What Do You Do When Your Crush Is A Vampire?

I ran to the bus stop, barely catching the yellow heap before the doors closed. I took my seat in the back of the bus, ignoring the bus driver's string of profanities about being late for the third day in a row that he mumbled under his breath. The brown material. that couldn't be called leather on any level. was cold against my back as I sat in the empty seat. I sit by myself on the bus, since I try to avoid most people and my only friend rides a different bus. I listened to the squeaky sound of my black combat boots on the floor, and remembered when I had once worn pink sandals and mini skirts. I scowled, it had been when I started wearing the combat boots and clothes that didn't expose my thighs that I discovered I had no real friends. Until I met Megan.
Megan was a small girl, short with brown hair that falls in ringlets around her face. She has a naturally creamy complexion, and bright blue eyes. She could be popular if she wanted, but for some reason she chose to hang out with me. She does wear skirts on occasion, but not every day like the girls who used to be my friends do. Megan likes pink, but she also likes black. Megan likes to keep things orderly and doesn't like it when real and make believe things are put together. She hates fantasy. The only books she'll read are nonfiction and mystery, ones that don't include magic and mystical creatures.
I frowned. Why she wanted to be my friend was a mystery. We were total opposites. She wears pink shirts, I wear black shirts. She wears Capri’s and shorts, I refuse to wear anything but jeans. She wears wedge heals, I wear tennis shoes and combat boots. She wears jewelry and makeup, I don't even have my ears pierced and wouldn't go near makeup if you paid me! She's got beautiful skin, I'm sickly pail and am known to get a zit or two every once in a while. She has dark brown hair, I have light brown. Her eyes are blue and bright, my eyes are dull brown and deep. She's shy, I'm not afraid to speak my mind. Even the things we like are different, I love fantasy! She pays attention to details, I color outside the lines. I'm a dreamer, and she's a realist. Opposites in every way, but we can't get enough of each other! There are no secrets between us, and yet we find out something new about each other every time we talk.
I was taken out of my trance when the bus came to a sudden halt that jerked us forward in our seats. I looked out the window through the pouring rain, and saw we were stopped outside the old mansion that was next to the graveyard. The front gates were open, and a sports car sat in the driveway. So, someone had finally moved into that place. By the looks of the car, they were rich. I could barely make out a figure climbing aboard the bus, a boy it seemed. Great, another rich boy to add to the school social society.
I lost all interest then, and instead focused on the rain. I loved the rain. The only thing I loved more were the stars. I saw the rain as little diamonds that fell to the ground, making everything it touched shine. I heard someone walking down the isle, and then stop when they got to my seat.
"Is this seat taken?"
I turned to see a boy, but not one I knew. If he knew me, he'd know better than to be talking to me. This boy was pale. Not as pale as me, but still pale. He had black hair tied back into a ponytail, and was wearing black jeans with a white tee. He was muscular, and had beautiful deep green eyes. He had flawless skin, and not a zit in sight. Obviously he was rich boy, the one we had just picked up. He waited patiently as I looked him over, deciding. There was no smile on his beautiful face. It couldn't hurt to let him sit with me, every other seat was taken. As long as he didn't talk to me, I would be fine.
"Fine," I said. Then I turned to the window, watching the rain again.
The boy sat next to me, and didn't speak. Not that I wanted to talk, but it would have been polite for him to say hi. Apparently I wasn't good enough again. Oh well, I don't care. I'm used to it.
When we got to the school, I practically jumped over him to get out first. Through a glance back over my shoulder, I could see the boy staring after me like I was a freak. I didn't blame him. I was off the bus and running towards the school before anyone else was out of their seat. I got to my locker on the second floor and stuffed my things into it. The lockers were red and yellow, our school colors. The tile floors in the hall were a disgusting green, like mucus or something. I grabbed my things and headed for my first class.
My first class was music, and the classroom was the best one in existence. The walls had the names of bands painted on them in different colors. (Like Pink Floyd, the Beatles, etc.) In bubble letters, The Jets and The Sharks (The names of the gangs from West Side Story.)were painted on the back wall, one on each side. The desks were on three platforms that rose up from the floor in levels along the same wall. Mr. Bingle's desk was on the left side of the room. I set my things on my desk on the top platform, the third. Megan came in soon afterward; she knew our routine.
