Vampire High Sophomore Year - By Douglas Rees Page 0,1

at her convenience?’ And I drove.”

“You have a car?” I said.

“That’s what people usually drive,” Turk said.

This interested me. I would be driving soon myself. I had been thinking a lot about cars.

“What have you got?” I asked.

“It’s at the curb,” Turk said. “The black thing.”

Under the streetlight, I saw a shiny black Volkswagen Bug, the old kind.

“You drove all the way from Seattle?” Mom said. “You must have seen some interesting sights.”

“I drive at night,” Turk said. “I hate scenery. It’s distracting.”

She unslung her coat. Her arms were bare under it, and I could see the reason that dear, sweet Turk had come to live with our happy family. Her tattoo. Turk had a pale blue two-headed snake that began at her wrists, wrapped around her arms, and (according to Mom’s sister, Aunt Imelda) ran across her back.

“Spiffy,” Dad said. “Best illegal tattoo I’ve ever seen.”

“It wasn’t illegal in Mexico.” Turk shrugged. “And it’s my body.”

I had to admit, I was impressed. Even if it was the thing that had made Aunt Imelda decide that she couldn’t even pretend to control Rachel/Raquel/Turquoise/Turk anymore, and send her to us. A couple of weeks before, when she and Turk had been on vacation in Acapulco, my cousin had gotten off her leash and headed straight for a tattoo parlor. When Aunt Imelda finally caught up with her, she was just getting the last snake head done, while a bunch of guys from the Mexican Navy stood around admiring her courage.

She had been missing for a week. Tattoos like that take a lot of time.

So now here she was, ready to envelop us all in her own special aura.

“Did it hurt much?” Mom asked.

“Sure,” Turk said. “That was the point.”

There wasn’t much to say to that, so Mom changed the subject.

“Jack, Cody. Bring in Rach—Turk’s things.”

“I’ve got ’em,” Turk said. She picked up an old army duffel bag and a sleeping bag. That was about half of what she’d brought. The rest was some boxes of art supplies, some canvases, an easel, and an inflated doll. The doll’s mouth was open and its hands were raised to its face. I recognized it from a famous painting called The Scream.

“You don’t have to help me,” Turk said. “Just show me where I sleep. I’ll come back for the other stuff.”

“Come upstairs, dear. I’ll show you your room,” Mom said, and gestured for us to pick up the things on the porch.

Mom and Turk went up the stairs.

“What is that object?” Dad said, looking at the doll.

“It’s called The Scream,” I said.

“I know that, but what is it?” Dad said.

“Maybe she sleeps with it,” I said to Dad as he tucked it under his arm.

“Then no wonder it’s screaming,” he said.

We went upstairs with our arms full of stuff.

“I’m afraid it’s not really ready,” Mom was saying about the room. “I was planning to start work on it tomorrow.”

It looked ready to me. There were white curtains and a double bed with a white bedspread, and an antique chest of drawers, a desk, and a chair. For a girl, it seemed great.

“Don’t bother,” Turk said. “I can design my own space. You have an attic, right?”

“Yes,” Mom said.

“It’s huge,” I said.

“How do I get up there?” Turk asked.

“There’s a trapdoor with a ladder in the hall,” Dad said.

“Cool,” Turk said.

So we followed her into the hall.

“There’s nothing up there, you know,” Mom told her. “Just some old boxes.”

Turk jumped up and grabbed the cord that pulled down the ladder. The ladder swung down with a screech. Then she slithered up the steps.

“Perfect,” she announced. “I’ll sleep here.”

“But it’s awful up there,” Mom said.

“I’m into that,” Turk said. “Just hand me up my stuff.”

“It’s dusty. There are only two small windows. I don’t think it’s healthy,” Dad said. “I’m going to have to put my foot down, Turk.”

“Put it anywhere you want, Uncle Jack,” Turk said. “But the CO2 level in the atmosphere is already higher than it’s been in a hundred thousand years. Every breath we take is choking us. So what’s a little dust?”

“Is she staying with us forever?” Dad whispered to Mom.

“It’s gonna seem like it,” I said.

“Turk, sleep down here tonight, and I’ll help you sweep it out tomorrow,” Mom called up.

“Give me a broom and I’ll sweep it out now,” Turk said. “It won’t take more than half an hour.”

“It’s after one in the morning,” Dad said.

“Go back to bed. I don’t need any help,” Turk said.

“Why don’t we let