Free The Game of Boys and Monsters by Rachel M. Wilson Page A

hide?”
    â€œNot like vampires. I mean, maybe if he were an actual werewolf, he’d have something to hide, but I’m talking essence. A vibe. A werewolf isn’t in control of what happens to him. The monster comes out and takes over, but the rest of the time he’s a regular, warm-and-fuzzy guy, like a really sweet dog.”
    â€œSo you’re calling Ben a dog?”
    â€œNo, Ben’s hot, but he’s also sweet.”
    â€œOkay, so who’s a vampire?”
    She thought for a second. “Malcolm. Malcolm Sweeney is a vampire.”
    Evy had kept a thing going with Malcolm Sweeney for a solid three months, which for Evy was kind of a long time. She ended it, but I couldn’t ever tell if she was really done with him.
    â€œOkay, so being a vampire is a bad thing?”
    â€œNo. No, not at all. I hooked up with him, didn’t I?”
    Evy luxuriated—that’s the only word for it—rose up with her knees to the side, mermaid-style, and stretched her arms out in all directions, rolling her wrists so her hands did a grasping dance against the black sky. For a second, it looked like she was catching stars.
    â€œBut you get the vampire vibe,” she said.
    I did. Malcolm was thin and sleek with thick, black hair that seemed immune to mussing. “His mom is half Japanese,” Evy told me once, supremely delighted to possess the secret of Malcolm’s hair.
    Malcolm was nice enough, but there was an edge to him, like a constant, electrical hum. Evy pushed his buttons, but he rarely lashed out. Instead, the hum went up a few watts, Malcolm’s smile tightened, and he seemed to file the slight away, to bring out and exploit at a later date.
    That was part of why it never really clicked between Evy and Malcolm. She liked immediate feedback, a pot boiling over. Malcolm simmered.
    So Malcolm was a vampire, “because he’s calculating,” Evy said. “He doesn’t act on impulse. A vampire is all about control.”
    â€œIs he draining ?” I asked, fishing, and Evy took the bait, lying down beside me so close that the weight of her hair tugged against mine.
    â€œMalcolm was exhausting,” she offered, a smirk in her voice. “He wasn’t happy with me how I am. He acted like he was, but he wasn’t. It’s that control thing again.”
    When Evy had first started seeing Malcolm, I’d been jealous—a little. Not that I would ever let a guy come between me and Evy, but Malcolm . . . I sat behind him all last year in History, where Mr. Reyes taught by writing notes on the board for us to copy. Because I was fast at copying things down, I had a lot of time to study the way the light hit Malcolm’s hair—the color of the blackest coffee, I decided, or dark chocolate, shining sky white in a shaft of sun.
    But all that was dumb because a guy like Malcolm wouldn’t be interested in a girl like me. In books, guys like Malcolm notice what’s inside, what’s underneath, but in real life they mostly just hook up with girls like Evy.
    When they started dating, I’d been happy for them. I wrote it in my diary: “I’m happy for Evy. She should have a good guy who loves her. And if I care about Malcolm at all, I should be happy that he has Evy. She’s the best present I could give him.”
    â€œGive him,” like I’d made it all happen.
    I meant I was giving her up. Giving up so much of Evy to Malcolm was a sacrifice, one I told myself I was happy to make if that was what Evy needed.
    â€œOkay, so Malcolm’s a vampire,” I said, “but what about guys who don’t fit either category?”
    â€œThey all do, more or less,” Evy said.
    â€œJamal.”
    â€œWerewolf. Have you seen him wrestle?”
    â€œSo werewolves are good at sports?”
    â€œIt’s an animal thing. Vampires can be strong, very strong, but they’re not so prone to . . .