Mr. Bingle lets me play music until seven thirty, which is when the second bell rings and people actually start arriving for class. Megan and I get there early to share our only similarity for those twenty minutes we're allowed to play music in school. She sets her things on her desk on the second platform, a wide grin spreading across her face. Mr. Bingle isn't in the room, and he usually doesn't come in until the final bell rings. I pull out my CD and pop it into the stereo system. I picked a song and pressed ‘play’.
Instantly Avril Lavigne is blaring through the speakers. Megan and I start dancing to 'He Wasn't', singing- more or less- along with Avril.
"He wasn't what I wanted, what I thought, no!" I shouted.
"He wouldn't even open up the door!" Megan shouted.
We ran along the platforms, dancing and shouting to the music. We didn't notice someone watching from the doorway. Only when the song ended and we both started breaking out in laughter did we realize someone was there. We turned to the door when a low clapping reached our ears, and there was Mr. Bingle and the boy from the bus. Mr. Bingle was clapping, a grin spread across his face, his mustache spreading with it. The boy was fighting back laughter. I took out the CD, and put it back in it's case.
"Hey, Mr. Bingle, you're here early," I said.
"Hello, Chrysalis," Mr. Bingle replied. "Just showing Drake his first class. Having fun?"
I smiled. "You know it."
Megan hadn't said anything. She looked at her feet, a blush on her face.
"Megan, it's just Mr. Bingle." I walked over to her. "What are you so embarrassed about?"
Megan glanced up at me, then her eyes flicked to the boy, who must be Drake.
"Him?" I pointed. "Megan! Who cares? It's just some guy, it's not like you're dating him and he just discovered you're secretly a man or something."
At that, Megan couldn't help but let out a surprised burst of laughter. My sarcasm can cheer anyone up. Too bad it can also do the same thing with annoyance.
"That's better." I pulled her to her desk and made her sit down. "Now you sit here and come up with something fun for us to do this weekend that's actually interesting."
I left her there and walked to Mr. Bingle's desk, sitting in one of the metal fold-out chairs he kept in front of it.
"So, Mr. Bingle, what's new?"
"Not much, Chrysalis." Mr. Bingle was sitting at his desk, Drake next to him.
I rolled my eyes. "Chrys. Call me Chrys!"
"I call all students by their full names, no more, no less."
I scowled. "Fine."
I noticed Drake watching me from the corner of his eye.
"What are you looking at, pretty boy?"
Drake was unfazed, most boys would have looked away. He grimaced at me. "The freakiest girl I've ever met."
I put a hand over my heart and faked tears. "That's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me!"
"It's probably the only thing anyone's ever said to you."
I scowled. "Yeah, pretty boy. Like I want people like you talking to me. Rich fakes with no personality, whose only care is who's dating who. I'm not that desperate."
We stared at each other, neither of us willing to be the first one to look away.
"Stop, you two." Mr. Bingle didn't approve of feuding between students. "Drake, what's your last name?"
Drake averted his attention to Mr. Bingle. "Nighton. Why?"
"Just needed to make sure you're the Drake on the list. It's mandatory."
"It's stupid," I muttered. There weren’t even any other Drakes in our grade.
Mr. Bingle grinned. "Yes, it is, but I still have to do it."
The bell rang then, and in walked Jacob. My ex-boyfriend, and worst enemy. He has beautiful brown hair that looked like he had just finished shooting a commercial for shampoo all the time. He is perfectly tan, and has a row of straight white teeth. His eyes are sky blue and beautiful. There was no doubt that he was the hottest guy in school. (Well, actually, this Drake guy may just be his equal. Or Drake may even be hotter, if that was possible. A quick glance at Drake from behind proves that, yes, it is possible.) He had broken up with me when I changed into what I am now, and instead of telling me some lame excuse he had said it was because I was too ugly now. Shallow ass.
"Chrysalis," Jacob said, "Are you still a regular freak, or have you and that name of yours reached a new level of freakiness?"
"Jacob," I said acidly, "still shallow enough that ants can swim in a puddle of you without fear of drowning?"
"Still ugly enough to kill everyone on the face of the Earth with one look?"
"Are you still ass enough for all the donkeys throughout time and space?" I laughed then. "And I wish I could kill people with one look! Maybe then you'd leave me alone!"
He glowered. I glared. I was much more impressive with my anger, and he had to look away. I snickered, then I stood and walked to Megan's seat.
"Hey, Megan," I said, "You come up with something for us to do this weekend?"
