"Teen angst involves boys, vampires, and witches."
Reviewed by Sabrina Marino
Posted July 11, 2011
Young Adult Paranormal
Ana Parker is a Minnesota high school student who is about
to audition for her high school theater department. Her
boyfriend, Nikolai, is in a rock band and will be providing
music for an updated musical for the theater department.
Life isn't straightforward for Ana. She has recently
discovered that she is a Vampire Princess, but she is also
half witch on her mother's side. Nikolai is a vampire
hunter in training so it is easy to say that their
relationship has some bumps in it. Ana also has a lot of
competition for the lead female spot in her school's
musical. Her singing partner is the high school jock,
someone who is still grossed out about her licking blood off
his face a few months before. Whoops! However, he is not
as much of a jerk as she thought and she suddenly finds him
attractive too.
When someone steals an ancient talisman housed in the
Minnesota Historical Society, Ana hopes that a vampire has
it in his possession, as this talisman is the key to the
witches enslaving the vampires. Ana must choose which side
she will stand on as her mother's people and her father's
people are about to go to war over it.
ALMOST FINAL CURTAIN by Tate Hallaway is the second story
about Ana Parker. She spends a lot of time exploring the
typical hormonal feelings of a teenage girl, possessive
about her boyfriend while attracted to others; jealous of
her girlfriend's relationship with the boyfriend she breaks
up with while learning more about her best male friend.
Perhaps she spends more energy on the musical auditions than
she does worrying about someone trying to kill her, but
after all, she is a teenager even if she is a Vampire
Princess.
SUMMARY
Craving the spotlight is in her blood.
Ever since high school student Anastasija Parker discovered
she was vampire royalty, her life has been sort of crazy.
The half-vampire- half-witch just wants some normalcy, and
trying out for the spring musical seems like the perfect
fix.
But when the ancient talisman that stands between vampire
freedom and slavery to witches is stolen, Ana has to skip
rehearsal and track down the dangerous artifact before
someone uses it to make this year's curtain call her last...
ExcerptChapter One
Rumor spread through Stassen High on whispers and
tweets. Mr. Martinez, the drama coach was spotted talking
to the lead singer of Ingress—the one and only Nikolai
Kirov.
My boyfriend.
Actually, Nikolai and I were only kind of seeing each
other, since I was also "betrothed" to Elias Constantine, a
vampire knight, but there was no explaining that to the
cluster of giddy girls that swarmed around me like I was
the queen of the world, and not just Anastasija Parker, the
vampire princess of St. Paul.
"Come on, Ana," pleaded my sometimes BFF, Bea, "You must
know something."
I couldn’t believe Bea was encouraging this lot to
harass me. Of course, unlike me, she enjoyed being the
center of attention. Normally, she and I were part of the
outcast clique, and most of our interaction with this
gaggle of cheerleaders and jocks involved slushies and
slurs that conveyed their deep misunderstanding of the
nature of real magic.
Bea and I were witches.
Well, to be precise: she was. I couldn’t cast a spell if
my life depended on it, and, believe me, there were times
that it very nearly had. Being half-vampire dampened my
access to that particular source of power. But there were
other kinds of energy I could tap. Our coven mostly
tolerated me because of my abilities, but it was
complicated.
Kind of like my relationship with Nik.
"He’s so cool," one of the cheerleaders sighed. There
was a wistful gleam in her eyes, the kind I’d seen in a lot
of the groupies that hung around Ingress after the
shows. "Are you really dating him?"
"Yeah, I mean, kind of."
The worst part was that every time I stumbled over the
exact nature of my relationship with Nikolai, I could see
the hunger flare behind their gaze. Inevitably, the desire
was followed by a measuring look full of jealousy and
wonder at what I could possibly have that attracted a
college boy in the hottest local band in the entire Twin
Cities music scene.
I wondered the same thing, too.
"She is, no ‘kind of’ about it," Bea said to the
disbelieving sneers. "Nikolai is completely smitten."
I couldn’t tell for sure, but I thought I heard a bit of
envy in Bea’s voice too. The bell rang, saving me from
protesting that sometimes I worried that his intense
interest in me might have more to do with the fact that, in
his spare time, Nikolai was also a vampire hunter. Or, at
least, the apprentice to the local vampire hunter, his dad—
Did I mention it was complicated?
