“That’s a stereotype,” a girl in the front row said. Looking back at Lottie, the girl touched the frame of her glasses, pushed them up the bridge of her nose. Lottie stuck out her tongue. Then the principal said enough is enough again, and sent everyone packing.
On the way out of the assembly, Lottie turned to Retta and said, “Only last period left. Screw it. Want to leave?”
“And go where?”
“Home,” said Lottie. “We can hang at my place for a while.”
“Sure,” said Retta, and they ducked down a hallway that opened onto the student parking lot, where a hundred cars gleamed hotly under the mid-May afternoon sun. Someday soon, in a few weeks, I will never have to see any of this, thought Retta. She ran her hands through her hair, unsure if she should be happy or sad.
They were only halfway across the lot, though, when she saw the head vampire standing against a car, a large maroon Cadillac, staring in their direction. In her direction, actually. His vampire friends were gone. Lottie was saying something about a video game she played online, about a character she’d made last night, someone who carried a sword and wore lots of armor. Retta kept saying, “Yeah? Oh, yeah?” but she couldn’t break from the head vampire’s stare. And finally, once they reached Lottie’s car, Retta said, “I think maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.”
“What wasn’t?”
“Ditching.”
“Come on, Retta, are you serious?”
“Yeah,” said Retta. “I’m going back in. You go. Sorry.”
“You are acting so weird lately, Retta,” said Lottie. “But whatever. Fine. Take notes for me or something.”
Lottie got into her car, started it while pointedly not looking at Retta, then pulled away.
Retta, on the other hand, turned around and saw the head vampire was still there, leaning against that car. Still staring at her.
But instead of going to her last class, she crossed the lot toward him.
The thing to know about Lottie is that she’s a difficult person to be friends with. Retta used to take pride in her patience with her. Lottie was almost always mad about something. “The world is so full of stupid people,” she liked to say. Retta didn’t know if Lottie really meant that or if she just said it, because Lottie did sincerely get angry with people who said and did stupid things. Like cheerleaders. Lottie hated cheerleaders, mostly because of the cheers, how strident they were, how unquestioning. Lottie once said cheerleaders would be more effective if their cheers called their own team’s ability into doubt when behind in a game, rather than trying to boost morale. But sometimes Retta wanted more than sitting around with Lottie discussing the uselessness of certain teachers, the annoyance brought on by certain students who actually cared about things like prom and the commencement ceremony that they would totally regret missing if they missed it, according to their parents, teachers, classmates, Hallmark greeting cards, and certain television shows modeled on the moralizing tendencies of 1980s and ’90s after-school specials. Sometimes Retta just wanted more more. This is what she was probably wanting when she walked up to the head vampire in the parking lot and said, “Hi. I heard your speech. Very interesting.”
“Interesting?” said the head vampire. He bobbed his head from side to side, pursing his lips, weighing her statement. “I guess so,” he said. “Interesting if you’ve never met a vampire.”
“You’re the first one.”
“That you know of,” said the head vampire. His eyes widened after he said this, and Retta started to think maybe she’d made a mistake, that vampires didn’t deserve a chance at friendship after all. But then he laughed, and then he smiled. “Just a joke,” he said. “What’s your name?”
“Loretta,” she said, feeling like she was giving a fake name, as if he might be a stalker, even though she’d been the one to cross the parking lot under a hot sun.
“Loretta? That’s kind of old-fashioned,” he said, and Retta said only if you think about it for a while. He said, “Why are we talking, Loretta?”
“Just thought I’d introduce myself. I liked what you had to say.”
“Are you a vampire, Loretta?” he said, narrowing his eyes, nostrils flaring.
“Me?” said Retta. “Ha ha. I don’t think so.”
“Sometimes people are and don’t realize,” he said. “Like me. I didn’t realize for a long time.”
“How can you not realize something like that?”
“Because,” he said. “I don’t drink blood.”
Retta asked what he drank instead.
“Emotions,” he said. “Feelings.”
Hearing him say those two words made her stomach flutter.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Trevor,” said the head vampire.
“Well, Trevor,” said Retta. “It was nice meeting you. Good luck with your campaign for vampire equality.”
“Wait a second,” he said as she turned to walk away. “Are you going home now?”
“Why?” she asked.
He said, “I can give you a ride.”
Retta stared at the cinnamon splash of freckles on his cheeks and tried to calculate the potential danger in accepting a ride from a vampire. In the end, she started nodding. And finally she said, “Okay.”
The ride to Retta’s house was just two miles. She could have walked it, she usually walked it, and it seemed to disappoint Trevor when he realized he only had her in his car for a total of eight minutes, almost all of which Retta didn’t look at him. Instead she rolled down the window and leaned her arms across it, her head on her arms, watching the passing houses with beds of bright flowers decorating their front yards. And when Trevor asked questions, like whether or not she was disturbed by the scene that had occurred in the gym, Retta didn’t bother to look at him when she answered. She just said, “I don’t know,” and let the wind take the words from her mouth, watched them tumble behind her, tin cans dancing across the pavement. It was only once they turned onto her street that she sat back against the hot leather.
“Do you think we’ll ever be accepted?” said Trevor.
“Who? Vampires?”
He nodded.
“Sure,” said Retta. “There are precedents. People of color. Women. Gay people. Wiccans. I mean, I already accept you. So there you go.”
“So there you go?” said Trevor, smiling as he pulled his car against the curb.
“How did you know this was my house?” asked Retta. “How did you know this was my street?” She hadn’t given any directions.
“Inside,” said Trevor, lifting his finger to his temple and tapping. “Didn’t you notice me inside, searching?”
Retta stared at him for a long second before opening the door to climb out.
“Hey. I’m sorry,” said Trevor. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Retta closed the door and bent down to look at him through the window. From above, his fauxhawk made him look a little birdlike, a brown baby chick who knew how to drive. “You don’t scare me,” she said, and started up the walk to the front porch.
“Hey, Loretta,” Trevor called after her. “Hey, can I come in?”
“No,” said Retta, turning to look back at him. “That would not be a good idea. If you let a vampire into your house, they can come in anytime they want afterward.”
“I’m not that kind of vampire,” said Trevor, grinning, stretching farther across his seat to call out from the rolled-down passenger window.
“That’s right,” said Retta. “And I’m not that kind of girl.”
When she turned to continue on her way, she let herself smile, just a little.