Olivia had started to thread her way through the crowd when the lead singer came to the front of the stage with the microphone. ‘For this next song, we’ll need a volunteer back-up singer.’
A million cries of, ‘Pick me, pick me!’ sounded from all around the crowd. One thing was for sure, Olivia was not among them. She looked over her shoulder. The singer was a handsome but wiry goth guy, wearing a dragon-design T-shirt – or, wait! – Olivia looked closer. Perhaps it’s one massive tattoo!
‘We’ve picked one person at random from our lucky competition winners.’ He unfolded a piece of paper and waved it over head. ‘Where is Ivy Vega?’
Olivia stopped dead, her jaw dropping open. No. Way.
‘Why did we ever think I would be able to pull this off without getting into some kind of weird trouble?’ she hissed to Brendan. Sophia’s eyebrows shot up and she slapped her hands to her cheeks.
So sorry, Sophia mouthed.
Why am I even surprised? Olivia thought. Every single time she and Ivy switched places, it caused some sort of craziness – chaos, confusion, embarrassment. You name it, I’ve had it.
Before Olivia knew what was happening, she was being hoisted on to the shoulders of the rabid Pall Bearers fans. She had a brief flash of the moment when her classmates at Franklin Grove paraded her around the gym after the school dance she’d planned. But the memory came to an abrupt halt when Olivia was tipped on her back and crowd-surfed all the way to the stage.
She stumbled on to her feet, forced upright by the sheer power of the crowd behind her. Olivia stared out at the ocean of black. The sight of the churning, surging fans gave her a strange, queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach almost like vertigo. The stage lights beat down on her with white-hot heat.
From stage right, she noticed a roadie approaching her . . . with a microphone! The horror! Olivia started to panic. She numbly took hold of it. This could not be happening to her. The thought of karaoke was terrifying and this was a hundred times worse. She spotted Brendan and Sophia at the foot of the stage, their mouths open in shock.
The lead singer – what’s his name again? – made the devil horns gesture to her with his fingers sticking up behind his ears. Not knowing what else to do, Olivia returned it.
‘Right on!’ he said, performing a high-flying jump and stamping down on the stage. ‘Now I’m sure Ivy knows what to do,’ the singer told the crowd. ‘But just in case she’s a little nervous, why don’t we help her out by reminding her how the chorus goes.’ Olivia wiped the sweat off her forehead, wishing she had a paper bag to hyperventilate into. ‘When I say, “I”, you say –’ he held the microphone out to the crowd – ‘hate you!’
‘Got it.’ Olivia nodded.
Ivy’s vampire education had better be worth it, she thought. Because next time I see her, she is going to have to use everything she’s learned to talk her way out of trouble!
Chapter Five
I wonder what Olivia is doing right now?
Ivy had suffered in silence through three full days of classes and Miss Avisrova had still managed to pick on everything Ivy had done in Etiquette class. Ivy used the wrong toothpick on her fangs. Ivy didn’t know which side of the plate her blood goblet should be on. Ivy had no clue how to waltz to the Vampire Sonata!
But really, could learning proper etiquette take a whole school year ? Luckily, Ivy had other classes that Avisrova didn’t teach. She never thought she’d be so thankful for History of Vampire Monarchies, but at least it gave her a break.
The biggest bright spot was still, by far, Herbal Science. Every day, Ivy looked forward to her trek out to the greenhouse. For instance, yesterday, Helga had taught them how to cultivate herbs properly. With Petra as her lab partner, Ivy had helped plant, water and fertilise a variety of herbs, some familiar and others vamp-exotic – like the Fang Fennel with its spiky stalks that made a biting motion if a hand came at it too quickly.
Today, Herbal Science was the second class of the day. Ivy arrived carrying a steaming travel mug filled with hot plasma tea, scooted out her stool from under a table on the girls’ side of the room and plopped herself down.
Herbal Science was the only class Ivy had where boys and girls were taught in the same classroom. Otherwise, just as Petra had said, they were kept so segregated that Ivy thought the Wallachia staff might believe it was still possible for students to catch the plague from one another. Even now they were divided by a long table running down the centre of the greenhouse, and the height of the seemingly hundreds of potted plants made it nearly impossible for the boys and girls to see each other. Ivy hadn’t even realised there were guys in the class the first day!
Helga clapped her hands to get the students’ attention. She was standing on top of a tall podium so that she could look down on both sides of the classroom at once – the boys’ side and the girls’ side. Helga’s really growing into a great teacher, thought Ivy. A small garden hoe and a miniature rake stuck out of the front pockets of Helga’s apron. Her engagement ring flashed in the beams of natural light shining through the greenhouse windows.
‘Everyone, for today’s lesson, first I’ll be showing you the correct way to extract certain types of herbs from the ground so as not to lose their potency, and then I’ll let you try doing it. Sound good?’
This was more like it for Ivy – actually doing things. She’d never have thought that she would enjoy using gardening tools and wearing those stinky gloves, but she did. It beat stuffy Etiquette class any day.
After Helga had demonstrated gently digging out the roots of a Caped Parsley plant, Ivy retrieved a set of gardening tools from the bins and spread them out on the table.
Petra selected a hand trowel and poked Ivy with it.
‘Ouch!’ Ivy yelped, rubbing the spot on her arm. ‘What was that for?’
Petra bent over their potted plant and spoke out of the side of her mouth. ‘What is your deal?’ she asked. ‘Why aren’t you doing anything?’ Petra glanced up at Helga, who was busy explaining to a student that she couldn’t just slice through any roots that weren’t cooperating.
‘What do you mean?’ said Ivy, grabbing a small shovel. ‘We haven’t started yet.’
‘Not the stupid plant.’ Petra blew her fringe out of her face. ‘You’re not talking back to the teacher. You’re not getting into trouble. You haven’t done anything Ivy-ish at all!’