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an eensy-weensy little blood-drinking issue….
    “Rayne?” the girl asks, looking down at me and removing her mirrored aviator shades. She wears a slightly disdainful look on her otherwise flawless face and I suddenly get a weird feeling I’ve seen her somewhere before, though for the life of me, I can’t figure out where that could possibly be. “Rayne McDonald?”
    “That’s my name, don’t wear it out,” I reply automatically, feeling a little defensive. After all, she showed up at my house out of nowhere, giving me dirty looks like that. Even if she is the hottest thing known to slayerkind and I’m three days overdue for a shower and wearing vampire bunny slippers instead of kick-ass boots.
    She purses her obviously collagen-injected, over-glossed lips, looking at me with clear disapproval in her purple contact–covered eyes.
    “Um, did you want something?” I ask, suddenly eager to get rid of her and go back to my game. After all, those brain-hungry zombies won’t explode themselves, you know.
    She sighs loudly, as if she’s carrying the weight of the world on her perfectly sculpted shoulders. “My name is Bertha,” she says at last.
    “Bertha?!” I burst out laughing. I’m sorry—I can’t help it! This über hottie’s name is Bertha? For realz? I had always assumed there was some kind of law against hot chicks being named Bertha. A name like Bertha should be reserved for girlswho look like that crazy ex-vampire slayer from back home who—
    Oh crap. So that’s why she looks familiar….
    “Bertha?” I cry, scrambling to my feet, trying to hide my shock. “Bertha the Vampire Slayer? Bertha the Vampire Slayer from Oakridge High School?”
    Bertha had been the number one slayer in my neck of the woods, back in the day. She had some pretty major kills to her name, too. She’d even bagged Lucifent, the former leader of the Blood Coven. Unfortunately, her career had stalled out due to her inability to ever meet a drive-thru she didn’t want to go through twice. Those pesky blood pressure issues can really put a damper on one’s vampire slayer career.
    But um, wow. I guess she kicked that problem.
    “I probably look a little different then when you saw me last,” she says, preening a little. I catch her glancing at her own reflection in the bedroom mirror.
    I nod. I mean, holy understatement of the century, Batman! This chick did not merely get her stomach stapled. She’d had a complete Heidi Montag makeover. Her once-pockmarked face is now porcelain-doll smooth. Her old stringy hair now flows down her back in silky waves. Her nose is at least three inches shorter and her breasts would make even Katy Perry cry.
    “Wow, Bertha,” I say. “You look great. Really great.” And I mean it, too. Not that I’m into girls or anything. But if I was, she’d totally be first on my list.
    She sniffs and I realize she’s moved away from the mirror and is now giving me a critical once-over. It’s then that I rememberI’m currently dressed in
Nightmare Before Christmas
flannel pajamas, wearing no makeup, and haven’t brushed my hair since Tuesday. At this point, I’d be dead last on pretty much anyone’s list—male or female.
    But still, there’s no need for the judgment here. I mean, it’s not like she gave me any heads-up of her impending arrival so I could apply some mascara.
    “So to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” I ask curiously. “I’m sure you didn’t fly more than halfway across the country to show off your extreme total makeover.” Though, to be honest, if I looked like her, I’d pretty much make that my full-time job from here on out. Tracking down all those boys who once rejected me, showing off my curves…
    “I’m your new partner.”
    … finding even hotter boys and stealing them away from their cheerleader girlfriends, only to dump them after—
    Wait, what?
    I stare at her. “My partner?” I repeat. If my heart was still beating, it’d be slamming