Fangs for Nothing (Vampire Hunting and Other Foolish Endeavors) Page 4

  Aunt Agatha’s Pretzels is a crappy chain store that can be found in almost any mall in America. I hate chain stores and pretty much detest the mall, but I like being able to afford my cell phone and dial-up. And when I’m working with Rini, it’s not so bad. We crack jokes and generally have a good time. Xander doesn’t have a job, so if we’re both working, he’ll hang around in the food court, reading or surfing the net on his phone. Sometimes flocks of girls descend upon him, but he usually chases them off if one of us goes on break.

  “You’ve got fifteen,” Rini said, knocking salt off her hands and checking her watch.

  “Great,” I sighed, tugging off my apron and then snicking one of the reject pretzels. At Aunt Agatha’s, no malformed pretzels can be sold to the public. If there are any wonky ones, and there frequently are, the staff gets to eat them. I’m not going to email Agatha herself about this or anything, but if we weren’t allowed to eat them, there would probably be fewer rejectable pretzels in general. It’s a vicious cycle.

  I headed over to where Xander slouched over his Kindle. His grades usually stank, but he did like to read. “Hey,” I said, shoving his legs off the spare chair so I could sit down. I pushed the pretzel at him in its wax paper envelope. “Reject pretzel?”

  “Thanks,” he said, tearing off a chunk and steeping it in the tiny plastic tub of hot mustard that I plunked down next to it. “You know,” he said, his mouth full and yellow rimming his upper lip. “You’d think Rini would offer me a pretzel once in a while. I mean, I could starve to death out here.”

  “You could always buy one,” I laughed.

  Xander gave me an incredulous look. “My two best friends work at the pretzel stand. Why would I buy one?”

  The man had a point.

  “So,” he said, jamming another hunk of pretzel into his mouth. “What’s up for tonight?”

  “I don’t know. Rini’s grounded.”

  “She’s always grounded.”

  “Yeah, but she’s going to stay in tonight to appease her parents. She thinks it’ll make it easier to sneak out tomorrow for Young Lords.”

  “Mmm.” Xander nodded. “Good strategy.” Then after finally swallowing, he said, “What do you feel like doing?”

  “Me? Uh… Don’t you have a date or something?”

  “A date?” Xander acted all surprised. “With who?”

  “I don’t know. That Violet Girl, maybe.”

  “I don’t have a date with her. I don’t even remember her name.”

  “Like that would stop you.”

  “Hey, I was only talking to her for you,” he said, feigning hurt.

  “Yeah, right.”

  “She’s here, you know.”

  This caught me off guard. “You mean here, like, at the mall?” I found his comment suspect. I’d only seen her for a moment, but she did not appear to be the kind of girl that spent much time at the mall.

  “Yeah, she was just over here a moment ago.”

  I craned my neck and scanned the food court. There she was, standing amongst the tables, dressed in a sea foam green dress, matching tights, and her shiny combat boots. Something felt off about her being there, like seeing a wolf in the suburbs. Plus, she was staring straight at me. Apparently, my gaze somehow offended her. She flinched slightly, as if indignant that I would dare make eye contact. After a moment, she melted into the crowd of shoppers. I didn’t even see her disappear.

  Had it really reached the point where I was actually repelling girls with my appearance? I mean, I knew I didn’t look exactly debonair in the beige golf shirt that is my Aunt Agatha’s uniform, but I didn’t think I looked that bad, did I? “You’re right,” I said, releasing my posture into its normal slouch. “I saw her. She just left.”

  “Told you.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “I don’t know. I thought it would be rude to ask again.”

  “Well, what did you guys talk about?”

  “Not much. She asked me about you.”

  That’s when I knew he was yanking my chain. “Of course, because hot girls always ask you about me.” I leveled him with a flat look. “In the land of opposite,” I added after a beat.

  “She told me to give you this.” He flicked a piece of paper at me.

  “What is it?” I asked, opening it up. Drawn on the paper there was a straight horizontal line. Directly under that there were three half circles facing downwards, like too many bumps on the letter m.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Did she say anything else?”

