Free Josie Griffin Is Not a Vampire by Heather Swain Page B

I stayed hidden until I heard a car door slam and an engine start. I peered out and saw her pull away in a gray Prius. I slid out from behind the Dumpster, my heart still revving like the Indy pace car. I could almost feel the bacteria from my gross hiding place crawling over my skin and entering every bodily orifice. Would Graham Goren hide behind a Dumpster for a story? Probably. Even if he ended up with hanta-virus and Ebola and stank like fourteen-day-old cabbage and sweaty jockey shorts. I heard the phone ring again. I was about to lift the lid to find it when Maron’s loud barking voice came through the back door.
    “Fine! Fine!” she shouted. “I’ll take care of it.”
    I made a mad dash out of there.
    As I was running back to Gladys, I realized why Tarren said it wasn’t fair that she lived down here while Helios lived on the posh north side. I could tell that the hood used to be a nice place, like a hundred years ago, because the houses were huge and the yards were bigger. But between the abandoned buildings, weed-choked lots, and the run-down Victorians, there wasn’tmuch else to see. Least of all people. You’d think the whole place had been deserted. I slowed down and caught my breath.
    When I rounded the corner toward my car I saw a group of guys my age hanging out in front of a fried chicken joint. They looked harmless enough, jacking around with one another, but still, there should be a law against males between the ages of fifteen and twenty-five hanging out in groups of more than three. Put a bunch of girls together and we’ll combine our brainpower to make us smarter (and meaner, as I found out first hand). But if you put a group of guys together, they drain each other’s brain capacity straight into their pants and start thinking with their wieners, especially if a girl in shorts walked by. I considered crossing the street, but Gladys was only half a block past these jokers, so I’d have to cross the street, walk down half a block, and cross back, which would be weird. I decided to duck my head and plow past them quickly. Plus I could see some people hanging out on a front porch down the street. Surely these guys wouldn’t act too stupid.
    Or not.
    “Hey, baby,” one of them said as soon as I got near them.
    I kept walking, head down, car keys ready in my pocket.
    “I said, hey, baby.” A tall, lanky guy blocked my path. I could see his red boxers hanging out of his low-riding jean shorts and he had his Colts hat on cockeyedso only one lazy brown eye with a silver hoop above the brow was visible.
    “Excuse me,” I said firmly then I tried to step around, but he sidestepped and stayed in front of me as if he were guarding me on a basketball court. “I never seen you around here.” The other guys snorted like the pigs that they were. “You live nearby? Maybe we could hang out.”
    “No, thanks,” I said and stepped the other way, but he was quick and got in front of me before I could pass him. I stopped and put my hands on my hips. Most idiots back down the minute you confront them so I said, “I’m trying to get by.”
    He held up his hands and shrugged. “And I’m trying to get with you.”
    “Not going to happen,” I said, staying calm, but inside my stomach squeezed and my heartbeat quickened. It was only a short ride from this feeling to being spitting mad. I tried to breathe deeply like Charles demonstrated during group therapy so I wouldn’t do something I’d regret. “I’m on my way to meet my boyfriend,” I lied and tried to step around him again.
    This time he reached out and pushed my shoulder. “He don’t have to know, baby.” The other guys behind us whooped and slapped each other five.
    I stepped back, furious now. The only way I could get around the jerk was to walk into the street, but then I would be farther away from my car.
    “I’m Drey,” he said, stepping closer. “What’s yourname, babe?” Then he ran his grubby fingers across the belly of my