By lunch, I told Bea I couldn’t take it anymore. Even
though we didn’t have a pass, we took our sack lunches and
sneaked out to eat them in her car. Bea had this giant boat
of a vehicle. It had bucket seats and even smelled like
your grandpa’s aftershave. Of course, she’d added the "My
other car is a broomstick" bumper sticker and the dream
catcher dangling from the rearview mirror.
I breathed a sigh of relief when the doors clicked
shut . . . but too soon.
"Text him," Bea poked me in the arm. I shot her a
frustrated grimace and almost got out of the car, but she
said, "Come on, if you have some information, the grapevine
will take care of the rest."
She had a point. If I had some crumb to toss everyone,
they’d forward the news around themselves without
constantly having to harass me. Bea clicked the key into
lock position so we could watch the time and listen to the
radio—the car was so ancient it didn’t have a way to
play .mp3s. I dug through my backpack for my phone. Of
course, it had to be off during school, and it took forever
to power up.
"You should get a cell made this century," Bea said with
a snort.
"Hey, it was cheap, and it’s not like it’s rotary—or
whatever mom says." I twirled my fingers like she always
did, "Where they had to wait for the zero. I don’t know. I
never understand what she’s talking about. Okay, it doesn’t
have a cord, at least."
"Might as well, at that speed."
When my phone finally finished turning itself on, I was
surprised to see I already had a text from Nikolai.
"Hey, he wrote," I said, showing the phone to Bea.
"Oh! Open it!"
We put our heads together to peer at the tiny screen.
With a gush of anticipation, I hit accept. Seconds passed
as the stupid phone deducted the minutes, and then finally
the text appeared. It read: "Guess what? We R doing the
music for your spring play. Try out! More 2nite."
Bea and I looked at each other and read the note
again. "I thought we were doing ‘My Fair Lady,’" I said to
Bea’s equally confused face. "Do you suppose Mr. Martinez
decided to do ‘Jesus Christ Superstar’ again or
something?"
In my freshman year, Mr. Martinez caused a big splash
with the production of "Jesus Christ, Superstar." He rented
a couple of real helicopters which landed on the school
lawn and poured out actors dressed like soldiers, which
proceeded to "occupy" the school as the Romans had Judea.
It was the kind of production that got everybody—from the
cheerleaders to the dirtbags—jazzed about theater. "Great
Goddess, I hope not. There’s only one female role in that
whole stupid musical. Let’s hope it’s ‘Hair.’"
"Maybe he’s going to do ‘Rent’?" It was a well-known
fact that Mr. Martinez was fabulously gay and liked to push
the envelope a little, but even so it would be a bit avant
guard for him to pick any musical written after the
1970s. "Can you imagine? Like, who would even try out to be
the drag queen?"
"Lane might," Bea suggested. "He likes to be out there
and doesn’t care what people think."
I shook my head. "The parents would totally freak out if
Martinez really does ‘Rent.’ Half the characters are HIV
positive."
"Yeah, that’s kind of retro when you think about it,"
Bea said, pulling out a tuna sandwich from her bag. "Who
worries about AIDS these days?"
"Well, they should. It’s not like they cured it," I
pointed out, digging through my own sack in search of a bag
of carrots. "But the play is kind of dated, and I don’t
know the music, do you?"
"Yeah, here’s what’s weird: Mr. Martinez has only been
showing us every production of ‘My Fair Lady’ for a month.
Why would he pull a bait-and-switch now?"
I shrugged. Bea and I had drama class together at the
end of the day. Most of the theater types took drama as an
elective, and well over half us were in each school
production, even if it was only as stage hands. In fact, it
was sort of assumed that if you wanted to be in a play, you
needed to take Mr. Martinez’s course. It wasn’t a
requirement, you understand, just how it worked out and Mr.
Martinez made no secret of it. So he often spent class time
reviewing recordings of professional versions of that
season’s show. By this time last fall, I was so sick of
Macbeth that I half considered being truant just so I
wouldn’t have to see one more performance of it. "I kind of
hope he’s decided on a rock opera of some sort," I
admitted.
Thing was, I couldn’t see myself as Eliza Doolittle, the
lead in ‘My Fair Lady.’ She was supposed to start off as
all rough and tumble and end up some kind of well-heeled
British lady. So not me.
With my mismatched eyes and super-pale skin, I had a
much easier time with roles like one of the Wyrd Sisters in
Macbeth. I was awfully freaky looking to be romantic lead
material. The only other speaking female role in ‘My Fair
Lady’ was the nanny, who sings along with the song about
dancing all night. My stick figure did not scream matronly,
either. Bea’s kind of did, but I knew better than to point
that out.
