Heather Brewer - Tenth Grade Bleeds

But he didn’t pause for long.

He slinked along the school wall and slowly, quietly slipped his backpack from his shoulder. Flitting through the forefront of his mind was every instance Bill and Tom had ever picked on him, every horrible moment he’d ever witnessed them put one of his classmates through. It filled him with anger and a hunger for justice. As he arched his arm back, he called out, “Hey, Klingon!”

Tom looked back just as Vlad flung the bag forward, catching Tom in the face. Tom stumbled backward, cursing loudly and cupping his eye with both hands. Bill leaped toward Vlad, but he ducked away and brought his bag down on Bill’s back. Bill screeched. As Bill hit the ground face-first, Vlad positioned himself between Sprat and the bullies, fully expecting them to come out swinging. Tom bent to help Bill up off the ground, blood slowly oozing from the fresh cut above his eye. To Vlad’s immense surprise, they bolted away. Vlad smiled. Score one for the little people. He hadn’t suffered so much as a scratch.

He looked back at the small goth boy and offered a hand to help him stand. “You okay, Sprat?”

“Yeah, I guess.” He brushed dirt from his black pants, glancing toward where Tom and Bill had run. “ Thanks.”

“No problem. I’m getting really sick of those two. They’ve been giving me the same treatment for years.” Vlad shook his head and flung his backpack over his shoulder again. For some reason, this time it felt lighter. He turned and hurried back out the alley, knowing he was going to catch hell for being tardy, as the first bell had rung just about the time he was whacking Bill’s back with his book bag.

Sprat called out, “Hey, how’d you know my name?”

But Vlad kept walking. After all, he wasn’t about to mention the fact that he’d been sharing Sprat’s company a few nights a week for several years now, from about four stories overhead, up in the belfry-something that would probably freak him out at least a little, and would definitely raise too many questions about Vlad’s nighttime activities.

He rushed through the front doors and down the hall until he finally came to first period, where he slowly opened the door and tried to slip inside unnoticed. But so much for the idea that vampires had any kind of skill at stealth-Mr. Cartel looked up as Vlad opened the door and smiled. “Ah, perfect! It looks like Mr. Tod has volunteered to offer an explanation on the function of g-g-g-gonads. Thank you, Mr. Tod.”

Vlad rolled his eyes and moved to the front of the class. It was going to be a very, very long day.

By the time he finally walked out of health class and headed toward his locker, Vlad’s face felt like it was on fire. It wasn’t the subject matter that bugged him-after all, it seemed like important stuff to know. But it was the way some of the girls in class giggled, and the whispers that some guys had been exchanging, always accompanied by low laughter. He just couldn’t shake the feeling that they weren’t laughing at the mention of genitals and reproduction so much as they were laughing at him for merely existing. Sometimes Vlad wished that he were home-schooled. At least for health class.

Vlad shook his head. Strike that-the last thing he wanted was to listen to Nelly explain where babies came from. With puppets. Again.

Standing next to his locker, Henry was chatting with Chelsea Whitaker, a.k.a. Cheerleader Snob Supreme. Vlad raised an eyebrow, slowing his steps. Henry glanced over at him and said something like “See ya” to Chelsea before she disappeared into the hallway crowd.

Without a word to Henry, Vlad opened his locker door and dropped his backpack inside, retrieving a few of the books he’d need for the next part of his day. His insides were burning with questions: Since when were Henry and Chelsea pals? And what was up with his gloomy, party-skipping attitude anyway? And why did the conversation stop just as Vlad approached? He bit his bottom lip and forced the questions to remain hidden in his throat, throwing Henry a casual smile. “What’s up?”

Henry shrugged. “Not much. What about you?”

Not much? As if Henry hanging out with cheerleaders and dropping years of partygoing tradition at the last minute were things that could easily be ignored. The questions inched their way up his throat once more, but Vlad swallowed hard, forcing them back down. He parted his lips, and when he spoke, his voice came out in a near whisper. “Not much, I guess.”

Henry nodded casually.

Vlad closed his locker and looked him in the eye. It was time to find out what was going on with his best friend. “I think we should talk, Henry.”

But just then the tardy bell rang out through the halls, cutting Vlad off. Henry offered a relieved shrug, looking very much like he’d literally been saved by the bell.

Vlad hurried down the hall to geometry. He’d have to deal with Henry later.

Not that it was really any of his business why Henry had ditched the party, or why he was hanging out with Chelsea. After all, it was Henry’s life, not Vlad’s. But still… Vlad couldn’t help but wonder what was going on with his friend. And why they weren’t talking about it.

Geometry lasted just short of an eternity, and chemistry seemed twice as long. By lunchtime, Vlad was ready to head home and spend the day in front of the television with a bag of potato chips and about five hundred bags of O positive, trying to defend the fate of the Earth against whatever evildoers were currently lurking inside his PlayStation. But unbelievably, he still had half a day of school to trudge through. What was it about Mondays that made them last forever? Vlad wagered it had to do with the space-time continuum or a cruel joke played by Fate.

He slid in beside Meredith and slumped forward, resting his forehead on the table.

Meredith rubbed his shoulder gently with one hand and said, “It can’t be that bad.”

Vlad mumbled, “Is it time to go home yet?”

“ Three more hours to go.”

“Then it’s that bad.” He sat up, offering her a meek smile. “How’s your day?”

Meredith launched into a long, detailed, enthusiastic account of her day in typical girl fashion. Vlad tried to pay attention, but he was enormously distracted by Henry, who was lingering near the so-called “popular table” a bit too long for Vlad’s taste.

But then, what business was it of Vlad’s if Henry decided to hang out with the “in” crowd? It’s not like he and Henry had a signed contract of friendship that prohibited Henry from being friends with anyone else. Or that Henry was bound to him at all… Vlad sat up straight. Oh, wait. Actually, that was the case. But still, it didn’t give Vlad the right to pick and choose Henry’s friends.

Did it?

Being the vampire who made Henry into a drudge, just what powers did that give Vlad? What rights? Vlad wasn’t sure. He was sure that he didn’t much care for the kinds of friends that Henry seemed to be associating with of late. But did that give him the right to change it, to stop Henry from making that choice?

Vlad chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully for a moment. Knowing that his drudge could not disobey a direct order, he called out, “Henry! Come here.”

Unable to resist, Henry furrowed his brow and crossed the cafeteria toward Vlad, tray in hand. When he got there, Henry stood for a moment, looking almost pained and absolutely angry. Vlad nodded to the empty seat across the table from him, trying hard to keep his tone light and friendly. “Have a seat. Eat your lunch.”

Henry sat with an air of indignation. Vlad was only slightly bothered by the fact that he was ordering his best friend around like some kind of human slave. Meredith had grown incredibly quiet. The three sat and ate in utter silence for several minutes.