The First

I patronizingly grinned at the librarian as I pushed my stack of books towards her. She glanced over the titles as she checked them back in and pursed her lips.

"Vampires, I see?" she asked shrilly. I rolled my eyes.

"Yes, ma'am," I cooed before walking away back towards the shelves. Twilight had been a good read, but really wasn't relevant to my situation. I'd somehow gotten the impression that the main character, not her boyfriend, was the vampire. Blue Bloods was mildly more helpful, only I wasn't exactly sure how accurate all of the facts were. My blood, for example, had failed to turn blue. I checked the veins on my underarm once again. Yep, red as ever. I headed back towards the shelves and decided that along with my usual quest for knowledge, I'd pick up some books for leisure. I browsed through the chick lit section (Maine Squeeze-- like that'd ever happen). A few science fiction titles caught my eye, but, you know, starships weren't really my thing. I picked up one promising novel, just in case. Then I turned the corner to the historical fiction section. Now that's where the money lies. My favorite periods were Regency (a Jane Austen buff, obviously) and Russian Revolution. Rasputin conspiracies always made for a good read, except when some authors tried to pretend like Rasputin had a sexy side and the heroine was in love with him. Quite frankly, I'd rather be mutilated, thrown into a pile of salt, and killed by a mob boss than have Rasputin stroke my breasts. And that's no exaggeration- someone had seriously written a sex scene with Rasputin. Talk about vulgar.

"Excuse me," a deep, strong voice murmured from just behind my ear. The voice made something in my jaw prickle. I turned to identify the owner of that melodious sound.

"Sorry," I whispered back, flashing him a smile. Deadly sexy, and absolutely gorgeous. He had white teeth, too. That always appealed to me. A faint sting on the side of my neck reminded me to reign in the grin. Yes, sexy can be very, very deadly. I sighed as memories of just a few months past ran through my mind.

Okay, he was really, really cute. I'm talking Patrick Dempsey, Milo Ventimiglia cute here. Dark hair, dark eyes, wonderfully mysterious, and a set of dimples that even I envied. His name was Jude Pace. See? Even the name reeks of sex appeal. He popped up one Monday in my theater class, declaring himself a transfer student from California, which as I now look back, was ironically true. He smiled a bit, but generally seemed withdrawn. Unfortunately for me, we were working on a pretty emotional scene from The Crucible, which was one of my favorite plays. I was Elizabeth Proctor and he was her husband, John Proctor. If you've ever seen the play, I'm sure you're well acquainted with the scene where John is about to go to the gallows and they're having a moment with lots of crying and hugging and goodbye-ing and I'll-see-you-in-the-next-life-ing. Our turn came, and he did the best acting job I'd ever witnessed. He actually trembled. Inspired by his passion, I got pretty into the part, too. Before I could help it, tears were running down my face as I stroked his face and told him that he was doing the right thing. He was pressing kisses on my forehead as I clung to his shirt and gave him encouraging words that were muffled by tears. As the scene closed, we gazed into each other eyes, and I thought to myself, Wow, he really means this. Our foreheads came together, followed by a grazing of the noses, and the teacher called the scene.

Needless to say, the two of us got an A on that assignment. After that day, we started talking a bit in class. I learned that he was also in my English class, and for our term project, since he didn't know many people, he asked if I was willing to partner up with him. While we pasted newspaper and tissue paper onto a black foam board in an attempt to illustrate Dorothy Parker's style, the glue and water mixture splashed. One thing led to another, and before I knew it, I was on myback in the grass and we were kissing.

We never really began a relationship, which I guess was kind of weird. I really liked Jude, though. I guess what I'm trying to say is our... 'togetherness,' which lasted for a few more weeks, was not a fling. It wasn't purely the physical, you know? Not that the physical aspects weren't positively phenomenal. We often frequented the park outside the library late at night. We'd sit on opposite sides of the merry-go-round and talk about life and love, then somehow end up meeting in the middle, where he'd always lean forward to press his lips to mine. I think my favorite part, though, was when he'd push me on the swing set. After I got going pretty high, he'd run out in front. I would let go of the swing and jump, soaring through the air for a few glorious moments, before he caught me. He caught me every time without fail, as though I were a precious jewel. That should have been my first warning, I suppose. Why hadn't I ever found his fantastic coordination slightly out of the ordinary? As I looked back, I realized that I'd wrapped it all up in the perfect image I'd developed of him. Jude was perfect. However, I was slightly mistaken in that respect. Jude wasn't perfect. He was, in fact, totally undead. I didn't quite gather that fact until one late night in early June. We'd just graduated from high school the day before. Jude had suggested that we meet in the park to talk about our future and whatever. I didn't want to break up for college, particularly because we were going to the same university- William and Mary. When I got to the park, Jude was already there, looking strikingly handsome in a t-shirt, khaki shorts, and loafers. Silently, he had grabbed my hand and led me down one of the many trails to a clearing where he'd set up a small arrangement for us. A bottle of "champagne" (sparkling apple juice- Jude was very adamant about not drinking) sat next to two plastic wine glasses. The entire display rested on a red checkered blanket- typical picnic, right? I had ooh-ed and softly kissed his cheek as we sat down. He had poured the drinks and the chatter started. Then the chatter drifted to kissing... and well, you know. Two teenagers... alone in the woods on a blanket... things started to get a little hot and heavy. Clothes were being pushed aside. He was pulling on my ear in the most thrilling manner. He started to work at my neck after that. I was a little bit offended-- not that he was about to have another dinner course without me, but it honestly felt like he was giving me a hickey, and it so happens that I find hickeys to be slightly tacky. But, you know, it felt good, so I let him keep going. I didn't want to interrupt the moment. And then his teeth sank into my neck.

Basically, I freaked. I thought he had some grotesque cannibal fetish. He kind of started to freak a little bit too. See, he didn't mean to-- he just got a little caught up in the moment. The sparkling apple juice? He wasn't about to let alcohol impede his judgment, but apparently my perfume had a very similar effect. He apologized profoundly, awkwardly drove me home, then explained that I might have a few side effects. Like, vampire side effects. Like maybe he accidentally didn't have time to clean out the wound before I pushed him off me. Wow. Talk about a motive for abstinence.

Jude skipped town. I hadn't seen him since that night. While I expect he did it out of concern for my feelings, I didn't exactly know what to do. What I did learn, though, is that becoming a vampire doesn't really hurt. It's like having your wisdom teeth come in. You might want to avoid crunchy things for a while, but it's really no biggy. Secondly, I still craved food. Blood doesn't exactly have a high fiber content, you know? Given, I did like my meat to be cooked a little less, but I was still strongly opposed to uncooked meat. It just doesn't taste nice. And, to my great relief, you don't have to kill people to feed-- just... borrow a little bit. Do you have any idea how many people get drunk on the weekends? It's like taking candy from a baby. Just pull some guy into a back room, or if it's a really happening party, I could just go for it right there in the crowd. It's not like I would be the only one necking.

The problem did come in, though, with the cute ones. Well, not the cute ones. The nice ones. The gentlemen. The ones who don't go for whores. See, I could appear to be a whore. Hooking up with three different guys every weekend? It just didn't appeal to someone who was looking for a solid relationship. The only people I had a chance of having a functional relationship with are people like me-- people who aren't quite people. Vampires like me. That's just not something you can ask, either. "Hey, you! Can I look at your mouth for a second? It won't take long, I swear. Hey. Come back here!" No, no, it couldn't work. You think you have boy problems? Welcome to my world.