  Xander leaned back in his chair, having snarfed the pretzel in three bites. “She asked if you were dating Rini.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “Fine.” He shrugged. “Don’t believe me. But I don’t want to hear you whining about how nobody ever likes you.”

  I was about to protest that I do not whine, but then I realized, he had me there. I do have a bad habit of complaining that no girls like me. “Yeah, I’m sorry,” I said. Somehow, I always ended up apologizing to Xander for no apparent reason. “I’m just cranky today. I think I have jetlag or something.”

  “No, that’s cool. My dad might be around tonight, so I should probably go home, anyway.” He got to his feet. “Maybe we’ll hit Lake View tomorrow if it’s nice. Are you working?”

  “I’m off. So is Rini.”

  “Cool. See you tomorrow. Tell Rini I said bye.” Xander strode away from the table, and I wondered what was up. He seemed a little touchy. Maybe the girl had really asked about me and his ego was bent out of shape. I guess that could happen in some kind of bizarro reality. But girls were always flinging themselves at Xander from every doorway, window, and alley. He wasn’t going to get mad because one girl one time asked about me. Besides, super hot girls do not ask about me. It’s just the law of the jungle. I checked my watch. My fifteen minutes of freedom were almost up.

  *****

  You would think that Grandma would be happy to have me home for an evening. At the very least, I was someone to play Boggle with, but that wasn’t the case with my grandmother. “What are you doing here hanging out with some old lady?” she asked when I told her I didn’t have any plans for the evening. “It’s Friday night. You should be out chasing girls.”

  “Yeah, I know, but Xander and Rini are busy, and I have jetlag.”

  Grandma was at the stove steaming some broccoli, but this comment made her turn and give me a penetrating look. “What do you mean, jetlag? How would you have jetlag?”

  Busted! I blinked once, willing my face not to react. “Oh, you know, it’s an expression. You know, I’m tired. I have jetlag.”

  Grandma pinched her lips together. “I’ve never heard anyone use it.”

  “Really? Kids at school use it all the time,” I insisted.

  “Well, I don’t like it.” She turned back to her vegetables. “Makes people think you’ve been on a trip or something. It’s practically lying.”

  “Okay, Grandma. I won’t use it anymore.”

  “You should have gotten the phone number of Mr. Sarducci’s granddaughter. Then you wouldn’t be dependent on the whims of Alexander and a plain girl like Irene.” My loose lips had raised Grandma’s suspicions. Now she was in a bad mood, and I’d have to deal with it.

  “Don’t be mean, Grams. Lydia’s no beauty queen,” I said, playing offense.

  “Yeah, but her family has that nice business. That makes her better looking. You get a nice girl like that with a cash-based business and you’re set for life.”

  I sighed. I could tell it was going to be a long evening. I silently wished for cable because then there would always be some version of CSI episode on at least one channel, and I could distract her. Forget Murder, She Wrote. My grandmother was a sucker for a crime scene investigation.

  Three painful hours later, I finally had Grandma tucked into her Barcalounger to watch the news, and I escaped to my room. I double clicked for dial-up and prayed that Grandma didn’t hear the bonging soun
d. She sometimes got upset that I was tying up the line in case someone needed to call in with an emergency. I have tried numerous times to explain to her that people usually only need to call out with an emergency, and if we had one of those, I could just disconnect, but she does enjoy being stubborn.

  I tried IMing both Xander and Rini, but neither one of them seemed to be around. Great, another fun-filled Friday night held hostage in my room by a cantankerous senior citizen. Herbert Lehmer knows how to live large.

  An IM window popped up with a name I didn’t recognize.

  Turnover: Sherbie?

  Sherbert: Yeah?

  Turnover: Hi! It’s Lana.

  Sherbert: ???

  Turnover: Standing in line. San Francisco. Remember?

  Okay, things began to be familiar. There had been a cute girl standing behind us while we waited in a ridiculously long line to get into a French bakery, and she was pretty chatty. I think she said her name was Lana.

  Sherbert: Oh, yeah. Hi. How did you get my IM?

  Turnover: Your friend gave it to me.