That was just the way it always was, wasn’t it? Bea
hated her curves and dark wavy curls; I envied them. She
felt the same about my ram-rod straight hair and matching
twiggy non-figure.
But we didn’t talk about that. We didn’t talk about much
of anything, in fact. Instead, she and I spent the rest of
lunch lost in our own musings about the play, although as I
ate my pastrami on rye, my mind wandered back around to
Nik. Having a locally famous rock star boyfriend did
strange things to my ego. At the shows when he shouted out
to me or came over to talk at breaks, I felt super special.
I could sense all the eyes jealously staring at me,
wondering who I was to garner such attention from someone
as awesome as him. Meanwhile, while he sang, I had plenty
of time to check out the competition and most of the time I
fell short in my own estimation. There were college age
women drooling over Nik, some of them looking like rock
stars themselves.
I figured it was only a matter of time before he dumped
me for someone closer to his own age, someone more willing
to well, you know, help him live up to that rock star
reputation. Okay, just between us: we hadn’t had sex yet. I
wasn’t ready. I was just sixteen, and really, we started
dating only last fall, and trust me, with everything else
going on while I was discovering that I was some kind of
vampire princess, well, I was distracted.
Plus, there was Elias.
How do I explain him? He’s a vampire. But vampires are
nothing like what you expect; they’re more like blood-
drinking elves, except from hell. Literally. Only, the real
hell isn’t the one in the Bible, either. It’s older and
stranger, and, apparently, deeply hierarchical. Elias is a
knight and acts like he’s from the Middle Ages, too, with a
lot of bowing and touching romantic gestures like that. My
dad’s the local vampire ruler, but Elias is the one who
makes me feel like a princess.
And, thanks to this one battle between True Witches and
vampires where I accidentally-on-purpose bit him, we were
betrothed—which normally meant "engaged to be married" in
Medieval times. I had no idea what it meant to vampires.
Luckily, there didn’t seem to be any rush in the vampire
community to push Elias and me towards the altar. It seemed
more like a peace treaty thing that involved him "courting"
me a lot.
Totally off the subject, but the whole courting stuff
was made of win. It involved a lot of flowers and being the
center of manly attention, minus any pressure. I don’t even
know if vampires have sex like we do. Well, they must
sometimes, or I wouldn’t be here. But, they were kind of
another species. Though I know they have all the same
parts, since I’d seen Elias naked—a lot. See, vampires
liked to run around in the buff. Weird. But even so, Elias
never even kissed me once. Maybe that whole biting thing
was their version of sex.
I’d only eaten half my sandwich when Bea pointed at the
dashboard clock. "Oh noes!" she said in mock
seriousness.
But we’d be tardy for real if we didn’t hustle. I jammed
everything back into my bag, in the hopes that I might have
time for a snack during free period. Otherwise, my stomach
was going to be growling all through the rest of the
day.
We got yelled at by Ms. Yang, the hall monitor, when she
spotted us sliding in the side doors. But Bea was fast on
her feet and came up with a convincing lie to keep her from
sending us to the assistant principal’s office. Plus, as
Bea talked, I felt a slight hum in the air. She’d cast a
glamour spell to keep Ms. Yang off our case.
Parting ways in the hall, I headed off to history, which
was on the second floor and way in the back. I thought I’d
be able to make it in time, but I miscalculated, forgetting
about my sudden popularity. Three cheerleaders stopped me
by the water fountain. "So I heard—" one of them started
with a snap of her gum.
I cut them off, "Nik told me his band is going to do the
music for the school play." They started to open their
mouths to beg for more details, and I waved them off. . It
wasn’t like they were going to try-out for the play, was
it? Or were they? OMG. What if all the cheerleaders and
jocks auditioned? No, the thought was just too horrible, so
I blurted out"I’m sorry, that’s all he said. I’ve got to
go."
I scooted in the door a half a minute after last bell,
which meant I missed more class time going back down to the
office to get a tardy slip. As I waited with the other
deadbeats for the secretary to fill out the form, I sighed.
Times like this I wished I had Bea’s powers. Zap! No more
tardy!
Mr. Shultz accepted my pass with a kind of suspicious
grimace when I got back to class, like he thought that
somehow I’d forged the note, even though he was the one
who’d sent me off to fetch it.
I took my seat and tried to ignore all the irritated
glances. This was Honor’s history, after all. My colleagues
had no patience for anything they perceived as bad
behavior. As quickly and quietly as I could, I got out my
textbook and flipped to the current unit.
Slavery.
