Free Blood Orange Soda: Paranormal Romance by James Michael Larranaga Page A

feels good to get recognition. For the past six weeks since school started, I was like a ghostly apparition floating through the hallways as people passed right through me. Now I have a name, and it’s even a cool name!
    “I’m meeting the Vampire Club. Want to come with me?” Shelby asks.
    “V-Club? Ah, I’m not much of a joiner.”
    “Furreal? Oh, come on,” Shelby begs, grabbing my hand.
    “Seriously, any Vampire Club that would take me as a member isn’t worth joining. Besides, I’m here early for math tutoring.”
    “Well, at least walk with me. It’s just down the hall.”
    We walk through the nearly empty hallways, only a few students mingling around, and others hurrying to their clubs and other before-school activities. It’s mostly Geeks drinking tall cups of coffee or breakfast fruit smoothies. All the cool kids sleep later and have their activities after school—it’s as if a school administrator has figured out a scheduling method to separate the Geeks from the Populars.
    In a way, Vampires and Normals have always lived separate lives. Vampire are nocturnal, and Normals are diurnal. One rules the night, while the other rules the day. We’re seemingly opposite forces that are really interdependent with each other. We’re both Homo sapiens but we’re really the Yin and the Yang of each other—two sides of the same coin. If Bao would think of me that way, would he stop his bullying?
    We get to the classroom where the Vampire Club meets and I drop Shelby off at the door.
    “You’re sure you won’t join us?” she asks.
    Again, she has that California up-talk lilt to her voice, so I’m not sure if she’s making a statement or asking me a question. It’s a tempting offer only because I like Shelby, but I’m not a fan of this kind of club because it lacks diversity. There are no Jocks, Theater Geeks or any of the other cliques that must have kids on the Reds.
    The room is really a mixed bag of Goths and Emos, and despite the fact that both groups wear a lot of black, there’s a big difference between the two. Emos are the “emotionally hardcore” kids. They wear concert T-shirts, super-taper jeans and usually funky-colored high-tops. They wear their hair hanging low over one side of the face, as if they’re hiding and lurking from you. Emos are more depressed than Goths.
    Look at it this way: In a fight, a Goth might cut you with a knife, but an Emo would cut himself and expect you to feel sorry for him!
    Goths like me are more Vampire in appearance, with pale skin, eyeliner or guyliner, more layered clothing, boots, and metal-like necklaces, bracelets, and gauges in their ears. Goths are more into music than poetry. The one thing we all have in common is the ability to transform into Vampires, and we’re all on the Reds.
    Two guys in the club are both Emo Gamers who spend all their weekends killing zombies in their online worlds. One of them is in my gym class, and he sucks at anything athletic. Too bad for him “Call of Duty” isn’t a school sport.
    The two Goth girls in the room are art students, and pretty good at graffiti. I’ve seen them tagging their art under the train bridge. They give me a dead stare and I wink. One of them breaks her stare. She’s obviously the Queen Bee in this hive. Which of these Emo guys is her sex drone?
    “Way to slay the Asian Giant. It’s about time Vampires had voice,” she says, without introduction.
    Technically, I’m not a Vampire yet, none of us are; but I understand her frustration. That’s why they started this club—for safety in numbers, and to watch each other’s backs while they bitch and moan about Normals.
    Smiling, I walk off to the sound of girls gossiping about me as Shelby enters the classroom. Mr. Striefland’s is around the corner and down a flight of stairs. As a freshman, I’m entering enemy territory now, because most of the sophomores have their lockers in this section of the school. Moving quickly, I avoid Bao or any