The Watchers [A story of getting that pesky "vampire gene"] prologue!

Chapter 2: A Bloody Lunch and an Unexpected Guest. And that Adorable Ryan Derricks!

Lunch offers some release from the doldrums of Clearview High. With my five other friends, we claim the corner table, as we usually do every day. I always like to sit in the corner part of the corner (is there such a thing??), so I can see everybody and nobody can see me. I guess I’m just weird that way.

Mackenzie cannot stop talking about the new Irish boy. The biggest gossip in the sophomore class, she is already making up rumors about him.

"I hear he was kicked out of Ireland because he refused to play soccer!" She whispers excitedly.

The other girls gasp as if a naughty word has reached their dainty ears. Melanie points to a table in another corner of the lunchroom. "Ooh, there he is!"

The boy sits by himself in the exact same spot as I, watching everybody. I can’t help but notice everything about him. His hair catches the sun falling through the skylight and the tomato-y locks turn a vibrant golden color. Every movement seems fluid, timed. It’s as if he is aware of exactly what he is doing at all times. More than once his gaze rests on my face, but I’m too transfixed to look away. Every time, his expression is different. Once, it is confusion, as if he doesn’t understand why I can see him and only him in a lunchroom of three hundred people. Another time, it seems awash with understanding, as if he is recognizing an old friend. Another time, it is almost. . .sad .

Meanwhile, my friends continue with their conversation about him. Only some of it breaks through my trance.

Jill interjects, "Wait, wait, is he an exchange student?"

Emma shrugs and says, "I hear he’s living with some relatives."

Jenny’s voice gains noticeable excitement. "So does that mean he’s staying for a while?"

"I hope so," escapes my lips before I am able to stop it.

The lunch table goes completely silent. "Ooh, you like him!" is the common phrase giggled.

I blush and mutter, "I do not! I’m just saying. . . uh. . .I hope he stays because I hope he gets to make some friends. . . he he. . ."

All my stupid, ditzy friends believe me. Thank heavens. But I ask myself internally, What did you mean by that "I hope so?" I can’t even answer.

A shriek reverberates off the walls of the cafeteria. Every head turns to the center of the room. Genevieve Finiciaro explodes from her seat and starts waving her hand frantically. "Somebody help me!!! I cut my hand open!!!"

A mixed response of gasps, giggles, and "oh no"s answers. The bitter, salty scent of blood fills the room as a cherry red substance gushes from her hand like syrup from a bottle (sorry for the gross simile, but that’s exactly what it looked like!). All eyes are on Genevieve but mine. I watch as Liam suddenly gets up from his seat and rushes to the door near our table. His hand is covering his nose and mouth, as if he’s going to throw up. His eyes are down as he hurries to the exit. Before he bursts through the double doors, he looks back once at the bleeding girl, and my veins freeze up and a lump forms in my throat.

His irises are red. Blood red.

I spend the rest of my lunch staring at the door.

For the remainder of the day, I am shaken up about Liam. There could be any number of reasons why his eyes appeared red. Trick of the light? Someone took a picture? He’s wearing color-change contacts? Regardless of how much logic I try to inject into the problem, it still frightens me. His demonic eyes remind me of the bald man and his cryptic statement: "We will be watching you." Is this boy a sign? Are they watching me right now? Is he watching me? All these thoughts rampage in my mind until the end of the day.

I can only squeak out an awkward "Hi?" My face is reminiscent of a strawberry.

"So, uh," he goes on, "Angelica, I want to wish you a happy birthday. It is your birthday today, right?"

I nod nervously.

"Great! So, I was wondering: maybe sometime we could, you know, hang out or something?"

Oh my God.

"Sure. . .that would be awesome."

He smiles, showing off his perfect teeth that match his perfect face. And his perfect body. And his perfect clothes. Oh, I could go on and on. "Great! Here, add your number in."

I take his phone, and he takes mine.

"Thanks," he says. "I will definitely be calling you soon. See you later." He turns and heads down the hallway. It takes all the self-control I have to keep from doing backflips right then and there.

That would have been the perfect end to my birthday, but there are more surprises on the way.

At six o’clock, I return home from soccer practice. Did I mention I play up on varsity? Yeah, I’ve been playing soccer for nearly eight years now. It’s just a shame those skills never come in handy. . .

I peer around into the driveway. Nope, no new car. At least, not for me. There is, however, an extra car parked in front of Dad’s beat-up Jeep. A black porsche. Which could only mean. . .

I run through the front door. Dad is sitting on the couch in the family room across from somebody. She has pasty white skin, corn yellow hair, icy blue eyes, and the body of a model. She notices me and smiles. "Hello, Angelica."

I am stunned. "Hi, Mom."