I stared again, as I often did, at the picture at the
beginning of the chapter. It was an artist’s rendition of
an auction block. I got a strange shiver down my spine.
Once upon a time, according to Elias anyway, vampires
were slaves to witches. The First Witch created some kind
of talisman to bind their will to hers. The power of this
thing, whatever it was, kept them in thrall for millennia.
And thus it was, until the vampires discovered the artifact
and plotted to steal it. Then it got lost or something, I
don’t know. Anyway, vampires were free now, but still kind
of held a grudge about that whole stolen-from-their-
homeland-and-used-as-chattel thing.
No surprise, right?
Ever since we started this section, I’d been trying to
ask Elias what it was like. Every time I brought the
subject up, though, he’d get all tight and quiet, and then
suddenly find some excuse to be elsewhere.
My only conclusion was that it must have been awful. And
yet here was Mr. Shultz trying to explain how human
trafficking was profitable and made a kind of business
sense back then.
"Isn’t it still profitable?" asked Lane. He was being
intentionally provocative, but his point was valid. It
wasn’t like slavery didn’t exist anymore. But if I knew Mr.
Shultz, he’d find a way to make Lane’s outburst into
homework for everyone.
"Excellent point, Mr. Davis," Mr. Shultz said. "Perhaps
we should all do a little research into current examples of
human trafficking? How about a ten-page paper due
Wednesday, for extra credit?"
There were a few groans, but in truth we were the
students who lived for extra credit projects. Do you know
how many points an "A+" in an honors class bumps up your
GPA? We were all competing to be valedictorian in two
years, after all. I pulled out my notebook and wrote down
the specifics for the paper. It could be fascinating, I
thought. It was an intense subject. I wondered how much Mr.
Shultz would freak if I did mine on vampires and witches?
I shook my head. He’d probably think I was making it up
and give me no credit.
After class, Lane tugged my sleeve. As Bea pointed out,
Lane was the likeliest candidate for a boy who might be
willing to play a drag queen. It wasn’t because he was
particularly gay; he just liked to shock people. He was
tall and gangly, like he hadn’t quite filled out the body
he suddenly had. His just-over-his-ears sandy brown hair
was stylishly bed-headed. I thought he was kind of cute,
but he was a little too artsy for me. When we’d talked
backstage in the past, I never understood his music
references and hated every movie he claimed to admire.
"Are you really dating a rocker?" he asked.
I rolled my eyes. Apparently, not even Lane was immune
to the gossip. I would be so glad when Stassen High forgot
about me again and went on to the next new thing. "Yes, Mr.
Davis. I am. Why do you ask?"
"Well, Ms. Parker, it seems my hopes to accompany you to
the Spring Fling have been dashed. I am beside myself with
grief."
I could never tell if he was being serious or not. That
was the other thing that always bugged me about Lane.
Luckily, I waited him out long enough and he started
talking again before I embarrassed myself by being
flattered, "Seriously," he said. "I never figured you for a
heavy metal chick. I always thought you had more class."
Oh, nice. But at least these kind of passive-aggressive
insults were standard operating procedure for Lane. I knew
what to do with them. "No, not really," I admitted with a
sweet smile, as though he’d given me the biggest
compliment. "Sorry to cut this scintillating conversation
short, but I have study hall and, thanks to you, I need to
spend my time in the media center doing research. Bye-
bye!"
I waved toodle-loo to Lane’s baffled expression and
headed off to the library.
On my way, my gaze was attracted to a very fine, male
body bent to retrieve something from the bottom of his
locker. Trim waist, broad shoulder, taut abs—in short a
body to die for. As he straightened, I started to smile
into . . . the ruggedly handsome face of Matthew Thompson,
soccer star and homecoming king, who randomly flipped me
the bird. Okay, I guessed he had just cause, since a few
months ago I did lick blood off his face in gym class. That
was awkward, especially since, even now, I could taste him.
My stomach growled.
He seemed to hear the sound, and so I licked my lips
seductively and flounced past like some kind of vamp
vampire.
When he was out-of-sight, I sighed deeply.
Why were all the guys in this school such jerks?
After checking in with my homeroom teacher and showing
her my Honor Society pass, I headed to the library. My plan
was to find a nice quiet place in the stacks to hide away.
Let’s face it, I was just not made to be a popular girl.
The only time I liked being in the spotlight was on stage.
There, it was scripted. Someone much wittier than I was
came up with all the lines, and I knew how it was going to
end before it started. In real life, you never knew what
was going to happen. Real people never acted
predictably.
