Not Another Vampire Story - 4
4. Starting Again
PG13. Tween, humor, middle school, angst, vampires, serial, teen, fiction, summer. #ReadFree
Suggested Music: J-Pop AudioNetwork
Ahh, warm summer nights, ice cream, soft smiles . . . and something lurking beneath his fantastic grin.
Two days later Sylvia had stopped blushing. Her impromptu striptease act by the pool was still on her mind, but she'd stopped clutching the extra material on her pajamas in her sleep and waking up in a cold sweat.
Holly hadn't forgot it, but Sylvia had enough damage on her friend to make sure Holly didn't breathe a word to anyone they knew. At least Holly had grabbed the towel and not her cell phone. Besides, she knew where Holly kept her Kanjani8 CDs...
Just as the dust settled and life tried to return to normal for Sylvia, Julia decided it was time for Terry to come to dinner at the Burns house. She even convinced their mom to make lasagna and Caesar salad. The garlic bread they bought from Dahlia's Artisan Breads, Julia's favorite.
Holly was supposed to be gone by the time Terry arrived Thursday evening, but she was lagging, hoping to get a glimpse of Julia's new guy. She lounged near Sylvia's bed, belly down on the carpet and feet swinging in the air as KAT-TUN's Freedom played in the bedroom. Sylvia sat cross-legged across from her on the floor, eyes moving dreamily over the CD case, smiling at Junno.
Holly gave the CD player a look of disgust as the mellow tune bopped along. "What the hell is this, Sylvi? The soundtrack to the Kirby game or something?"
Sylvia frowned, holding the case closer. "No."
"Sure sounds like it." Holly turned back to her volume of Fruits Basket.
"It's not juvenile at all. It's so soft. Smooth. We should appreciate these mellow sounds."
"You read that on some review site?" Holly shook her head, her straightened hair barely moving. "It sounds like it belongs in an arcade game."
Sylvia looked to the clock on the desk, what little of it she could see of it past the mounds of I'm wearing that tomorrow clothes stuff. So the room was a mess. It was summer. She knew where all her important things were. Stacks of paperback books she'd meant to read during break lined one wall, while her manga collection—pristine condition—was categorized by author and release date on the only organized shelf in the room.
"Speaking of juvenile," she said, nudging Holly's book with her toe—a recently trimmed, blood-red painted toenail, to be precise, courtesy of Julia—and quickly pulling it back. "I tried the first one. Tohru's not the sharpest knife in the drawer."
"But she's such a sweetheart. She looks out for everyone." Holly moved the manga from Sylvia's abusive foot. "She's got Yuki's attention, you bet, and Kyo's."
"They're just tired of their standard charcoal-rich diet. Besides, there're all those secrets they each carry. What a bummer." Sylvia leaned her back on the half-made bed, sighing. "Can't even bump up against any of them; they'll turn all zodiac. Where's the fun in that?"
Holly closed her eyes, inhaling the aroma of tomato, basil, and cheese wafting down the hall. "Lasagna," she breathed.
"Yeah, well, I can't ask you to stay. I wish I could. But he's coming over." Sylvia looked to the clock again. "In fact..."
"I'm going." Holly grumbled, slowly getting to her feet and pulling down her short-shorts cuffs, hitching her belt loops higher. "I can't wait for these styles to pass and we can go back to normal waistlines. These make my rolls spill out. I got double muffin-tops."
Sylvia nodded. "I hate all these pinch-points." She watched Holly collect her manga and CDs.
"Give me the 411 later."
"Yup."
An hour later the table was set in the modest Burns house dining room with French classic white dishes, matching salad bowls, etched clear tumblers, and their best silverware. Sylvia knew this because she was in charge of arranging the tableware while her mom and Julia finished the salad and mixed iced tea. The instant kind, with lemon, and lots of ice.
Sylvia had seen a lot of guys pass through Julia's life; rich ones, cute ones, handsome ones, good-hearted but dirt-poor ones. None of them had ever earned a lasagna dinner, however. She wondered how Terry rated such an occasion. And so early in the relationship.
He arrived promptly at seven o'clock, and Julia—in her best little black dress and strappy heels—answered the door. Sylvia hung back by the kitchen doorway, her own cargo shorts and pale pink tank top an odd comparison to her sister's attire. Even their mom hadn't gotten into the dress code. She was her usual self, gauze skirt in spectrum colors and fringe-trimmed plum camisole, bare feet, and carved bone and jade necklace of chunky ovals. Their mom had never got past her earthy bohemian college days. Being an assistant professor at Ohio State University didn't help, either.
Terry stepped into the living room, handing Julia a bouquet of tiger lilies and giving her an easy kiss on the cheek.
"You're right on time," Julia said, taking his hand and leading him to the kitchen.
For a moment, as her sister and Terry headed straight for Sylvia, she felt as if she were facing a train head-on. Julia was leading, her face beaming, hand clenched in his. Terry looked directly at Sylvia, and she felt his brown eyes peer directly into her, like he could see the very bottom of her soul. But he smiled, perfect even teeth, cleanly shaven face, smelling of musk as he stepped nearer.
"Hello, Sylvia," he said, taking her hand and kissing the back of it before it occurred to her to move.
Her first kiss. . .
Didn't count, she thought hurriedly.
