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

At her front door, or his, they’d have a kind of coded conversation about how Doug always rushed every evening to sex. He didn’t know how to tell her they’d hardly had any. If he was leaving Abby’s house she might wonder aloud why she always gave him what he wanted, they should be more careful, she couldn’t vouch for his safety if her parents ever caught them. Doug wondered how her parents would react if they ever caught him doing what he was really doing to her. In monster movies there were usually torches.

She was a little overweight. He reminded himself constantly that extra weight meant extra blood, that this was a good thing. Swimsuit girls would be like light snacks. They’d be small Diet Cokes. He’d hear himself noisily sucking air after the third date.

It was confusing to see Abby at school, or after school rehearsing the fall musical. Her proper context was now in basements and back rows and humid media rooms. What was she doing here, so fully inflated and out in the world? Why did she sit in the theater seat next to his in this school auditorium, so far from the back row and so near these prying eyes? What was she doing talking to that other guy?

Onstage, Sejal sang with Tony Petucco. Cat stopped them and reminded Tony of a crucial bit of blocking he’d missed, and they began again from "Somewhere, We’ll find a new way of living, We’ll find a way of forgiving." Tony Petucco had certainly not been cast because he could sing or act or dance in any fashion that did not give the impression he was plagued by invisible insects. He more than once even failed to respond when another actor called him by his character’s name. Which was also Tony. He did look good in a T-shirt. It was much discussed.

In scenes like this, when facing the audience, Sejal’s eyes sought out Cat. Cat was her anchor. When Maria closed her eyes, it was Cat’s face in bright negative on the insides of Sejal’s eyelids.

There had been no fallout from her conversation with Ophelia that night. Ophelia was being discreet or hadn’t found the details worth sharing or she was holding them in reserve, waiting until they could be used to greatest purpose.

Now Sejal and Ophelia were onstage together, rehearsing their big scene, their big song. Cat rose from her seat at the behest of the director and left the room on some errand. Most of the rest of the cast was scattered around the theater, in the aisles, lobby, or backstage. Talking quietly to each other, flirting, consoling one another at the end of a long school day with electrically charged rounds of truth or dare and surprisingly smutty neck rubs. Sejal sought out a new face, an anchor in the audience, and she stammered through a line as her eyes fell on the only person who was at that moment staring straight back at her.

She had a beautiful voice, Sejal. Doug remembered Abby having a good voice, too, but lately it was scratchy. Hoarse. She wasn’t taking good enough care of herself. If you didn’t take care of yourself, who would?

He was still mad at Sejal for leading him on, then rejecting him, but he sort of admired her for it as well. You couldn’t just give it away like Abby did. Not if you had any morals. Not if you had any self-respect.

"God, take a picture," said Abby as she slid back into the seat next to Doug’s. "It’ll last longer."

"Take a picture of what?"

"You know what."

"No, I really don’t — that’s why I asked. You see how that works?"

"If you had a picture, you could spank off to her later. That’s the best you’ll ever do, you know — her picture and your right hand. She’s not interested."

"If you’re talking about Sejal," said Doug, "I think you’ll find you don’t know her any better than I do."

"I know what she really thinks about you."

Doug struggled to get a grip on himself. It wouldn’t do to let her think he cared.

"Look, I don’t know what we’re even fighting about. I was looking at the stage. There are people on it. Singing. I don’t know where I picked this up, but I was under the impression that you were supposed to look at people when they sing on a stage. It’s good manners. You don’t see me picking fights over you talking to that guy over there for ten minutes."

"Who, Kevin? We’ve been friends since kindergarten. I can’t talk to Kevin?"

"You can. That’s my point. I didn’t throw a hissy over you talking to that guy, but I can’t watch a girl— two girls —on a stage singing? Without you going insane?"

They sat in silence for a while before Abby apologized. "But if you’re still thinking of trying to get with her," she added, "I wouldn’t. You don’t know what I know — that’s all I’m saying."

This had been a semi-dress rehearsal. There were new costumes to try on, and makeup tests. All the Puerto Rican girls apart from Sejal had already dyed their hair black, or tried to. Sophie’s fine blond hair was giving her trouble. It was more the color of mold.

Because it was a semi-dress rehearsal it was also the semi-official start of the Cleanest Dressing Room Contest. Each night Ms. Todd and Cat inspected the boys’ room and the girls’ room, and tallied the nightly winners. The losing gender would have to clean the better half’s dressing room on closing night, plus their own, before being released to attend the cast party. It was all a bald-faced ploy to get them to clean up after themselves, and it worked. It more than worked — you could only get a room in a fifty-year-old auditorium so clean, and this invariably sparked an escalating arms race of baked-good bribes, flowers, throw rugs…even the utter transformation of linoleum floored, white cinder-block spaces into gaudy nightclubs or the Garden of Eden.

Doug left the other boys behind to sweep and wipe mirrors. He didn’t care about the contest, and the ammonia smell was burning his nostril hairs. Outside, the sun was setting — he could feel it. He could feel his blood rising.

There were whispering voices, the furtive pssts and shushes of secrets leaking into the air. He could follow the wispy trails of their echoes, down the hall, through the woodshop, to the black-painted floors and red flowing curtains of the stage’s right wing.

Sejal and Ophelia were here. Doug lurked behind a curtain. Sejal was upset about something, and Ophelia was trying to smooth it over. He only picked up bits and pieces. To him the whispers were loud, rough, buzzing his eardrums like they were broken speakers, but they didn’t resolve themselves into useful shapes. Yet another part of being a vampire that’s not all it’s cracked up to be, thought Doug.

The thought surprised him. Wasn’t everything getting better? Wasn’t this new life so much better than the one before? There was a girlfriend and respect. Strength. But throughout, a glimmer of something inside him like a warning light on his dashboard.

Ophelia pressed herself against Sejal. Footsteps approached from behind.

"Why aren’t you helping the other boys?" asked Ms. Todd.

"Too many of us," Doug replied as he turned and walked back through the shop toward her. "We were getting in each other’s way. I promised to bring some sponges and stuff tomorrow." Not a bit of it was true.

Ms. Todd studied him. "You better tell Jay not to miss another rehearsal or he’s out."

She had actually been pretty clear about this when she’d called roll at the beginning of the evening. When Jay hadn’t responded, she’d made an announcement to all cast and crew that anyone missing rehearsals without an excuse would be cut, she didn’t care who they were, no exceptions. She’d made the announcement while staring straight at Doug, like Jay was his responsibility.

"Either Jay or his sister has to go let their dog out after class," Doug breathed. "They both have after-school things. If he didn’t come back, he must have had a good reason." This was true — Jay would have a good reason. With a dull pain Doug realized he hadn’t wasted a moment wondering what it was.