Эллен Шрайбер: The Coffin Club

The warm summer air breezed through the open classroom doors and windows. I felt a few inches taller. I slung my backpack over my shoulder and briskly walked past the open classrooms.

I was just a few feet away from freedom. I reached out to push the main door open when someone jumped in front of me.

Nothing could spoil my mood today—not on my favorite day of the year. Well, almost nothing. Trevor Mitchell, lifelong nemesis and khaki-wearing thorn in my side, was staring down at me. “You didn’t think I’d let you leave without saying good-bye?”

“Step aside before my boots make contact with your shins,” I warned him.

“I haven’t seen Monster Boy for weeks. Are you keeping him buried somewhere special?”

“Out of my way before I call the morgue. I think they have a vacancy.”

“I’m really going to miss not seeing you every day.” Trevor held his gaze a tad too long, like it had just hit him what he’d said. I could tell he was serious and it surprised him as much as it did me.

“I’m sure you’ll get over it. You’ll have your pick of uber-tanned Baywatch beauties to keep you busy.”

“But what will you do? I heard Monster Boy left town. Forever. That will leave you in town all summer alone.”

I hated that a rumor had started about Alexander being gone.

“He hasn’t left…forever,” I defended. “He’s coming back. But it really doesn’t matter because I’m going to see him. We’re spending the summer together out of town and away from you .”

I knew I was fibbing, but the thought of Trevor hanging out with lifeguards on each arm and mocking me while I waited alone at the Mansion made my mortal blood boil.

Trevor wasn’t thwarted by my challenge. It only spurred him on.

“Then how about one kiss?” he said with a sexy grin. “Something to remember me by?” Though I had hints from Valentine of Trevor’s inner desire for me, I was still suspect. I never knew what was going on in Trevor’s head, much less his heart. I wasn’t even sure he had one. Trevor was gorgeous—there was no doubt about it. His green melt-worthy eyes and his chiseled face could easily make him the next Sports Illustrated cover boy. But I was never sure if Trevor really liked me or just liked bullying me. Either way, he didn’t move out of my way and instead leaned into me. There was only one guy I was going to kiss and that was Alexander.

I pushed my hand to his chest.

Trevor leered at me with a sexy grin. The more I fought back, the more he liked it. I was Trevor’s ultimate soccer opponent and he was always desperate for one more game.

I paused for a moment and gazed up at the guy who’d tormented me since kindergarten. Trevor was really the only person who paid attention to me at school, besides Becky. I wasn’t sure I wouldn’t miss seeing him every day, too.

“I’ll give you something to remember me by,” I said. “The back of my head.”

I pushed past him and escaped through the door to freedom.

I stepped out of Dullsville High and into the bright glare of the sun.

The year was behind me. Overall, it had been the best year of my life, for I’d met, dated, danced, and fallen in love with Alexander Sterling.

Students were walking home or getting into their daddies’ overpriced luxury cars, heading off to begin their months of fun in the sun with people just like them. I’d spent a whole school year surrounded by people like Trevor.

My nemesis really forced me into seeing the light. It was time for me to be with people of my own kind. I wasn’t going to spend my summer sans Alexander, much less another day.

There was only one thing keeping me and Alexander apart now. Me.

And that could easily be fixed with just a phone call.

2

Deadhead

More than a few months ago I’d waved good-bye to my mother at Dullsville’s Greyhound bus stop and boarded the Hipsterville-bound bus to visit my ultraconservative father’s hippie sister, Aunt Libby.

Today I was on a Prozac high, minus the Prozac, ecstatic to return to the funky town of Hipsterville—home to unique coffee shops, with handmade coffee mugs and fresh scones (not the overincorporated cutout kinds with focus-group canned-in music), goth and hipster boutiques, and the perfectly morbid Coffin Club. I was excited to see Aunt Libby again, but even more important, I was only a few hours away from being reunited, or so I hoped, with my number-one vampire-mate.

I passed the bus ride doodling in my Olivia Outcast journal, imagining my reunion with Alexander. We’d meet inside the Coffin Club, where pale mannequins with bat wings hung from the ceiling and ghostlike fog permeated the air. Alexander would be waiting for me in the middle of the packed dance floor, with a single black rose. I’d run into his arms and he’d envelop me in them like a gothic Juliet. He’d lean into me and greet me with a long, seductive kiss, sending chills from my head to my combat boots. We’d dance the night away to the twisted sounds of the Skeletons until my legs could no longer hold me up. Alexander and I would venture off into a tiny church’s graveyard, and we’d climb into a vacant crypt, where an empty coffin would be awaiting us. He’d close the lid on our night as dawn approached, and we’d snuggle together in darkness.

I was halfway through an episode of The Munsters on Billy Boy’s borrowed (or rather bribed) iPod when I noticed the two-mile exit sign for Hipsterville.

Last time I arrived in Hipsterville, sunny skies and puffy blue clouds hung over the town. This time I was met with ominous clouds and a fierce downpour.

I covered myself with my skull-and-crossbones hoodie as the driver, undeterred by the pouring rain, unloaded suitcases from the bus’s cargo hold. Finally I saw my suitcase, grabbed it, and huddled underneath the bus-stop shelter along with a crowd of other passengers. One thing hadn’t changed—Aunt Libby was nowhere to be found.

I watched as each traveler was picked up by their party until I was the only traveler left waiting at the stop. When tapping my boots in the rising puddles grew boring, I headed for the convenience store a few yards away. I checked the aisles for any hippie chicks with the scent of potpourri or women wearing Nairobi sandals and tie-dyed skirts. Unfortunately, all I saw were a few truckers and the hungry bus driver.

I grew more excited to see my hipster Aunt Libby again. She and I were outsiders among the Madison clan. My aunt lived an unconventional lifestyle, working as a waitress in a vegan restaurant to support her acting career. She was a free spirit, and Hipsterville was a funky town where she could be her organic-eating, hemp-wearing, liberal self. Though we had different tastes, I always felt bonded with her in that we shared a passion for being different.

Ten minutes later, Aunt Libby was still nowhere to be found. Perhaps she was stuck in a rehearsal or filling up the saltshakers at the restaurant. I could feel the glare of the tattooed cashier. I didn’t want to appear to be loitering, which I was, or stealing, which I wasn’t. My stomach started to growl. I hovered over the candy aisle, debating which sugary cavity-forming candy to buy, when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around. A beautiful lady wearing pressed pants, a Happy Homes real estate jacket, and my dad’s smile was standing in front of me.

“Aunt Libby?” I asked, confused.

“Raven! It’s great to see you!” She gave me a hard squeeze and I could feel her rain-stained face against my own dampened one. “I hope I wasn’t too late.”

“I just got here,” I fibbed.

“I bet you’re starved. We can stop and grab a bite. I took the rest of the day off.” She lifted my suitcase and we hurried into her vintage Beetle.