Jo and Bev stayed with me. Jo was green around the edges.
“Nice, Abby,” said Bev.
I bet I wouldn’t have any more accidents at practice. I had also been banking on Coral getting back inside. Like Mom and Dad said, we didn’t know enough about what Coral wanted yet. I was getting the hang of coexist.
“You guys,” I said. “When you go home tonight, I want crucifixes and garlic on the windows. You call me if anything weird happens.”
Jo nodded. “Bev, stay over with me. No shortage of crosses at my house.”
Of course. Good thinking, Jo.
I popped out my cell phone. Mom answered. I explained my day to her. We mused about whether I should stay home tomorrow, and after I explained what I wanted to do, she agreed to let me go to school, but only if I had back up.
If I’d been Coral, I’d have skipped school on Friday, but she didn’t. She wore long sleeves, an obvious nod to yesterday’s solar damage.
I hid a cross under the top of her desk in science before she came in. She squirmed in her seat until finally she asked to sit somewhere else. After yesterday, not all the whispering in the back of the room was about me.
It was still another crummy day. None of the teachers had seen any of Coral’s weirdness, so they were still under her influence. In history, I received an F on a test because I didn’t read all the instructions. Even though my answers were right, I put X’s on top of the letters, rather than drew circles around them. Mind-controlled teachers can sure be small-minded.
Although I noticed everyone who saw Coral crisp up yesterday afternoon was avoiding her, Coral still had devotees. I was tripped at lunch, which almost sent my tray flying, and later, some genius filled my pencil case with applesauce.
Given that lunch was when almost everyone was gathered in the lunchroom, I figured it would be the best place for a really big reveal. I reached into my backpack and went up to Coral and a batch of her mind slaves who were seated not too far from the teacher lunch table.
“Having a good day at school?” Coral said. Her voice no longer contained that gloaty quality I had come to know and hate.
“The best. You?” My right hand revealed what I had behind my back, a container of rice. I upended it, and tiny grains scattered across the floor, under the tables, under shoes.
Coral snarled. “What have you done?”
Just like Mom said the other night to Mr. Christopher, the true vampire is obsessive compulsive. Coral stooped down and began counting the rice. This is the coolest vampire trick in the book, and one that is much underused in vampire cinema. Scattering rice is a great way to forestall vampiric action when you need to sharpen your stake, or you can’t find your mallet right away. A pound of rice can keep a vampire busy for several hours, and if your vampire is really obsessed with counting every grain, you can do what I just did, which is to make sure that some of the rice spreads under something where the vampire just can’t get it. It doesn’t have to be rice. You can do this with other seeds too. I theorize you might be able to do it with marbles, but I’ve never had opportunity to experiment.
“You witch!” Coral said. She returned to counting, mouthing each number in silence, picking up the grains.
The first bell clanged. “Come on,” said one of Coral’s groupies. “We’re going to be late.”
“Help me!” said Coral. She looked at the groupie and then back at the rice, and then back at the groupie.
“Outta here,” said Coral’s friend.
No Wolcroft girl would want to get in trouble with their teacher by loitering in the hall doing something as weird as counting grains of rice. Coral’s posse didn’t know what to do at first. They hovered, and then they came to a crossroads. On the one hand, they could obey their vampiric overlord and go to the office. On the other hand, they could acknowledge Coral was acting like a weirdo and get as far away from her as possible. Which was it going to be? The posse fidgeted.
“See you in class, Coral.” I didn’t need to look back. The footsteps behind me told me all I needed to know.
In the classroom, I settled on the stool at my workstation. There were four of us in the art room. Mr. Jackson, his
hands covered in plaster of Paris, asked, “Where is the rest of the class?”
The rest of us poured in, lots of skidding chairs, and sliding into seats. The second bell rang. Coral was nowhere to be seen.
Mr. Jackson finished taking attendance. “Has anyone seen Coral? Or Marty?”
“Um…Coral’s in the hall counting rice,” said one of her posse.
“That’s just weird,” someone whispered at me.
Now I knew. Being uncool was, in fact, enough to break mind control.
Mr. Jackson went into the hall. Since I could hardly follow, I had to content myself with listening to the whispers.
“Just weird.”
“Why would she do that? Count that rice?”
“Maybe when she was little she was in some sort of rice accident or something.”
Marty came through the door, glancing over her shoulder.
“Where were you?” I asked.
“I stayed in the hall to help Coral count rice.”
“Why would you do that?” Was Marty still being influenced?
“You were so mean, Abby. She was crying. I left because Mr. Jackson told me to
