Vamplayers (6 page)

Water hisses out of what sounds like a nozzle gun.

I try to put faces with sounds, but the voices seem so close to the doors that I can’t risk looking through the windows.

“You’re telling me a standard Starship Enterprise uniform is going to give Kirk some untold advantage over a Jedi Knight?”

“Grover, have you ever actually examined a Jedi Knight’s uniform up close and personal?”

“As personal as you can get at a Mega-Con light-saber signing, my dear boy.”

“Then you know it’s much baggier, much fruitier than Kirk’s uniform, which is much more streamlined and—”

“Define fruitier.”

I can’t stand it anymore. I shove through the doors like an outlaw in some old western and stand, hands on my hips. “Yeah, define—”

But I never get to finish my sentence. A stream of hot water splashes my face.

And my hair.

My neck.

My shoulders.

And my midsection.

“Oh. My. God.” I hear the Grover person (I think) screaming. “Zander, put it down. Put the hose down!”

Zander (I think) gasps, and the dishwashing spray gun he’s been holding hits the floor, squirming like a snake that’s just been grabbed by the tail and saturating us with fine, hot jets of water.

Suddenly chocolate (baking, syrup, or otherwise) is the last thing on my mind.

Chapter 7

Y
ou see, miss, uh, I mean, ma’am, it’s just that, well, we’re not used to actual women being in the cafeteria,” the one who shall be known as Grover stammers as he hands me yet another thin white cotton towel from the wrought iron bar on his dorm suite bathroom wall.

“What?” I keep drying my hair. “You’re telling me it’s an all-male kitchen staff.”

They bite their lips, snickering in the doorway.

“What my roommate means, miss,” says the one who shall be known as Zander, “is that we’re not used to having
girls
in the kitchen. Like, you know, actual student girls.”

”Like actual hot student girls.”

I glare, then look at my supposed-to-knock-’em-dead-on-the-first-night black blouse covering my sopping wet silver tank top and see pieces of white towel lint sticking all over it. “Well, what were you two doing in there anyway? Having a quick water fight before dinner?”

With my head out from under a towel for the first time since they dragged me from the cafeteria to their suite, I notice the boys’ soggy, dirty aprons.

“We work there,” Grover says proudly or maybe defensively; it’s hard to tell when your ears are full of water. “Nightshade gives us a third off our tuition every semester if we handle kitchen duty before and after classes. So, again, we’re really sorry.”

I instantly feel cruddy.

Like these poor guys don’t have it bad enough slaving away in the kitchen twice a day on top of regular school. And God knows how the Nightshade snobs must torture them over it.

I give up on drying myself, wrap the towel around my shoulders like some dazed prizefighter, and sit on the closed toilet lid. “No, it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have barged in on you like that.”

Grover, big as a house, nudges Zander. “She does have a point, dude.”

Zander is nearly four inches taller than Grover and a third his weight. He’s not skinny, per se. He’s just lean, although his roguishly handsome face is just fleshy enough to dimple when he smiles, crookedly, which he does amazingly often.

“Yeah,” he says, leaning casually on the door-jamb. “What were you barging in for anyway?”

“Well”—I sigh dramatically—”I was just looking for a snack before dinner. You know, something sweet like a Laffy Taffy or Hershey’s Kiss, when I heard the most asinine argument ever and—”

“Oh, please, please, please tell me you didn’t hear that,” Zander squeaks, face growing three shades of red and two of purple. He puts his long fingers together in a supplicating gesture. “Please, oh please, say you didn’t hear us arguing about—”

“Skywalker versus Kirk,” I say gleefully. “Sure did. Every word of it. It was very … illuminating.”

Grover walks away, probably out of embarrassment, and disappears around the corner.

“I can’t wait to share your findings at the first possible opportunity over dinner tonight. Is there a microphone available in the cafeteria or perhaps a blow horn? A podium and slide-show screen? Because I really think everyone deserves to hear it verbatim. Hey, here’s an idea. Maybe you two can reenact it. Wouldn’t that be cool?”

