Sender: toni_lattimer@gmail.com
Subject: Question—URGENT
To: “Michael” >vampirewarlord73@gmail.com<

OK…. Michael, I have a bit of a problem. >Is drastically understating the situation<    Since it’s my birthday, my mom “suggested” I invite “someone”. 0_o   Sooooo…. I need you to tell me if you can come or not. (It’s REALLY FINE if you can’t.)
                                   -Toni

I sat at the computer for about seven minutes before the alert popped up—“Michael has just signed in.” and then, a little later, “You have received an email from Michael.”

--
>Yawn< Sure. I’m assuming that the occasion calls for dressing the prep. I’m also assuming that the subject of “me” was brought up because of the dress, in which case she probably thinks (and you probably told her, didn’t you! XD) that I’m a clothing designer or something like that. So yeah, sure, I’ll be there. What time?
                               -Michael
--
My heart sank a few inches, then rose, then fell, as if it wasn’t sure which way it wanted to go. I was happy that I would see him, but very, VERY uneasy about the circumstances. Knowing Michael, though, silver-tongued rogue of a vampire that he was, he would probably be OK with most interrogations.  But that didn’t stop my heart and my stomach from constantly colliding.
“Mom,” I called, “what time?”
“Say about six,” the reply came back.
--

Sender: toni_lattimer@gmail.com
Subject: RE: Question—URGENT

My mom says six. Ish. But please, don’t mess around too much with the “ish”. See you soon.
                      -Toni
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Sender: “Michael” >vampirewarlord73@gmail.com<
Subject: RE: Question—URGENT

I’ll be there—eyeliner, chains, studded belt, and Hot Topic-type-outfit…. you know, very preppy stuff.
0_o
……
Sorry, sorry…I will behave myself. Really, I will.  Anyway, do you have any special instructions??

--
`’`’`’`’`’`’`’`’`’`’`’`’`’`’``’`’`’``
Sender: toni_lattimer@gmail.com
Subject: RE: Question—URGENT

Just don’t act TOO polite and stuff; neither extreme. No “sir” and “ma’am”, just really…. good, for lack of a better term. DO NOT initiate conversation with Nathan; he will talk all our ears off and monopolize all dinner conversation. If conversation
absolutely must be initiated, some good starters would be like what kind of movies they (meaning my parents) have watched lately, things like that. DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT bring up any topic smacking of education or school, if you
can help it at all; this may result in a rather nasty situation. GOT THAT???

--
Sender: “Michael” >vampirewarlord73@gmail.com<
Subject: RE: Question—URGENT

>Uncrosses eyes, blinks and tries not to feel dizzy from barrage of commands<
GOT IT.
But why not talk about school, Toni? I thought you were like on the honor roll and stuff?  Oh, it’s Nathan, right, not you. Nonetheless, I shall refrain. You know, next time you want to talk, consider Instant Messenger.
OK, I’m going to get about an hour more of sleep, agonize over the clothing in my closet, and I’ll be there at 5:57…. Or
SOMEWHERE THEREABOUTS. ^_^

`’`’`’`’``’`’`’`’`’`’`’`’`’`’`’`’`’`’`’`’`’`’`’`’`’`’`’`’`’`’`’`’`’`’`’`’`’`’`’`’`’`’`’`’`’`’`’


