Free Blood Orange Soda: Paranormal Romance by James Michael Larranaga

make it here this early on a Monday. There’s all kinds of activities that happen here that I know nothing about. We have a Chess Club and a Speech Team who meet before school and then GBLTs and V-Goths sometimes meet to bitch and moan while they sip their chai lattes and Red Bulls.
    Occasionally, somebody in line calls out my new nickname—“Gladiator!”
    “Morning, everyone!” Officer Denny shouts with an old guy wink, like a creepy Santa Claus. “Remove all metal objects and set them in the trays.”
    Pulling off my rings, bracelets, and the chains around my neck, I toss them into a rubber bowl. I remove more jewelry than most of the girls in line, but they have me beat on the tattoos. The only tattoo worthy of my time is one that I can’t afford, like a bass guitar on my back. Piercings are so much less expensive, and if you’re willing to do it yourself, they cost nothing but the brief pain and the occasional skin infection.
    Many of the senior girls in my school who’ve turned eighteen are inked, usually on the back of the neck, shoulders, or with a “tramp stamp” on their lower back above the belt. Goth girls usually have a signature “Vamp stamp,” which is a tattoo heart on the back of their neck and across their shoulders.
    Truth is, Vampire Goths are conservative with their tattoos. We like our alabaster skin, and we like looking cleaner than Normals. It’s strange how Normals have tattoos of skulls, dragons, and demons, but Vampire tattoos are of butterflies, hearts and angels. What can I say? We’re non-conformists.
    “What’s up, Denny?” I say.
    “Darius Hunter, you look exquisite for such a rainy Monday,” he says. “Nice black eye.”
    “Rain and lack of sun is so good for my skin!”
    He nods with another awkward wink, as if he totally gets me. He doesn’t, though.
    “Another bank robbery over the weekend,” Officer Denny says. “Saturday night.”
    “What kind of robbery?” I ask, ignorant of current events because I’ve been so wrapped up in my own melodrama. “Blood or money?”
    “Blood bank,” Officer Denny says, handing me my chains and jewelry. “Two in one week. Looks like it was three hoodlums this time. If you hear of anything—”
    “I know. I’ll give old Denny a call.”
    He holds his fist out, waiting for me to pound it with mine. I leave him hanging there.
    “Sorry, I’m fighting a cold.”
    Why let anyone think I’m buddies with law enforcement?
    Walking into the school commons, I search for a familiar face. Weezer is still in bed and I don’t see Angel anywhere, either. I’d better head right to Mr. Striefland’s classroom to get math help, so I rush down the hall to his room, when I hear somebody calling me.
    “Darius, hey!”
    Shelby waves to me. My heart skips two beats and butterflies flitter in my stomach. Maybe I should’ve taken a Red after all; I feel a bit different this morning. She waves again, standing by her locker. She’s wearing black boots, black jeans, and a ripped white T-shirt covered by a navy jacket—sort of a preppy ensemble. There’s no mistaking she’s Goth, though, with bright-green eye shadow, dark eyes, and that teased black hair that she wears like a headdress. God, I’m so twitchy as I approach her.
    “How’s your eye? Oh my, you really took a shot,” she says. “You aren’t upset with me?”
    “Why would I be?” I ask.
    “I sent you a text over the weekend and a Facebook message. You didn’t reply. I wasn’t sure if you were—”
    “No, I’ve just been laying low, that’s all,” I assure her.
    “You’re a hero around here,” she says, grabbing my sleeve. “The chatter online is about the videos of your fight.”
    “Yeah, I saw Bao at church yesterday. He wasn’t in a ‘turn the other cheek’ sort of mood. He’s gonna kill me when he gets the chance.”
    “He’ll get over it,” Shelby says.
    In the background, another kid shouts, “Gladiator!!”
    Nodding to him I have to admit, it