Diary of a Vampeen (2 page)

“Egh. Same stuff, different day. We
reenacted the start of the Civil War today in history. Coach got
smacked a few times with our paper bombs which was assumptive with
the project.”

“How did you do on your Spanish
test?”

“Mom, I speak better Spanish than Mrs.
Watson.” She clearly picked up on the twinge of mockery.

“I guess I should know better by now,”
she beamed with approval.

“Of course,” I smiled. “Oh, Mel’s mom
is dropping her off tonight so Dad doesn’t have to pick her up on
his way home.”

“You may want to text him so he
doesn’t go out of his way,” she advised. It still sounded strange
to hear her mention the word text let alone imply it as an action
to or with my dad. Since when did this communication form leak into
the adult world anyways?

“Yes Ma’am!” I saluted. I quickly sent
the text.

My mom, Sharon, was always a beautiful
woman. I’d never met a woman with the same stature and beauty hold
her mass appeal. I suppose the closest relation would be the late
Princess Diana. She was dignified and classy yet still down to
earth and approachable. I assumed that was how she sold so many
houses, but her perfect body added to her success as well – most of
her clients tended to be rich bachelors.

She carried an exotic aura physically
that was muted by her size four, Joan Clever-esk appearance. She
wore long dark brown hair that slightly waved as it fell, light
skin and dazzling green eyes to match her full pink lips. It was in
that moment, observing her beautiful eyes that he popped in my
mind. I had to suppress a shiver just at the thought of him. His
face, his eyes, so vividly and intensely glared at me within my
thoughts. I shook my head returning to study my mother
again.

I’d always envied my mother’s looks.
Everywhere we’d go people stared at her and complimented her every
move. As a result, I harbored body issues over the constant
comparison. She’s the epitome of a m.i.l.f. according to Jason
Kelly. (I wish he never saw her but couldn’t help that she sold his
parents their house.) And I was the definition of a fat blob, or so
I felt most of the time.

I was the odd one out in our family.
My dad had an athletic build that matched my mother’s. His hair had
peppered with grey the last two years but remained as thick and
full as the day he married my mom. Add in his brown eyes, nice
farmer’s tan and flawlessly balanced profile and they were the
picture of perfection as a couple.

Every now and then my mom would try to
do a “buddy workout” with me, but it never transferred to a
routine. Though she’s concerned about my health, she never pushed
me or hurt my feelings with overly ambitious attempts to guilt me
into a diet. I loved that about my parents. They loved me but never
smothered me with parental nonsense.

I chatted with my mother while eating
at the kitchen island. It was a good change in scenery over my
room. She mindlessly cleaned as she described her newest client – a
former NFL player recently divorced and searching for a waterfront
retreat near Folly Beach. She thought it odd he didn’t choose
Myrtle Beach or Hilton Head, but she never faltered when it came to
giving her clients what they wanted.

An hour after I emptied my bowl of
veggie pasta, Stewart, my dad, walked through the front door mid
conversation with my mom over reality TV.

“Ready to go kiddo?” he asked as he
strolled into the kitchen. He greeted my mother with a
kiss.

“How did you know I was in here?” I
pondered aloud.

“Lucky guess,” he winked.

“Ok, well let me find out where Mel
is. She should have been here about ten minutes ago.” I hopped down
from the bar stool and dialed her number.

Two rings later Mel answered with,
“Open the door.”

“Hey! What took you so long?!” I
blurted as soon as I cracked the front door.

“Kyle’s practice ran late.”

“You could have called you know,” I
scolded as I dangled my phone towards her.

“Yea, yea. Tell me something new.” She
pushed past me into the house but was visibly squirming, ready to
escape.

“You ready to make like a banana and
split?”

“Ok, really, that line definitely has
to go,” she grumbled in mock horror.

“Yea, yea. I’ll work on it, scouts
honor,” I goofed. “Now let’s go. Starbucks is calling my name.” I
turned back to yell for my dad, but he was already shooing us out
the door towards his car.

Naturally, with the money my parents
had, they drove nice cars. My mother was partial to her 2006 white
Mercedes CLK500 but my father recently upgraded to the new Mercedes
GLK SUV. I’ll admit, they were very nice, but they felt overrated.
A car was a car to me. If it got me from point A to point B without
hesitation, then I was sure to be satisfied. Who needs a built in
navigation system when you have a cell phone with GPS these
days?

We loaded up and sat quietly as my dad
drove us to the store. Routinely he dropped us off and then
entertained himself at Best Buy down the road; they came to know
his name as every Barnes & Noble employee knew me and Mel. But
tonight he opted to go back home for a bit. I sensed something was
off, but chose to hold my tongue.

“Call me when you’re ready,” he said
as Mel began to exit the SUV.

“I will Dad.” I gave him a quick peck
on the cheek across the threshold before we strolled into the store
and straight up to the Starbucks counter.

“The usual tonight ladies?” Sam asked.
She was the local barista every Thursday evening when we came in.
She’s a college student with a punk-rock flair to her. She’s always
friendly, melodramatic at times with her shared derision of the
prepsters in our town. She tended to spark conversations with us as
she prepared our drinks. Mel and I thought of it as the start of
our night and our formal “Welcome to Barnes &
Noble.”

“Of course,” Mel responded
promptly.

“It’s on me tonight, remember?” I said
as I swiped the debit card my parents gave me. My dad cautioned it
was for emergencies only, but slowly they had placed a generous
allowance in the account for me. Sort of sad I suppose since I’d
never thought to touch the majority of the funds. I didn’t go out
often and only used the money for literature, the occasional meal
with Mel and Starbucks.

“Drinks are up! Enjoy!” Sam
called.

“Thanks,” we said in unison. We
unwrapped our straws and began sipping away.

