Boys That Bite
circumstances. Of course, she points out that technically Bela was only an actor who played Dracula, not a real vampire. As if that should make me feel better as the chorus chants, "I'm dead, I'm dead, I'm dead, I'm dead." When I first get home, I want nothing more than to crawl into my bed and sleep. But my heavy feather duvet isn't as comforting as I'd imagined it'd be. I'm wide awake, almost as if I'm hopped up on caffeine. Which is weird, seeing as I didn't even get to drink that Red Bull Rayne was supposed to bring me. Since I can't sleep, and I have a billion questions buzzing through my brain, I decide my best bet is to go bug Rayne. I push her door open a crack to see if she's sleeping. But she's at her computer, typing furiously, and looking very pissed off. I shake my head. Man, she can be such a freak. I don't know in what Twilight Zone parallel universe we became sisters. I knock on her door and she calls for me to come in, not looking away from her computer screen. I enter the room and close the door behind me. Luckily, Mom's out at some save-the-planet benefit dinner, so there's no one to overhear us. I'm pretty sure anyone eavesdropping on the convo I plan to have would start speed-dialing the Betty Ford Clinic before you could say no-I'm-not-on-drugs-I'm-really-an-undead-creature-of-the-night. I sit on her bed, marveling how, only hours before, we were joking about what I should wear to Club Fang. If I'd known what repercussions choosing the Bite Me tank would have, I'd have definitely swallowed back my good taste and gone with the fetish outfit instead, sweat-inducing vinyl be damned. After a few more mouse clicks, Rayne turns from her computer and comes to join me on the bed. She's wearing a pair of plaid flannel pajamas and has washed the black makeup from her eyes. With the exception of her tongue piercing, she looks almost normal. "This sucks," she announces, crossing her legs Indian style. "You think?" I raise an eyebrow. "'Cause I was totally psyched about the whole thing." "Not for you, you tool, for me. I've waited freaking years for this night. I've researched, networked, been on waiting lists, the works. And now it's all for nothing." "What are you talking about?" I know she's speaking English, but nothing she says is making any sense. "Researched and networked for what?" "To become a vampire, of course." Of course. "Why on earth would you want to be a vampire?" Rayne rolls her eyes, as if to imply I'm the stupidest person on the planet. "Are you kidding me?" she asks incredulously. "Why would I want immortal life? Why would I want riches beyond my wildest imagination? Why would I want ultimate power over mere mortals? You should be asking why anyone on earth wouldn't want to be a vampire." "Yeah, but," I'm grasping at straws here, "don't you want to finish high school? Go to college? Get married, have a life?" "No." "No?" "No way. How boring is that? To conform to society's rigid rules? To be weak and powerless and beaten down and forced to live someone else's idea of a fulfilling life, only to die, sick and alone, and have your grandchildren fight over your meager life's savings? Bleh. No thanks. Give me an all-powerful, immortal existence any day of the week." Okay, when she puts it that way . . . "But. . . you have to kill people." Rayne sighs exasperatedly. "Yeah. So says Hollywood. In real life, Sun, it's a lot less barbaric." "Oh?" "Sure. Each vampire is given a stable of donors. People who are willing and able to give a portion of their blood each day so the vampire can survive. Don't worry, they're well paid for their services, and they can sever their contract at any time, by giving thirty days' notice. And of course, they're completely screened and tested for communicable diseases, drugs, that sort of thing, before being assigned." Rayne shakes her head. "No one kills people like in the movies." "Okay, fine. But what about the sun thing? I can't go out in the daylight, right?" Rayne
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