Caitlin saw them looking, as did Caleb, and they both turned and looked away, embarrassed.
“I wish I could believe that,” Caitlin said, softly. “I really do. She might be okay for now. But she’s not okay. She needs help. And I’m going to find it for her. No matter what you say, or what she says.”
“Help for what?” Caleb retorted. “What exactly is it that you think she needs help from?”
“You know what it is. You know what I said. You can choose not to believe it, but you know it’s true.”
She saw hesitation in Caleb’s eyes size, but still, he pressed the question
“What is true?”
Finally, Caitlin lost it.
“OUR DAUGHTER IS A VAMPIRE!”
Caitlin’s shout rose to the glass ceiling, echoed throughout the room—and every person turned and stared.
Caleb turned and looked at them all, then lowered his head, embarrassed. Finally, he stepped up, and looked at Caitlin, right in the eyes. She stood there, shaking, rooted to the spot, not knowing what to do, how to feel.
Slowly, disapprovingly, he shook his head.
“The doctor was right,” he said. “You do need help.”
*
Caitlin, in a daze, drove slowly, Scarlet in the passenger seat, as she took her to school. Caleb had left for work, leaving Caitlin to drop her off, and she and Scarlet had been driving in silence for the last few minutes, as Caitlin watched the road, trying to process it all, while Scarlet sat in the front seat, glued to her phone, texting with several of her friends.
“Major damage control, mom,” she said. “I so wish you hadn’t called all my friends,” she sighed.
Caitlin didn’t know how to respond.
Scarlet checked her phone again. “I can still make second period,” she said. “That’s perfect. I don’t have my first test until fourth. I’m staying late today, don’t forget—soccer,” she said in a rush, as Caitlin pulled up before the main doors of the school.
Scarlet leaned over and kissed Caitlin on the cheek, as she opened the door. “Don’t worry about me. I’m fine. Really. Whatever it was, it was no big deal. Love you,” she said in a rush, jumping out before Caitlin could respond and rushing up the steps to the front doors of the school.
Caitlin watched her go with a sinking feeling in her chest. She felt so sad, so helpless, so terrified.
There went Scarlet, her only daughter, the person she loved most in the world. She wanted to protect her. And to protect others.
She watched her go, all alone, up the steps to the empty school, and she wanted more than anything to believe that things were normal. But deep down, she knew they were not. As Scarlet closed the doors behind her, entered that building filled with thousands of kids, Caitlin couldn’t help but wonder: were those other kids in there trapped with her? How long would it be until the plague of vampirism spread?
CHAPTER NINE
Scarlet ran across the wide stone plaza and up the series of steps to the front doors of her school. As she did, she clutched her light, fall jacket to herself. She wish she’d worn something warmer; just a few days ago, it was like 70, but now, it felt more like 50. October was so unpredictable, she thought. Especially now, at the end, with just a few days before Halloween. She made a mental note in her head that when she got home, she would have to go down to the basement and switch out her late summer wardrobe for her fall one.
Scarlet glanced over her shoulder as she grabbed the front doors, hoping her mom had left. It was so embarrassing, her sitting there like that, watching her, as if she were still in second grade. She cringed as she saw her mom still watching. She hoped that no other kids were watching this, especially given that the school was empty, everyone already in class. She felt so conspicuous.
She didn’t really blame her mom for watching her like that, and felt sorry she had scared her—
but at the same time she just wanted to put it behind her. Her mom worried too much, and she just wanted her to realize that she was fine, that she was always fine. That even though she was just 16, she was basically a grown woman now, independent, and more than capable of handling herself.
Scarlet burst through the front doors and ran down the hall, her footsteps echoing, her sneakers squeaking on the brightly-polished tile. Her heart raced as she glanced down at her watch and realized second period was almost over. She was so embarrassed: it looked like she’d have to enter class with just a few minutes left; she could already feel the stares. But she didn’t have much choice.
She couldn’t exactly hang out and wait in the hall, especially with the hall monitors patrolling. And she did want to at least make an appearance and maybe grab the homework assignment for the night.
As she hurried down the hall, she wondered once again about what exactly had happened the day before. It really freaked her out, what her parents had told her, that she’d left the house; she couldn’t remember that at all. She put on a brave face for everyone, telling them she was fine—and she did feel fine. But inwardly, she was terrified. She was so nervous that she had no memory of it, of where she might’ve gone. It was terrifying, also, to wake up in the hospital like that. It really shook her. She couldn’t stop obsessing over the black hole in her consciousness, over where she went, what she might’ve done, why they couldn’t find her for so long. Had she done anything stupid? Had she seen any of her friends? Had she seen Blake? Why couldn’t she remember?
Scarlet felt her cheeks flush as she suddenly recalled what her mom had said: that they’d called the police—and even worse, that they’d called her friends. How mortifying. Who did they call exactly? What did they say? And how would she face everyone? What would all her friends think?
And how would she explain it to everyone? She didn’t even really understand what had happened herself.
This day would not be easy, she realized, as she neared the classroom door. There’d be a lot of questioning—and she didn’t have any answers.
Scarlet finally reached the end of what felt like the longest hall in the school, came to the last door, and grabbed the knob. She braced herself and took a deep breath, clutching her books in one hand, and opened it.
“The algorithm for a triangle that does not exceed—”
Her math teacher stopped writing on the chalkboard, and turned and looked at her. Every other kid in the class looked up at her, too. There were about 30 kids in here, the most boring math class Scarlet had ever had, and luckily, she wasn’t friends with most of them.