She only stared at the top of his dark hair—nearly black—as he briefly bent over her hand, lips warm against her skin below her knuckles. He looked at her, smiling, wiggling her fingers when she didn't move.
"Hi," she finally squeaked out, hoping he wouldn't say anything about the pool or the wardrobe malfunction. Her cheeks began to grow hot, and she withdrew her hand.
"Hello, Ms. Burns," he sad, turning to her mom as Sylvia flexed her hand, willing circulation to return to her brain. "It smells wonderful in here."
Sylvia watched with dismay as her mom blushed, tossing an 'Oh, it's nothing; just a little lasagna' at him, giggling like a bashful milk maid, and disappeared back into the kitchen. She saw Julia and Terry take seats in the love seat in the living room, her sister's legs crossed at the ankles, her knees pressing against his. He cupped Julia's hand in his own, looking to Sylvia.
In that flash of a moment, Sylvia felt the hair on the back of her neck rise, something she couldn't quite determine in his grin. Julia was right: he was gorgeous, but not in one of those artificial by-golly-he-has-to-work-at-it ways. He was honestly the best-looking guy she'd ever seen.
Sylvia shook her head and snapped Junno's photo back into her mind. Sorry, Junno.
"Julia says you're going into eighth grade this year," Terry said. Beside him Julia gestured to a chair.
"Sit down," she said.
"I gotta help Mom." Sylvia pulled her eyes away from the couple and went to the kitchen. Her mom was fanning herself with an oven mitt, a preoccupied look on her face.
"Boy, he's a looker," her mom said, waving the mitt faster, taking a deep breath.
"Mom, you're embarrassing."
Her mom opened the oven door. "Hot flashes are normal."
Sylvia found a spatula server in the utensil drawer. "Not until menopause, they're not."
Her mom pulled back the tinfoil and steam rolled out of the lasagna pan.
"You let him call you Ms. Burns, not Ms. Collins," Sylvia pointed out. Collins was her mom's maiden—and now divorced—name.
"I'll overlook that.”
And so it went. Sylvia sat in awe as her mom and Julia both made clever small talk with the guy who'd seen her topless—well, not full frontal topless; she'd had her back to him—and whose gentlemanly manners would've shamed the best lady-killer into therapy. Julia sat there sipping lemon iced tea like a southern belle, her mom like an avant-guarde Streetcar Named Desire wanna-be, on the enclosed porch in the soft evening breeze after dinner.
Like some warped kittens lapping up milk, Sylvia thought, sitting across from them. In the dark, with Julia half-hugged Terry's arm, Sylvia caught a glimpse of a small square patch of tan on his arm, just below the navy polo shirt sleeve. The logo on the shirt was one she'd seen before—she'd worn his t-shirt with the same name.
Dakmarr-Moore Pharmaceuticals.
Which made him Terry Dakmarr, Valtieri Dakmarr, actually—an old family name, he'd explained to their enchanted mom over dinner.
When Julia stood up to get dessert, peaches and French vanilla ice cream that was coming to temperature in the kitchen, Sylvia followed.
In the bright light of the kitchen Sylvia could see better the look of rapture pasted on Julia's face. "Good grief, you're like a love-struck fangirl, Julia."
The older girl shrugged, scooping out peaches into four small dessert bowls on the counter. "Why not? He's so nice, and handsome."
"Yeah, well, Mom's being ridiculous." Sylvia drew her finger across the top of the ice cream in the tub.
Julia swatted her finger with the ice cream scooper. "A few manners wouldn't kill you, Sylvi."
"He's wearing a patch." Sylvia popped her finger of white cream into her mouth. "A nicotine patch. He's a smoker. You hate smokers."
"He's quitting."
She watched Julia top the peaches with ice cream. "He's not perfect."
"I never said he was."
"Yes, you did."
Julia turned to her, leaning closer. "And he doesn't smell like smoke. I dare you to find something else wrong with him. He's scrumptious, and he's mine."
Sylvia shrugged. "Okay. Yeah, but . . ." She watched Julia finish adding ice cream. "He doesn't look twenty. He looks older."
"If I tell you, Sylvi," Julia's tone now took on a no-nonsense deadliness, "you promise you won't say anything to Mom?"
Ooh, blackmail material, Sylvia thought. She nodded until her ponytail was doing figure-eights in the air. "Promise."
"Promise on your KAT-TUN collection?"
Sylvia made a disgusting face. "Why don't you just make it my first born?"
"Promise?" The ice cream scoop was dripping over the tub, posed in Julia's hand.
"I promise."
A sly smile came to Julia's lips. "He's twenty-three."
Sylvia's eyes opened wide. "No shit?"
"Shut up, you moron." Julia looked to the doorway quickly. Their mom's low laughter came from the porch. "Don't tell anyone, even Holly. Especially Holly."
"Okay, okay." Sylvia thought for a moment, catching and licking off the ice cream scoop as Julia attempted to put it in the sink. "Mom would make you dump him."
"I know. Let's go." Julia handed her two dessert bowls. "Keep your trap shut, Sylvi."
"Okay. I got it."
They made their way back to the screened porch where their mom was smiling at Terry. In those fleeting seconds, in the meek light from the half moon, Sylvia looked full into Terry's face.
He returned her a secretive grin.
It was at that moment she knew Julia was in deep.
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Thanks to Sakurapu for sharing her story!
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