Then suddenly, out of nowhere, some random old guy grabs me on the arm and starts dragging me into a side corridor.
“You must come with me,” he says in an urgent voice.
I’m just about ready to go tae kwon do on his ass, but then I realize it’s Mr. Teifert, Sunny’s drama coach.
“Dude, I think you’ve gotten me mistaken for my twin,” I say, as he drags me down into the auditorium’s backstage area. “I’m Rayne. Sunny’s the one in your play, not me.” This mistaken-for-my-twin thing has so gotta stop.
The teacher pulls on the door and it slams closed with a large ominous clanking sound. Which, FYI, is a totally cool sound effect. I could use that in my next film. (For those of you just joining us, I’m going to be the next Tim Burton or David Lynch, just FYI.)
“I know who you are, Rayne,” Mr. Teifert says, scratching his balding head.
I raise an eyebrow. “Oh. Then maybe an explanation of why you hauled me in here might be in order, do you think?”
He nods. “Yes, yes, of course.” He takes a deep breath. “Now brace yourself. This may be a little difficult to take in . . .”
At first I totally think he’s going to come up with some sicko declaration of love or something. Which would have been extremely gross. I mean, sure, I dated my English teacher for two weeks last semester, but he was a twenty-two-year-old sexy Australian who liked Nietzsche. Mr. Teifert’s practically ancient—at least forty, I’d say—and so not sexy or cute or Australian. Besides, once I caught him singing show tunes, so I’ve been thinking he might bat for the other team.
“What I’m going to tell you may come as a bit of a shock,” he continues in an extremely serious tone.
Jeez, enough with the drama, drama teacher guy.
“Shock. Awe. I gotcha. Spit it out.” After all, I’m late for class. Not that this would normally bother me.
He clears his throat. “Very well then. Once a generation there is a girl born who is destined to slay the vampires.”
I stare at him. “You know about Bertha the Vampire Slayer?” I ask incredulously. “You know about vampires?” Okay, he’s right. I am shocked. And awed. And all that. I had no idea this nerdy old teacher had any clue about the Other-world. I guess that’s why he acted so weird when Sunny and I were joking around in the auditorium last week.
“Bertha, um, has had some blood pressure issues,” he stammers. “She’s temporarily retired from the slaying biz.”
“I see . . .” I say slowly. Too much drive-thru SuperSizing for Bertha between slays, I guess.
“No, I don’t think you do,” Mr. Teifert says. “What I’m trying to tell you, Ms. McDonald, is that you are next in line.”
“Next in line?” I swallow hard, not liking where this is going. “Next in line for what, exactly?” I mean, sure, if he’s going to say next in line for the senior class play iPod give-away, I’m his girl. But somehow I think he might be going in a much more unpleasant and less tuneful direction.
Mr. Teifert’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes as he holds out his hand. I stare down at it, not ready to shake.
“Congratulations Rayne McDonald,” he says. “You are the chosen one. Slayer Inc.’s new official vampire slayer.”
I gape. “What the—”
Oh, crap. My mom’s calling me to dinner. More later . . .
POSTED BY RAYNE McDONALD @ 5 P.M.
THREE COMMENTS:
Angelbaby3234566 says . . .
OMG, Rayne! How can u leave us hanging?!?! Come back and tell us the rest! How can u be a vampire slayer?????
DarkGothBoy says . . .
Hey—serves you right, you snotty beeyotch. Now you’ll WISH you hooked up with me. No vamp will touch you with a ten-foot pole. Sux2BU.
Rayne says . . .
Don’t worry, GothBoy—I’d rather become a nun than touch your, um, pole.
3
FRIDAY, JUNE 1, 7 P.M.
Destiny Bites!
I’m back. Sorry for the interruption. Mom has been militant about the whole family eating together ever since Dad left us. (Don’t even get me started!) She would have freaked if I us. (Don’t even get me started!) She would have freaked if I didn’t show up for our nightly meal of tofu burgers and baked cardboard—er, French fries. I think she gets lonely, especially now that Sunny and I have a car and we’re always off doing our own thing. She needs to start dating again. I mean, she’s a total hippie—but seems downright Quaker when it comes to free love.
Anyway, back to “the slayer” thing.
I stare at Mr. Teifert. “Sorry dude,” I say. “I so cannot become the slayer. No freaking way. I mean, I’m in the vamp inner circle here. I have vampire friends. My sister is dating the new Blood Coven Master vamp. I’m on the waiting list to become a vampire myself. How can you expect me to all of a sudden go all Terminator on them? That just doesn’t fit into the Rayne five-year plan.”
There are several armchairs on stage, set up for the production of the senior class play Bye Bye Birdie (which Sunny is starring in, BTW). Mr. Teifert motions for me to sit in one of them, but I shake my head. I’m not interested in sitting around and chatting with this psycho.
“I’m so out of here,” I say, turning to exit stage left.
“Wait,” he calls after me. “You must listen to what I have to say.”
“Dude, I don’t have to listen to a damn thing,” I retort, but something inside me makes me stop walking. Curiosity, I guess. I mean, desirable occupation or no, it’s not every day one gets told one has a “destiny.” Especially by the drama coach.