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breath from everyone around us. Except Francis, of course.
    â€œMel!” Cathy exclaimed.
    Yeah, now I was being deliberately rude. I know, stay classy! But Francis was so annoying. Everyone knows that nest is the term people who hunt vampires use. Vampires prefer to call their groups “murmurs” or “gatherings.” I’ve even heard of some using cemetery , as in a cemetery of vampires , but here in New Whitby, where the first vampire settlers arrived on the good ship Nightshade , they call them “shades.”
    Let me make something clear: I don’t agree with the nutters who want to kill all vampires. My parents voted yes on Proposition Four, and if I had the vote I would have too: Unlawfully killing vampires should be punished as harshly as killing people. Murder is murder. I don’t want vampires dead. I just wanted Francis to go to a different school.
    And, yes, I know using the word nests wasn’t okay. But he was so annoying and everyone was worshipping him for it. Ugh.
    Francis put on his helmet, nodded briefly, and strode toward the front door without a backward glance. The vampire groupies shot me looks clearly intended to kill and scurried after him.
    The walk home was conducted in silence. Well, not the whole way. After about five blocks’ worth of Cathy’s disappointed silence, I choked out an apology.
    If “sorry” interrupted by a coughing fit qualifies as one.
    â€œI know you don’t like him, Mel. But I do. You know I do. I’m not asking that you like him, merely that you be polite. He’s invariably polite to you.”
    I decided that now was not the time to point out that she was starting to sound like Francis.
    â€œOh, is he?” I said. “What about all that ABC crap?” Cathy hesitated, and I pressed on. “Have you ever noticed that he looks at me and Ty differently than he looks at you or Anna? Come on, Cathy. Admit there’s the tiniest possibility Francis might be a little bit racist.”
    Ty’s not ABC: He’s black. You don’t want to know what I heard Francis asking him.
    â€œOh, no,” Cathy exclaimed, shocked. “Not racist!”
    I waited, because Cathy’s not an idiot.
    â€œFrancis isn’t racist,” Cathy had to repeat, as if saying it twice made it true. “But you know, he was born a long time ago, and they thought differently then. You can’t blame Francis for that.”
    I could, but it wouldn’t do any good if Cathy wasn’t going to blame him too.
    â€œDo you really like him?” I asked instead.
    â€œHe’s been very nice to us. It’s interesting getting to know a vampire.”
    â€œNo, Cathy, I meant do you like like him?”
    Cathy didn’t say anything.
    â€œHe’s almost two hundred years old!”
    Cathy still didn’t say anything.
    We were only a block from home.
    â€œYou’re my friend and I worry …” I trailed off. I’d already told her everything I didn’t like about vampires in general, everything I didn’t like about snotty, condescending Francis in particular. I’d told her that I thought Francis’s presence was upsetting Anna, and Cathy had said that Anna shouldn’t be prejudiced against all vampires because of the actions of one.
    I didn’t have anything new to add.
    â€œHe’s just so interesting. Can you imagine being that old? Having seen so much change? And he’s so polite. He opens doors for people and inclines his head in that old-fashioned way. It’s like he stepped out of a Jane Austen novel.”
    I didn’t point out that Austen’s books were published before Francis was born. And not just because I knew Cathy already knew that.
    â€œHe’s a gentleman. I’ve never met a gentleman before. But I’m not in love, Mel. I promise.”
    I left it at that and clutched her promise to my heart. We had been best friends for a very long