  Someday, I was going to have to strangle Rini. I mean, I know her heart was in the right place, but slipping cute girls my email address behind my back just made me look pathetic. And most girls only took it to try and get access to Xander anyway.

  I guess I took too long to respond because then she wrote

  Turnover: How’s Cleveland? Does it rock?

  Sherbert: Yes.

  I have some cousins in Pittsburgh that ask me that same question every time they see me. It gets a little old.

  Turnover: That’s good. My dad’s got a job there for a couple months.

  Turnover: I’m going with him. Will I like Cleveland?

  What was I supposed to write to that? I decided to be honest.

  Sherbert: No. Probably not.

  She took a moment to think my comment over.

  Turnover: Really? Why not? You and your friends seem nice.

  And there it was. Subtle, it’s true, but she was already working the conversation around to my friends. I knew where things were headed from there. She would come to Cleveland with the hopes of Xander falling madly in love with her. And who knows, he might fall in love with her for a week or two, but then he’d be over it without warning, and she’d be heartbroken. She’d turn to me for comfort, in the hopes that I would know the secret of unlocking his heart, which of course I don’t. But in the meantime, I’d get my hopes up that she actually liked me, which she wouldn’t. Eventually, she’d go back to San Francisco brokenhearted and bag on Cleveland to anyone who would listen. I would be left feeling like an un-dateable chump for the next several months, which is essentially my modus operandi. And Xander would be off dating someone new.

  I know I sound a little jaded for seventeen, but I’ve been down this road many times before.

  She went all in.

  Turnover: Do you maybe want to hang out when I get there?

  “Herbie?” Grandma knocked on my door. “What are you doing in there?” The news must have gone to commercial.

  “Nothing, Grandma,” I called.

  “Are you on the internets? What if someone needs to call?”

  “I’ll be off in like ten minutes, Grandma.”

  “Well, how long have you been on there? What if there’s an emergency and someone’s been trying to call all this time?” she persisted. “I need you to get off of there. Right now.”

  I could tell by her tone that she wasn’t going to let up. Then I thought of a new ploy. “I’m instant messaging a girl, Grandma.”

  “A girl??” She was surprised, but then immediately grew suspicious. “Who? Irene or a real girl?”

  “Rini is a real girl, Grandma, but no, I’m not talking to her.”

  “Oh.” Grandma changed her tone instantly. “I’m sorry, honey. I didn’t realize. You go right ahead and take all the time you need.”

  “Thanks, Grandma.”

  “But get off in ten minutes.”

  “Okay, Grandma.”

  Turnover: Sherbie?

  Sherbert: Yeah?

  Turnover: You’re making me feel insecure over here.

  Sherbert: Sorry. I was talking to my grandmother.

  Turnover: Well, do you?

  Sherbert: What?

  Turnover: Want to hang out when I get there?

  I decided to accept my fate and just go with it. Once some girls picked up Xander’s scent, it was almost impossible to shake them off for at least a month. Besides, if I could convince Lana to come by the house once or twice, it would appease Grandma for a while, and I’d be able to chauffer her crankiness around town without her trying to set me up with every female under the age of forty and over the age of twelve.

  Sherbert: Sure. When are you coming in?

  Chapter 5

  The Lake View Cemetery was founded in 1869. That’s post-Civil War, baby. It’s super pretty, so we like to hang out there on sunny afternoons. Rockefeller is buried there, aka the original Mr. John D. Standard Oil. He was a billionaire back when a billion dollars really meant something. He’s got a big old obelisk at the top of a small hill, the highest point in the cemetery. I guess he wanted to be able to look down on everybody. The lesser Rockefellers are buried around him in concentric rings. Rini always wants to put a dime on his grave, even though she usually borrows it off of Xander. He always seems to have one handy.

  The story of the dime goes that one day this poor guy approached Rockefeller and asked him for some money. John D. asked why he should give the guy some dough and the guy replied, “Because I’m poor and you’re rich.” So Rockefeller had his accountant calculate how much he was worth that day. Then he had him calculate how many people were in the world. He divided the first number by the second number and handed the guy ten cents. He said, “If I took all my money and divided it up among everybody in the world, here’s what you’d get.” I don’t know if the story is true or not, but that’s why people put dimes on Rockefeller’s grave.

