Vampire Kisses by Ellen Schreiber, now you can read online.
Chapter 1. Little Monster
It first happened when I was five. I had just finished coloring in My Kindergarten Book. It was filled with Picasso-like drawings of my mom and dad, an Elmer's-glued, tissue-papered collage, and the answers to questions (favorite color, pets, best friend, etc.) written down by our hundred-year-old teacher, Mrs. Peevish.
My classmates and I were sitting in a semicircle on the floor in the reading area. "Bradley, what do you want to be when you grow up?" Mrs. Peevish asked after all the other questions had been answered.
"A fire fighter!" he shouted.
"Cindi?" "Uh...a nurse," Cindi Warren whispered meekly.
Mrs. Peevish went through the rest of the class. Police officers. Astronauts. Football players. Finally it was my turn.
"Raven, what do you want to be when you grow up?" Mrs. Peevish asked, her green eyes staring through me.
I said nothing.
I shook my head.
"Nuh, uh," I said.
"A flight attendant?"
"Yuck!" I replied.
"Then what?" she asked, annoyed.
I thought for a moment. "I want to be..."
"I want to be...a vampire!" I shouted, to the shock and amazement of Mrs. Peevish and my classmates. For a moment I thought she started to laugh; maybe she really did. The children sitting next to me inched away.
I spent most of my childhood watching others inch away.
I was conceived on my dad's water bed--or on the rooftop of my mom's college dorm under twinkling stars--depending on which one of my parents is telling the story. They were soul mates that couldn't part with the seventies: true love mixed with drugs, some raspberry incense, and the music of the Grateful Dead. A beaded- jeweled, halter-topped, cutoff blue-jeaned, barefooted girl, intertwined with a long-haired, unshaven, Elton John-spectacled, suntanned, leather-vested, bell-bottomed-and-sandaled guy. I think they're lucky I wasn't more eccentric. I could have wanted to be a beaded-haired hippie werewolf! But somehow I became obsessed with vampires.
Sarah and Paul Madison became more responsible after my entrance into this world--or I'll rephrase it and say my parents were "less glassy eyed." They sold the Volkswagen flower power van that they were living in and actually started renting property. Our hippie apartment was decorated with 3-D glow-in-the-dark flower posters and orange tubes with a Play-Doh substance that moved on its own-- lava lamps--that you could stare at forever. It was the best time ever. The three of us laughed and played Chutes and Ladders and squeezed Twinkies between our teeth. We stayed up late, watching Dracula movies, Dark Shadows with the infamous Barnabas Collins, and Batman on a black-and-white TV we'd received when we opened a bank account. I felt secure under the blanket of midnight, rubbing Mom's growing belly, which made noises like the orange lava lamps. I figured she was going to give birth to more moving Play-Doh.
Everything changed when she gave birth to the playdough-- only it wasn't Play-Doh. She gave birth to Nerd Boy! How could she? How could she destroy all the Twinkie nights? Now she went to bed early, and that creation that my parents called "Billy" cried and fussed all night. I was suddenly alone. It was Dracula--the Dracula on TV-- that kept me company while Mom slept, Nerd Boy wailed, and Dad changed smelly diapers in the darkness.
And if that wasn't bad enough, suddenly they sent me to a place that wasn't my apartment, that didn't have wild 3-D flower posters on the walls, but boring collages of kids' handprints. Who decorates around here? I wondered. It was overcrowded with Sears catalog girls in frilly dresses and Sears catalog boys in tapered pants and perfectly combed hair. Mom and Dad called it "kindergarten."
"They'll be your friends," my mom reassured me, as I clung to her side for dear life. She waved good-bye and blew me kisses as I stood alone beside the matronly Mrs. Peevish, which was as alone as one can get. I watched my mom walk away with Nerd Boy on her hip as she took him back to the place filled with glow-in-the-dark posters, monster movies, and Twinkies.
Somehow I made it through the day. Cutting and gluing black paper on black paper, finger painting Barbie's lips black, and telling the assistant teacher ghost stories, while the Sears catalog kids ran around like they were all cousins at an all-American family picnic. I was even happy to see Nerd Boy when Mom finally came to pick me up.
That night she found me with my lips pressed against the TV screen, trying to kiss Christopher Lee in Horror of Dracula.
"Raven! What are you doing up so late? You have school tomorrow!"
"What?" I said. The Hostess cherry pie that I had been eating fell to the floor, and my heart fell with it.
"But I thought it was just the one time?" I said, panicked.
"Sweet Raven. You have to go every day!"