I examined Michael’s hair. “You—you cut your bangs?”
“Just a little in front, I left the sides alone. It’ll be all grown back in an hour or so. First impressions are the most important, particularly in this sort of situation, I guess. I just didn’t want your parents to get…uh, the…right impression?” Michael looked slightly guilty.
“And what  IS the right impression?”
“Um, Hardcore-Goth-Emo-looking-Vampire-Fanboy?”
“Good point.” I grinned. “They don’t need to see that—or that you’re slightly more than just a fan of vampires.”
“ ‘S what I thought too.”
For a little while there was silence, which grew acutely uncomfortable as we looked at everything in the room except each other.
“Awkward—silence,” said Michael.
“You mean a penny for my thoughts or something like that?”
“That really should be updated. No one, absolutely no one, would trade thoughts for a penny, with the rates of inflation and all. Thoughts are too valuable, so yes, a dollar for your thoughts.”
(But you read my thoughts without my knowing and I think they’re valuable.)
“You did say something to me, right?”  He looked up at me quizzically.
“I-think so. Did you hear me?”
“That’s funny. Usually I have to start the talking. But yeah, I heard you. I don’t just go barging in on your thoughts though. That would be totally rude and stuff. So rest secure, if you can start talking to me, you’d know when I was in your head. I’m rather worried about dinner myself—scared out of my skin.”
“Aw, it’s OK.”
He grimaced. “Why do puppy-eyes on YOU look cuter  than puppy-eyes on ME? Look at this.”  He jumped up suddenlyand stood in front of the mirror, taking me with him. “Look at this. You are undeniably cute. So are you going to cry this time when I tell you how you look?”
“Nooo, only if I tried,..”
“Fake tears don’t count.”
“Well, when you’re little it does. Boy, I manipulated my parents SO much when I was young…people don’t give kids nearly enough credit when it comes to evil-ness.”
“Well, here’s the way I think of it—every kid has manipulated at least one person in their lives at least once.”
“Exactly. And usually a lot more than one.”
He leaned his head on my shoulder. “I could stand here all day.”
“That’s sweet,” I said facetiously.
“Huh? Why?”
“Huh?!”
He laughed, throwing his head back. “I’m terribly narcissistic, actually. Even if I can’t see myself anymore, I’m still just the same when it comes to vanity.”
“Jeez, you are seriously crazy.”
“Mh-hmm. You’re crazy too, you know that?”
“Yeah…you haven’t seen me at school though.  I have officially been labeled a nerd.”
“Somehow, though, it’s not as much fun to keep people wrapped around one’s finger all the time, is it?”
I wasn’t sure how this tied in with the present discussion. “What do you mean?"
“Let me see. Well, people are basically sheep, all you need to do is find their incentives and you can be the shepherd. They just divide into nasty little cliques like that because they’re terrified of being alone. Put your leadership on their terms so they can understand it, and don’t lose yourself, and they’ll really take you up on it. That was kind of a long oratory, but do you get it?”
“I think so.”
“Good. I’m not saying that’s what you need to do, but it’s always nice to have the upper hand…especially in a nasty thing like a high school.”
“I’m sick of it.  I want to graduate early, so that means only one more year.”
“College, then?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“And then what after college, Toni?”
“Probably write, I want to be an author or something close to that field, anyway.”
He sat down on the sofa. “And what are you going to do after college, Toni?”
“Write?” He was hanging on the question marks at the ends of my sentences, holding them out in front of me. “And what are you going to do after you write your life away, Toni?”
“Whatever happens, get married or whatever, if that ever happens.”
“And what then, Toni?”
“Settle down?”
“The quintessential settle-down. And what after that?”
“Uh, die?”
He pounced on the last question mark. “Why?”
“Look, I’m barely sixteen. I don’t even have a driver’s license yet.”
“Red herring.”
“Red herring to what? You’re trying to freak me out.”
“Oh…true, true. Do you want me to stop freaking you out?”
“Wow, you ARE trying to push my buttons.”
“Yeah, I am, I guess.”
I sat down on the opposite end of the sofa. Michael sighed.
“What?” I asked.
“I dunno. Just feeling really weird. Maybe it borders on angsty.”
“Care to elaborate?”