Zander hangs his head. His dirty blond curls dangle near his bushy brunet eyebrows. In the irresistible department, it’s like peanut butter meeting chocolate—and not just ‘cause I’m starved for sugar. When he raises his head, I admire his hazel eyes, his adorable pug nose, and his smile.

He looks me in the eye and says, “Well, hold up. If that’s why you barged in, then whose side were you going to take? Obviously you came in loaded for bear, so fess up. Who would win that one?”

I snort. This one’s quick. “Kirk, of course. His uniform quails on Skywalker’s.”

“Thank you.” He moves in for a quick high five, which of course I deny.

He mumbles, “Oh right,” and leans against the wall.

When Grover returns, he has a handful of both Laffy Taffies
and
Hershey’s Kisses. I should probably be surprised he happens to have both of my favorite types of candy, but from the looks of him, this kid has every type of candy in his possession.

“For you, m’lady,” he says, handing them over with a mock Renaissance bow and a trilling motion of one massive, pink hand.

”You, good sir, are almost forgiven,” I say around a mouthful of divine melting chocolate, shoving the Laffy Taffies in my pocket for later. And, no, I won’t be sharing them with Alice or Cara. “I shouldn’t be taking candy from a stranger,” I say to Grover coyly, the instant sugar rush turning me vaguely coquettish, “so let’s introduce ourselves and then I won’t feel so guilty.”

“I’m Grover, and this beanpole here is Zander. And you are?”

“Lily. I’m—”

“New,” Zander finishes for me. “Yeah, we’d remember seeing someone like you around.”

I can’t tell if it’s a compliment or another jab, but at this point I’ll take what I can get.

Zander nudges Grover and shows him his watch. Both stand at attention.

“Something wrong?” I look down at my damp chest to make sure I’m not having some kind of wardrobe malfunction or something.

“No,” Zander says, “it’s just, dinner is in an hour, and if we don’t finish cleaning first we’ll get docked and have to start even earlier tomorrow, so …”

I stand, the heavy toilet seat making clattering noises to further my already significant level of absolute embarrassment. “Go, go,” I say forcefully, shooing them like a mom sending her kids outside for some much needed exercise. “Far be it from me to get you in any more trouble.”

Zander smiles, heading for the door.

Grover says, “Can you show yourself out?”

“I’d love to. That will give me some time to lay some booby traps around here. I’m thinking water balloons above the doors, slime in your soda cans, and of course fake snakes in your peanut brittle jars. You know what they say about payback, right, boys?”

They grin and cut out of the room, talking, laughing, shambling all over each other on their way.

I stand and am not surprised when I notice the Boba Fett toilet seat I’ve been sitting on or the Wookie shower curtain or the matching Darth Vader electric toothbrushes. I’m not even shocked by the green Yoda throw pillows on both perfectly made beds.

“Well,” I mutter as I walk out of the suite, “you have to admire their consistency, if not their taste.”

Chapter 8

S
peaking of taste,” a deep, rich voice says from the inky halls, “first impressions are so important, aren’t they, dear?”

“Indeed,” an equally rich, though decidedly feminine voice, says. “I guess it’s true what they say: the new girl
is
a tramp.”

I turn, gasping, ready to unload my considerable immortal fury on my fellow students. Instead I see the two shadowy figures I saw speaking outside Headmistress Holly’s window during our brief orientation earlier this afternoon.

“W-w-what did you just say?” I manage to stammer, though it’s hard when half your face is under a towel and what’s visible is covered in runny mascara and smudged lipstick.

“Nothing, dear.” The guy is taller in person, crisper, leaner, cuter—if that’s possible—than he looked from Headmistress Holly’s window. “Just that, well, you couldn’t wait until your second day to seduce a couple of work release geeks? From the cafeteria, no less?”

