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

“I’ll go with you.”

“Don’t you want to look for that girl?” I asked, surprised.

“No,” he said firmly.
After a moment, he added, “And even if I did, I wouldn’t go charging after her like a dog looking to hump her leg. If you want to meet a girl, you’ve got to play it cool.”

I didn’t say anything, but I couldn’t stop from smirking as we headed for the stairs. I was sure that before we left the market, Xand
er would somehow manage to end up in a conversation with the violet girl.

“Herbert
. There you are,” Grandma snapped. “You remember Mr. Sarducci.”

I smiled
politely at an elderly, somewhat bulky gentleman wearing an apron and standing behind the counter at Sarducci Meats. “Hi, Mr. Sarducci,” I said as the dutiful grandson.

Grandma went on, “Mr. Sarducci’s granddaughter is staying with
him for the summer, and I thought you’d like to meet her.” That’s when I realized that there was a person standing behind Mr. Sarducci, somewhat eclipsed by his bulk. “Herbert, this is Lydia. Lydia, this is my grandson, Herbert.”

A sullen
-looking girl glanced over at me. She was about sixteen, medium height, medium weight, with medium-length, medium-brown hair, and she had medium features. She was dressed in jeans, a gray t-shirt, and a white apron—just like her grandfather. The only thing distinguishing about her was that she wore a cool, enamel, multicolored bat necklace. That, at least, drew my interest. “Hi,” she said halfheartedly.

“It’s nice to meet you,” I replied with an equal lack of enthusiasm. I hated when Grandma tried to fix me up. It was so embarrassing.

Then I saw Lydia’s face grow more animated. Her eyes lit up. She was looking at me with interest. She even sort of smiled. I was just thinking that when she wasn’t being all dour, she wasn’t half bad looking, when I realized that Xander had walked up behind me and was observing the introduction over my shoulder. “Who’s your friend?” Lydia asked, doing nothing to conceal her interest.

I r
estrained myself from making an exasperated face. Xander couldn’t help it if he was the epicenter of gorgeous in the tri-state area. “Lydia, this is Xander Hipsher. Xander, meet Lydia Sarducci.”

“Hi,” Xander said, flashing
her the baby-blue high beams. I could tell he wasn’t even trying to flirt with her. That’s just how he looks. In a lower voice, he said to me, “Sherbie, I’m going to grab a soda.”

Just so you know
, no one says soda in Cleveland. America can be divided by regions that say soda and regions that say pop, and Cleveland is definitely a pop town. But Xander doesn’t like pop. He won’t drink Coke or Pepsi or any of the other big names that come in a giant two liter. He only drinks traditional soda pop. The kind that has flavors like orange cream soda, birch beer, and old-time ginger ale and are only sold in undersized glass bottles. He even tried to start using the word sarsaparilla once, until Rini shut it down.

“I’m kind of
thirsty,” Lydia said, her eyes bright and hopeful.

“Oh, okay,” Xander said, not picking up on her hugely obvious hint. “I’ll bring you back something.” Then he said to me, “Are you coming or what?”

Grandma fixed me with a beady stare, and I knew my presence by her side as head porter was required. “No, you go on,” I told him. “I’ll text you when we’re ready to snack.”

Xander loped off
, and Lydia sank back into sour. Not a good look for her. Mr. Sarducci wrapped up some pork chops for Grandma, and I stood there feeling like an idiot. Grandma kept winking at me and then cutting her eyes over to Lydia. She was being about as subtle as a brick through a window.

Grandma didn’t harangue
me for a while, not willing to lose focus while giving the Eastern European immigrants the screws over what constituted a ripe banana. But I knew it was only a temporary reprieve. “Why didn’t you flirt with that young lady back at Sarducci’s?” Grandma asked after she had declared victory over the fruit and vegetable stands. “That’s why I introduced you.”

“
Come on, Grandma. She didn’t like me,” I told her, struggling under the bags of peaches, eggplant, strawberries, and squash.

“Sure
, she did. I saw her smiling at you,” Grandma insisted.

“No, Grandma. She was smiling at Xander.”

Grandma’s face became a little pinched. “Don’t be fooled into letting Xander take all the cute girls, Herbie. He’s a nice boy, but he doesn’t lay golden eggs or anything. If you like a girl, then you go after her. Don’t let being friends with Fabian stop you.”

“I won’t, Grandma
. I promise,” I said, but I was really just placating her.

We hit the bakeries
, and then it was time to get Grandma off her feet and prop her up with some tea. I pulled out my cell phone and was about to text Xander when I caught sight of him out of the corner of my eye, leaning against the wall next to Jorhensen’s Apiary, chatting with—you guessed it—Violet Girl. She didn’t look happy about it. Not exactly unhappy either, just sort of intense. I must have been sending off some weird vibe while looking at her because she immediately turned her head to stare right at me. I felt like a total idiot, and I have no idea why. I mean, I was just standing there. I wasn’t making obscene gestures with my hands or anything. Xander cocked an eye in my direction, breaking out of his classic Marlon Brando slouch. Violet Girl took this opening to dash out of the building. I mean, she literally fled.

“What was that all about?” I asked after he caught up with us.

“Nothing.” Xander played it casual.

“Well, what’s her name?”

“It’s…” Xander thought about it, frowned, and then said, “You know, it’s weird, but I can’t remember.”

This floored me. “You can’t remember a pretty girl’s name?”

“No, it’s completely gone.” He thunked his head a few times trying to rattle the name loose.

“That is weird. I thought rule number one was to always remember a girl’s name.”

“That is rule number one,” Xander assured me. “But I guess I blew it this time.”

After we’d perked Grandma up
at the café and purchased our chocolates (Grandma splashed out on a full pound of assorted so Xander could enjoy a few), we headed for the car. Just as we were about to hit the exit, Xander pulled up short. “Oh, wait. I forgot something.”

“What?”

“It’s no big deal. I just need a minute,” he said. “I’ll meet you at the car.”

“What?” I repeated.

“It’s that Lydia girl at Sarducci’s,” he called over his shoulder as he trotted back into the fray. “I promised I’d bring her a soda.”

Chapter 4

When we got back from the market, Xander helped us put the groceries away, which sent Grandma
completely over the moon—again. She was going to make us lunch, but Xander said, “Don’t worry about it, Mrs. Lehmer. Why don’t you just relax? I’ll drive Sherbie to work, and we’ll grab a sandwich or something on the way.”

Grandma and I only have the one car. It’s an ancient station wagon
from the Neolithic period. The kind with the fake wood paneling and where the back bumper is usually held on with wire. Ours is in a little bit better shape than that, but still, it’s no beauty. Grandma doesn’t like to drive, but she doesn’t want me to take the car either in case she needs it to go somewhere, which is never. So I’m usually on the bus if I can’t manage to sponge a ride off of Xander or Rini.

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 Xand
er 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.

Ha
d 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 w
hen 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, h
e 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 th
e 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 sound. 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.

A
n 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 th
at 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 suppose
d 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?”