Эллен Шрайбер - Royal Blood

We settled for the mall food court. Dullsville Mall was probably no different from any other mall in America, li had the same dress, shoe, candle, lotion, lingerie, earring stores, and kiosks as any mall. I wasn't a mall rat but rather a thrift-store junkie. But there was one thing I couldn't resist at the mall: the food court. Every time my mom or Becky dragged me there for a day of shopping, I was like a vulture on an abandoned carcass as I sampled the Ices, pizza, or free Chinese meat on a stick.

Trevor found me waiting with a slice of cheese pizza and a frozen cherry drink at a table in the center of the food court.

"At last I have you all to myself," Trevor said.

"Evidently not."I pointed to a kid from the next table, waving to us like we were his family.

"Hello," the cute boy said. The small child reminded me of Trevor when he was in kindergarten-perfect blond hair, perfect white teeth, perfectly pressed clothes.

"Children are a great judge of character," Trevor commented.

"That's why he's waving at me, not you."

"Turn around, Lance. Sorry he was bothering you." The mother picked up her son and held him on the other side of their table.

Trevor took a bite of my pizza.

"Hey, get your own!"

"I heard about the Mansion," he said. "I told you it was an eyesore.Rotting away. I can't believe you hang out in that hellhole. But maybe that's why you call it home."

"You're right. When I was there last week, we discovered a room full of flies. Just like the Amityville Horror."

"And you think that's cool?"

"Why wouldn't I? Now, do you want to continue to talk more about how gross the Mansionis- " "No- let's get started."

I hadn't even looked at the brief question sheet. It was folded up and stuck in my English notebook.

Of course Trevor kept his pristine in a folder marked "English Lit."

"Do you want to go first?" he asked. "Or shall I?"

I didn't answer.

"Please. Let me get this over with." He took out a pen, leaned in close, and began to read." 'When you were in kindergarten, what did you want to be?'" I glared back at him.

I remembered that first day of kindergarten as clear as if it were yesterday. I had replied, "A vampire."

"A princess," I said.

Apparently Trevor remembered my real answer, too. I guess it wasn't every day that one had a classmate as odd as I had been and still appeared to be.

"That's not what you said," he challenged. "You said, 'A vampire."

"Really?I don't recall. So you are going to write that down?" I asked worriedly.

I knew I was going to stand in front of my class and say, "I wanted to be a vampire." Trevor would then say, "Duh," and the classroom would fill with laughter and mocking students.

Trevor scribbled something down on the sheet.

" 'Whenyou were little, what inspired you to feel this way?'" Then he paused and asked, "Looking in the mirror and having it crack in two?"

Instead of clobbering him, I laughed-the kind of laugh that escapes into the air before you can catch it.

The kind of chuckle that shows a tiny form of acceptance.

Trevor obviously didn't expect me to find his remark entertaining. He was primed for a fight. We both cracked up and locked eyes. His gaze lingered a little too long, not in a creepy way, but in a way that says I'm not ready to let this moment go.

I felt strangely attracted to this nemesis of mine. I hated that we had any civility between us. But mostly I hated that I'd let my guard down.

I was born that way,I wanted to say. Perhaps a psychologist might trace my wanting to be a vampire back to time spentwith my father watching Dracula movies. And when my brother was born all that changed. Nosferatu kept me company on the lonely nights they were tending to the crying Nerd Boy.

"No," I finally said. "It was when I didn't see my reflection."

"Fine, I'll write that," he said. "Next question. 'Do you still have that same wish you had in kindergarten?'" "Yes, I'm sixteen and I still want to be a vampire," I said sarcastically. I really was masking my innermost feelings. In fact, that is exactly what I wanted to be.

I knew what Mrs. Naper was getting at. Some people change their minds along their life's path. And some people come into this world knowing exactly what they want to do. I was in the latter group.

" 'Whatdo your parents do? Would you want to follow in their paths?'" he continued.

"What do you think?"

I took out my paper. "I bet I can answer your questions without even asking you. When you were in kindergarten you wanted to be Superman, probably because you watched it on TV and liked being a superhero. But now, you obviously don't want to run around with a pillowcase cape. You want to be a professional soccer player. But you are afraid that once you get out of this small town, where you are Superman, you'll find out there are better players with more speed and quicker moves. And it is that part of you that when doing an assignment like this would write 'real estate developer,' like your father.

Because you are afraid of failure and you don't have the courage to write down what you really want to be," Trevor was immobilized and turned ghost white. He was blown away, as if by knowing him all these years I'd read his soul. I wasn't sure if this realization angered him or made him more attracted to me. I wasn't going to stay to find out.

I put the sheet in my backpack and left.

I could only imagine that in the spot regarding what I wanted to be in kindergarten, he crossed out vampire and wrote psychic.

23

VOICES FROM BEYOND

Alexander and I were in his attic room. My boyfriend was painting a beautiful picture of the rail yard while I attempted to write my English essay on my mom's laptop. But I was too distracted to begin to write about possible career choices-not only because Alexander was quite the handsome artist, glowing and focused on his creation, but because I could hear the muffled voices of Alexander's parents talking in their bedroom, one floor below.

I could barely make out a few words. Mr. Berkley.Sale .Romania .

"I'll be right back," I said to Alexander, but he was so engrossed in his brushstrokes that I'd probably be back before he even noticed I was gone.

I snuck down the attic stairs and tiptoed past his parents' bedroom. The door was ajar. The bathroom was only a few doors down, and if I hung out inside I'd be able to hear their voices echo off the empty walls.

"Mr. Berkley says we need to put money into renovations before this house will ever sell," I heard Mr.Sterling say as I passed their doorway. I remained by a hallway table just outside their door.

"I think it's perfect the way it is," Mrs. Sterling responded.

"I agree. I'm not changing a thing. My mother built this house the way she wanted it and it will remain that way until there is a new owner."

"Maybe it's the real estate agency we should change," Mrs. Sterling offered.

There was a slight pause.

"Constantine," Mrs. Sterling began in a soft yet concerned voice. "Perhaps we are making a mistake by putting the Mansion up for sale at all."

"I know, Cassandra. I've been wrestling with that, too. This has not been an easy decision. I've tried to explain that to Alexander,But our lives are inEurope . And now it's time for us to return.All of us. Our home has always been inRomania . We are too old to change all that now."

"I guess you are right. But I do worry-" "I don't understand it," Mr. Sterling added, changing his tone. "Mr. Berkley said not one person has shown interest. He explained that the townspeople have told him awful things about our home. I'm not sure why anyone would say such things. No one, besides the Madisons , has been inside," The floorboard underneath me squeaked so loudly, I thought one would be able to hear it inRomania .