Adam Rex - Fat Vampire - A Never Coming of Age Story

"How dramatic," she whispered to herself sourly. "I should try out for the school play."

IT HAD RAINED in the early morning. By lunch the world was as fresh and clean as a green apple. The air was spiced with the smell of new possibilities and taquitos. While most of the usual lunch group was occupied with a loud and stuttering debate over whether Andrea did or did not sleep with Blaine on Lexington Avenue (it was like watching toddlers play soccer, this debate — each new idea was swarmed and kicked simultaneously from all directions), Ophelia asked Sejal about the rest of her weekend.

"Saturday we went shopping on South Street," she answered. "Is that right? South Street?"

"Was it all body jewelry and sex shops?"

"There was also a comic book store."

Ophelia nodded. "South Street."

South Street had felt a little more like home than the Main Line suburbs. There was bright, messy life on the streets. Colors. And here the colors had not been washed and scrubbed until they faded into taupe and eggshell.

Not that there weren’t still differences, big differences. There was an almost stultifying array of choices — kinds of people, kinds of foods. Here, amid the produce wallahs of the Italian Market, she’d counted six fruits she’d never even seen before and gasped at a line of ripe mangoes — their blushing skins looking suitably embarrassed to be spotted so far from home and in September. They practically shivered in the autumn air.

"What’d you do on Sunday?" asked Ophelia.

"Ah — I ruined Cat’s Sunday by asking to accompany the family to church."

Cat overheard this and disengaged from the TV show argument, which had just devolved into personal attacks and name calling anyway. "I didn’t say you ruined my Sunday, yaar . I’m just disappointed. I thought you were going to be my Get Out of Church Free card for the whole year."

"I am here to try new things." Sejal smiled. "Tough shit for you!"

"Ho, ho !" Cat shouted.

"New things, huh?" Ophelia purred as she leaned in. "What kind of new things do you want to try?"

Cat puckered her lips in a silent whistle and turned back to the others. That left Sejal alone with Ophelia, so to speak, in this tangle of thorns that had suddenly grown up around them.

"I don’t know," she said, looking at Cat. "Things." She considered what to tell Ophelia about her visit with Doug and Jay when a shadow fell across her lap.

Doug’s head was blotting out the sun. Jay stood behind, looking vaguely apologetic.

Sejal hadn’t expected him to show up for lunch. He had rather pointedly ignored her in math class that morning. "Doug," she said.

"Hey, Meatball, Jay," said Sophie.

"I prefer ‘Doug,’" answered Doug, and he sat down at the base of the tree where the roots were packed in tight, intestinal coils.

"Okay," said Sophie. "Doug. You look different. You got contacts! But there’s something else."

Conversation wilted. Faces turned and became transfixed by this something else, this question of how exactly Doug had changed. Doug seemed unfazed by the attention, almost bored with it. Where he would have previously only had eyes for Sejal, he now examined Abby with all the careless detachment of the mean judge on a reality talent show.

"But, hey," Cat broke the silence. "What about Jay? Isn’t his hair rad?"

Jay flinched as the group came back to themselves and stared at his head. He smiled sheepishly and bobbed it back and forth.

"That looks so good on you, Jay," said Ophelia. "Although — and you know I’m only saying this because I like you — your new hair doesn’t really go with your Simpsons T-shirt."

"Or your cargo shorts," Sophie added.

"It’s like your head’s on the wrong action figure," said Adam, and everyone laughed.

"Fuck you," Doug said suddenly like a whip crack. "You don’t have to take that from him, Jay."

"It was funny," Jay mumbled. "He wasn’t being mean."

"I really wasn’t," said Adam. "I’m just, like, Jay’s too cool for his clothes now. That’s all."

Doug gave a princely nod. Everyone seemed to avoid his gaze. Everyone except Abby.

"Jay and I are going to start a band," Cat said. "Me on bass, him on theremin and MIDI. We’re inventing a new genre — early goth plus nerdcore. We’re gonna call it nerdcave."

"What’s a theremin?" asked Sophie. "What’s a middy?"

And so they talked about electronic music, and they talked about nerdcave, and they talked about Cat and Jay’s theoretical band (which was now called Primordial Soup for the Teenage Soul) until Victor approached.

Even Sejal knew his name. He had been impossible to miss on campus. And though Cat had once referred to him as a "meathead asswipe," even she stared now with unabashed longing.

"Hey, Victor," said Adam.

"Can I talk to you a minute, Doug?" said Victor. "I have a homework question. About the chiroptera family."

Doug made a face. Then he got up, and the two boys walked away. The drama group watched them depart in silence.

"I never noticed before," Cat said finally, "but…don’t those two look kind of alike? In a really weird way?"

Sophie nodded. For a few moments the rest didn’t nod or say anything, but even their lack of reaction to such a patently absurd claim was in itself a kind of endorsement.

"It’s like they’re a ‘before’ and ‘after’ picture," Adam said. But nobody laughed.

"You look better," said Victor as they walked around to the far side of the gym. "Not as douchey. You get some neck?"

"Maybe," said Doug. Get some neck?

"Maybe?"

"All right, no. But I did try some deer. It’s better than cow."

"Huh," said Victor while scratching his cheek. A cheek that had a blue grit of stubble, Doug noted — unlike his own face, which had never produced more than a thin cotton-candy fuzz on the sides of his jaw. And never would, he supposed. "You hunted a deer?" Victor continued. "Well, that’s…it’s not actually cool, but it’s closer to cool than before. Like, now maybe you can at least see ‘cool’ if you stand on something."

"Thank you. Your brotherly encouragement is the fucking wind beneath my wings."

Victor laughed. "Not a bad crowd," he said, pointing his chin in the direction of the drama kids. "A couple of those girls are definitely fuckable."

Doug looked lazily over his shoulder as if the thought hadn’t occurred to him. "That was real subtle—‘chiroptera family’? Are you trying to give us away?"

"Relax. Nobody knows that ‘chiroptera’ means bat."

" I knew. Jay might know."

Victor looked back at the tree. "You think he could figure out what I meant?"

"No," said Doug, too quickly. He pretended to consider the possibility for a moment, and shook his head. "No. No way. Jay’s really rational. Like, scientific. I happen to know for a fact that he doesn’t believe in us."

"Seriously? I know you two have been best friends since preschool or whatever. You used to talk about him all the time at the cabins in the summer. Made him sound a lot cooler than he actually is, too, but…admit it — you’ve told him, right?"

"I have not told him. Seriously. You think I want to get him killed?"

"Good," said Victor, "’cause the other vamps really have their panties in a twist lately. Where were you guys yesterday?"

Doug frowned. He didn’t know what Victor was talking about, and he was conditioned to be distrustful of situations where he didn’t know what some taller and more popular boy was talking about. They always reeked of a setup. At worst they were a kind of entrapment. At best they were like a friendly hand to be yanked away at the most humiliating moment. But these sorts of stunts required an audience, and the boys were alone.