“I realize that now. I am so sorry that I got mad and cut our visit short.”
“Don’t be sorry, El ie. It’s my fault. I had another intention, one you weren’t ready for.”
“What do you mean?”
“I wanted to show you something. But it was too much, too soon.”
I didn’t respond. I knew what he was going to say next, but I didn’t want him to say it. I wanted to remain in this tranquil moment, happy with Michael and this place. But I knew he couldn’t let it go—wouldn’t let it go—once he started, and I knew his words would shatter the serenity.
“I wanted to show you what we are.”
I shook my hand free of his. “Michael, I told you already. There’s nothing to show.”
“El ie, think about it. The flying, the insights we have about others, and the power of blood. Especial y the blood.”
I felt myself getting mad at him again. “And exactly what does this bizarre equation equal?”
“I think—” He stopped as if the words were hard, even for him. “I think that we’re vampires.”
Even I hadn’t guessed his ludicrous theory, and I was torn between laughing and hitting him. I opted for laughing. “Come on, Michael, that’s ridiculous. And anyway, this is just a dream.”
“This isn’t a dream, El ie. Don’t you remember the apple tree leaf caught in your hair from your last ‘dream’?”
I didn’t want to hear any more, so I wil ed myself to wake up. The cove started to blur, and I could feel myself fade away.
Before I total y disappeared, I heard Michael cal out. His voice was muffled and faint as if from a far distance, but I swear he said, “When you leave your house tomorrow morning for school, I promise that I’l be waiting for you. That way you’l know that this is not a dream.”
Chapter Fourteen
I sat up in my bed. The quilt slipped off my shoulders, but sun streamed through my bedroom windows and warmed me up. The clock flashed seven A .M. Only twenty minutes to get ready before my mom drove me to school, so I had to move fast. I was glad I didn’t have too much time to think.
Racing around, I washed my face and brushed my hair. I threw on some blush and mascara and pul ed my hair back in a ponytail. Jeans and a sweater would have to suffice, since I didn’t have the luxury of rifling through my closet for something more interesting. I could already hear my mom cal ing up to me.
Wheat toast with raspberry jam sat waiting for me on the kitchen table, along with a tal glass of orange juice. My mom hurried me along as she did every other morning; she liked to be in her office first thing. She didn’t mention the lie about the library, and I felt relieved that she didn’t seem upset anymore. We each grabbed our bags and headed for the front door.
Just before she pul ed the door open, I realized that I had left my English paper on the desk in my bedroom. I told her that I’d meet her in the car, and I ran upstairs to grab the paper. As I dashed back down the steps, I heard voices on the front porch. I opened the front door to see my mom chatting away—with Michael.
I stopped. Why was he here? I spotted the gift basket in his hands, and I surmised that this was a peace offering for his stunt—a way of buttering up my parents. Michael’s outfit—parent-friendly khakis and a rugby shirt— confirmed my suspicions, and made me wish I’d had more than twenty minutes to get myself ready.
My mom turned to me. “Look, dearest, your friend Michael brought us a present. Homemade breads.” To him, she probably sounded sweet, but I knew from the cold way she said “your friend” that the bread hadn’t won her over. She knew that it was I who had acted badly last night—not Michael
—but I’m sure she blamed him in part, for being a bad influence. My mom was way tougher than she looked, way tougher than my dad, in fact. “You must have been up al night making these. After al , you guys got back pretty late from the library.” The last dig was for both our benefits.
Michael didn’t look in my direction, but kept his focus on my mom. “Mrs. Faneuil, I have to confess that the present real y comes from my mother.
She said that I should deliver it to you with her regards.”
“How nice of her. Please pass along my thanks.” She paused. “And please tel her that we should get together soon. It’s been a long, long time.”
“I’l do that. In fact, she mentioned the same thing. That it’s been too long.”
Deftly, Michael turned the talk to our time together in Guatemala. I listened as they recal ed people and events on which I drew a complete blank.
He and I had talked about the gaps in my memory, so I didn’t feel uncomfortable with their conversation, even though it was stil troubling. My mom glanced at her watch abruptly and said we should al get going.
Final y, Michael seemed to remember me. He asked, “Mrs. Faneuil, do you mind if I take El ie to school?”
She paused for a split second that no one but me would have noticed. “No, that’s fine. Just be careful with our El ie.”
How embarrassing. “Oh, Mom—”
Michael interrupted me. “I promise, Mrs. Faneuil.”
My mom gave me a quick peck on the cheek, and watched as Michael opened the passenger door for me. I slid inside and waited for him, unsure what to say when he closed his door and we were alone.
Once he got in, he leaned over to give me a kiss. His audacity brought the right words to my lips. I wrenched away and said, “Nice move, Michael. Did you think that I’d forget to be mad about the stunt you pul ed yesterday just because you brought some bread for my mom?”
