“Oh, I know,” I say brazenly. “I mean, nice to meet you. I’m Kristin.”
Crap. Should I have told him my real name? Does it really matter?
“Since it’s my lucky day, maybe we should hit the tables,” he says. His teeth are tinged red.
He does look a little like a vampire. Not that he is. Of course he isn’t.
My heart starts pounding. Can I really do this?
“We could,” I say, and lean in toward him so he can see just a little bit down the top of my shirt. Hello, fearless me. “Or maybe you want to get out of here?”
His eyes light up like candles. “Seriously?” He grins. “Yeah, I’m up for that. Wanna check out my room?”
“Do you have a roommate?” I ask, my heart thumping.
“No. But I have a balcony.”
“Sounds good,” I say, downing the rest of my drink for liquid courage.
He takes my hand. “Come with me.”
Here we go! I did it! Okay, I didn’t do it yet, but I am in the ready position.
We are standing on his balcony. The sky is liquid black and sprinkled with shining stars. The wind blows through my hair and makes my skin tingle. I hold on to the banister and take a deep breath of sea air.
“Nice out here, huh?” he asks.
“It’s amazing.”
He puts his arm around my shoulders. “So,” he says.
“So,” I respond. I turn back toward him. Here it is. My chance. All I have to do is not chicken out.
His face inches closer to me. And closer. I’m breathing his salty smell. I can almost taste him.
And then…we’re kissing.
We’re kissing!
Yay!
He kisses me harder. He runs his fingers through my hair. He lowers his hand to the small of my back and pulls me into him. He stops kissing me only to tell me how beautiful I am, which is so nice. He’s so nice.
Oh my. What am I doing? Can I go through with this?
I don’t know. I feel sick.
I don’t think I can do this.
I can’t do this.
I pull back.
“I’m sorry, James. I mean Jay. I mean…” I have to get out of here. “I thought I could do this. But I can’t.”
“Huh?” he says, startled, eyes blinking open.
“I have to go. Now. Trust me.”
“But, but…” He grips my shoulders. “We’re not done.”
Excuse me?
“You can’t lead me on like that and then not finish what you started,” he says, his voice low and rumbly.
“I don’t think that’s the way it works,” I tell him.
“I think it is,” he says, pulling me back toward him.
“No, it really isn’t. I’m not ready.”
“You seem ready to me.”
Maybe he’s right. Maybe I am ready. I try to relax. I take a deep breath. This is what I want. He certainly deserves to be my first.
“Hmm,” I say, taking a deep breath. I kiss the edge of his lips. And then his cheek. And then I nibble on his ear. Carefully. And then I move down to the top of his neck. He just smells so delicious. Tasty. The real Parfum de Vie—scent of life. Hungry, I kiss his neck. Lick his neck. Lick off the aftershave. Yum.
“That feels so good,” he murmurs.
I open my mouth wider. Here it comes. I’m ready. I can do this. Be fearless.
I sink my teeth into his neck.
“Hey!” he screams. “That hurts.” He tries to pull back.
Now it’s too late to go back. It’s time. I pull him back toward me, steady his face between my cold hands, and bite him again.
Liz was right. This isn’t that hard.
As he pointlessly struggles to get away, he asks, “Why are you doing this to me?”
Because I’m thirsty, I think but don’t say. I’m too busy drinking.
“What…are you?” he mumbles just before he passes out.
I swallow a mouthful of blood. Much better than a Bloody Mary. “I’m a vampire,” I explain, and then finish him off.
I did it. I did it!
My first time. I have to admit, I’m kind of proud of myself.
Once I’ve drained his body, I heave it over the railing and watch him disappear into the blackness below.
After I hear a soft splash, I let myself out.
I find Hailey and Liz alone on the pool deck.
Hailey is lying across a lounge chair, her eyes wide open, her arms and legs trembling.
“Yay, you did it!” Liz says. “Full?”
“Stuffed,” I say. “Extra delicious. Fantabulous. Even better than Checker Boy, or the old bartender, or hot tub girl.”
“Fresh is always better than leftovers.”
“You are absolutely right.”
“Although you didn’t taste Ali or Carly,” Liz says. “They were pretty tasty.”
I look down at Hailey, who’s staring into the sky, still trembling. “I thought she’d be overboard by now. You decided to change her instead?”
