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

of his sadistic buddies.
    Striefland keeps his classroom plastered with posters of analytically smart people like Einstein, Newton, and Archimedes. None of those math prodigies appeal to me much. Striefland always reminds me that music is closely related to math. If that’s true, why doesn’t he have posters of bands like The Cure or The Psychedelic Furs?
    “Darius, you kept me waiting,” Mr. Strickland says from behind his desk, scratching his beard. He’s thin because he runs marathons. Like a lot of other days, he’s chewing a protein bar before class.
    “You’d better have a good excuse,” he says sarcastically.
    “I walked a girl to V-Club.”
    He shrugs. “I couldn’t think of a better reason than that. Pull up a seat.”
    No other students made it for tutoring. It’s just too early on a Monday morning for most kids to drag their sleepy butts out of bed. He looks at my face and squints as he examines my bruised eye. He doesn’t say anything about it. No comment, no joke, and I finally break the silence.
    “Got in a fight at the game,” I admit.
    “I know. It’s all over the Web, and all over your face,” Mr. Striefland says. “Want to talk about it, or should we work on math?”
    Math help is a necessity, but I could also use advice from an adult other than my mother or Uncle Jack.
    “I’m on the Reds.”
    “Lot of students are—”
    “I mean, I was on the Reds,” I say.
    “You stopped?” he asks calmly.
    “I skipped my morning dose.”
    “Your parents are aware of this?”
    “My mom and I discussed it this weekend. She agreed that I could stop.”
    “Your transformation…does it have to do with that?” he asks, pointing at my eye.
    “Yeah, sort of. I’m tired of being the runt of the litter. Time for Poky Little Puppy to grow up, you know?”
    “Good for you, Darius,” Mr. Striefland says. “Life in high school won’t necessarily be easier as a Vampire. It won’t solve all your problems.”
    “I know,” I say. “School will still suck.”
    “Over the years, I’ve watched other students transform. It’s an amazing thing to witness; but most of them didn’t graduate high school.”
    “I’ll graduate,” I assure him.
    “And those who did graduate transferred to a night school with other Vampires,” Mr. Striefland says. “We’ve never had a Vampire make it to graduation here.”
    “Really? Why not?”
    “Life won’t necessarily be any easier, it’ll be different as a Vampire among Normals.”
    This seem like a challenge from Mr. Striefland. He thinks I’ll transform and then drop out like all the others. I’m betting that if I’m a Vampire, I’ll hold my own, and high school will be at least somewhat easier than it has been so far.
    “Thanks for the advice, and I promise you I’ll graduate,” I assure him, because it feels like the right thing to say to my guidance counselor. It’s probably foolish to make such a promise when I’m only a month into my freshman year. It’s not like I owe him something. “What’s the formal process here at school? Who needs to know about my decision?”
    “There’s paperwork I’ll fill out, and all the teaching staff will be notified,” Mr. Striefland says. “It’s entirely up to you when and how students learn about this. Some students don’t tell anyone until the last phase of transformation, when it’s unavoidable. In your case, that could be around June. You could fully transform over the summer and return as a Vampire for your sophomore year.”
    “Yeah, I’ll think about when to tell people,” I say. By June, she’ll be a Vampire. Am I better off transforming slowly and naturally at the same pace as her? Or should I speed up the process and start drinking the Blood Orange Soda?

    Weezer is eating his lunch as if he’s on death row, savoring every bite, but I know he’s just killing time. He hates gym class, which is right after lunch, and I know he’ll skip it or at least show up late. He picks at his