“I really don’t know how to describe it. Maybe it’s exclusive to being Undead or something. I find that my mood changes about every ten minutes now. You know that feeling when you’re laughing outside and crying inside and you have to keep
it all in? It’s like that, but when I want to be myself, it’s as if I’ve forgotten who I am. I can’t find myself anymore. I’m totally alone.”
“Is it different having friends when you’re a vampire?”
“They  know all about you and you know all about them, but neither of you can connect, really. It’s different.”
I held out my hand and he took it.
“Are you alone now?” I asked him.
He studied my face. “Nooo…I don’t think so. Well, I’m still alone, but now we’re both alone together. “
“I guess that’s a way of putting it.”
For  the next few minutes, we were quiet. Until we heard the call for dinner.
“Ah, the fateful call,” Michael sighed again, standing.
“Chin up,” I said, “deep breath--not that it matters for you—and smile with your mouth closed.”
“Right.” He stuck his chin in the air, inhaled and gave me a sort of smirk.
“Almost. Don’t leer-try to make that a smile. You’re happy. Happy. Happy!”
“Happy. Got it,” he said, as if he were going to a close friend’s funeral. Then he smiled and said, “Okay. Let’s go.”
We walked to the table and sat down. Luckily, we were the first, because Nathan was still upstairs—he usually didn’t come down until Mom had called twice.
“Happy. Cheerful. Glad. Joyful. Not being a vampire. Charming,” Michael was muttering quietly. “Got it.”
Well, at least he’s got the right idea, I thought.
My dad came up from the basement. “Happy sixteenth, Toni. And who’s your friend?”
Hi, Dad. That was possibly the worst wording you could have used. “My friend Michael.”
The subject of the conversation stood and shook hands, and they went through the normal range of introductions. “Mom said I should invite someone,” I explained.
Once Mom and Nathan came to the table, dinner began in earnest. Except that Nathan was squirming and staring at Michael, and Michael was mentally squirming and staring at Nathan. Boys, I thought.
“Toni, I’m assuming you want your piece cooked through?” Dad asked as he cut the steak.
“Oh. Yes please.” It seemed obvious to me that we didn’t have dinner together every night, as I passed my plate to Nathan, who spun it around a few times before handing it to Dad. I rolled my eyes.
“Michael, what piece do you want?”
“As rare as it gets.”
I grinned.
“Ah, almost raw.” Dad cut a piece out of the middle.
“Yeah, ever since I tried beef tartar, I’ve liked it better this way. The stuff looks absolutely terrible, but it’s actually very good.” Nathan made a gagging noise and Michael smiled.
(So have you REALLY tried beef tartar?)
(Nope. Almost everything I say tonight will be prevaricated.)
(Oh…!)
(I suppose you’ rather have the unvarnished bloody truth?)
(Nooo…carry on.)
(Right, m’lady!)
My  father passed Michael’s plate to my mom, who put about five broccoli florets on his plate. Michael looked at me worriedly.
(Toni, steak I can work with, but I’m a red-blooded VAMPIRE. I don’t DO vegetables.)
(B-b-but what are we going to do?)
(Haven’t a clue. )
(OK, here’s what we’ll do. One of those UGTSOTMPs…Uber-Genius-Toni’s Spur Of-The-Moment-Plans.)
(You are so totally insane.)
(Anyway, spear a piece of broccoli and hold your fork under the table and I’ll get it off your fork and onto mine.)
(Do you honestly think that will work?)
(GOT A BETTER IDEA, GENIUS BOY??!)
(Not really. With a lot of dexterity, that might work…) Once he got his plate back, he appeared to be very busy cutting his steak into pieces the size of my pinky nail.  He didn’t look as if he thought the mashed potatoes were any good either. But then everything happened at the same time. I had just barely put some potatoes into my mouth, Michael had taken a forkful and was preparing to eat it, and Nathan was asking Mom what was in the potatoes.
“Actually, Nathan,” she was saying, “it’s your favorite, the Roasted Garlic kind.”
“I THOUGHT so!” he said.
Michael choked. Almost as a reflex, I kicked him on the shin as hard as I could manage.
“Ow!” He leaned under the table and spat the potatoes into his napkin.
“Did I kick you? Sorry, I was trying to move my leg.”
(Smooth, Toni. Very funny. But thank you.)
A bit later, between the two of us, we had managed to finish off his broccoli. The potatoes proved quite unmanageable, so those we left on his plate and decided, for all practical purposes, Michael had a bad allergic reaction to alliums.