The librarian waved at me when I came in. I saw Matthew
Thompson settling in at one of the big tables with his math
tutor, James, a senior and his class’s most likely
valedictorian. I ignored the "come here" wave from
Thompson. I mean, he did just flip me off and, anyway, I
was sure he just wanted to find out about the rumors, and
he had plenty of other sources—like half the cheerleading
squad.
I slipped into the stacks with a sigh. Long ago, I’d
discovered that way in the back, near the dusty poetry
section, there was one of those old-fashioned study
carrels. It had a built-in overhead lamp that no longer
worked, a slot for papers, and was shaped sort of like a
voting booth so that when you leaned in over your books,
you had the illusion of complete privacy.
With a glance around to see if I was truly alone, I
pulled out the uneaten half of my sandwich and
surreptitiously tucked it into the overhead slot. I took
out my cell phone and turned it on so I could watch the
time. Believe me, it was easy to lose track back here.
A half hour later, I had finished up my sandwich and
tomorrow’s math assignment. I was just about to tackle
English reading when a tap on my shoulder made me yelp.
Guiltily hiding my crumbs, I peered over my shoulder to see
if it was the librarian come to chew me out.
Nope. It was a vampire.
They’re easy to identify once you know what to look for.
They really do have pasty white skin, for one thing—at
least if they’re white to begin with. This woman was a very
pale shade of Asian, but the absolute dead giveaway, if
you’ll pardon the pun, was the cat-slit eyes. Her features
were enviably porcelain fine, and her black hair fell arrow-
straight, almost to her knees. Though her clothes were
modern, there was always something uncomfortable in the way
vampires wore them that made them look out of place,
otherworldly, alien.
Plus, she curtsied. Who else but a vampire would do that
anymore? "A thousand pardons for disturbing you, Your
Highness. My name is Khan, and I have come to request a
boon."
It must be an important favor, because normally vampires
didn’t go out in the daytime. A thought occurred to
me, "Did you come through the sewers or something? Is there
an underground connection to the school?"
The idea both thrilled and scared me. I mean, how cool
would it be to sneak into the library after hours? But then
it also meant vampires had easy access at any time. I
wasn’t sure how I felt about that.
No, I lied; it totally freaked me out.
"Yes, highness, but I don’t have long." Khan looked over
her shoulder then, like she expected someone to be chasing
her. "Please, I need your blessing to pursue my dream."
Sounded harmless enough, but I was suspicious. Most of
the time when vampires approached me for courtly things,
Elias or my dad was around to give advice. I mean, what did
I know about vampire politics? What if this ‘dream’ of
Khan’s was to assassinate my dad? It wouldn’t be the first
time someone tried to kill him. "What is this dream of
yours?"
"To break my betrothal contract and marry the one I
love," she said, with a proud lift of her chin.
"You can do that?"
Khan smiled slightly. "Not without royal permission."
So I didn’t have to be betrothed to Elias. This was
news. No wonder she didn’t want to ask in front of him or
my dad.
I considered her request, trying to decide if I was
going to regret allowing it. But, try as I might, I
couldn’t see any harm in letting her marry the man she
wanted. "If I say ‘yes,’ this isn’t going to start a
vampire civil war or anything, is it?"
Khan looked surprised by my question for a moment, but
then laughed. "No, your highness, it’s not."
"Why not ask my dad then?"
She frowned, as if not sure what to say. "I don’t wish
to insult the king . . ."
"But . . . ?" I prompted. I had to admit, Khan had my
full attention. Despite the fact that my dad showed up at
my doorstep last fall and demanded I come with him to be
the princess of the vampires, it wasn’t like we were close.
In fact, when I refused to choose sides, he seemed to have
lost interest in me. I didn’t get invited to court or any
of the reindeer games.
Khan pursed her lips, and for a moment I thought she
wouldn’t tell. Then, everything spilled out in a rush, "His
royal highness is a sexist pig who hasn’t had an updated
thought about women since three thousand B.C.!"
Oh. Okay. Well, that might explain why my mom, the uber-
feminist Queen of Witches, didn’t last long in a
relationship with him. I wanted to ask Khan to go into more
detail, but my cell phone beeped, reminding me I only had a
few more minutes of free period left.
"Done. Permission granted. Whatever I need to say. You
have my blessing." Besides, this was totally romantic,
right? "Go be with the one you love."
She curtsied her way out, profusely thanking me the
entire way. By the time she disappeared completely into the
shadows of the stacks, my cell phone beeped more anxiously
a second time. Time to get to drama class!
