Almost Final Curtain Read online

  I scooted in the door a half minute after last bell, which meant I missed more class time going back down to the office to get a tardy slip. As I waited with the other deadbeats for the secretary to fill out the form, I sighed. Times like this, I wished I had Bea’s powers. Zap! No more tardy!

  Mr. Shultz accepted my pass with a kind of suspicious grimace when I got back to class, like he thought that somehow I’d forged the note, even though he was the one who’d sent me off to fetch it.

  I took my seat and tried to ignore all the irritated glances. This was honors history, after all. My colleagues had no patience for anything they perceived as bad behavior. As quickly and quietly as I could, I got out my textbook and flipped to the current unit.

  Slavery.

  I stared again, as I often did, at the picture at the beginning of the chapter. It was an artist’s rendition of an auction block. I got a strange shiver down my spine.

  Once upon a time, according to Elias anyway, vampires were slaves to witches. The First Witch created some kind of talisman to bind their will to hers. The power of this thing, whatever it was, kept them in thrall for millennia. And thus it was, until the vampires discovered the artifact and plotted to steal it. Then it got lost or something—I don’t know. Anyway, vampires were free now, but still kind of held a grudge about that whole stolenfrom-their-homeland-and-used-as-chattel thing.

  No surprise, right?

  Ever since we started this section, I’d been trying to ask Elias what it was like. Every time I brought the subject up, though, he’d get all tight and quiet, and then suddenly find some excuse to be elsewhere.

  My only conclusion was that it must have been awful. And yet here was Mr. Shultz trying to explain how human trafficking was profitable and made a kind of business sense back then.

  “Isn’t it still profitable?” asked Lane. He was being intentionally provocative, but his point was valid. It wasn’t like slavery didn’t exist anymore. But if I knew Mr. Shultz, he’d find a way to make Lane’s outburst into homework for everyone.

  “Excellent point, Mr. Davis,” Mr. Shultz said. “Perhaps we should all do a little research into current examples of human trafficking? How about a ten-page paper due Wednesday, for extra credit?”

  There were a few groans, but in truth we were the students who lived for extra-credit projects. Do you know how many points an A-plus in an honors class bumps up your GPA? We were all competing to be valedictorian in two years, after all. I pulled out my notebook and wrote down the specifics for the paper. It could be fascinating, I thought. It was an intense subject. I wondered how much Mr. Shultz would freak if I did mine on vampires and witches.

  I shook my head. He’d probably think I was making it up and give me no credit.

  After class, Lane tugged my sleeve. As Bea pointed out, Lane was the likeliest candidate for a boy who might be willing to play a drag queen. It wasn’t because he was particularly gay; he just liked to shock people. He was tall and gangly, like he hadn’t quite filled out the body he suddenly had. His just-over-his-ears sandy brown hair was stylishly bed-headed. I thought he was kind of cute, but he was a little too artsy for me. When we’d talked backstage in the past, I never understood his music references and hated every movie he claimed to admire.

  “Are you really dating a rocker?” he asked.

  I rolled my eyes. Apparently, not even Lane was immune to the gossip. I would be so glad when Stassen High forgot about me again and went on to the next new thing. “Yes, Mr. Davis. I am. Why do you ask?”

  “Well, Ms. Parker, it seems my hopes to accompany you to the Spring Fling have been dashed. I am beside myself with grief.”

  I could never tell if he was being serious or not. That was the other thing that always bugged me about Lane.

  Luckily, I waited him out long enough and he started talking again before I embarrassed myself by being flattered. “Seriously,” he said. “I never figured you for a heavy metal chick. I always thought you had more class.”

  Oh, nice. But at least these kinds of passive-aggressive insults were standard operating procedure for Lane. I knew what to do with them. “No, not really,” I admitted with a sweet smile, as though he’d given me the biggest compliment. “Sorry to cut this scintillating conversation short, but I have study hall and, thanks to you, I need to spend my time in the media center doing research. Bye-bye!”

  I waved toodle-oo to Lane’s baffled expression and headed off to the library.