The next two hours were ones of significant turmoil for me. I took a shower, picked out something to wear, and fidgeted.
At 5:55, I was periodically looking out the window and trying not to look too nervous, on account of my parents. At 6:01, I was in the kitchen fidgeting with a dishtowel, when the long-awaited knock on the door came. I jumped like a scared rabbit and wondered if it would have been easier just to say that he couldn’t come. But there was nothing for it any more—A
VAMPIRE WAS COMING FOR DINNER. So I walked to the door and opened it.
Michael looked as nervous as I felt. “What am I going to do?” he hissed as soon as the door opened.
“Hello to you too.”
“Oh, sorry.” He backed up a step and slammed the door, then knocked. I reopened it. “Hello, Antonia,” he said nonchalantly.
“Hiya.”
“Now that we’ve dispensed with the pleasantries, what AM I going to do, exactly?”
“You don’t have to eat the whole plate of food, you know. You can just have a really little bit and we’ll pretend you’re anorexic. Actually, no. That would NOT make a good impression. Let’s say you already had dinner. You can always vomit or something afterwards.” I grinned evilly.
“That grin doesn’t look very evil, you know.”
“Oh, well.”
He groaned. “I am going to be soooo sick tomorrow.”
“Hence, why I mentioned the vomiting bit. That’s the only other solution I can think of.” I moved out of the doorway to let him in. “Come on. Dad’s probably downstairs, Nathan is in his room, and Mom is in the pantry. She’ll be here soon.”
“Okay.” He leaned his head against the wall. “Ooo. I’m so jumpy. Luckily it’s me and not Cameron.”
“Cameron doesn’t change much once you get to know him, I take it.”
“Nooo, not much. You’d still have trouble convincing him not to munch through everyone. I can just imagine THAT
scene…not good.”
Now THAT would be a problem, I thought to myself. “Oh Cameron, these are my parents, also known as your Next Meal…” At that moment, however, I heard footsteps up the basement stairs. “Sounds like my mom,” I said, and the next moment she appeared on the landing.
“Voila. You were right,” Michael replied, taking a deep breath, collecting himself, and trying to look as un- boyfriend-like as someone in the Tall/Handsome/Vampire categories can be. Which isn’t much.
I quietly cleared my throat and said, “Mom, he’s here.” She turned as I walked down the hall, Michael following at a much slower pace.
“So this is Michael!” I watched as she plastered a smile onto her face. The split second of insincerity in between, though, was not lost on Michael, who responded in like form with a charmingly innocent smile from beneath his lashes. One could almost hear him say, “If that’s what the people want, then that’s what the people get.”
“And you’re Toni’s mom, I take it. Pleased to meet you.” He extended his hand and she shook it.
“What are we having for dinner, Mom?” Nathan, dressed in dirty rust-red tee and navy sweatpants, sauntered into the kitchen on sock-clad feet.
“Toni has requested that we have steak.” Luckily for me, we had steak in the freezer. The other option was vegetable lasagna—poor Michael would have been REALLY sick.
“Ooh, what’s THAT? Mom, does Toni have a BOYFRIEND?” Nathan pointed at Michael.
I felt I could have easily relinquished Nathan to Michael and Co.’s fangs. My face grew about twelve degrees hotter, and from a furtive glance at Michael, I saw he would have blushed if he could. As things were, he had to settle for turning more chalkier-hued than normal. (I highly suspected he had put on foundation or something, so his face wasn’t quite as dead-looking as it usually did.)
There was silence for a tiny moment, and then Michael rejoined coolly, “No, I’m not her boyfriend.”
(Am I? Am I? Am I?)
(I really couldn’t tell you, Michael. Are you?)
(I can’t tell either.)
“Then why is he here, Toni?” My little brother shot me the kind of look that nine-year-olds usually give when they think their logic is irrefutable.
“Uh, because Mom said I should invite someone.”
The interrogation continued. “What’s your name?”
“Michael.”
“How old are you?”  >NATHAN!! Please just shut up! You’ve got no manners and no decorum whatsoever!!<
“Seventee—actually, I just turned eighteen.” (Seventy-four, actually. Which means one more year…)
“Then you can be her boyfriend. Toni never has boyfriends.” Nathan laughed and looked around importantly, as if he’d just won an Academy Award.  >For what? LEAST Supporting Young…. Brother?<
“Okay, Nathan, calm down and don’t be so hyper.” My mom, having learned all she needed to know, tried to civilly wind down the questioning. Nathan ran down to the basement, screeching and shouting the whole way.
(Okay…NOW I see why you wanted me to try to not talk to him.)
(Isn’t it awful??!)
(Don’t worry about it. He’s totally trying to upset you. Good job on not letting him.)
“Dinner will be ready in about ten minutes,” my mom said, getting a bag of frozen broccoli out of the freezer.
“OK.” I gave Michael the two-minute run over of the house, skipping Nathan’s room, and ended up back at the living room. “What did you mean by one more year?”
“Oh, I’ll be seventy-five and then I won’t be quite so “young” anymore, you know?”
“No. I don’t know.”
“Well, I guess it’s kind of like turning eighteen or twenty-one. Only just older….something like that.”
“Ah.”
“That’s why Cameron idolizes Andrei so much, although he’d never admit that fact. He’s got a REALLY long way to go yet, and Andrei’s the oldest of us anyway. However, it causes a problem, I’ve heard, if Cameron wants to buy something alcoholic….only Andrei can legally drink. He’s twenty-one and Cameron’s sixteen, so.”
“Ooh, so he has to show his driver’s license and stuff, doesn’t he. Well, Cameron’s would say he was…twenty-five, so that’s not all THAT bad. But YOU two…oh, I’m not sure how that would work.”
“If one doesn’t insist on drinking, one doesn’t have to show ones license.” Michael shrugged. “Or just get someone else to buy it. But speeding we have to be careful about…it’s a sore spot with all three of us.” He flopped down on the chair closest to him.