Abigail Rath Versus Bloodsucking Fiends

stop, cramming her fingers into the shag carpet. “Cheeseburger.” She puffed with her effort. “No supper yet.”
“Let’s go.” Marty let me give her a gentle tow to the guardrail. From there she could do kind of a tippy toes on her skate stops over to the linoleum of the snack area.
“Cheeseburger?” I affirmed, moving her toward a plastic shell chair. Big Mel hadn’t changed the furniture since 1997 or something, and now everyone in Glendale thought he had the old stuff on purpose.
“Ketchup and mustard.”
I breezed my way over to the snack area, and watched Marty ease into a plastic chair, my back against the counter. “Cheeseburger, please. With fries.”
“Coming right up.”
That voice! I whirled. Ned was dressed in a flannel shirt, t-shirt and jeans, wearing a hair net. I leaped backwards, skate stops checking my motion. “What are you doing here?”
Ned dug his finger into his cheek. “Gee. I wonder how Ned the vampire pays his rent.”
“I’ve never seen you here before. I come here all the time. You’re here for Vince! And maybe his mom.”
“Wrong,” said Ned. “You’ve seen me here before. You just never knew who I was before.”
Oh. He did look like a generic guy with the hairnet on. One, Ned. Abby, zip.
“You said we would never see you again,” I countered. “Well, you’ll just have to quit your job now.”
“I can’t quit, Abigail Rath. Like I said, I’ve got to pay my rent. It’s hard to get a job when you’re dead. Besides,” Ned was a little sheepish, “I have permission.”
Mr. Christopher had always made the undead life look easy. I assumed that all vampires had built up a secret treasure somewhere. That’s the way it was in the movies. Maybe Ned was different. “You did only die about twenty years ago. Guess you could be short on cash.”
“And I dropped out of school.”
“That was a loser move. You could still get your GED at night school. You could go to college. Why don’t you go to college?”
Ned’s mouth dropped open. “I didn’t know you cared.”
“Shut up, Ned. I don’t care. I’m telling you to clear out, or you’ll be sorry.”
“Maybe you’ll be sorry,” said Ned. “I was employee of the month in January. We have the right to refuse service
to anyone.”
Touché. “Does Mel know you’re a vampire?”
Ned laughed, a deep belly laugh that carried over to where Vince was chatting with Marty and the guys. Vince squinted at me. I nodded. Vince excused himself and skated over.
“Hey Ned.”
“Hey Vince.”
“What are you doing here?”
“He says he works here.”
“I wouldn’t wear this hairnet as a fashion statement.”
“Oh,” said Vince. “You know, my mom’s here.”
“Yeah. I pegged her over there, behind the romance cover. Still likes the same kinds of books, I see.”
Vince shrugged. “Mom taste. You really work here?”
“Yup.”
“That explains the magazine,” said Vince.
“I find this too coincidental to believe you,” I said.
“I was going to leave you alone,” said Ned. “Now, I think you might need looking after.”
My mouth dropped open, then I found my voice again. Even the eternal teenager was in on the adult conspiracy. “That is so not true.”
“So, Vince, can I get you anything? A burger? Some pizza rolls? On the house?”
“Watch out, Vince. He’s trying to seduce you to the dark side with free sandwiches.”
“I think Marty wants you,” said Vince.
I was torn. Keeping Vince out of trouble didn’t mean leaving him with Ned. “Who gave you permission to be here?” I asked.
“Big Mel. And the area’s head vampire.” Ned crossed his arms and curled a lip. “And your dad.”
“I don’t believe it!”
“Abby?” Vince repeated.
“Think, Vince,” I said. “We’re supposed to be getting all normal. Do we really need a vampire to serve us snacks?”
“It’s true!” Ned dusted the counter off with a napkin. “Your dad was grateful. Also, he wants me to make sure you don’t get into any supernatural trouble.”
Vince tugged at my arm. “Marty?”
“All right, but don’t eat anything until I get back.” I skated backwards toward the table, pointing two fingers at my eyes, and then back at Ned. I turned around just in time to make sure I didn’t smash into the chair behind me.
Marty’s legs poked out like sticks in that pick up sticks game. She was fiddling with the laces on her skates. “I’m not going to skate anymore,” she said. “I’m tired of falling down.”
“Okay. You can keep an eye on Ned.”
“Who?”
“The guy at the sandwich counter.”
“Why would I want to do that?”
“Make sure he puts the right condiments on your sandwich,” I said. “Did you want something?”
“Yeah. I wondered if you could ask Vince...”
Here we go. The I-can’t-talk-to-your-friend-that-I-like-but-you-can-act-as-my-go-between-because-you’ve-known-him-since-you-were-in-diapers kind of thing. I hear this kind of thing happen at the mall all the time, but this was not the kind of thing that I wanted to get involved in.
“...if he knows who that guy is,” said Marty.
The conversation had taken a peculiar turn. My head swiveled toward the rink. “Who?”
There was a guy gliding in the center of the rink in the middle of a circle the skaters had cleared for him. His hair was stylishly shaggy in a pop idol sort of way. He was tall, not too tall, and pretty trim.
“He’s sparkling,” said Marty. Her eyes were wide, like an anime girl’s, or a bad puppy painting.
“Yeah, he is,” I said.
“Just like Austin Von Trapp,” Marty sighed.
Austin Von Trapp, for those of you who aren’t a girl between the ages of twelve and eighteen, and are not aware of the nation sweeping phenomena, is the hero of a popular series of novels, Dusk. Dusk is the captivating, yet mushy, story of a girl who is caught in a love