“O.M.G! This is heaven on earth, I
swear,” Mel sang as she swirled the ice around in her
cup.

“Definitely,” I agreed. “Should we go
books or magazines this week?”

“I’m thinking magazines. We need to
get some good ideas on what to do for your birthday next week.
Aren’t you excited?! You’re going to be sixteen! I bet your parents
are going to give you a car! What do you think?” Mel squealed; she
tends to ramble when she gets excited. I don’t mind though. It’s
part of her charm.

“Umm… I guess. And I’m not sure what
they’re getting me. They’ve been acting sort of weird lately. My
dad has been home a lot more and my mom is just, well, I don’t
know. Something is off with them.” I had made this observation over
the past few days but questioned myself since I had a tendency to
overanalyze things. Perhaps they were simply nervous about how fast
I was growing up. It must be hard on a parent. And to make matters
worse, I would be of the legal age to drive. My mother had always
been keyed up to teach me but my dad was scared silly over the
whole idea; he looked ready to have a heart attack the first time
we mentioned it.

As we continued to walk, browsing the
magazines, I couldn’t stop myself from thinking of him. I could
still picture his face as if he were right in front of me; his eyes
piercing me like beautiful green daggers. I could still see the red
iPod nano engulfing his buff bicep; the two together depicted his
strength and withdrawal perfectly. I felt obsessive almost in the
way my mind could so easily and perfectly recall him after only one
day. That immediately turned to guilt when I saw the car magazine
Mike was addicted to.

“Lex?” Mel had stopped and was openly
studying me, a few tiny creases present in her forehead.

“Yea? Sorry,” I mumbled.

She rolled her eyes. “What do you
think is up with them? You think they could be planning something?”
she repeated, slowing her speech to ensure I caught her questions
entirely.

“Um, I don’t know. They haven’t been
secretive that I’ve noticed just overbearing in some ways. It’s
nothing close to your mom but more than usual.” I shrugged and
sighed, “Oh well. I guess I’ll find out soon enough. I only have a
week as of tomorrow.”

“True. So what do you want to do next
Friday?” I paused to think a bit as we continued to browse the
magazine racks. I took too long apparently because Mel began
rambling again. “I still can’t believe you aren’t having a sweet
sixteen party! I mean your parents have money. It could be awesome.
And not just awesome-awesome but like party of the century awesome!
We could always do a belated sweet sixteen party though. What do
you think?”

“Are you serious?” I half checked and
half scoffed.

“Of course I’m serious! You only turn
sixteen once. That and I still have another five months till my
birthday. So for now I just have to live vicariously through you,”
she smiled and pranced about as she spoke the words with a
matter-of-fact sarcasm.

“Mel, when have you ever seen me go to
a party in the last five years let alone throw one?”

“See, you’re long overdue. And I’m
sure if you agreed to it me and your mom could plan it all out. You
wouldn’t have to do anything but show up.”

“Thanks but I think I’ll
pass.”

“You’re such a buzz kill sometimes,”
she pouted.

“Yea, yea. Talk to me in five months
when it’s time for your party. Have you given it any thought yet
Miss ‘I always plan ahead’?”

“I’ve tossed a few ideas around, but
until my mom nails down the budget I’ve got nothing but air to work
with.”

We picked up a few fashion magazines
and walked back to the café. We settled into our usual table
against the wall closest to the counter. Mel could never keep quiet
for long; I was surprised she lasted the entire drive without a
peep. So it didn’t shock me when the magazines became the
background to our conversation.

“Okay. So back track for me and
re-explain why you think your parents are being weird on
you.”

“I don’t know. They’re just off,” I
shrugged continuing to flip the pages of Teen Vogue on the table in
front of me.

“Off like how? Like in a weird-you-out
kind of way or in a ‘oh our baby’s growing up’ way?” She tried to
clarify, but I was lost on an exact description.

“Sort of both I suppose. My mom has
been looking at me with this gleam in her eyes lately as if she’s
anticipating something. That could be because I’m turning sixteen
and she still wishes I was six though. And my dad, well he’s weird
to begin with, but he’s been home a lot more. Oh and last night he
gave me a hug before bed but he didn’t let go for like five
minutes. I had to practically pry him off of me. Saying it out loud
though I guess that could be in line with how old I’m going to be
too.” I sighed and stared into space for a moment to rethink their
actions over the past few days. They were different versus what was
considered normal in our home, but not so far off base that I
should have been suspicious of anything drastic to surprise me.
They both shared the expectant gleam in their stares though and
that slight fear of my impending birthday I’m guessing.

“Come to think of it, they are acting
like I am going to turn sixteen and move out or leave them. Or
maybe they’re planning to send me away. Oh! I never thought about
that. Gran sent my mom away for a year when she turned sixteen; she
sent her off to boarding school somewhere. You don’t think they
would do that to me too do you?” Suddenly I was choking with alarm.
Could it be possible? Would they really send their only daughter
away to boarding school? I’d been such a good child in comparison
to my classmates. I never whined or asked for anything above a
weekly Barnes and Noble visit. I was open regarding my activities
and life events. I talked to my mom instead of hiding away in
seclusion like most teenage girls.

“Calm down Lex. I’m sure you’re
overreacting. Your parents wouldn’t send you away. These are
different times than the one your mom grew up in. I don’t even know
of any boarding schools that still exist. Plus you’re their only
daughter and no offense but you’re so not cut out for the whole
Catholic school from afar thing.” She must have seen the worry
lines that covered my forehead because she quickly added, “Ok. So
maybe they could send you off to boarding school but I really don’t
think they will. And if they do then I will personally harass them
every single day until they bring you back.” She shuddered. “I
don’t even want to think about life here without you!”

“Thanks.” I couldn’t help but smile at
the thought of it.