I packed up my books feeling like I’d handled Khan
pretty well, considering. I mean, it would have been nice
if I’d gotten an instruction booklet to go with the whole
princess gig.
On my way out, Thompson bumped into me. Like, as in,
nearly tripped me, which I guess was his sort of
Neanderthal way of being friendly because he smiled and
said, "I’m thinking about trying out, you know, for the
play."
I didn’t mean to, but I laughed. It was just like I
feared. Mr. Martinez had not only managed the miracle of
making me cool for the day, but theater as well. Everyone
and their dog wanted to be in the show. Even a guy like
Thompson. Unbelievable.
Thompson actually looked a little hurt by my reaction,
but he covered it with a cough. "Whatever. You’re one of
those theater people. You got any advice?"
I looked up at his square jaw and chiseled cheekbones.
He was handsome if you ignored his knuckle-dragging
personality, and I could see him acting in a Renaissance
Festival troupe that involved bashing people with a stick,
but as suave Professor Higgins? No way.
"You do know that theater involves singing and dancing
and costumes and make-up, right? I mean, the whole thing is
a little bit gay for you, Thompson."
"Maybe I’m some kind of undiscovered talent," he
said.
"Yeah, undiscovered all right." Okay, that might have
been a little mean of me, but if you knew the kind of shit
I had to put up with after the whole face-licking incident,
you’d be on my side. Trust me, it was nowhere near as cruel
as the things Thompson and his buddies had said to
me. "Look," I continued, trying to explain as carefully as
I could. "Acting looks easy, but that’s the magic of it,
okay? Looking easy—when it’s not. You can’t just wake up an
awesome actor one day. If I were you, I’d save myself the
heartbreak and just buy your tickets for the front row
instead. Trust me, there’s no way you’re going to get a
speaking part."
The thing I wasn’t going to tell Thompson was that any
boy who tried out usually got into the show no matter how
bad they were, because we were always hurting for male
bodies on stage.
"Is that a prediction, witch?" Of course, the way he
said that last word, it sounded more like the one that
started with a "b."
I flashed him my patented evil eye—which given my one
blue and one brown was honestly fairly spooky. I’d creeped
myself out with it in the mirror. "Count on it,
asshole."
Thompson looked ready to hurl more insults, but Bea
chose that moment to slide up between us and take my arm
all lady-like. "Is this brute bothering you, Ana?"
The air hummed with the electricity of a spell revving
up. So I quickly said, "Nothing I can’t handle, Bea."
"You sure I can’t zap him?" She waggled her fingers at
Thompson menacingly, and he shrunk away. He’d been the
victim of her "zap" before. Her spell had made him
unpopular for twenty-four hours, which was tantamount to a
death sentence to someone like Thompson.
"I’m sure," I said. "Come on. I can’t be late to class
again."
As we walked through the hall, my mind kept returning to
the conversation with Thompson. At Stassen, theater held a
strange place in the school hierarchy. My clique was
comprised of the kind of weirdoes that thought quoting
Shakespeare’s dirtier bits was hilarious, true. But, thanks
to stunts like the one Mr. Martinez was pulling now, where
he brought the cool to drama, we weren’t always
outcasts.
That was just me, and my own special brand of dorky. I
was still considering this when we met up with my other
sometimes-BFF, Taylor, whose real name was something much
more African sounding. She was Somali and usually wore a
hijab, a scarf that covered her hair and neck. Being
Taylor, however, hers were incredibly sparkly and tended
towards loud, outrageous patterns. Today’s was neon green
with golden glitter.
"You look fabulous," I told her.
She beamed. "And I know a secret. You’re going to die
when you walk in," she teased.
Bea shushed her.
And I thought, "Oh no, now what?"
I anticipated the excited chaos of everyone’s chatter,
but not the sight of my sometimes, kind-of-boyfriend
perched on the edge of Mr. Martinez’s desk. On other guys a
peasant shirt with poet-sleeves looked dorky and
pretentious. Maybe it was Nikolai’s half-Romany blood, but
he not only pulled the fashion off—with leather pants, no
less—but he bumped it up to wicked hot. Plus, he had those
tumbled, let-me-just-fix-that-stray-bit-for-you locks
that always threatened to fall in front of the most
gorgeous, deep amber eyes any girl has had the pleasure of
losing herself in.
I started to say hello, when he sauntered over and
planted an amazing peck on my cheek—in front of
EVERYONE.
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