James doesn’t come back after lunch, and he’s still MIA when the final bell rings. On my way to my locker, I poke my head into the journalism room only to find that Mr. Amado is missing too, although his perpetually wrinkled jacket and messenger bag are still hanging from a cabinet hook. I wait for a few moments, but when he doesn’t show up, I take a casual peek at his planner. Staff meeting: 3:30. Nuts.

Since I have time to kill—and since, so far, Vlad has left me alone—I decide that French club can be approached with caution. Still, knowing his habit of roaming the halls, I tape a few pieces of paper over the narrow window as soon as I close the door.

“Hello, Sophie,” says a high, dulcet voice.

Oh crap. Violet. Violet the fluent French speaker and newest member of our miniscule language club. I’m starting to lose track of all the people I need to avoid. When I work up the courage to turn around, she’s smiling at me serenely, her hands folded primly in front of her, always the lady, even when plotting my demise. Regina Michaels and Calvin Abrams flank her on either side. Luckily, they seem oblivious to any tension as they argue about the sex of various fruits. I’ve come to learn that arguing about French is how they flirt. The imparfait debate is third base.

“Are we going to do drugs?” Calvin asks nervously when he notices my makeshift window coverings. “Because I am president of the ‘Just Say No’ Club, and we had to sign something saying we would never—”

“Don’t worry about it, Calvin. I left my stash at home,” I say, trying to play it cool but still keeping my eye on Violet. At this point, I’m not sure how much I am supposed to know around her. She wasn’t there for the forest debacle, but Vlad has surely talked . . . unless he doesn’t want them to know about the “misunderstanding.” Her cat-with-canary face isn’t helping me decide.

“Je suis désolé,” Regina pipes up, “mais je ne comprends pas l’anglais.”

I’m sorry, but I do not understand English. Technically, the rule is that we don’t speak any English once the meeting has begun. I made that rule up. I hate myself.

“J’ai dit,” I begin, repeating my earlier joke to Calvin, “N’inquiète pas, Monsieur Calvin. J’ai laissé mon ‘stash’ à la maison.”

“‘Stash’ is ‘un cache,’” Violet corrects, and then pats the seat beside her. Deciding that the current threat to my safety is at least limiting her attacks to my foreign language skills, I slip into the seat.

We chat for thirty minutes about simple things: winter socks, our favorite type of pie, and Calvin’s fear of ladybugs and getting stuck in a ticket turnstile. He and Regina soon launch into an argument about the difference between a croque-monsieur and a croque-madame. Violet takes the opportunity to wiggle her desk closer to mine, a noisy, thumping endeavor that should be as intimidating as being rushed by a blind, three-legged dog. Should be. It makes me nervous enough to check the exits again before she leans over and whispers in my ear.

“N’inquiète pas, Sophie. J’ai trouvé un nouveau petit copain. Donc, nous sommes encore amies, non?” she says and smiles warmly, if a little too widely.

Don’t worry, Sophie. I found a new boyfriend. So we are friends again, right?

Well, that was fast. The rush of my relief is quickly replaced by a new worry: If history has taught us anything, it’s that falling into Violet’s lovesick clutches means that there will soon be another teenage vampire running around my high school.

“Who?” I ask, dropping any pretense at French.

She holds a finger to the tiny bow of her lips. “C’est une secrete,” she says with a coy raise of her eyebrows. It’s a secret.

Before I can start digging for more information, there’s a rap at the door, and Mr. Hanfield, Spanish teacher and study hall minion, sticks his bald head in to tell us that we need to clear out.

“Who taped this up here?” he asks as he rips it down. “You know we have to have a clear view into all classrooms at all times.”

I’m fairly sure he just made up this rule, but I don’t argue. We agree to meet again next week and part ways. Or at least I try to part ways; while Calvin and Regina argue in the opposite direction, Violet glues herself to my side, chattering on about an article on getting over a bad breakup that she read (“Supremely helpful, even if I couldn’t partake of the sugar-free ice cream.”) and how she thinks Calvin is a little strange. Her still unnamed new boy is strange, she admits, but not that strange. At least he’s not afraid of inanimate objects.