  On my way, my gaze was attracted to a very fine male body bent to retrieve something from the bottom of his locker. Trim waist, broad shoulders, taut abs—in short, a body to die for. As he straightened, I started to smile into ... the ruggedly handsome face of Matthew Thompson, soccer star and homecoming king, who randomly flipped me the bird. Okay, I guess he had just cause, since a few months ago I did lick blood off his face in gym class. That was awkward, especially since, even now, I could taste him. My stomach growled.

  He seemed to hear the sound, and so I licked my lips seductively and flounced past like some kind of vamp vampire.

  When he was out of sight, I sighed deeply.

  Why were all the guys in this school such jerks?

  After checking in with my homeroom teacher and showing her my Honor Society pass, I headed to the library. My plan was to find a nice quiet place in the stacks to hide away. Let’s face it, I was just not made to be a popular girl. The only time I liked being in the spotlight was onstage. There, it was scripted. Someone much wittier than I was came up with all the lines, and I knew how it was going to end before it started. In real life, you never knew what was going to happen. Real people never acted predictably.

  The librarian waved at me when I came in. I saw Matthew Thompson settling in at one of the big tables with his math tutor, James, a senior and his class’s most likely valedictorian. I ignored the “come here” wave from Thompson. I mean, he did just flip me off, and anyway, I was sure he just wanted to find out about the rumors, and he had plenty of other sources—like half the cheerleading squad.

  I slipped into the stacks with a sigh. Long ago, I’d discovered that way in the back, near the dusty poetry section, there was one of those old-fashioned study carrels. It had a built-in overhead lamp that no longer worked and a slot for papers, and was shaped sort of like a voting booth so that when you leaned in over your books, you had the illusion of complete privacy.

  With a glance around to see if I was truly alone, I pulled out the uneaten half of my sandwich and surreptitiously tucked it into the overhead slot. I took out my cell phone and turned it on so I could watch the time. Believe me, it was easy to lose track back here.

  A half hour later, I had finished up my sandwich and tomorrow’s math assignment. I was just about to tackle English reading when a tap on my shoulder made me yelp. Guiltily hiding my crumbs, I peered over my shoulder to see if it was the librarian come to chew me out.

  Nope. It was a vampire.

  They’re easy to identify once you know what to look for. They really do have pasty white skin, for one thing—at least if they’re white to begin with. This woman was a very pale shade of Asian, but the absolute dead giveaway, if you’ll pardon the pun, was the cat-slit eyes. Her features were enviably porcelain fine, and her black hair fell arrow straight, almost to her knees. Though her clothes were modern, there was always something uncomfortable in the way vampires wore them that made them look out of place, otherworldly, alien.

  Plus, she curtsied. Who else but a vampire would do that anymore? “A thousand pardons for disturbing you, Your Highness. My name is Khan, and I have come to request a boon.”

  It must be an important favor, because normally vampires didn’t go out in the daytime. A thought occurred to me. “Did you come through the sewers or something? Is there an underground connection to the school?”

  The idea both thrilled and scared me. I mean, how cool would it be to sneak into the library after hours? But then it also meant vampires had easy access at any time.
I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.

  No, I lied; it totally freaked me out.

  “Yes, Highness, but I don’t have long.” Khan looked over her shoulder then, like she expected someone to be chasing her. “Please, I need your blessing to pursue my dream.”

  Sounded harmless enough, but I was suspicious. Most of the time when vampires approached me for courtly things, Elias or my dad was around to give advice. I mean, what did I know about vampire politics? What if this “dream” of Khan’s was to assassinate my dad? It wouldn’t be the first time someone tried to kill him. “What is this dream of yours?”

  “To break my betrothal contract and marry the one I love,” she said, with a proud lift of her chin.

  “You can do that?”

  Khan smiled slightly. “Not without royal permission.”

  So I didn’t have to be betrothed to Elias. This was news. No wonder she didn’t want to ask in front of him or my dad.