  If you look down from Rockefeller’s monument, you see an entire forest of obelisks marking the final resting places of people who were rich but not quite as rich as the original robber baron. But hey, they probably didn’t give as much money to charity as he did, either. I guess obelisk grave markers were all the rage in the 1930s. Looking out at all of them always makes me giggle a little. It’s as if the departed are whispering from the grave, “I’m dead now, but remember my penis.”

  I much prefer the mausoleums. There are all sorts of miniature pharaoh’s tombs and Greek temples. Some of them even have stained glass windows and everything. I always think that post-apocalypse, I’ll move into one of the mausoleums and set up residence there. At least it would be a pretty place to wait out the end of the world.

  Xander is always hot to get inside the Wade Chapel during the afternoon sun, and here’s why. In a word, Tiffany. In three words, Louis Comfort Tiffany. How cool is the middle name Comfort, by the way? Someday I hope to own a piece of Tiffany glass. Not Tiffany and Co., mind you, but the L.C.T. himself. That would be totally cool. If you hit the Wade Chapel when the light is streaming in, it’s like a religiously themed enchanted fairy garden. It’s unbelievably pretty. Good old Louis Comfort really knew what he was doing.

  We made our rounds, as we do. Sometimes, if we have a little alcohol, we even go sneak a drink by the grave of Elliot Ness—that old, ironic drunk. Sure, he made the big time busting prohibition bootleggers, but that didn’t keep him from dying penniless of alcoholism.

  Today we were just taking in the vista and enjoying the sunshine. Rini parked herself on a bench and said, “I think I’ve got a stone in my boot. You guys look at the Garfield monument for a minute while I deal with it, okay?” Garfield, one of America’s assassinated presidents, is also buried at Lake View. He’s got a pretty cool tomb. Plus—trivia flash—his wife was named Lucretia. How cool is that?

  I plunked down next to Rini, ready to have a little break and to soak up the panorama.
Xander stood looking at the yard for several moments. It was only us in the cemetery, so I couldn’t figure out why he was deploying his Tyrone Power eyes, contemplating the tombstones in a deep and detached way. It was probably just habit. Then fishing in a satchel he was carrying, Xander sidled up to Rini. “I got you a present,” he said, pulling out a small parcel wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine.

  “What?” I sputtered. “Why are you always getting Rini presents? What about me? Why don’t I get any presents?”

  He glanced over at me. “Because you smell.”

  “I do not smell,” I said with a little more vehemence than I had intended.

  “Relax, Sherbie.” Rini laughed at me. “You guys have been friends like forever. Can’t you tell when he’s teasing?” She toyed with the knot in the twine. “I’m sure it’s something for all of us to share. Isn’t that usually what happens?”

  She was right. Xander took great delight in yanking my chain from time to time. He was always treating for dinner or buying our airplane tickets. In a way, I was pretty spoiled from being his best friend. And he did frequently come up with stuff that he thought we’d all like. I guess he gave the presents to Rini because, as straight guys, it would look a little funny if he gave them to me. To be honest, I’ve really never heard of any teenager with Xander’s largess. Or any adult for that matter.

  Xander slid up to Rini on the other side of the bench. “Open it,” he said, nudging her with his shoulder.

  Making short work of the paper and twine, Rini pulled out a slim, leather-bound book. “The Devil’s Dictionary by Ambrose Bierce,” she read from the cover. “Hey, isn’t that the Occurrence at Owl Creek guy?”

  “Exactly.” Xander nodded. “He wrote his own dictionary. Some of it is really funny. Check out what it says under Mausoleum.” Rini gave him an odd look, but he insisted, “Go on. Look it up.”

  Cracking open the volume, she thumbed through the pages. “Mausoleum,” she read aloud. “The final and funniest folly of the rich.”

  Simultaneously, our eyes shifted to the ornate miniature marble houses and hundreds of phallic symbols that were laid out before us thrusting toward the sky. “That’s pretty good.” I chuckled.