Studying
Sblood: real world—where are you guys? what city?
Fangs666: Paris
2Tooth: Istanbul
Roxxxie: Ancient Babylon.
Sblood: SERIOUS! come on you guys! I realy have to know.
Fangs666: Fortress of Solitude
2Tooth: Mars City
Roxxxie: Ancient Babylon *SERIOUS* I’m logged on through a time link.
“I don’t think they’re gonna tell you,” says Mark in a low voice. We are being mouse-quiet. His parents are asleep upstairs. We are in his room, way down in the basement, but his mom can hear hair growing, he says.
“I’m not surprised. Last thing most of them want is to meet a web friend face-to-face. Everybody knows we’re all fat and ugly with questionable personal hygiene.”
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that.”
I swat his shoulder with the back of my hand. It’s like hitting a stone wall. “Ouch,” I say. “When did you get so Schwarzeneggery?”
Mark grins and rubs his shoulder. “I’ve been working out.”
2Tooth: Y U wanna know?
Sblood: personal.
Mark says, “Why do you want to know?”
“I’m trying to figure out if this guy I met at a party is from our chat room.”
“What guy?”
“An older guy.”
Mark doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. When I look at him he has this funny expression on his face. “You going out with him or something?” he asks.
“Me?” I have to laugh. “No!”
He looks relieved. For a second I don’t get it, then I realize that Mark is jealous. Over me! And that makes me feel like I’ve got a lot of air in my chest. I breathe out.
“He’s just this… kind of weird guy.”
“Why didn’t you ask him?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I will if I ever see him again.”
“But the people in the chat room could be anywhere, right? I mean, what are the chances they live here instead of a thousand miles away?”
“Pretty good, actually. Transylvania started off as an offshoot of a local goth Web site.”
Sblood: anybody know where Draco’s from?
2Tooth: N.
Roxxxie: Last we talked he said he was on a diet. No more blood from fat people. No more pig blood. Skinny girls and alleycat blood only.
Sblood: ever meet him F2F?
Roxxxie: NO WAY. I’m a skinny girl. He wants my blood he’ll have to suck it out of me through my keyboard.
Fangs666: Tasty
2Tooth: I think he’s from New Orleasn. He knows Anne Rice.
Roxxxie: Not New Orleans. I know all the Big Easy vamps.
Vlad714: What r you guys talking?
Sblood: Draco. Where he’s from.
2Tooth: Why not ask him?
Sblood: He’s not here. unless he’s lurking. do you lurk, D?
“I’m not following this,” says Mark. We are sitting next to each other in front of his computer. Our shoulders are touching.
“Draco is this so-called vampire that drops in on the chat room.”
“I thought you were all vampires.”
“Draco’s more serious. All these guys talk about drinking blood, but I think Draco might actually do it.”
“That’s pretty creepy.”
“Not to a vampire.”
Mark is looking at me. “This is a guy you think you met?”
“Maybe.”
“Isn’t that kind of scary?”
“A little,” I admit. “But it’s also kinda cool.”
“What was he like? Did he look like Bela Lugosi?”
“Actually, he looked more like Elton John.”
“Wow. That is scary.”
I laugh out loud at the comical expression on Mark’s face. He shushes me, pointing upstairs. That really sets me off; I clap my hands over my mouth and laugh through my nose, making a truly gross snorting sound, which gets Mark going too. A few seconds later we calm down just in time to hear footsteps from upstairs, followed by his mother’s voice.
“Mark? Is that you down there?”
“Yeah.”
“What on earth are you doing up at this hour?”
“Studying?”
There are three long silent seconds when I imagine her standing at the top of the stairs trying to figure out if the snorting laughter she thought she heard was really the sound of her son studying. Just when I am sure she is about to march down the stairs she says, “Well, it’s after midnight. Go to bed.”
We listen to her shuffle back to her room.
“She’s got ears like a bat,” Mark whispers. His face is only about nine inches away from mine. He has little lines at the corners of his lips, and his eyes are the soft brown of chocolate pudding. His head is a planet, pulling at me. What would happen if I let go? If I let myself fall toward him and our lips smashed together? He kissed me once before, but I was in a coma. Not a very good kiss, at least from my point of view. I wonder if he is about to try again.
The thought sends a panicky jolt through my body. I stand up.
“I better go,” I say.
I am standing on the street in front of Mark’s house and my heart is going about a hundred beats a minute. Am I having another insulin reaction? I don’t think so. I cut back on my long-acting insulin after the incident at school. If anything my sugar is a little high. I don’t want to risk another bout of hypoglycemia, not after the last one. But why is my heart pounding?
I think about Mark’s face, and our shoulders touching, and his chocolate-pudding eyes. I’m not breathing. I suck in a lungful of cool night air and tell my heart to slow down. It doesn’t work. Going home and climbing into bed and sleeping seems impossible. I’m so awake right now my eyes feel like they’re about to pop right out of my head. I should go back and make Mark talk to me. But I can’t. Why not? I don’t know. I start walking. Walking and thinking, thinking and walking, listening to the tock tock tock of boot heels on concrete.
I don’t know where I’m going, but I’m sure I’ll find out soon enough.