“And I do believe he really likes me,” she says as we round the last corner before the main lobby. “I mean, men are always difficult to fathom. One moment they want to run away and elope, and the next they leave you sitting alone on a park bench in the middle of the night, ruined and with no place to go.”

I look at Violet, wondering if this was pre- or post-vampire. She is studying her shoes, a small frown playing about her lips. In that second, I want to say something comforting, but I don’t know whether or not that will invite too many questions about what I do and do not know. So instead I just pull her to the side so she doesn’t walk into a cement column.

“I did not see that at all,” she says, and I’m happy to hear some of the old perkiness. “To continue what we were speaking about before, I gave James what he wanted too soon. I know that now,” she says. “But it does not matter; the periodical says ‘Sisters before Misters’ and I have decided to adhere to that.”

Not only do I want to find her magazine source, kill it, and skip around on its grave, I want her to understand that James is not my mister in any sense of the word.

“Violet, James is not—,” I begin before the sight of what’s waiting for me at the end of the hallway stops me in my tracks. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

There is a vampire roadblock at the end of the hallway and everyone’s invited. Vlad, Devon, Ashley, Marisabel, Neville . . . and James. James is waiting for me. With them.

I duck into the nearest open door, which happens to be Mrs. Elton’s government class. She coats her walls with American flags and badly printed photos of the current president. I’m so dazzled by the red, white, and blue that I don’t realize Violet has trotted after me until it is too late. That’s great, Sophie, bring a vampire with you to your hiding place from the vampires.

“What is this about?” Violet asks, tugging her jacket down schoolmarmishly. “I understand why I don’t want to see James, but you should try not to be so standoffish. It will give him the wrong idea.” She smiles at me, and I realize that she really doesn’t know anything about what happened on Friday—Vlad’s keeping his setbacks close to his chest. But before I can answer, her gaze shifts to something beyond my shoulder. “Oh, hello,” she says. “Are you crouching here like a deranged person as well?”

Caroline is slouched in the back corner, and from the looks of things, she’s been camped out for a while. Her feet are bare, having kicked the strappy sandals she tottered around on all day to the side. She rarely puts her hair up—she thinks it’s lazy—but now she’s scraped it into a mushrooming bun.

“He won’t go away,” she says, sliding down in her chair until all I can see is the fluff of her bun. “And the evil janitors locked the side doors. I mean, hello. Fire hazard.”

“Who won’t go away?”

Straightening back up, she gives me a look suggesting that I could win this year’s Miss Idiotic pageant by a landslide vote. “Vlad. I have been sitting here since three waiting for him to leave. Why? Why does he want to humiliate me? Isn’t breaking up with me enough?” She bangs her fists on the desk. “He’s a satanist!”

She probably means “sadist,” although for once, option number two isn’t all that wide of the mark. Still, I doubt that Caroline’s his target. I’m guessing that Vlad wants to make sure I’ve forgotten his fangy little secret. But considering my audience, I scan my mind for some excuse as to why Vlad would be loitering for an hour and a half. He’s hypnotized by shiny wrestling trophies? He is conducting a sit-in to protest the ban on pointy shoes? Violet moves to console Caroline before I can even try.

“It’s horrible, isn’t it?” she soothes. “I’m going through a broken engagement myself at the moment. If you would like, I have a magazine article that might help.”

Caroline perks up. “Really?”

“Yes. Sophie doesn’t seem to put much faith in what they have to say, but I think they are a wonder.”

“Sophie doesn’t put much faith in anything but her own loud voice.”

“Yes, she can be very resistant to new ideas, I think.”

It’s time to nip this conversation in the bud. “I hate to break up your bonding session, but I would like to leave the building at some point. And Vlad’s still here.”

“But why are you hiding from Vlad?” Caroline asks.

Oops.

“Sisterly solidarity?” I try.

Caroline blinks at me a few times and then launches in for a hug, nearly knocking the small desk over in her enthusiasm. “Oh, that’s so sweet. Thank you.”

