself."
I stood in front of my classmates, waiting for their response. No laughter. No snickering. No booing. I turned to Mrs. Naper and Trevor, who both appeared stunned.
Just then the bell rang.
Relieved the assignment was finallyover, I followed Trevor and handed in my essay. As the students filed out of class, I overheard a cheerleader speaking with her friend.
"I know I said I want to be a model, but what I meant was a nice model,"
"Yeah," said one of the Pradabees . "When I have my designer clothing line, I'll give ten percent of the goods to charity."
After the two girls left, a member of the band was suddenly standing next to me. "I said I wanted to be a teacher, butI really haven't decided what I want to do," he shared with me. "You made me feel that it was okay to focus on myself for a while. And the rest will follow."
"I think it will," I said reassuringly.
Mrs. Naper put Trevor's and my essays in her folder. "In all the years I've been giving this assignment, yours and Trevor's presentations were two of the best." She gloated.
Trevor put his arm around me before I could bat it away. "Guess that means we'll be working together again very soon," he said triumphantly, and disappeared into the hallway.
Becky handed me my backpack."Seems like your presentation was more powerful than you planned. Maybe you should be a motivational speaker."
"Can I wear combat boots?" asked.
"You'll be the only one," she said, and dragged me out of class.
29
I'd never attended, nor had reason to attend the gala affair known as Dullsville's Annual Art Auction. My parents were more than happy and quite surprised that I was trading in an evening at the cemetery for one spent at the country club. My dad actually gave me the keys to his SUV since Jameson would be driving the Sterlings later. I chauffeured the unknown and mysterious artist, Alexander Sterling, to the event.
The country club's parking lot was as huge as a theme park's and seemed miles away from the club. Lexuses , Bentleys, and BMWs lined the front entrance. Anyone who was anyone valeted their car and saved all exercise for their chats at the bar.
I pulled into a slot a football field away and joked to Alexander that we should wait for the shuttle bus.
"You should actually be arriving in a limo," I said to my very handsome and quite nervous boyfriend.
All the members were dressed to the nines. Hats, scarves, and enormously overpriced sequined clutch purses dotted the affair. Art collectors from around the area hobnobbed with the members.
All the bigwigs in town were present, including the mayor, Mr. and Mrs , Mitchell, and Mr. Berkley. The snooty members were buzzing around, acting like they owned the multiacre building. Anyone who was anyone was at the auction. It was rumored that paintings, sculptures, and jewelry would be sold. Since not much else goes on in town, and since it attracted out-of-towners, too, this was a major event.
Annual Art Auction signs led the way to the banquet room I'd beento previously with Trevor. It was there that a ticket table had been set up. We waited in line behind several women decked out in their Sunday best. When it was our turn to buy tickets, the seller was surprised by her oddly attired customers. But I wasn't bothered. I acted like I didn't even notice, just like Mrs. Sterling did. Alexander was prepared to pay, but I insisted. "You need to save all the money you can,'' I said.
There was a buzz of self-importance. Old and young wealth rubbing elbows with other thoroughbred moneymakers. Sotheby's it wasn't, but the auction was a close second.
Members gawked at Alexander and me with disapproval. I couldn't wait until Mrs. Sterling arrived with her umbrella and turned heads.
The bar was filled with gossip, smoke, and drinkers. I was dying to get a soda, but I wasn't sure what the etiquette was- Would I have to pay for it? Tip? I opted to wait until my parents showed up.
Cookies and cakes were spread out on a few banquet tables and I managed to gulp down a few, but Alexander passed,
Alexander was as nervous as I was when I attended his parents' first dinner party. My boyfriend was used to being sequestered in a mansion, with Jameson and me as his only companions. Now he was in the midst of Dullsville's finest. Not only were there a lot of people, but his paintings were going to be sold in front of the entire town.
Outside the banquet hall, a table was set up for a silent auction fund-raiser, with such goodies as spa treatments, restaurant gift certificates, and discounts at Armstrong Travel.
As we approached the auction room, I grew anxious, too. This event could send Alexander packing his bags toRomania and me to my bedroom, grieving for the next ten years.
The auction room seemed like the ones I'd seen in movies. Lines of folding chairs were placed like pews in a church, facing a podium and an easel. We tried to slip in unnoticed, but for us that was impossible. Alexander and I grabbed two seats in the back, behind two tall club members,
I was ready to kick anyone who scoffed at my boyfriend's artwork.
This was a huge night for Alexander. He wasn't used to being around so many people. He fidgeted in his chair and I clasped his hand reassuringly.
"If you are really uncomfortable, we can leave," I offered. "We don't have to stay."
"No. I'm not leaving" Alexander said. "And neither are you. We are staying to see this thing through."
Dullsville's elite began entering the room in full fanfare. Alexander was the only true royal one, but the club members entered as if they were expecting their names to be announced like kings and queens.
Jameson entered on the arm of Ruby White, his girlfriend, along with Janice Armstrong, her business partner and my former employer at Armstrong Travel Agency.
Mr. Mitchell, an older version of Trevor complete with moussed blond hair and khakis, arrived in the company of other millionaires and sat in the front row. Mr. Berkley came in a few minutes later and sat a few rows behind him.
With every person's entrance, my heart beat faster and my hands grew hotter.
My parents finally arrived and spent a fair amount of time greeting everyone they knew.
My mom eventually spotted us, and she and my dad came over.
"I think it's wonderful that you two came to the auction/' my dad said, shaking Alexander's hand.
"Maybe next year you can auction off your paintings, Alexander," my mom said.
"Sarah, we'd better get seats before it fills up," my dad suggested. "Good luck," they said, and found two empty chairs in the middle.
I felt a sudden commotion as members were focused onsomething out in the hallway.
Just then Mr. and Mrs. Sterling entered the room. Her open black and red umbrella was in hand, and she wore a skin-tight camisole dress and monster-size heels. Mr. Sterling walked in with his skull cane, wearing a suit, a flashy green tie, and his cape.
A huge smile spread across my face.
A few women fanned themselves with their auction signs. No one talked to the Sterlings , but everyone talked about them. Whispers ensued as the gossipmongers were in top form.
The members were very curious about the locals-who arrived with who and what they were wearing-and just as curious about the strangers' conservative fashion choices. The Sterlings upstaged everyone in their attire.
The only ones who greeted them were my parents and Mr. Berkley.
I held up my hand to wave them over, but Alexander quickly clutched it.
"I want us to be alone on this."
Mr. and Mrs. Sterling eventually sat next to Jameson and crew.
Finally, Mrs. Mitchell stepped up to the podium. "Welcome to our annual auction. In a moment, I'll bring out your auctioneer. We'll be presenting art in many of its forms- pottery, paintings, sculptures, and wood designs. Thank you all for coming tonight. Good luck and good bidding."
The auctioneer, an elderly gentleman dressed in a suit, came out to the podium. A volunteer placed a glass-blown vase be jeweled with sparkling gems on a table. Its image was enlarged on a video screen behind the podium.
I was on the edge of my folding chair.
Mrs. Mitchell read a brief description of the vase. "The bidding starts at five hundreddollars "
"Five hundred dollars.That's a lot of moola !" I whispered.