Blood Orange Soda: Paranormal Romance (12 page)

“Why is Hamlet so conflicted?” Ms. Andreesen asks. “Who can answer that for me?”

A kid in the front row raises his hand and she calls on him. “Gary.”

“Hamlet is angry at his uncle for murdering his father,” Gary says, as he rolls his greasy hair over one ear.

“Of course he’s angry,” Ms. Andreesen says. “Wouldn’t you be angry if your uncle killed your father?” she asks the class.

Everyone chuckles. I imagine my Uncle Jack killing my father and it sends chills up my spine.

“Hmmm…maybe some of you wouldn’t mind that at all,” Ms. Andreesen says. “Hamlet is conflicted, tortured—why?”

Gary takes another run at it. “Hamlet is afraid to commit murder for murder?”

“That seems plausible,” she says, walking up my aisle toward me, looking down at all the notebooks as we write our notes.

“Hamlet secretly loves his mother, and is jealous that she has a new lover in his uncle?” I suggest.

Ms. Andreesen stops before my desk and crosses her arms. “Ah, the Oedipus Complex, where the young man craves his mother’s attention so much, he falls in love with her,” she says, turning and walking to the front of the class.

Shelby scribbles on her notebook and shows it to me.
“You perv!”

“Darius is correct,” Ms. Andreesen announces to the class. “This is one of the many interpretations of Hamlet.”

Shelby nods as if she owes me an apology and she sticks out her tongue in jest. I’m falling for this girl a little bit every day. Her sense of humor, her fun spirit, and knowing she’s transforming stirs something deep in me. It’s hard to ignore all the other guys interested in Shelby, hanging out by her locker or sitting with her at games. I have to make a move or I’ll lose my chance with her. She seems more interested in guys with Vampire blood, so the odds are in my favor. But still, I have to tell her about my decision to transform.

“Darius.”

Ms. Andreesen is sitting on the corner of her desk.

“Yeah?”

“Setting aside the romantic love, could a man’s love and devotion for his family justify his committing a crime?”

Whoa, this is a tough question, and I’m struggling to find a way to BS my way through it. My own mother is practically on her deathbed, and I’ve begged Jack to buy stolen blood. I haven’t actually committed the crime yet, but I’m starting to feel guilty about it anyway.

“Depends on the situation, I guess. If a man murders somebody to protect somebody he loves, he would need good reason for it,” I say. “I could easily see a man stealing for his family to help them.”

“Can you give me an example?” she asks.

“An example?” I repeat and I notice Shelby scribbling on her notebook:
Les Misérables.

“In
Les Misérables
the guy stole bread to feed his starving sister.”

“Ah, good example, Darius!” Ms. Andreesen says. “That guy, Jean Valjean, pays the price for stealing for love. How many of you would go to prison on behalf of a brother or sister?”

The classroom erupts into laughter and shaking heads as the bell rings. Breathing a sigh of relief, I stand with the others, grabbing our books and bags.

“Remember to keep writing in our journals,” Ms. Andreesen shouts over the noise of passing students.

“Way to go, Mr. A student,” Shelby says. “At least Ms. Andreesen likes your twisted mind. Where did you come up with that?”

“I checked Wikipedia last night,” I say. “And yeah, a little taboo goes a long way. Thanks for the Jean Valjean bailout idea. How did you think of that so quickly?”

“Uh, it’s called a syllabus,” Shelby says. “It’s the next book we’re reading.”

We’re out in the hallway and I’m scanning heads, searching for Weezer or Angel as I walk with Shelby to her locker in the sophomore hallway.

“How’s your transformation going?” I ask.

“Lots of scents and new flavors I haven’t experienced before. And unusual dreams.”

“Unusual dreams? Really, like what?”

“Oh, you’d like me to describe them, wouldn’t you?”

“Hey, you mentioned it; don’t leave me hanging,” I say as we wade through the crowd of students.

“Nothing freaky like the Oedipus Complex. It’s girl meets boy, girl falls in love with boy kind of stuff.”

“How about we get coffee after school?” I suggest, in a really bad segue.

“Why, so you can interpret my dreams?” Shelby asks with a flirting laugh. “I can do that on my own, thanks.”

