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

Opinion on the Ghost grew mixed and vague. The woman he’d saved in West Philly changed her story: she’d been in no danger — the boys had been loud and crude and were bothering her, but they’d done nothing to deserve…what he did. Now that she thought about it, there had been something weird about the Ghost. His mouth had looked like an animal’s.

Fanboys and goths and readers of black-clad paperbacks found their stars suddenly rising. They were the keepers of all the abruptly popular atavistic knowledge that You Needed to Know: the myths and folktales, the talismans and apotropaic spice racks that could keep you safe. If he was a vampire. If he wasn’t a hero. Adam, who was suddenly an admitted scholar of speculative fiction, thought he might even be both, like Blade from the comic books. Jay said he didn’t believe in vampires. Doug said little that was not mocking, when he said anything at all.

Sejal actually did try out for the school play. Cat was going to anyway — if she didn’t land a part she planned to volunteer for crew — and so Sejal imagined quiet, airless evenings alone with Uncle and Auntie Brown while Cat remained at school for rehearsals. Acting would be therapeutic, she thought. Besides, she had seen West Side Story before. She already knew the music.

And because she had a nice singing voice, and because the Ardwynne High School drama teacher, on a subconscious level, felt that a girl from India was somehow specially qualified to play a Puerto Rican, Sejal won the role of Maria. The lead role.

"Rock out!" Ophelia said to Sejal as they crowded around the freshly posted cast list. "Look at you!"

"And you got the part of Anita," Sejal replied.

"That means we’ll have a lot of scenes together."

"Sorry, Cat," Sophie said. Sophie and Abby had won parts, Cat had not.

"Whatever," Cat answered. "I never get anything. But I talked to Ms. Todd and she wants me to be assistant director."

"That’s cool."

"It beats carrying furniture."

"I bet you’re happy for Jay," said Sejal. Jay would be playing the shopkeeper.

"Are you guys dating or what?" asked Sophie.

"Yeah," said Ophelia. "You two eating a big bowl of Humpees cereal?"

"God! Shut up!"

"Are you drinking the milk?"

"Fuck you! Shut up! We’re in a band together! You can’t date your bandmates! Have you learned nothing from VH1?"

Sophie looked worried. " I haven’t."

The real surprise was Doug. He had never won a part before, either, but now he’d be playing one of the Jets. "Look at that," said Ophelia, pointing to his name.

"Doesn’t surprise me," said Cat. "He’s been so much more confident lately."

"Not as funny as he used to be," said Ophelia. "But he’s been looking a lot better."

"He always looked good," said Abby quietly. It was the first thing she’d said in an hour.

No one spoke. Doug had asked Abby out two days after Labor Day, and they’d been dating for a few weeks. And during those weeks he’d only seemed to grow more charismatic, stronger. Almost good-looking in a weird sort of way. But Abby looked terrible. She’d lost weight; her hair was like burned straw. She always looked like she was getting over the flu. She’d won only a nonspeaking role in West Side Story , despite her record with the department.

"Well," said Ophelia with a dip at the knees. "Shall we?"

They gathered their bags and turned back through a cluster of other students who’d come to check the cast list with craned necks and achingly hopeful faces. Like pallbearers the girls carried a slow and heavy silence between them until Sophie turned at the lobby door and, having held it for Ophelia and Sejal, let it fall suddenly against Abby. Abby flinched and caught the push bar against her knuckles.

"Bwah-bwah," Sophie sang with a smile.

Abby kept her head down. "Thanks a lot," she said.

"Jeez. Where’s your sense of humor?"

At the parking lot Sophie and Abby walked together to Abby’s Volvo, and Ophelia, Cat, and Sejal approached Ophelia’s old Mustang convertible. It was just the car for her, flashy in its spotless orange and chrome; but like bangs or a Blondie T-shirt it gave a nod to the graduated classes of beautiful young things that had come before her.

Sejal was flattered by Ophelia’s attentions. It was hard not to be. Wasn’t the whole world in love with her? Who could help it? But Ophelia was also not her type — she suspected that no one was, right now — and Sejal was determined to be straight with her.

Be straight with her, she thought. I made a joke.

"Shotgun!" said Sejal.

"I never should have taught you that," said Cat. She climbed into the back as Ophelia put the top down. "What? No! It’s gonna be cold."

"It’s a convertible," said Ophelia. "You gotta put the top down. Plus, how much longer are we going to be able to do this? Plus it looks better."

"Convertible. The halter top of car parts. You’ll shiver all night, but woo! Halter top! "

The car crawled and stopped, a hiccupping ride down the busy avenue. Cat fiddled with her iPod while Sejal and Ophelia sang songs from the musical:

"Ev’rything free in America

For a small fee in America!"

They turned off the main drag and into neighborhood streets made precious with coppery leaves and late-day sun.

"You’re going to have to kiss a boy," Ophelia taunted. "Tony Petucco’s playing Tony." She frowned petulantly. "You gotta wonder if that’s how he got the part. I think Ms. Todd’s kind of suggestible."

Sejal smiled. "You are going to have to kiss a boy. Adam. He’s playing Bernardo."

"Yuck," said Ophelia, pointing her tongue.

Sejal laughed. "Yuck."

"Boys."

"Boys."

They dropped into silence. Sejal replayed the previous exchange in her head and cringed.

"I’m going to imagine Adam’s someone else," said Ophelia.

"Do you think that will help?"

"I think it’ll help a lot. A lot . Are you going to imagine Tony’s someone else?"

Sejal hummed. "I will…think of a boy I liked back home."

"Yeah," said Ophelia, her voice now squeezed into a different shape. An indifferent shape. "That works."

At the Browns’ house Cat and Sejal disembarked and said good-bye. They started up the thick grass to the front door.

"Are you mad about the shotgun?" Sejal asked.

"What? ’Course not. Shotgun is sacred. You don’t hold that against a person."

"You didn’t speak in the car. You only listened to your music."

Cat shrugged. "Just giving you two some privacy."

"I could have done with a little less privacy," said Sejal.

"Sorry. I couldn’t tell. If you want her to back off, you might have to ask her to marry you. Drama isn’t just an extracurricular activity for Ophelia, you know? And nothing makes her lose interest faster than when a person likes her more than she likes him. Or her. Whatever."

"Can homosexuals do that here? Marry?"

Cat fiddled with her keys. "Not in this state." They went inside. "You’ve been a popular girl."

"Yes. I have my theories about that."

She’d been thinking about it more and more. She was possibly being too friendly, for a start. Overdoing it. And she was alone and far from home and from a country that, to Americans, was mostly known for its spicy food and its quiet, not-so-spicy people. And wasn’t there a weakness in her? A space that needed filling? So to some people here she was a crippled bird. There are people who pointedly ignore a crippled bird and there are people who want to put it in a shoe box and keep it under a strong lamp in their room, and she was attracting a lot of the latter.

Cat said, "Such as?"