Free Ninth Grade Slays by Heather Brewer

Henry’s older brother, Greg. It was just another tool for the upperclassmen to mess with the incoming freshmen. Usually, the story was accompanied by some kid dressed like a vampiric priest jumping out of the shadows. Greg had assured him that that was the worst of it—a quick scare, a few laughs, and life would go on. All the freshmen had to pay their dues. This was just one of the many collection methods.
    Vlad peeked around the corner at the goth kids and smiled. If only they knew there was a real blood drinker among them.
    The girl sighed with a note of irritation. “If you don’t believe me, just wait and watch.”
    Vlad looked around to make sure no one could see him, and then concentrated until his body lifted from the ground. Levitating: not quite as cool as having a driver’s license and your own car, but a close second.
    For a moment, he had the urge to descend on the goths, fangs fully elongated, asking them in a spooky, gravelly voice how long it had been since their last confession. Despite how funny their reactions might be, he thought better of it and floated up four floors to the abandoned belfry of Bathory High, stepping in through one of the open arches.
    Moonlight poured through the arched windows, lighting the way for Vlad to locate his lighter and candles. He crammed three into wax-covered candlesticks and lit them before flopping onto his dad’s old office chair and running his fingers over the soft leather. It hadn’t been easy getting the chair up to the belfry. He’d managed to wheel it from his old house to the high school without much trouble, but lugging the large chair up four stories while levitating had proven challenging, to say the least. In the end, he’d sworn A LOT, and then taken a screwdriver to the chair. After it was split into five pieces, he’d carried each piece up separately and reassembled it in the belfry.
    It was tough but well worth it. After all, every bloodsucking fiend needs a sanctuary. And if Dracula could have a coffin, Vlad could have a comfy chair.
    Lining the wall to his left were several stacks of various books he’d brought here to help pass the midnight hour. Most were older, classic novels—like Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland , which had seriously freaked Vlad out as a kid and still did. Who wouldn’t be scared by the tale of a girl falling into a bizarre world infested with talking animals and a queen with a thirst for blood?
    Well, the queen, at least, Vlad could relate to.
    But several of the books were from newer authors, and quite a few had been banned in both the school and the town library. Vlad couldn’t understand the logic behind banning books. Tell kids they can’t do something and then be surprised that your efforts drove them to do whatever you didn’t want them to? Some grown-ups could be so inherently stupid. Try banning homework sometime. You might start seeing those straight A’s so many parents long for.
    Vlad shook his head. What was he thinking?
    Atop the nearest stack of books sat a leather journal engraved The Chronicles of Tomas Tod —his dad’s journal. Since he found it last year, Vlad had read the diary over a hundred times and could now recite passages from it by heart. Beneath it lay Vlad’s own journal, in which he scribbled his private thoughts and experiences, hoping in some small way to emulate his father. The composition notebook he used as a journal was nearly full of entries and frayed at the edges, but Vlad hadn’t saved up enough cash to buy a refillable leather version yet.
    On the stack next to the journals was a framed photo. Vlad smiled at the photograph within. “Hey, Dad.”
    He pulled a snack pack out of the brown crumpled bag he’d been carrying and then fished around inside for the spoon he’d taken from the kitchen. His fangs elongated at the scent of blood, and he did nothing to will them back inside his gums.