“No, I have something important I want to tell you. We can hit Starbucks and talk privately.”

Before she can answer, somebody pulls me from behind, whipping me around into the lockers, and my books fly across the floor. It’s Chao and Bao double-teaming me again.

“You lost, freshman?” Bao says, with his hand on his hips. “Put him in a locker.”

“Hey! Leave him alone!” Shelby shouts.

Chao and two of his buds grab me and drag me to an open locker. Struggling to pull away from them I make my legs go limp so they have to carry me, but my frame is so light they drag me like a scarecrow. Small spaces freak me out! I yank and pull to free myself as Bao laughs. They stuff me far enough into a locker that only my other shoulder prevents the door from closing. If they lock me in, that would be holy terror for me.

“Knock it off!” I hear Angel cry out and they loosen their grip, waiting for Bao’s permission to continue.

“We’re joking, Angel,” Bao says.

“Not funny,” she says, pushing through the crowd of students.

“We’re having fun, right, Darius?” Bao says.

Several people have been recording this on their phones, so I grandstand, “Yeah, fun like at the game when I leveled you, that kind of fun?”

“Want a rematch, Batman?” Bao says with his arms wide open. “Name the time and the place.”

Angel and Shelby are standing next to one another, worried for me. They want me to walk away, to let this go; but I’m feeling different today, feeling stronger, as if Soda confidence now flows through my veins. And with all these phones recording, it’s hard not to perform in front of a crowd. Another fifteen minutes of fame couldn’t hurt my reputation.

There’s no way I’m ready for Bao in a formal fight. I need Jack’s advice on how to take a big kid like this down, and I could use a few more weeks of Blood Orange Soda. So I pick the first date that comes to mind and start singing the refrain from Nirvana’s “Smells Like Teen Spirit.” I put emphasis on the “entertain us” part, just like when I quoted
Gladiator
. The group of sophomores hoots and cheers with phones held high, and I even hear the word “Gladiator!” shouted from somewhere down the hall.

Bao looks at me, confused. “When and where, Freak?”

“Halloween night, the train bridge—”

“Why wait? Your fight calendar all booked up?” Bao says to regain the mob’s approval.

“You got a concussion from our last fight. You get another one, you’re out for the football season, right?” I say.

Bao nods as if he’s agreeing with my desperately quick rationalization to put this fight off. “Okay, how many days is that?” Bao asks Chao.

Chao whips out his phone. “It’s like two weeks and two days.”

“That gives you plenty of time to say your goodbyes,” I say, shoving Chao into the wall of students, which causes others to shove and push him around, too. The hall erupts into a mosh pit of students shoving and body slamming each other. Grabbing Shelby’s hand, I lead her through the crowd into a small opening.

In the distance Mr. Striefland shouts, “Hey! Hey! Break it up!”

Through the commotion I see Angel standing alone outside the crowd. She’s watching Shelby and me escape and I shout to her, “I owe you another one!”

Starbucks is jammed with students from Stearns and St. Cloud Apollo clicking away on their laptops or texting from their phones. Shelby and I are sitting across from each other, watching a video of me on her phone with my now-famous line, “That should give you plenty of time to say your goodbyes,” and the crowd of students roars and hoots before Mr. Striefland breaks them up.

“Darius, you don’t have to do this,” Shelby says. “You’ve already proven yourself.”

“He thinks our first fight was unfair. He won’t let up until he gets his revenge.”

“He’s at least three inches taller than you, and probably fifty pounds heavier.”

“I know. I can train, and hopefully hold my own for a few rounds with him.”

Shelby replays the video where Angel steps in to rescue me. “What’s with you and Angel?”

“She’s a friend, why?” I ask, picking at the paper wrapper on my cup.

“Angel is more than a friend. She was very concerned for you.”

“Yeah, it’s kind of our thing—I get in trouble, and Angel bails me out. Weezer likes her.”

I skip over my dating Angel in the past because it would only justify Shelby’s line of questioning. “I’m single, so if you ever want to go out sometime—”

Shelby’s eyes twinkle. “Aren’t we on a date right now?”