Liz nods. “Yeah. You don’t mind, do you? I like her. I think she’ll be fun. I gave her the choice, of course. She said she was up for something new. She doubts her mom will even notice she’s different.”
Laughter wafts from the other end of the deck. We look up. Two college guys are walking over to us. One of the guys is wearing a Yankees hat.
Hailey pushes herself up on her elbows.
“You okay?” I ask.
She nods, and then, her hand no longer shaking, points to the guy in the hat and whispers, “Dibs.”
I Don’t Like Your Girlfriend
CLAUDIA GRAY
Part One
VACATION CHECKLIST
sundress
sandals
black bikini in case I am feeling brave
purple one-piece in case I am being chicken
stovetop autoclave
sunglasses
crushed clamshell
snake venom
moth wings
iPod
SELF-IMPROVEMENT GOALS
This year at the Outer Banks I will:
be nicer to Theo, who Mom swears looks up to me even if he shows it by putting dead starfish in my shoes
review stuff with Mom alone after coven meetings so I don’t forget it all before we get home
ignore Kathleen Pruitt’s bitchery because I am too good to stoop to her level
“I know you’re methodical, but this is ridiculous.”
Cecily Harper looked up from her notepad to see her father standing in the doorway, arms folded across his chest and a smile on his face. She underlined her last words with a theatrical flourish. “You know, making lists is one of the seven habits of highly effective people.”
“Honey, I’m used to your lists,” her father said. “You started making them as soon as you could spell. But your suitcase—you packed all your clothes by color.”
She looked at her open suitcase on the bed. The whites were nestled at one end, the blacks at the other, with the brighter shades in between. Shrugging, Cecily said, “Well, how do you do it?”
Affectionately he tousled her hair. This was slightly annoying, because she’d just fixed her ponytail, but Cecily didn’t worry about it for very long. She was much more worried about the fact that her father had caught sight of something unusual in her suitcase.
He picked up the vial of moth wings and frowned. “What is this?”
“Uh.” Cecily tried to think of a lie, but she couldn’t. “Um…”
His expression shifted from curiosity to disgust. “Cecily, are these—bug wings?”
Tell him the truth.
“Yes.” Flushed with daring, Cecily added, “They’re moth wings for magic spells.”
Dad stared at her. “What?”
“Cecily, don’t tease your father.” Her mother stepped into Cecily’s bedroom and briskly took the jar. “Simon, these are soap flakes. Bubble bath. They make them look like moth wings and eye of newt and all that sort of magical stuff now. I think it’s some Harry Potter thing.”
“Harry Potter.” Dad chuckled. “Those merchandising guys don’t miss a trick, do they?”
Mom tucked the jar back into the suitcase and shot her daughter a warning look. But her voice was cheery as she said, “Let’s hurry up, guys. We should leave for the airport in about fifteen minutes. Sweetheart, would you check on Theo? The last time I saw him, he was trying to sneak Pudge into his carry-on.”
“For Christ’s sake.” Dad started down the hall. “All we need is for the Department of Homeland Security to detain us because of the hamster.”
As soon as her father was out of earshot, her mother muttered, “Do we have to have this talk again?”
“I’m really sorry I endangered all our lives.” Cecily tossed her hair melodramatically, clutching her hands in front of her chest like a silent-movie he**ine. “What if Dad tries to have us burned at the stake? Whatever shall we do?”
“Load your bag in the car, all right? And don’t even think about pulling a stunt like that once we get to North Carolina. The others aren’t going to cut you as much slack as I do.”
Her mother hurried off, unbothered by the latest in their many tiffs on this subject. But Cecily felt angry with herself for making a joke of it instead of trying to talk this through.
Usually she tried hard to respect the rules of the Craft, rules Cecily had memorized before she’d turned eight years old. Most of the rules were sensible—the necessary reins on the incredible powers that they worked with. The fact that she knew those rules backward and forward was one reason that she was already a fine witch.
In Cecily’s opinion there was another reason. She didn’t only memorize the rules; she pushed herself to understand the reasons behind them. For instance, it was one thing to know that the Craft forbade witches to use their powers to undermine the wills of others; it was another to understand why that was wrong and how misusing the powers that way would corrode both your ability and your soul.
Yet there was one rule Cecily could never understand, the oldest of them all: No man may know the truth behind the Craft.