So we’re not friends. Plus, there’s a chronic shortage of guys in the Orchard East Drama Club, and we’re always competing against each other for the same parts. There was an incoming senior who was arguably a better actor than both of us, but he got eaten by a vampire in July.
The three of them strike up a conversation that almost deliberately doesn’t include me, so I turn away and take a look around. A disco ball throws light against the walls, the bass thumps, and people stand in awkward clumps because nobody but Lucas and Gabi actually know how to dance. Joshua and Katie are making out, and Miyu has joined up with some other kids from the Asian Student Union, so I head for the refreshments table by myself like a sad loser reject.
Unfortunately, the refreshments are almost as sad as I am. Some kind of off-brand potato chips, store-bought brownie squares with the consistency of Lava soap, and a pile of withered grapes on a plastic tray. If the night was in a nosedive already, then one of its engines just exploded.
“Dude. Is this not the most pathetic thing you’ve ever seen?” The voice is right at my shoulder, and I jump, spinning around. Standing behind me is a guy I don’t recognize, and he’s definitely not dressed for the dance. In a polo shirt and flip-flops, he looks like he came in on one of the boats moored outside. “Someone on the dance committee needs an intervention.”
He acts and sounds very, very straight, and I shift a little, uncomfortable. Straight guys don’t usually talk to me, but I force a smile. “I’d rather eat the table.”
The guy laughs, harder than my joke warrants, and gives me a sly little grin. His eyes are locked on mine, and, oh man, I can feel that look in the pit of my stomach. Something inside me wakes up as he reaches out to shake my hand. “I’m Kenton.”
“Austin,” I stammer, suddenly terrible at flirting. Because that’s what happening, right? His hand lingers in mine, and little sparks dance up my arm. “I’m... I, uh, do I... I don’t know you, do I?”
It is literally the most awkward I’ve ever sounded—my brain and my mouth are going through an acrimonious divorce—but Kenton’s smile only gets wider. He still hasn’t let go of my hand. “Nah, I’m new. We just moved here, and I started at Orchard East a couple weeks ago.”
“F-from where?” His eyes are the most amazing color, storm-cloud gray fading into pale blue—or maybe the other way around. Or maybe both. They’re magic.
“Different places,” he murmurs. He steps closer, and his free hand touches my chin, tipping my face up. I didn’t have anything from Miyu’s flask, but I feel drunk as Kenton’s thumb traces my jawline. “Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are, Austin?”
“N-n-n...” My tongue doesn’t have the energy to finish the word, and I swallow it, just as Kenton presses his soft, perfect lips to mine. I can’t believe I’m kissing this boy I barely know—and he’s a total bro, too, not at all my type—and yet I can’t imagine doing anything else. It’s like magnets are locking us together, and it feels utterly right.
His hand squeezes my waist, his tongue presses against my own, and then he sucks my bottom lip into his mouth. And then his teeth bite down, hard, and the sudden burst of sharp pain breaks the spell. I stumble back, cold everywhere, sweat breaking out on the back of my neck. Kenton is grinning at me, shaking with silent laughter, his eyes lit up from the inside and his teeth smeared with my blood. My shoulders sag. Ah, shit.
“VAMPIRE!” I shout, but I’m already too late. Whatever the signal was, he’s already given it, and chaos erupts inside the Harbor Haven Country Club. The windows facing the bay shatter as creatures of the night leap through the glass. People scream and run for the exits, only to find their way blocked by more cackling bloodsuckers sporting Greek-lettered sweatshirts and Roman numeral tattoos.
Bros. It’s always bros. Whenever this sort of thing happens, people immediately blame the goth kids, but they’re never right. Every time, it’s the bros: Dudes with hemp bracelets and cargo shorts, and horse girls with super blond hair. Bros are gonna fucking kill us all.
Kenton dives at me, his true face showing at last, fangs gleaming and eyes burning like hotplates. We crash into the refreshments table and topple to the floor. Desiccated brownies and mushy grapes rain down on us, and I’m only barely able to wrestle my crucifix free from my pocket in time. I slap it against the vampire’s forehead, and he roars as his unholy flesh burns on contact with the sacred object.
Retreating into a crouch, he snarls at the cross in my shaky grasp. All around us, people are screaming and fighting for their lives, vamps feeding with frenzied abandon. I really hate school dances.
“I thought we were gonna make out, bruh,” Kenton taunts me, twisting his neck until the vertebrae give a sickening, unnatural crack. Vampires can be killed by decapitation—and fire, sunlight, and stakes through the heart—but their bodies can take a lot of punishment. They love showing off their messed-up physiology, because it grosses mortals out. “You tasted so sweet!”
“Go back to hell,” I snap, but my confident tone is a sham. We’re in a corner, and he’s blocking the way out—and as for my protection...well. A crucifix is like bug repellent: No matter how well it works, you eventually get bitten anyway. If I make the mistake of looking directly into his eyes again, he could even mesmerize me into dropping it—which is why I’m looking him in the chin instead. “Ugh. I can’t believe I couldn’t tell you were a vampire. You’re wearing a puka shell necklace!”
“Hey, man, these are the real deal—I bought them on a beach in Kauai!” Kenton scowls. And then, without warning, he pounces again—teeth bared, fingers elongating into claws—and I shrink back as my life flashes before my eyes.
But I’m saved by a tremendous crash, a chair slamming sideways into the vampire’s head and sending him off-target at the last second. Lucas stands over me, his eyes so wide they’re almost jittering. Before Kenton rises again, Taisha appears out of nowhere with a metal canister, and she sprays its contents into my attacker’s face. It’s holy water, from one of the country club’s regulation emergency kits. It sizzles like acid when it hits the bro’s ungodly flesh.
“Come on!” Lucas shouts, hauling me to my feet.
The three of us take off through the chaos of the dance floor—past Miyu and the Asian Student Union kids as they wrestle a vamp to the floor, past the helpless DJ as a monster in deck shoes and a backwards hat rips his throat out—but before we make it very far, a group of cheerleaders fighting a second group of undead cheerleaders crashes into us and sends us sprawling.
I’m back on my feet in an instant, charging for the first exit I see that isn’t blocked. A wide, half-lit hallway, it leads past a dining room and bar, and then makes a sharp turn into a dead end. There are some closed doors, though, and the first one I try opens into some sort of walk-in closet that smells of artificial lemon. I dive inside, and only realize Lucas has been at my heels all along when he dives in after me. He slams the door shut and then curses loudly, panting. “Shit. Shit. This door doesn’t have a lock!”