I see dead people. Nonstop. On the street, at the beach, at the mall, at the restaurant, wandering the high school hallways, doing
the queue at the post office or in the waiting room at the doctor, never at the dentist, however. Unlike ghosts
cinema or on TV, they are not intrusive, do not ask for your help, do not stop you all the time to chat. At most, they just smile and wave their hands when they realize I’ve seen them. They like to be looked at, like everyone else.
But the voice in my room was not that of a ghost, nor that of my sister. It belonged to Damen.
I realized I was dreaming.
He slides in next to me a few seconds after the bell rings – since it’s Mr. Robins’ class, that means being early.
Hi.
I respond with a casual nod so that he doesn’t
don’t suspect that I’m bitten to the point of dreaming about him.
He taps his pen on the table with a persistent knock knock knock that goes on and on and gets on my nerves.
She seems nice, your aunt.
I respond half-heartedly, and at the same time I curse Mr.
Robins hanging around in the teachers’ bathrooms, praying that he would put his flask away and finally decide to come and do his job.
It’s true, she’s great.
I don’t live with my family either, Damen continues.
His voice drowns out the excitement reigning in the room and the
storm in my head, while he spins his pen between his fingers at full speed, never slowing down or dropping it.
I look for my iPod in my secret pocket, wondering if he would really mind if I turned it on loud so he wouldn’t hear it anymore.
I am emancipated, he explains.
Really ?
I responded straight away, even though I had every intention
to limit our exchanges to the strict minimum. It must be said that this is the first time I have met an emancipated minor. I who believed
that we must have felt terribly sad and alone… If I judge
Based on his car, his clothes and his luxury weekends at the St Regis Hotel, I was wrong about everything.
Really, he confirms.
And as soon as he stops talking, I hear the amplified murmurs of Stacia and Honor, who call me crazy and others.
bird names. I watch Damen toss his pen, which describes a series of eights in the air before balancing in his hand.
And where is your family? he asks.
It’s really weird to hear the noise stop and start, start and stop, like a game of chairs
musically unhinged. A game where I would always find myself standing. Always a loser.
Pardon ? I say, disturbed by Damen’s magic pen floating between us, while Honor makes fun of my outfit and her boyfriend pretends to approve, when in fact he is
asks why she doesn’t dress the same.
Suddenly, I want to pull up my hood and turn up the volume on my iPod as high as possible to drown myself in a flood of music and forget everything. Including Damen.
Him especially.
Where does your family live? he repeats.
I close my eyes when he speaks – silence, brief seconds of sweet silence. I open my eyelids and look straight into his eyes.
They’re dead, I say as Mr. Robins walks into class.
Sitting across from me, Damen stares at me while I
desperately looking for Miles and Haven. While unpacking my lunch, I discovered a red tulip hidden between my sandwich and my bag of chips – a tulip! Same as that of
Friday night. I don’t know how he managed to hide it there, but I’m sure it’s Damen. It’s not so much his magic tricks that bother me as the way he looks at me, talks to me, makes me vibrate…
Oh I am sorry. For your family. I didn’t know…
eyes downcast, I nervously play with the cap of my fruit juice bottle. I wish he wouldn’t insist.
I don’t like talking about it too much.
He places his hand on mine, instilling in me a feeling of
well-being, warmth, calm and tranquility to which I abandon myself, fully savoring the moment, grateful to only hear what he says, not what he thinks. Like an ordinary girl – with a boy who is anything but ordinary.
I know what it feels like to lose loved ones.
Um… excuse me.
Leaning against the edge of the table, eyes narrowed, Haven focuses her yellow eyes on our hands.
I’m sorry to interrupt you.
I hurry to stick my hand in my pocket, as if
it was a shameful thing. I would like to explain to her that what she saw was nothing, meant nothing, but I know it’s in my best interest to keep quiet.
Where is Miles? I said, in desperation.
She rolls her eyes and takes a seat next to Damen. There is so much hatred in his thoughts that the bright yellow of his aura turns into a very dark red.