"Yeah," Megan said. She looked over my shoulder. "Jacob's flipping you the bird."
I grinned. "Jacob!" I called over my shoulder. "If you're going to flip me off, at least get the courage to do it to my face."
I turned around and walked up to him. "Like so." I held my middle finger in front of his face. "See? I'm not a wimp."
I walked back to Megan, not bothering to see Jacob's reaction. I could honestly care less. Megan just shook her head.
"I have no idea why you waste your time even talking to him," she said. "He's not exactly worth it."
I plopped into the desk next to her. "I know it isn't, but it's still so fun watching his face when I'm the only one who will stand up to him. It's like a personal victory for me. Like fresh payback for dumping me just because I was no longer the prettiest."
"I suppose that makes sense. A little."
I smiled. I could hear the undercurrent of humor in her voice. She agreed with me, it was funny. "So, what are we doing this weekend?"
"How about a sleepover at my house? We can express our chocoholic sides and watch movies and play games all night." She laughed. "Remember the last time we expressed our chocoholic sides?"
I laughed. "I'm still recovering! I was so hyper! That's what happens when you serve chocolate coffee!" I put my head in my hands. "Man, we drank like, seven and a half pots of that stuff! I turned to her, eyes bright. "We should have some of that tonight! Then we can pull a bunch of dares on each other that we'll do without thinking because we're too hyper to know any better!"
Megan drummed her fingers on the desktop. "I suppose we could do that. I believe I still have it in a cupboard in the kitchen, hidden from my parents who would otherwise drink it all."
"You are a genius!"
She grinned. "No, I just know how to hide coffee."
We both laughed at that, and I saw Jacob glare at me from the corner of my eye. I ignored him. I did notice, through a careful glance, that Drake seemed to be officially a member of Jacob's crew. He was sitting with them on the other side of the room near Mr. Bingle's desk, Jacob and the rest of his gang surrounding him on the various platforms. I shook my head, I had thought he'd be able to hold out longer.
Mr. Bingle started class then, and we started singing. I loved to sing. I would sometimes sing the poems I wrote, but only when I was by myself. In music I kept my voice low, so no one could hear it. Very few people had ever heard me sing, I was shy about that particular thing. I never tried out for anything, fear of being rejected. I have an alto voice, low and mild. I don't get high notes easily.
Something was different about today's class though. I could hear, somewhere on the other side of the room, a decent voice rise above the others. I looked when everybody else did, and saw that it was Drake singing. His voice was beautiful. It was low and deep, but light and feathery at the same time. It was loud, but still soft. Drake stopped singing when he noticed everyone staring. He seemed smug, and a grin was spread across his face.
"Well, Drake," Mr. Bingle said, "it would seem you have a quality voice." He chuckled, and his short black hair bobbed around his head. "That's an understatement! You're voice is quite spectacular."
Drake didn't say anything, just continued to smile.
"I wonder." Mr. Bingle turned in the direction of the girls. We never sang wholeheartedly, and he knew that. Most of us were too shy to. "Could there be a girl in here that could match you in voice?" His eyes scanned across the group. "I'm willing to sacrifice a class period to find out."
I felt my eyes widen. Please don't let him say what I think he's going to say..............
"Let's have everyone sing individually. One at a time, to see if there is anyone who can match you."
.........Dang. He said it. Individual singing. I never did it when he had us, but it still sucked having to fight with him about it. He didn't understand why I didn't like to sing, he had heard me once before by walking into the room when I thought I was alone.
"Why don't we start with you, Chrysalis?" Mr. Bingle turned his hopeful eyes on me; he knew if anyone could match Drake, it was me.
I grinned wryly. "Oh, Mr. Bingle. Why ask? You already know the answer."
He almost smiled. "Yes, I know." He sighed. "It would be nice if you shared your voice once in a while, though. I so wish to hear it again."
"You were lucky you heard it at all."
"I know, I know. Moving on."
Mr. Bingle moved on to the other girls in the row, and for some reason I felt like I was being watched. A swift glance around revealed that it was Drake and Jacob. Jacob had a smug look on his face that probably meant, 'She won't sing because she sucks', or 'I bet I'm a million times better than her.' Drake's expression was mere curiosity, nothing unkind. I turned my head fully and glared at them. They both turned away quickly when they saw they had been caught staring.
Boys. Shallow boys. Pig-headed shallow boys. How can they be allowed to roam free in this building without a leash?