Argh. Ivy couldn’t bear it. How do I reject them without being mean?
She lunged for her bag, searching for something she could use as a shield. Textbooks wouldn’t work, but maybe . . . Yes! She could feel a small paperback inside. Maybe if I’m totally absorbed in reading, people will leave me alone!
She snatched the paperback out of her bag and opened it to the middle section, as if she were already halfway through. Almost burying her face in it, she began to fake-read without even looking at the cover, screwing up her face in an expression of intense concentration.
Behind her, she heard someone gasp. Then someone else whispered, ‘Is she really reading . . . that ?’
‘I can’t believe it,’ another girl murmured. ‘Of all the people I never thought would read that book –’
Um . . .? Ivy blinked and switched from fake-reading to real-reading.
‘He clasped her in an embrace so tight, she could not escape . . . nor did she want to. She would be his prisoner of love . . . forever!’
Ivy stifled a groan. Oh, no.
She knew that awful writing style and that unintentionally funny romance vibe. This was Bare Throats at Sunset by S. K. Reardon! Ivy had become friends with his daughter Holly this summer, but she’d been outraged by the way the book presented vampires. Still, Lillian had insisted that Ivy should give it another try, claiming it was the ultimate guilty pleasure. Ivy had finally stuck it in her bag last week just to make her stepmom happy. She’d planned to read it when no one was looking.
Now everyone was looking – and she’d practically plastered her face to the pages in her attempt to keep people away from her. She must have looked as if she were loving it!
Ivy’s face burned. Everyone’s going to think I have the worst taste ever!
. . . Hey, wait! A sudden flutter of hope sparked inside her. If they think I actually enjoy this book, maybe they’ll stop thinking I’m cool. Maybe they’ll realise I’m actually just . . . uh . . . warm?
But the next conversation she heard destroyed her hope.
‘Wow . . . Maybe that book isn’t so bad, after all.’
‘If Ivy likes it . . .’
‘I’m going to get a copy, too.’
‘Maybe we should re-evaluate S.K. Reardon. He may have made a serious contribution to literature.’
I can’t believe this! Ivy slammed down the book on the table, fighting the impulse to scream.
‘Or maybe not,’ another girl whispered. ‘I think she’s turned against it.’
Ivy closed her eyes and counted to ten. When she finally thought she could hold herself back, she opened her eyes again and reached for her burger. Just as her fingers touched it, she stilled. Wait a minute. Maybe it’s not too late to prove that I’m un-cool.
What if she ate messily – and not just a little messily, but horribly, sloppily, like a pig? Then the other kids would have to stop mooning over her!
It’s worth a try. Steeling herself, she grabbed her burger and took a huge, messy bite. Ketchup exploded over her chin and cheeks, through the air, on to the table . . .
. . . and just as she smeared it across her face, she looked up to find her boyfriend staring down at her in disbelief.
Oh, no!
Ivy wanted to disappear.
Brendan’s eyes widened as his gaze went from her ketchup-smeared face to the ketchup she had sprayed across the table.
It’s OK, Ivy told herself, trying to slow her suddenly rocketing heart-rate. We’ve been together for a long time. He knows this isn’t really me. Right?
As she sat frozen, unable to speak, Brendan’s lips twitched. Then he began to laugh.
‘Uh . . . you want one of these, maybe?’ Still laughing, he handed her a paper napkin from the dispenser on the table. ‘You look just like a movie vampire!’
Rolling her eyes, Ivy snatched the napkin from his hands and hastily wiped off her face. ‘Movie vampire, huh?’ She gave him a mock-snarl.