Big Vamp on Campus - Molly Harper Page 0,20

or bemused, so I went for a mixture of both. “It shouldn’t be too hard. My people are just that good.”

“What about the food?” Keagan asked, as the elevator came to a stop on the lobby level.

I frowned. I knew this was an area of weakness in my plans. Vampires did not have the enzymes necessary to digest solids, so an evolutionary tweak in our makeup made all solid foods smell and taste like steaming, hot garbage. So, having lost my interest in food centuries before, I devoted the least attention to the catering portion of the party. My caterer, Carlton, would provide the usual nibbles—cheese, crackers, cocktail weenies.

I showed the list to the girls, both of whom responded with an “Ohhh” that sounded far less impressed than the previous reaction.

“You know what you should do?” Morgan asked, as we walked out of the elevator in a tight little triangle. “Fruit bouquets.”

I lifted a brow. “Sorry, what?”

“Fruit bouquets. You know, those edible flowers?” Keagan took my tablet and opened the Internet browser, searching for a vendor called Pretty Wholesome. She opened a Web site showing what looked like elaborate floral arrangements. “They cut fruit into flower shapes and stars and stuff, and they put them on sticks in a vase, so it looks like a centerpiece. Girls love them because they’re easy to eat and nonfattening. Boys love them because they get to watch girls wrap their lips around food on sticks.”

“Huh. That does sound interesting,” I said, eyeing her skeptically. “What do you think of blood fountains?”

“Outdated and sort of creepy,” Keagan told me.

“Also tacky,” Morgan added.

“Really?” My mouth dropped open. In my day, a good blood fountain was considered the height of elegance.

“You know that biopic they made about Elizabeth Bathory starring Kim Kardashian?” Morgan asked.

I shuddered. “That tacky?”

“Yes,” they chorused.

Clearly, I had lost touch with some trends. Brianna had been right in that respect, though I hated to admit it. I had good taste, if I did say so myself, but I didn’t know what kids her age found elegant or exciting.

“Are you girls doing anything right now?” I asked them.

They shook their heads in unison, which was more than a little unnerving in a “twins in The Shining” sort of way.

I typed a quick response to Jamie, telling him I had plans with some girls from my dorm. There. Let him think that I was fabulously popular and in no way sitting around waiting for him to show up for some lame Sunday-night dorm date. Let him wonder—

Lightning-quick, he sent back several thumbs-up and an . . . excited face? Maybe. So much for him pining for me.

I refocused on Morgan and Keagan, still smiling. “Why don’t you join me in the lounge? You could go over my party plans with me and tell me whether I’m reaching Kardashian levels of tackiness in other areas.”

The girls exchanged glances, as if they were trying to determine whether my invitation was a trick, some lure to draw them into a secluded corner where I could treat them like a midnight snack. And considering my thoughts in the elevator, that was a concern that I found both reasonable and worthy of my respect.

“Uh, sure,” Keagan said, looping her arm through mine as we moved toward the central floor’s lounge, with its comfy, deeply-cushioned UK-blue sofas and roomy study tables.

Morgan slid her arm through my other elbow, so I was effectively trapped between them. I tried not to tense at the casual, affectionate contact today’s youth found so easy.

Meagan rounded the corner and let out a squeal at the sight of me sandwiched between her friends. “Hey!” Meagan cried. “This is great! You never come up to this floor.”

“Not unless I’m running out the door for class,” I conceded. “Speaking of which, why are you just now running back from class?”

“Yes, what are you doing getting back so late?” Morgan asked, a sly smirk curving her lips. “Would it have anything to do with that TA who wanted to see you about ‘extra credit’?”

“Intrigue and inappropriate behavior?” I gasped. “Do tell!”

“We’re helping Ophelia with the mixer,” Keagan interjected, shooting Morgan a warning look. “You should see the decorations she’s got planned.”

“Needs a little help with the food, though,” Morgan noted, her cheeks flushing pink. “Cocktail weenies.”

The three humans shuddered. “No girl wants to eat something called a weenie in mixed company,” Meagan told me. “There is no coming back from that.”

I snorted. “A more resourceful woman could turn it into