Underdead In Denial

“Something’s going on with you.” Becky gave my black-topped demo counter a quick, automatic check for spills and leaned against it. “And I think I know what it is.”

“You do?” It came out as a whisper.

“Yes. Let’s look at the symptoms, shall we?” She ticked them off on her fingers. “You haven’t gone on a date in months, you get here at dawn, leave at dusk and spend your weekends sitting alone inside your apartment eating nothing but takeout burgers and chocolate, when you eat at all.”

She narrowed her dark almond-shaped eyes at me. I swallowed convulsively, unable to look away.

“You’ve got chronic PMS,” she said.

“What? I do not have—”

She grinned and then her expression sobered. “I am worried that you’re depressed.”

I grunted in dismissal.

“Not that I blame you,” She looked around my classroom at the solar system dioramas, sagging volcano posters, and dusty mineral display and curled her lip. “Teaching eighth grade earth science would depress anyone. But I have a plan.”

“Oh no.” I knew her plans. It was because of one of them that I now occupied the strange and lonely world between normal human being and vampire. I sank deeper in my chair and closed my eyes, trying to ignore the sharp bite of disappointment. I longed to tell her—tell her what? I couldn’t explain what was really going on. It was too fantastical.

I was too tired to make up another of my excuses. Maybe if I fell asleep she’d just go away.

“Better yet, I’ve already set the wheels in motion.”

My eyes snapped back open. “Becky, what have you done?”