Эллен Шрайбер - Vampire Kisses

"No. But I'm sure it cost a lot."

I shook the light package in my hand and heard a rattle. I stared at the Happy Birthday wrapping paper. It could be the keys to a car— my very own Batmobile! After all, it was my sixteenth birthday.

"I wanted to buy you something special," my mom said, smiling.

I ripped the package open excitedly and lifted the jewelry box lid. A string of shiny white pearls stared back at me.

"Every girl should have a pearl necklace for special occasions." My mom gleamed.

This was my mom's corporate version of hippie love beads. I forced a crooked smile as I tried to hide my disappointment. "Thanks," I said, hugging them both. I began to put the necklace back in the box, but my parents glared at me, so I reluctantly modeled it for them.

"It looks gorgeous on you." My mom glowed.

"I'll save them for something really special," I replied, putting them back in the box.

The doorbell rang, and Becky came in with a small black gift bag.

"Happy birthday!" she shouted as we went into the living room.

"Thanks. You didn't have to get me anything."

"You say that every year," she teased and handed me the bag. "By the way, I saw a moving van last night outside the Mansion!" she whispered.

"No way! Someone finally moved in?"

"Guess so. But all I saw were the movers carrying in oak desks, grandfather clocks, and huge crates marked 'Soil.' And they have a teenage son."

"He was probably born wearing khaki pants. And I'm sure his parents are some boring Ivy Leaguers," I replied. "I hope they don't remodel it and chase out all the spiders."

"Yeah. And tear down the gate and put up a white picket fence."

"And a plastic goose on the front lawn."

We both giggled like mad as I stuck my hand into the bag.

"I wanted to buy you something special, since you're sixteen."

I pulled out a black leather necklace with a pewter charm. The charm was a bat!

"I love it!" I screamed, putting it on.

My mom leered at me from the kitchen.

"Next time we'll give her money," I heard her tell my father.

"Pearls!" I whispered to Becky as we left the house.

I was in gym class wearing a black shirt, shorts, and combat boots instead of the required white-on-white and gym shoes. Really, what's the point? I thought. Does a white ensemble make a student a better athlete?

"Raven, I don't feel like sending you to the office today. Why don't you just give me a break for once and wear what you're supposed to wear?" Mr. Harris, the gym teacher, whined.

"It's my birthday. Maybe you could give me a break this once!"

He stared at me, not knowing what to say. "Just today," he finally agreed. "And not because it's your birthday, but because I'm not in the mood to send you to the office."

Becky and I giggled as we went off toward the bleachers where the class was waiting.

Trevor Mitchell, my kindergarten nemesis, and his shuffling sidekick, Matt Wells, followed us. They were perfectly combed, conservative, rich soccer snobs. They knew they were great looking, and it made me sick that they were so cocky.

"Sweet sixteen!" Trevor said, obviously having overheard my chat with Mr. Harris. "How lovely! Just ripe for love, don't you think, Matt?" They were close on our heels.

"Yeah, dude," Matt agreed.

"But maybe there's a reason she doesn't wear white—white is for virgins, right, Raven?"

He was gorgeous, no doubt about it. His blue eyes were beautiful, and his hair looked as perfect as a model's. He had a girl for every day of the week. He was a bad boy, but he was a rich bad boy, which made him very boring.

"Hey, I'm not the one wearing white underwear, am I?" I asked. "You're right—there's a reason I wear black. Maybe you're the one who oughta get out more. "

Becky and I sat on the far end of the bleachers, leaving Trevor and Matt standing on the track.

"So how are you spending your birthday?" Trevor shouted, sitting with the rest of the class, loud enough for everyone to hear. "You and farmer Becky sitting home on a Friday night, watching Friday the Thirteenth? Maybe placing some personal ads? 'Sixteen-year-old single white monster girl seeks mate to bond with for eternity.'"

The whole class laughed.

I didn't like it when Trevor teased me, but I liked it even less when he teased Becky.

"No, we were thinking of crashing Matt's party tonight. Otherwise there won't be anyone interesting there."

Everyone was shocked, and Becky rolled her eyes, as if to say, What are you dragging me into now? We had never been to one of Matt's highly publicized parties. We were never invited, and we wouldn't have gone if we were. At least I wouldn't.

The whole class waited for Trevor's reaction.

"Sure, you and Igor can come…but remember, we drink beer, not blood!" The whole class laughed again, and Trevor high-fived Matt.

Just then Mr. Harris blew his whistle, signaling us to hightail it off the bleachers and run like greyhounds around the track.

But Becky and I walked, indifferent to our sweating classmates.

"We can't go to Matt's party," Becky said. "Who knows what they'll do to us?"

"We'll see what they do. Or what we'll do. It's my Sweet Sixteenth, remember? A birthday to never forget!"

4 Truth or Scare

The most exciting things to happen in Dullsville in my lifetime, in chronological order:

1. The 3:10 train jumped its tracks, spilling boxes of Tootsie Rolls, which we devoured.

2. A senior flushed a cherry bomb down the toilet, exploding the sewage line, closing school for a week.

3. On my sixteenth birthday a family rumored to be vampires moved into the haunted Mansion on top of Benson Hill!

The legend of the Mansion went like this: It was built by a Romanian baroness who fled her country after a peasant revolt in which her husband and most of his family were killed. The baroness built her new home on Benson Hill to resemble her European estate in every detail, except for the corpses.

She lived with her servants in complete isolation, terrified of strangers and crowds. I was a small child at the time of her death and never met her, although I used to play by her solitary monument in the cemetery. Folks said she would sit by the upstairs window in the evenings staring at the moon, and that even now, when the moon is full, if you look from just the right angle, you can see her ghost sitting in that same window gazing at the sky.

But I never saw her.

The Mansion has been boarded up ever since. Rumor had it there was a witchlike Romanian daughter interested in black magic. In any case, she wasn't interested in Dullsville (smart lady!) and never claimed the place.

The Mansion on Benson Hill was quite gorgeous to me in its Gothic way, but an eyesore to everyone else. It was the biggest house in town— and the emptiest. My dad says that's because it's in probate. Becky says it's because it's haunted. I think it's because women in this town are afraid of dust.

The Mansion, of course, had always fascinated me. It was my Barbie Dream House, and I climbed the hill many nights hoping to spot a ghost. But I actually went inside only once, when I was twelve. I was hoping I could fix it up and make it my playhouse. I was going to put up a sign that said, NO NERD BOYS allowed. One night I climbed the wrought iron gate and scurried up the winding driveway.

The Mansion was truly magnificent, with vines dripping down its sides like falling tears, chipped paint, shattered roof tiles, and a spooky attic window. The wooden door stood like Godzilla, tall and powerful—and locked. I snuck around the back. All the windows were boarded up with long nails, but I noticed some loose boards hanging over the basement window. I was trying to pull them loose when I heard voices.