"She sounded like she really kind of meant it. It took a lot for her to come eat crow like that."
Eve shot her a look. One of those looks, doubly effective coming from a girl wearing rice-powder makeup and flawless eye liner and black cherry lips. "In Monica's world, being friends means doing whatever Monica wants, when Monica wants to do it. Somehow, I can't see you as one of her brain-dead backup singers."
"No! That's not — I didn't say I was going to be her friend, just — you asked." Claire crossed her arms and settled back in the bucket seat of Eve's ancient black Caddy, shooting for a stubborn look. "She's not my friend, okay? You're my friend."
"So when Monica starts bringing the in-crowd to hang at your study table, you'll get up and leave? No way. You're too nice. Before you know it, you're tagging along with them, and then you start to actually feel sorry for them. You'll tell me how Monica's not bad, she's just misunderstood, and before you know it you're braiding each others' hair and giggling over boy bands."
Claire made a retching sound. "I wouldn't do that."
"Please. You like everybody. You even like me. You like Shane, and let's face it, Shane's kind of an idiot, at least right now." Eve's eyes narrowed as she thought about that. "And about Shane, I swear, if he doesn't snap out of it I'm going to punch him in the face. Well, punch him in the face and then run like hell."
Claire played that out in her head, and nearly laughed. Eve's best possible punch wouldn't do more than surprise Shane, she figured, but she could just picture the wounded look of confusion on his face. What the hell did I do?
"I'm not popular," she declared. "Monica's not my friend, and I'm not hanging with her, ever, end of story."
"Swear?"
Claire held up her hand. "Swear."
"Huh." Eve didn't sound convinced. "Whatev."
"Look, if we're friends, how about buying me a mocha?"
"Mooch."
"You're the one with the job."
###
Mid-afternoon, and it was raining, which was kind of a rarity — a cold early fall rain that came down in glittering sheets. Claire, like about ninety percent of the other students, hadn't thought to bring an umbrella, so she sloshed along miserably along the Quadrangle, past the empty benches and rain-soaked message boards, toward her Chem Lab. She loved Chem Lab. She hated rain. She hated being soaked to the skin and frankly, living in this part of Texas, it wasn't usually that much of a risk. There was no room in her backpack for anything frivolous, like a raincoat. She worried her books were getting soggy, but the backpack was supposed to be waterproof ...
"You look cold," said a voice from behind her, and then the cold rain cut off, and she heard the hollow thump of raindrops hitting the thin skin of an umbrella. Claire looked up, blinked water out of her eyes, and saw she was walking under a golf umbrella big enough for four or five of her ... or one of her, plus the guy holding the umbrella. Because he was huge. Also, cute, in that big-boned football player kind of way. He would have made Shane look small. Well-proportioned, though, so the height (had to be at least 6'5", Claire thought) and weight just seemed right on him. He had chocolate-brown skin and gorgeous brown eyes, and he seemed ... kind of nice.
"I'm Jerome," he said. "Hey."
"Hey," she said back, still amazed that somebody who was clearly somebody would stop to hang an umbrella over her head. "Thanks. Um, I'm Claire. Hi."
She juggled her dripping backpack to her other hand and offered him her right. He took it and shook. His was about three times as large, big enough (she bet) to cup most of an entire football.
He was wearing a TPU athletic department t-shirt. No mystery about his major.
"Where you heading, Claire?"
"Chem Lab," she said, and pointed at the building, which was about a football field length away, on the other side of the Quad. He nodded and steered that direction. "Look, it's nice of you, but you don't have to — "
"It's no problem." He smiled at her. He had dimples. "I hear the ScienceBuilding is nice this time of year. And anything for a friend."
"But I'm not — "
Jerome nodded to a group of girls standing huddled together under the awning of the Language Arts building. Pretty girls. In the center of them was Monica Morrell, and she blew Jerome a flirty sort of kiss.
"Oh," Claire said. "That friend." Her estimate of Jerome fell by several dozen notches, hit bottom, and started digging for China. "Look, I appreciate it, but I'm not sugar. I won't melt."
She veered away and walked fast. Jerome took about two long strides and put the umbrella over her again without comment. She glared at him.
He lifted an eyebrow. "I can play this game this all day."
"Fine," she said. "But I don't need favors from Monica."
"Girl, it's an umbrella, not a Lamborghini," he pointed out. Way too reasonably. "I'm not even lending it to you. It's not really that much of a favor."
She kept her mouth shut, head down, and walked fast. Jerome stopped at the foot of the Science Building's stairs, and she bounded up and darted under the concrete porch, which was already choked with other students hiding from the rain. She looked back down. Jerome smiled and waved, and a bronze or copper bracelet caught her eye.
He was Protected. Probably a native of Morganville.
"I'm not her friend. That was not my fault," she complained, defending herself to an Eve who wasn't even there.
And then she sneezed, sniffled, and dragged her soggy butt to class.
###
The rain kept up all day and all night, but the next day dawned bright and shiny, with a pale silver sun not quite as fierce as Claire expected. Kind of nice, actually. She'd already showered by the time Eve stumbled into the bathroom, looking more like the walking dead than most vampires, mumbled something, and ignored Claire as she started up the shower again. Claire finished at the sink and hurried down the stairs. She found Michael at the coffeepot, emptying the filter of cold grounds. Deeply weird that he was more of a morning person as a vampire. Maybe he was just enjoying having a morning again, instead of becoming a floaty ghost at dawn.
"Eve's up. You'd better make it so dark the spoon melts."
Michael shot her a half-smile, still almost lethal enough to stop a girl's heart. Luckily he knew just how much current to use on his charm. "That bad, huh?"
She thought about it for a second as she took down a bowl, the box of Rice Krispies, and found the milk behind the bottles of beer —contraband, from Shane — in the fridge. "You've seen that movie where the zombies eat people's brains?"
"Night of the Living Dead?"
"The zombies would run if they got a look at her."
Michael spooned extra coffee into the fresh filter. He looked good, she thought. Strong, tall, confident. He had on a nice blue shirt and some not-so-ratty blue jeans, and he was wearing shoes. Running shoes, sure, but shoes. Claire stared at his feet. "You're going out," she said.
"Got a job," Michael said serenely. "Working at JT's Music over on Third Street, ten to close. Mostly I'll be demoing guitars and selling them, but JT said he'd let me do some private lessons if I wanted."
That was so ... normal. Really normal. Claire bit her lip and tried to organize the explosion of questions in her brain. "Ah — what about the sun?" she asked. Because that seemed to be the first hurdle.
"They issued me a car," Michael said. "It's in the garage. Fully sunproofed. And there's underground parking at JT's. There is most places."
"Issued — who issued you a car?" He shot her a you're not stupid look. "The town? Amelie?"
He didn't answer directly as he slid the filter compartment shut and turned on the brew switch. The machine began wheezing and peeing into the pot. "They tell me it's standard procedure," he said. "For new vampires."