Alexander and I were on display, as if we were in the spotlight on a Broadway stage. The soft candlelight couldn't mask the occasional lingering gaze or whispers from the other pubsters.
However, I had other things on my mind. Aside from worrying about being an outcast, I had to figure out how Alexander and I were going to get to the library before Valentine did.
Or maybe we were already too late. I 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 paint."
"What is your specialty?" my mom inquired.
"Portraits. Family. Memories," Alexander responded mysteriously.
"Vampires," I said proudly.
My parents paused. "I see you have a lot in common," my dad commented.
"Raven's exams are coming up," my mom began, fiddling with her silver bracelet. "She said you were already taking your homeschool exams?"
"Yes. I've completed them."
"That's very impressive. Maybe some of your study habits will rub off on Raven," my dad added.
"Dad!" I whined, sinking in my chair. "Maybe we could finish with the interrogation after we order."
"You're right," my father agreed. "I'm hungry."
The waiter returned with our drinks. "Ladies," the waiter said, holding his paper and pen.
"I'll take the Cricket burger, well done," I said.
"I'll have the fish and chips," my mother said with a smile.
"For the young gentleman?"
Alexander cleared his throat. "I'll have the rib-eye steak."
"How would you like that prepared?"
"Raw," Alexander said matter-of-factly.
My parents and the waiter looked at my boyfriend oddly.
"He means rare," I corrected. "Medium rare."
I could see Mrs. Mitchell's head lean ever so slightly out of her booth.
"Yes, that's what I meant," he said with a strained grin.
"And you, sir?"
"I'll have the shepherd's pie," my dad ordered, "and the green garlic and pea soup."
The waiter took our menus and scampered off to the kitchen as Alexander glared at me.
"What did you order, Dad?" I asked, horrified.
"Shepherd's pie."
"No—the soup."
"Green garlic. Why, would you like to order some? We can get the waiter."
All at once, I imagined the plate of green garlic and pea soup being placed within smelling distance of my vampire boyfriend. Alexander would wheeze; then he'd turn even more deathly pale than he already was. He'd stand up, staggering and gasping for air. We were miles away from the Mansion, Jameson, and Alexander's life-saving antidote.
"No—Alexander is deathly allergic to garlic!" I panicked. "We have to stop them; they can't bring it out!"
My dad's easygoing disposition turned to concern. He tossed his napkin on the table. "I'll cancel that immediately," he announced, and hurried off to find the waiter.
"I'm so sorry," my mother apologized. "Can he eat nuts?"
"Yes, it's just garlic he can't handle."
My dad returned to our table. "I changed it to a vegetable soup. You're not allergic to green beans, are you?" my dad teased.
We all laughed.
"That's an odd allergy," my dad said. "How long have you had that?"
"All my life. My whole family is allergic," Alexander said innocently. "They've always been."
"Ahem," I said, clearing my throat.
I was getting overheated. My face was starting to flush and my heart was throbbing. First of all I was out on a double date with my parents; secondly my date was a vampire; and thirdly at any moment between the stacks of Abstract Algebra and Mathematics in Action, my brother might be meeting up with a tween bloodsucker.
"Excuse me," I said, shooting my chair back, "I'll just be a moment."
Alexander rose politely, like a southern gentleman, as I rushed off to the ladies' room.
I was walking around the crowded bar when I bumped into someone.
"Excuse me," I apologized.
"Following me to restaurants now?" a familiar voice said. I looked up. My heartbeat screeched to a halt. It was Trevor.