Dance With a Vampire Read Free

imagined that, between the stacks of physics and calculus books, Valentine could be gnashing his fangs into my brother’s neck. But I had to remain positive. It wasn’t likely Valentine would risk being easily spotted. Or would he?
    “This is quite a pleasure,” my father said genuinely. “Order anything you like. Your mother’s paying,” he teased.
    Just then a slight woman in a black DKNY pantsuit came over and stood beside our table.
    She had Trevor Mitchell’s face. It was his mother.
    “Hi, Sarah. Hi, Paul,” Mrs. Mitchell said. Her smile stretched so wide that her pink lipstick started to crack.
    Mrs. Mitchell studied Alexander, then me, mentally taking notes of anything she could report to her tennis friends.
    “This is a coincidence seeing you here,” my mother said.

    “Or fate,” Mrs. Mitchell corrected as she gazed at my boyfriend.
    “Oh…you know Alexander Sterling,” my mom began.
    “No, I’ve seen him about town, but I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting him face-to-face.”
    Mrs. Mitchell extended her thin, flawless hand, complete with a French manicure and flaunting more dazzling jewelry than a saleswoman on QVC.
    Alexander quickly reached his own hand to hers. I felt like he was shaking the hand of the Wicked Witch of the West—without the green skin.
    “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you out in daylight,” she stated flatly.
    When Alexander and his family moved to Dullsville, Trevor had begun the rumor that the Sterlings were vampires, fueled by Mrs. Mitchell’s remarks. I didn’t want to give my nemesis’s mother any more ammunition for her gossipmongering. Apparently, neither did my mother.
    “Alexander’s homeschooled,” my mother announced.
    You go, Sarah Madison, I thought to myself.
    “Trevor was seeing a girl from Romania,” Mrs. Mitchell said, then turned to Alexander.
    “I believe she was a friend of yours.”
    Alexander shrugged his shoulders. “We lived in the same town as the Maxwells, but we didn’t see one another much.”
    “Interesting,” Mrs. Mitchell retorted. “Anyway, she seems to have suddenly disappeared.”
    Then Mrs. Mitchell glared at me and raised one brown-pencil-drawn eyebrow, as if I’d had something to do with Luna’s departure—which I did.
    “Well, it was great seeing you,” my dad interjected, forcing an end to the horribly awkward conversation.
    “Of course. Mr. Mitchell will be arriving soon and I must get back to my table before they take it away. It was a delight to see you all,” she said, and headed back to her booth.
    “Thank you,” I mouthed to my father.
    We all breathed a collective sigh of relief, for different reasons, as we placed our blue linen napkins on our laps.
    As we perused the menus, I racked my brain for a plan.

    Just then a bearded waiter came over, recited the specials with a fake English accent, and dashed off with our drink orders.
    “Don’t be shy, Alexander,” my mother began. “Order whatever you like. They’re known for their fish and chips and bangers and mash.”
    “Alexander loves steak,” I suggested.
    “Then order the steak…This is great, isn’t it? We really haven’t had a chance to talk.
    Either you two are heading out for the night or we’re surrounded by other parents at parties. It’s great to have the chance for a private conversation.”
    “So what sports are you into?” my dad asked. “Football or basketball?”
    I rolled my eyes. “Alexander’s an artist, Dad. He’s not into sports.”
    “Oh…,” my dad said, fidgeting in his seat, dumbfounded as to how he would communicate with another male now that the subject of athletics was off the table. “Uh…that’s okay,” he stammered. “Raven’s mother used to draw sketches when we first dated.”
    “I didn’t know that,” I said.
    “What do you draw?” Alexander asked eagerly.
    “Oh, that was ages ago. I haven’t touched a sketchbook in years. What is your medium?”
    she asked.
    “Oil