I hug her back, feeling nice and fuzzy and like a good sister for once. There’s no reason I can’t be avoiding Vlad for sisterly solidarity and the overwhelming desire to live, is there? When I am finally released from her body-lotioned death grip, the three of us peek around the corner to find Vlad and Neville in the middle of yet another debate.

“But High School Musical?” Vlad says. “It’s not even something civilized.”

Neville crosses his arms tightly over his chest. “You said that we should join in school activities.”

“Join in activities so we can find the girl. Not so you can twist and twirl about on the stage for your own amusement!”

Beside me, Violet emits a tiny snort. “Vlad can be so overbearing at times,” she whispers in my ear. “And he lies; he told me that this place would be filled with eligible young gentlemen.”

“Really?” I whisper.

“He told us all sorts of things to lure us along.”

“Lying poophead scumbag,” Caroline says. “Anyway, how do we get out when their stupid butts are blocking the door?”

“Why, we will have to walk our stupid butts out the door!” Violet cries, clearly getting into this. After we shush her, she tries again more quietly. “What I meant to say was we will need to act like their presence does not bother us. For example, I will act like I do not even notice the presence of James. You do the same with Vlad. Believe me, it has worked for hundreds of years.” She looks at me. “You do whatever you think sisters of the brokenhearted do.”

This sister of the brokenhearted is trying to remember exactly what James told her three nights ago and marshaling all the puny acting talent she possesses. Now’s the time for my first-grade experience as Silent Woodland Animal #3 in Snow White to really pay off. Try not to let him get close to you. Concentrate if he does.

I take a deep breath. “Ready?”

Violet and Caroline nod furiously, but our first attempt is stalled by Caroline’s hand on my shoulder.

“Wait. Is that James Hallowell?” she asks.

“Yep. He’s living next door again,” I say, still stinging from his betrayal. But instead of making me feel better, revealing James’s secret only makes me feel petty. “Don’t tell anyone.”

“Why?” she asks. “Oh man, Amanda said that Danny said he was back, but I thought that she had just finally lost it. He got cute,” she says, and I don’t like the undercurrent of “oooh, gimme” in her voice.

“Just . . . please, Caroline?”

She shrugs. “Sure, whatever.”

How reassuring. “Are you ready?”

“Yes,” Caroline says. “Wait! I mean no. My shoes. This is not something I want to do barefoot.”

We wait for Caroline to shoe up for battle, and then walk out the door, marching toward the vampires. James snaps to attention as we approach. Vlad and Neville are still knee-deep in their argument, with Neville explaining the plot of High School Musical and Vlad countering that he may not be exceedingly familiar with this world, but he is certain that basketball players do not sing. Hope balloons in my chest; maybe they won’t even notice me. We are swerving around the edges of their huddle when Vlad’s voice rings out.

“If it isn’t the girl I want to see,” he says, his hand snaking out to block my way.

“Excuse me?” I say, trying to act confused as I back away. I try to remember James’s lessons on how to keep one’s mind impenetrable, but it’s harder said than done. I think of how much I hate him, how much I want him out of this school, this town, this universe. But how do you tell if it’s working? Other than the fact that he hasn’t yelled “Gotcha!”

Vlad steps forward, eating up my hard-won buffer of space. He starts to reach for my chin, and a chill of panic rushes over my body. But before he can touch me, Caroline pushes Vlad away with an unladylike grunt.

“What’s wrong with you?” she asks as I take the opportunity to step away. “You’re acting like you’ve never met.”

“We have not,” Vlad says, obviously annoyed. He scowls at me over his head.

She turns around, looking for a denial, but I force myself to nod and agree. She frowns for a few seconds, giving me a look that says she thought I was on her side. Finally, she says, “You’re both crazy,” and marches toward the door.

We listen to her heels as they click across the lobby’s floor, and I try to gauge everyone’s suspicion level. Neville is still pouting, while Vlad watches Caroline’s back with a moody scowl. Marisabel stands beside him, trying so hard to look innocent that she might as well stick her head up in the air and whistle, and Violet continues to study the five food groups display so James will see that she has moved on to better things, apparently fruits and vegetables. Against my better instincts, I sneak a glance in his direction and am met with a small smile that does nothing to mask the worry in his eyes.