Miles is texting his sweetheart, jeunessechienfou307,
I met on the Internet, she replies without looking at me, focused on her cake. Did everyone have a good weekend? continues
She. I shrug, knowing that her question isn’t aimed at me, but at Damen, and watch as she licks the frosting off her cake with the tip of her tongue – her little enduring ceremony.
which I have never seen it abbreviated. To my great surprise, Damen
shrugs in turn. However, from what I could see, his weekend looked a lot more fun than mine.
Me, says Haven, if you want to know, I had a lousy Friday night at a lousy place. Basically, I had to clean up Austin’s vomit, because the maid was in Las Vegas and my parents apparently had better things to do than go home.
home to care for their offspring. Fortunately, Saturday more than made up for it. It was giant! Seriously, I didn’t have
never had such a cool evening in my entire life. I would have liked to invite you, but it was decided at the last minute.
When she finally deigns to glance at me, I see a dark and sinister place.
Where ? I said, casually.
An amazing club. It was a girl from my group who took me there.
I take a sip of water.
Which group ?
Saturdays are the codependents, you know. Anyway, Evangeline, this girl is really too much. This is called a donor.
Miles comes in, puts his phone on the table and sits next to me.
What is a donor?
Codependents, I told him.
But no, not them, the vampires, Haven corrects, exasperated.
Donors are people who let other vampires feed on them. Well, suck their blood. Whereas I’m what they call a little puppy, because I’m happy to
follow everywhere, but I don’t let anyone suck my blood. Not yet, in any case, she concluded with a burst of laughter.
Miles picks up his phone and checks his messages.
To follow who everywhere? he asks.
The vampires ! Miles, you should listen from time to time when someone talks to you. Anyway, I told you that this codependent donor, Evangeline, well, that’s her vampire name, not her real name…
Because there are people who have vampire names?
Miles asks, placing his phone on the table, within sight. Haven scrapes the frosting from her cake with the tip of her index finger then licks her finger.
Absolutely.
Are these like stripper names? You know,
for example, the name of your first dog, plus your mother’s maiden name? Because that makes me Princess Slavin. So, no thanks, very little for me.
You say anything, it has nothing to do with it! sighs Haven, exasperated. Know that it’s very serious, a vampire’s name. And, unlike most people, I don’t need to change mine, because Haven is a pure vampire name, one hundred percent natural, without colorings or preservatives… an organic vampire name, that is! But you already knew that I am a Princess of Darkness! Anyway, we went to this deadly club in LA called Le Crépuscule, or something like that.
The Nocturne, Damen corrects. Haven puts down her cake and applauds.
Awesome ! Finally someone cool at this table!
And have you encountered any immortals there?
Yes, lots! It was packed with people. There was even a
VIP room for witches and vampires. I managed to get in, and I even squatted the hemoglobin bar.
Miles tries to participate in the conversation while sending a message on his cell phone.
And they didn’t ask you for your ID card?
That’s a joke! Anyway, it was so great. In addition,
when Evangeline more or less abandoned me for a guy
who she fell for, I met another girl, even cooler, who just moved here, by the way. I’ll see her again, I think.
Are you telling us that you are leaving us? Miles asks, looking falsely horrified.
Haven rolls her eyes.
Okay, I give up. Anyway, I’m sure my Saturday night was ten times better than yours – well, maybe not yours, Damen, since you seem to know the best deals, but these two commies , I am sure of it.
I try to detach Miles from his cyber-boyfriend by nudging him.
By the way, Miles, what about your match?
All I know is someone won, someone else
lost, and I spent most of my time in the bathroom exchanging text messages with this guy who is just a damn liar!
No, but look at this! he adds, tapping the screen with his index finger. For three days I’ve been asking him to send me a photo, because there’s no way I’m going to meet him if I don’t know what he looks like. And look what he sends me, this kind of two-headed myth!
I try to make out the small photo, without really understanding why Miles is so upset.
But how do you know it’s not him?
Because it’s me, Damen answers for him.