  I considered her request, trying to decide if I was going to regret allowing it. But, try as I might, I couldn’t see any harm in letting her marry the man she wanted. “If I say yes, this isn’t going to start a vampire civil war or anything, is it?”

  Khan looked surprised by my question for a moment, but then laughed. “No, Your Highness, it’s not.”

  “Why not ask my dad, then?”

  She frowned, as if not sure what to say. “I don’t wish to insult the king. . . .”

  “But ... ?” I prompted. I had to admit, Khan had my full attention. Despite the fact that my dad showed up at my doorstep last fall and demanded I come with him to be the princess of the vampires, it wasn’t like we were close. In fact, when I refused to choose sides, he seemed to have lost interest in me. I didn’t get invited to court or any of the reindeer games.

  Khan pursed her lips, and for a moment I thought she wouldn’t tell. Then everything spilled out in a rush. “His Royal Highness is a sexist pig who hasn’t had an updated thought about women since three thousand B.C.!”

  Oh. Okay. Well, that might explain why my mom, the überfeminist Queen of Witches, didn’t last long in a relationship with him. I wanted to ask Khan to go into more detail, but my cell phone beeped, reminding me I had only a few more minutes of free period left.

  “Done. Permission granted. Whatever I need to say. You have my blessing.” Besides, this was totally romantic, right? “Go be with the one you love.”

  She curtsied her way out, profusely thanking me the entire way. By the time she disappeared completely into the shadows of the stacks, my cell phone beeped more anxiously a second time. Time to get to drama class!

  I packed up my books, feeling like I’d handled Khan pretty well, considering. I mean, it would have been nice if I’d gotten an instruction booklet to go with the whole princess gig.

  On my way out, Thompson bumped into me. Like, as in nearly tripped me, which I guess was his sort of Neanderthal way of being friendly because he smiled and said, “I’m thinking about trying out—you know, for the play.”

  I didn’t mean to, but I laughed. It was just as I feared. Mr. Martinez had managed the miracle of making not only me cool for the day, but theater as well. Everyone and their dog wanted to be in the show. Even a guy like Thompson. Unbelievable.

  Thompson actually looked a little hurt by my reaction, but he covered it with a cough. “Whatever. You’re one of those theater people. You got any advice?”

  I looked up at his square jaw and chiseled cheekbones. He was handsome if you ignored his knuckle-dragging personality, and I could see him acting in a Renaissance Festival troupe that involved bashing people with a stick, but as suave Professor Higgins? No way.

  “You do know that theater involves singing and dancing and costumes and makeup, right? I mean, the whole thing is a little bit gay for you, Thompson.”

  “Maybe I’m some kind of undiscovered talent,” he said.

  “Yeah, undiscovered all right.” Okay, that might have been a little mean of me, but if you knew the kind of shit I had to put up with after the whole face-licking incident, you’d be on my side. Trust me, it was nowhere near as cruel as the things Thompson and his buddies had said to me. “Look,” I continued, trying to explain as carefully as I could. “Acting seems easy, but that’s the magic of it, okay? Looking easy—when it’s not. You can’t just wake up an awesome actor one day. If I were you, I’d save myself the heartbreak and just buy your tickets for the front row instead. Trust me, there’s no way you’re going to get a speaking part.”

  The thing I wasn’t going to tell Thompson was that any boy who tried out usually got into the show no matter how bad he was, because we were always hurting for male bodies onstage.

  “Is that a prediction, witch?” Of course, the way he said that last word, it sounded more like the one that started with a b.

  I flashed him my patented evil eye—which, given my one blue and one brown, was honestly fairly spooky. I’d creeped myself out with it in the mirror. “Count on it, asshole.”

  Thompson looked ready to hurl more insults, but Bea chose that moment to slide up between us and take my arm all ladylike. “Is this brute bothering you, Ana?”

  The air hummed with the electricity of a spell revving up. So I quickly said, “Nothing I can’t handle, Bea.”

  “You sure I can’t zap him?” She waggled her fingers at Thompson menacingly, and he shrank away. He’d been the victim of her “zap” before. Her spell had made him unpopular for twenty-four hours, which was tantamount to a death sentence to someone like Thompson.