“Wait a moment,” Vlad says, and I whip my head around to find him watching me. I feel the fluttery, zooming sensation in my heart that means I’m starting to panic. And when I start to panic, my mind goes blank. The more I try to train my thoughts into one orderly progression, the more they want to scream “Vampire, vampire, vampire!” James steps forward, worry on his face, and it heightens my panic. If he can tell, anyone can tell.

As if on cue, Vlad’s countenance darkens. I prepare for the worst. This is it. This is the end. But Vlad doesn’t reach for my throat—instead he pulls away, disappointed. It takes a few seconds to realize that it’s not because James has betrayed him; no, it’s because he has no excuse to kill me. I’ve passed. Somehow, I’ve passed.

“Maybe I’ll see you around,” I say, giddy with good luck, and head toward the door, half expecting to be tackled from behind. Soon enough, however, the High School Musical argument starts up again. Talking to Mr. Amado can wait until tomorrow. Right now I need to get out of here and go where I can be sure my thoughts are completely my own.

I’m almost to the door when James catches up with me. A part of me wants to yell at him, but his relief at not being found out is plain, and for a moment, that’s something we share. If I’m being honest, the temptation to put everything on hold and celebrate is overwhelming, especially when I note that he seems to have recovered from whatever was ailing him.

“Are you feeling better?” I ask, just as a figure appears at the other side of the lobby. It’s Lindsay, the girl I almost let become the prime entrée of a vampire buffet. Now she’s heading toward us with a determined stride, her hands hidden by the stack of papers clutched to her chest. Plea for forgiveness number one is on my tongue when she bypasses me for James.

“Thanks again for finding me today,” she tells him with no hint of ill will. “The articles are due to our journalism teacher tomorrow, so my head was about to, you know, spin around and pop off.”

“No problem,” he murmurs.

“It’s so great that you’re going to join our class,” she continues. “Maybe we can work on something together.”

“Sure,” he says, but his eyes are on me.

Lindsay follows his gaze, and I brace myself for another well-deserved telling off. But all she does is apologize for ignoring me and ask if I’ve given any more thought to joining the collection drive for Greenpeace. “I think we could really use you,” she says. “Final sign-ups for the planning committee were on Friday, but, well, this whole weekend is kind of a blur.” She frowns. “I think I need to stop pulling all-nighters.”

It’s like our almost death never happened. I look at James for an explanation and find one in his guilty expression. So that’s why he was late to chemistry, and that’s why he looked so tired. He may not have mind-wiped me, but he had no problem doing it to someone else.

Lindsay picks up on the tension immediately. “Okay, then. I’m, uh, just going to go. Check in with you later for Greenpeace,” she says, and then bolts out the front door. I try to follow but James steps in front of me.

“I had to,” he says. “I tried to explain some things to her, but she freaked out and started screaming. She’s safer this way, I swear. The fuzziness wears off after a few days.”

“Where were you after lunch?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.

His jaw tightens. “I had to find Vlad,” he says stiffly. “It took more out of me than I expected.”

“There’s not going to be an extra space in the front row tomorrow, is there?” I say. It’s a bad joke, mainly because I’m half serious.

James’s face wrinkles in disgust. “No. Vlad has a cooler from—”

“The fair,” I say quickly. “I know.”

“I don’t want to know how you know that. Sophie, I’m serious, this is not a stupid journalism assignment. You need to stay away from him. You’re lucky he was distracted. I could hear you, and I was farther away than Vlad. You may think that you’re a fortress of snark and bad-assery, but you’re not.”

The fact that I didn’t entirely succeed in wearing my antivampire hat is not exactly comforting, but I can’t let that deter me. “Not until I make sure the girl is safe,” I say. “I won’t just leave people in danger.”

James’s face hardens, and I realize that I’ve just destroyed any chance of a truce. He steps to the side to let me pass. When I exit into the sunlight, he doesn’t follow, leaving me to wonder exactly how many reminders I need before I realize that he’s not on my side.