“Too right.” The stunning girl’s eyes are magnetically green and intoxicating. “At least pretend to be hard to get for a day or two before giving the milk away for free. Any tramp worth her salt knows that much.”

Zander and Grover’s door is still open, though they are long gone, giving us a clear shot of their Star Wars poster-covered wall, to say nothing of their prolific action figure collection displayed on several perfectly straight shelves and, of course, the scale model spacecraft hanging on fishing wire from every available inch of ceiling space.

I stow the towel behind my back and ignore the wet tendrils still covering the other half of my face. “Whatever do you mean?”

“It’s all a matter of taste, Lily.” The redhead looks me up and down the way a garbage man sizes up a stained mattress in the gutter. “It’s one thing to be promiscuous.” She hangs on to the guy’s sleeve. “But at least try to be a little discriminating, huh?”

“What? When? How do you know my name?”

She sizes me up. “You’re at Nightshade, where everybody knows everybody else—and everything
about
everybody else. You’re Lily, the easy one. Then there’s Cara, I believe, the … multicultural one. I hear Alice is the smart one.”

I snort. The smart one? Obviously they don’t know everything here at Nightshade.

“Hmm.” I tousle my hair to try to at least look presentable. “Then I’m at a disadvantage because I have no idea who you two are.”

She takes it as it was intended: a massive slight. Her face is not quite as red as her flowing, gorgeous tresses but close enough to make me smile.

“Bianca Ridley. Of the Manhattan Ridleys.”

Yeah, like that means anything to a vampire who spends half her time shut away in an academy for the undead and the rest in boring high schools deep in the Midwest.

“Tristan.” The hunk, er, guy extends a long, pale hand. “Tristan Winters.”

I smirk. Hmm, a Vamplayer name if ever I’ve heard one. I take his hand, which is dry and papery, another sure sign.

His eyes are a deep brown, leaning toward the dark chocolate side. His long hair is thick and a deep shade of black: so black the shiny locks almost glisten in the soft light of the stone-walled halls.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you both. Not that I need to defend myself, but whatever you think happened in there didn’t. The boys were only helping me dry off.”

“Sure, it didn’t.” Bianca loops her arm in Tristan’s and tugs near as if a chill has wafted through the hall.

If it has, I can’t feel it. Maybe she’s just cold from the inside out.

Tristan’s chin fits perfectly atop her head.

Feeling like a voyeur watching them nuzzle, I clear my throat and walk past them. “Anyway,” I say as my arm brushes Tristan’s, “it was nice meeting you. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around.”

“Oh, you will,” Bianca says. “Maybe next time you’ll be a little more presentable.”

I stride away, mumbling loud enough for her to hear, “Maybe next time you’ll be a little more hospitable.”

I can’t tell if the chuckling is from Bianca or Tristan.

Chapter 9

T
ime to go to Plan B,” I say at dinner, which basically consists of Alice, Cara, and me shoving food around our plates and twisting bits of mashed potatoes and peas into our napkins so it looks to the other students like we ate something.

“What?” Cara says, smiling. Her gorgeous face lights up. “What happened to Plan A?”

“Yeah.” Alice barely looks at us and gives a brisk princess wave to a nearby table of burly, thick-necked jocks. “We usually don’t go to Plan B until at least our second day. What happened?”

I nod at Tristan and Bianca, who hold court at a table full of the rich and beautiful. “They saw me coming out of their room”—I nod at Zander and Grover, who hustle with heavy bus pans—”see-through and soaked from head to toe.”

“What?” both girls say loudly.

Zander breaks into a grin and speeds into the kitchen.

“How?” Cara says.

“More importantly, why?” Alice says.

“It’s a long story.” After telling them, though, I realize it’s actually pretty short. And not entirely flattering.

“We’re supposed to be doing recon,” Alice says in her First Sister voice, “not stuffing our sweet teeth with the Official Star Wars Lightsaber Duel Reenactment Club.”