  “I’m sure,” I said. “Come on. I can’t be late to class again.”

  As we walked through the hall, my mind kept returning to the conversation with Thompson. At Stassen, theater held a strange place in the school hierarchy. My clique included the kind of weirdos that thought quoting Shakespeare’s dirtier bits was hilarious, true. But thanks to stunts like the one Mr. Martinez was pulling now, where he brought the cool to drama, we weren’t always outcasts.

  That was just me, and my own special brand of dorky. I was still considering this when we met up with my other sometimes BFF, Taylor, whose real name was something much more African sounding. She was Somali and usually wore a hijab, a scarf that covered her hair and neck. Since she was Taylor, however, hers were incredibly sparkly and tended toward loud, outrageous patterns. Today’s was neon green with golden glitter.

  “You look fabulous,” I told her.

  She beamed. “And I know a secret. You’re going to die when you walk in,” she teased.

  Bea shushed her.

  And I thought, Oh no, now what?

  I anticipated the excited chaos of everyone’s chatter, but not the sight of my sometimes, kind-of boyfriend perched on the edge of Mr. Martinez’s desk. On other guys a peasant shirt with poet sleeves looked dorky and pretentious. Maybe it was Nikolai’s half-Romany blood, but he not only pulled the fashion off—with leather pants, no less—but bumped it up to wicked hot. Plus, he had those tumbled, let-me-just-fix-that-stray-bitfor-you locks that always threatened to fall in front of the most gorgeous, deep amber eyes any girl has had the pleasure of losing herself in.

  I started to say hello when he sauntered over and planted an amazing peck on my cheek—in front of EVERYONE.

  “Aw,” the entire class sighed as if they’d rehearsed it. Judging by the way Bea and Taylor smiled at me, I figured they had.

  “Now, now, none of that,” Mr. Martinez chided sweetly, as my cheek burned bright red where Nikolai’s lips had brushed it.

  I slunk into my seat and tried desperately to blend. Thankfully, most everyone was staring at Nikolai like God himself had materialized in the front of the classroom. Meanwhile Mr. Martinez looked kind of like the smug magician that had conjured him.

  “In case you can’t guess, I have a little bit of a surprise for everyone today. But there’s more—”

  My stomach lurched at the thought of something else; I was beginning to think I couldn’t take any new excitement. B
efore Mr. Martinez could say anything, the loudspeaker beeped, indicating an incoming announcement. We all quieted as best we could, given the rock star in our midst. The principal came on and told everyone there would be a special assembly in the gym in a half hour. Bea looked at me to see if I knew what was going on. I shrugged and shook my head. Everyone stared at Mr. Martinez for an answer.

  “I’m sure you’ve all heard the rumors that Ingress will be performing the music for our spring play. What you don’t know is that Mr. Kirov and I have spent some time composing new arrangements for My Fair Lady. His band is going to give the school a taste of my vision for the production. He’ll be singing a very much updated version of ‘Get Me to the Church on Time.’”

  Oh my Goddess, how hilariously weird was that? Not to mention mortifying! My boyfriend was going to be crooning a song in front of the entire school about wanting to get married. Everyone was going to be watching my reaction! Could I just die now and get it over with?

  Plus, Nik kept glancing at me. I tried to smile back, but I couldn’t help feeling very childish, sitting in the second row, third desk, like some stupid little high schooler. In my version of the universe, Nik would never see me like this, here. How juvenile did I look? Why did I have to pick today to wear my ratty Sailor Moon T-shirt?

  Luckily, after a brief introduction to the class, Nikolai excused himself to go help his bandmates set up in the gym. Mr. Martinez did his best to try to impart some wisdom in the intervening time, but everyone’s eyes—except mine—were glued to the clock, counting down the minutes until we could all head down to the gym.

  Jinny, the girl in the seat behind me, tapped my elbow. When I turned to see what she wanted, she quickly passed me a note. When I gave her the “Who sent this?” look, she nodded in Taylor’s direction.