Duh, probably; but I was trying to be more subtle about it. Coffee seems more like neutral ground, not exactly “going out” but she’s right, this technically is a date.

“Oh, yeah, I guess so,” I say, feeling my face blush. “I want to tell you something important.”

She puts her phone back in her purse. “Okay, what’s up?”

“You know how you said you’re transforming?”

“Yeah.”

“I am, too...”

Her eyes open wider and her tongue slides along the front of her teeth as if she’s savoring the idea. She’s intrigued, not that I expected anything different. It’s still a relief, though.

“Weren’t you waiting until you turned sixteen?”

“Yeah, that was the original plan,” I say. “But when you’re ready, you’re ready. And once I transform, I won’t have to worry about jerks like Bao.”

“That’s what this is about? You want to ‘man up’ and be big like Bao?” Shelby says.

“Well, yeah, I want to defend myself, and I’m tired of being the little guy,” I admit to her. What I don’t mention is that my mom and Uncle Jack are every bit as concerned about Goth girls like Shelby.

“I like the Darius sitting in front of me,” she says. “I have to admit, I’m looking forward to seeing you as a Vampire, too.”

“I’ll be the same person, just a few inches taller and more Vampire,” I say, thinking of my dad’s transformation that didn’t turn out so great. Not that I’m going there in our conversation, because it’s just too much baggage for our first date.

“When was your last Red?” she asks.

“Few days ago.”

“Okay, so we’ll transform and struggle through the next nine months together,” she suggests. “Life is always easier when you have somebody you trust, who you can lean on.” She seems more lighthearted now.

“Yeah.” I nod without telling her that I’m taking daily doses of Blood Orange Soda and I’ll transform faster than she will. What would she think of that? Is she one of those organic Goths who would never speed up the process with a drink, or would she be totally cool with it?

“You and I will be quite a sight in a few months,” she says, amused. “Watch out world, here we come!”

We enjoy our ride home with Shelby at the wheel of her dad’s 1995 MINI Cooper. The car rides stiff and we bounce along, laughing, listening to Shelby’s music, which is mostly Emo and bands like Jimmy Eat World and Jawbreaker. Her taste in music is funkier than my own, which is refreshing. Shelby pulls the car into my driveway and sets it in park, the music still pounding.

“You’ll come over later and watch us jam, tomorrow night?” I ask.

“Yeah, totes!” she says, still holding the steering wheel with one hand and the stick with the other.

I’m leaning on the passenger door, about to make my exit, when she places her hand on my knee.

“Kiss me,” she says.

This should be music to my ears, but there’s already music blaring through the car’s speakers, and I’m not sure if I heard her right.

“What?” I ask, like a total dork.

“Kiss me!”

I lean in and we lock lips. I’ve never kissed this long before, not even with Angel. It’s not a peck or even a dare kind of kiss; it’s a real, slow kiss. We pull away and I taste her lipstick on my lips and it’s like the best thing I’ve ever tasted. I immediately think of that song by Echo & the Bunnymen, “Lips Like Sugar.” I’m delirious, and I want more sugar!

“See you later?” she says.

“Yeah, totes!” I reply with an awkward wave, as I step out of her car.

This would’ve been cooler if I were the one driving away. I can’t wait until I have my license, my own freedom. For now, I have the next best thing; a girlfriend who drives, and who knows how to kiss.

Seventh hour is so slow I cut out early on Friday because Weezer, Angel, and I want to jam, and Shelby said she wanted to watch. I jog home to get there with enough time to pick the place up. Our house isn’t really a big mess, but stuff piles up when Mom is sick, and I want to make sure there’s no laundry scattered around the house.

The kitchen looks surprisingly decent as I breeze into the family room and find my mom and Jack sitting on the couch together, with syringes and needles on the coffee table. Jack is checking her veins to make sure they’re strong enough to hold needles for her infusion of fresh blood. He’s testing to see if he can perform the transfusion using a cannula in her arm, or if she’ll require a central line into a vein in her chest. I’ve seen this done a few times over the years and it’s not as abnormal as it might sound, but it could gross out Angel when she comes over. Some Normals faint at the sight of blood.