“This is … Auggie, this is incredible work.” Mr. Strauss sounds awed, his fingers tracing the motion of the crowd. “The composition is pretty straightforward, but I can’t believe how much emotion you’ve captured with so few details! Even without expressions, you can sense the rage coming off these people.” The scent of rotten eggs tickles my nose, and I sneeze as my art teacher points to a group of figures in the center of the picture. Rendered in heavily layered black, it looks like three women in veils and old-fashioned dresses. “Who are they?”
“I … I don’t know,” I croak.
“Why did you make them the focal point of the image while everyone in the crowd is looking back at the viewer?” He persists. “What are they watching? Why are they angry?”
Staring at the crowd, I feel lost, because I have no idea why. I have no answers to any of his questions. Helpless, I repeat myself. “I don’t know.”
“Hmm.” Mr. Strauss studies the sketch for another moment. “Do you mind leaving it here, so I can take some pictures? You should have high-quality digitals of your work when you’re applying to art programs next year.”
“Yeah, sure.” I’m glad for him to keep it, this ghost sketch that apparently just stole two hours of my life. The horrible dreams that kept me awake last night crash through my brain again—angry mobs, firing squads, faceless executioners. I’m so flustered that it takes me three tries to get my headphones back into my bag. “I should get going. My parents will freak if I’m not home before dark.”
Hope is watching me, looking frightened and concerned. “Auggie? Are you—”
“See you tomorrow!” The words are still ringing in the air when I burst through the door, running for the exit like I’m trying to escape from something.
But what?
My phone confirms that it’s two hours later than when I walked into the art room after the final bell. Whatever just happened really happened, and my stomach cramps in a very unfortunate, borderline-diarrhea type of way. Shoving through the side exit to the parking lot, I trot past the overhang and into the waning sunlight, gulping down great helpings of crisp air.
“Everything okay?”
Confused and wild, I spin back around to see a guy I don’t know leaning against the wall beside the door, a cigarette tucked behind his ear. His dark eyes study me in a way that makes me feel comfortable and uncomfortable at once, and I clear my throat. “I—yeah. I’m okay. I just felt … sick for a second. It’s over now.”
“Cool.” The boy points to his cigarette. “You don’t happen to have a light, do you?”
His voice is smooth, a British accent curving his vowels into shapes I don’t expect, and just like that I’m horny again. He’s about my age, and ridiculously handsome: light brown skin, high cheekbones, pillowy lips; dark, fluffy hair cut in a fade; skinny black pants ripped with fashionable precision to show off his knees. How is it possible that he has sexy knees? Can knees even be sexy? Is this what it feels like to have a kink?
“Uh, I don’t smoke.” My cheeks are warm, and when his eyes meet mine, it’s like he knows what I’m thinking. “And you can get in trouble for smoking on school grounds.”
Instantly, I want to throw myself off a cliff. Who says that? Why don’t I just tell him that I’m a hopeless nerd-virgin rather than supplying him with all these careful hints? He gives me an impish smile, though. “School’s out, right? Anyway, I’m not a student here, so what can they do?”
“You’re not?” I look around at the mostly empty parking lot. My bike is one of only two left chained to the rack by the sidewalk. “Are you … waiting for someone?”
With an enigmatic shrug, he moves his gaze over my body in a way that makes my cheeks even warmer. “Who says I’m not waiting for you?”
An awkward church giggle comes out of my mouth, and I can’t look him in the eye anymore. My mind has gone blank. To buy some time while my last two brain cells collaborate on a witty reply, I adjust my glasses and examine his jacket. It’s denim, artfully distressed, and under it he appears to be wearing nothing but a thin T-shirt. Inspired, I blurt, “Aren’t you cold?”
“Why?” He cocks one of his brows. “You want to warm me up?”
Now my face is an inferno. “I … I, um…”
“Sorry, that was rather forward of me.” He does not look sorry in the least. “My name is Jude.”
“Augh—” I begin, and then choke on some saliva, “—ust. August. Or ‘ee.’ Auggie is, too, also fine. Auggie or August. Is … my names.” Shutting my eyes, I let out a deep breath. The past sixteen years have been okay, but I am very ready to die now.
“I know who you are, August.” His tone is still mild, friendly even, but when my eyes snap open again I see him very differently than before. “I told you I was waiting for you.”
His breath isn’t clouding the air the way mine is, and he doesn’t seem the least bit bothered by the sharp chill in the air, in spite of his thin jacket. The sun dips lower, splashing the parking lot with honeyed light, but the overhang above the side entrance to the school creates a small pocket of lengthening shadow—and Jude hasn’t stepped out of it since we started talking. My hands shaking again, I make a show of searching my coat pockets.
“You know what? I just remembered, I do have a lighter. It’s—aha!” Quick as I can, I yank my crucifix free and thrust it out at him. “Get back, demon of the night!”
Gold light flickers in his eyes and he recoils, flinching at the sight of the cross. Then his features settle into an annoyed frown. “‘Demon of the night’? That’s very offensive.”
“I don’t care! You were going to eat me!”
“August, if I had any intention of harming you, I’d have done it the second the door opened—before you knew I was here. I certainly wouldn’t have waited for you to get safely into the sunlight before deliberately announcing myself.” He plucks the cigarette from behind his ear, tucking it into his mouth. Then he produces a book of matches—which he had all along—and lights up. “Believe it or not, vampires are not all brainless killing machines.”
“Exactly what a brainless killing machine would say,” I snap. “And what was all that … seduction stuff? You were trying to mesmerize me!”
“I wasn’t mesmerizing you, I was flirting with you.” Jude’s gaze travels over me again. “I happen to like flirting with cute boys.”
“Stop it!” I stammer, my throat flushing with heat again. “Stop playing vampire mind games with me, okay? We had paranormal safety train—”
I don’t finish, because his eyes shimmer this beautiful color, and my thoughts suddenly go all warm and gooey. Jude’s lips look really soft, I finally seem to notice, and his knees are even sexier than I first thought. There’s a clink of metal as the crucifix slips from my fingers and hits the pavement, and I start walking toward the expanding shadow of the overhang. He wants me. And I want him to take my—
He blinks, the trance breaking just like that, and I stumble back again with a sharp gasp. Scooping the crucifix up off the ground, I thrust it at him like a sword, my hands shaking. “What the hell was that?”