A tap sounded on his window. We jumped apart, and stared out. It was Mr. Morgans, the phys ed teacher, motioning that the bel was about to ring.
Chapter Fifteen
Michael and I raced to our respective classes, but not before I agreed to meet him back at his car at the end of the day. The bel finished ringing before I made it to Miss Taunton’s classroom, and she wasn’t about to let me get away with sneaking in the door.
“Miss Faneuil, you know my rules about tardiness. You owe me a ten-page biography of Jane Austen.”
My jaw dropped; she must have been in a real y bad mood because her punishments were usual y in the five- page range. My astonished expression didn’t escape Miss Taunton.
“You don’t like that assignment, Miss Faneuil? You are welcome to detention instead.”
I rushed to accept the lighter sentence. I could just imagine the look in my parents’ eyes if they learned that Michael delivered me late to school to the tune of detention. “No, no, Miss Taunton. I’m happy to learn more about Jane Austen.”
“Good, Miss Faneuil, so am I. I’m sure you’l dazzle me with some esoteric piece of information about one of my favorite writers. Now class, let’s hear from . . .”
As I walked to my seat in the back of the classroom, I caught Ruth’s sympathetic eye. I couldn’t imagine how I’d dredge up fresh biographical details about one of the world’s most written-about authors, but I had more pressing concerns. Michael and our “gifts,” to name a couple.
After I slid into my chair and unzipped my bag, my cel phone quietly vibrated with a text message. The rare occurrence intrigued me; maybe it was Michael. I created a barrier with my bag so I could glance at it. Nothing made Miss Taunton more furious than students checking their cel phones.
I scrol ed to the text:
I was confused. Looking to make sure that Miss Taunton was safely engrossed in gril ing another student, I answered.
The cel vibrated back.
Oh, no. Between the confusion of the dream and Michael’s unexpected visit this morning, I’d completely forgotten about Ruth’s cal to my parents last night. I felt terrible. Why should she feel bad about cal ing my house when I was the one who didn’t give her the heads-up about meeting Michael? I wrote back:
Risking Miss Taunton’s wrath, Ruth turned around in her seat and smiled to show that al was wel . It made me feel even worse, like I’d betrayed my own family. For years, Ruth and I had shared everything with each other. In the absence of other siblings, we’d become like sisters, with my mom even playing the role of mother to Ruth when she needed it. I should be begging forgiveness for keeping secrets and using Ruth as a cover for my date with Michael. Not vice versa.
Worse, I’d have to continue keeping secrets from her. How could I tel her about the flying and the flashes I got about people? Or the way blood affected me? With good reason, she’d run off to my parents, and they’d have me committed. No, I’d have to explore this with Michael alone, while I spun a fairy tale for Ruth about the normal side of my relationship with him.
Miss Taunton’s voice grew shril as she subjected a poor junior named Jamie and his “inadequate” assessment of Jane Austen to her scrutiny. I reached for my bag to slip my cel phone back inside, when it dawned on me that I might have a few free minutes while Miss Taunton continued with her tirade. Yielding to temptation, I searched Wikipedia for “vampire.”
I scrol ed through the long entry, and other than some terrifying definitions of blood-sucking, death-dealing vampires, I didn’t find any descriptions that sounded like Michael or me. Relief coursed through me; maybe Michael was wrong.
The name Professor Raymond McMaster was quoted extensively on the page. There was a link to the Harvard University webpage with his bio.
He was an expert in the history of vampires and other supernatural beings. Some of his academic papers sounded interesting, and I was about to click onto “In search of the real Dracula” when I heard my name.
“Miss Faneuil, am I boring you?”
My head snapped up. Miss Taunton marched toward me. I scrambled to hide the phone under the mound of papers I’d scattered on my desktop.
On top, I placed the paper due. She stopped within inches of me and waited for my answer while the class held its col ective breath.
“Of course not. I was just rereading the paper we’re turning in today.”
Miss Taunton looked over my shoulder at the paper in my hand, smiled, and lunged for it. Her hand brushed against mine, and I received a very intense flash. I was in a fussy, formal-looking living room, complete with lace doilies on the end tables and cloyingly flowery wal paper. For a second, I was disoriented, but then I caught a look in a mirror facing the couch on which I sat. Miss Taunton stared out at me. On her lap was a copy of
The sad image faded, and I found myself staring right into Miss Taunton’s eyes. I nearly wanted to reach over and pat her hand—her life was that pitiful, that macabre—but then she gave me a sick grin. My stomach lurched, and she said, “Thank you for returning to us, Miss Faneuil. I can see how this paper would be far more interesting than what I have to say about Jane Austen. Why don’t you read your paper aloud to the class, since it appears to be so mesmerizing?”
I rose from my chair, ready to be humiliated. My paper was titled “Sex in
One positive emerged from my mortification in English class. It wiped clean from Ruth’s mind the incident from Sunday night. Loyal friend that she was, she stepped forward to defend the teasing I took from my classmates right afterward. By lunchtime, the story had spread to Missy, Piper, and their lesser lights, and Ruth stood up for me with
