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I’m going to need it, he thought.
During the day’s classes, as the kids supposedly studied but mostly texted quietly, Balthazar reviewed some of what he’d be teaching this year. Ancient Civilizations: Well, that would take some work. He’d never been friendly with anybody from further back than about the eighth century AD. American Colonial History Honors Seminar, Skye’s class: piece of cake, so much so that he didn’t even bother flipping through the textbook. World War II Honors Seminar: Okay, doable. He’d just concentrate on the Pacific Theater, where he’d served his tour of duty. U.S. History, 1945–Present: been there, did that, had the T-shirt.
o;Well, hello there.” A blond woman in a red skirt that was surely too short for teaching gave him an enormous smile. “Are you subbing for Sterling? Well, that’s lucky. I mean, for you. Certainly not for him.” She laughed a little too hard at her own joke. “I’m Tonia Loos. Anatomy and sex education.”
Did she actually stress the word sex? Balthazar edged back toward the coffee and tea station. “Hello there—everybody,” he said, making sure to include the entire roomful of people in his greeting. “Balthazar More. And yes, I’m filling in for Mr. Lovejoy. How’s he doing, by the way?”
“That poor man,” sighed a stocky guy in a colorful shirt and tie. “I’m taking him over some flowers after school today. Rick Bollinger, music, drama, and debate. Welcome aboard. This place isn’t too bad.”
“If you like suffering,” said somebody who looked like a track coach.
“Don’t scare the poor man off,” said Tonia, as she ignored her own advice and stepped closer to Balthazar again. One of her fingers twirled a strand of her hair as she added, “Let’s see—what do you need to know? Zaslow’s not so bad if you stay on her good side. We’ve got an electric kettle, microwave, and hot plate in here, and we do a cake for the month’s birthdays every first Friday. And if you’re a smoker, the best spot to get a cigarette without the kids seeing you is right out this back way here.”
With some wistfulness, Balthazar said, “I’m trying to quit, actually.”
“Good for you,” the track coach replied. “Stuff rots your lungs.”
Not Balthazar’s lungs, but he’d discovered that smoking had become incredibly annoying in the past decade. No smoking in theaters, on public transport, in most public buildings, even in bars: What was the point of that? The addiction, unfortunately, applied even to the undead, but he thought he could kick it. In the meantime, he kept chewing gum, patches, and an “electronic cigarette” at the ready.
Obviously worried that his attention was drifting, Tonia hurriedly added, “Well, we want you to feel really welcome here. If there’s anything you need, Balthazar—you know, if you want someone to, um, show you the ropes—”
Was that a bondage joke? Please, let that not have been a bondage joke. Balthazar quickly turned his attention to Rick and said, “Actually, I need a place to live while I’m here. I’m not … local. I was hoping for someplace out by the river, near the state land, maybe.”
“You like your privacy?” Tonia gave him a low-lidded look perhaps meant to be sultry. Balthazar noticed only how thickly mascara had clumped on her lashes.
“I like hiking. Riding. That kind of thing.” What he needed was to be close to Skye, the better to protect her, but that wouldn’t go over well as a reason. As far as any of these people knew, he was an adult human male who should never, ever show any personal interest in one of his young female students, much less insist on living next door to one.
A gray-haired woman whose lunch was spread over an Algebra II textbook said, “The Macrossan house is for rent, if you want some space. Right in the center of town, but trust me, after the next big snowfall, you won’t mind being closer to things.”
“That’s okay,” Balthazar said. “I don’t need much room; I don’t have a lot.” Also, he expected to spend very little time at whatever home he found—he’d be with Skye as much as possible. The new residence was mostly a place for Darby Glen High to send him his paychecks, because there was no way he was grading papers and taking attendance every day for free.
“It really is a tough commute when the weather gets tough,” Tonia insisted. “And when you pull basketball duty during a blizzard—no fun.”
Basketball duty, too? Great. Then again, just before he’d walked into Skye’s homeroom, Balthazar had heard her talking to a friend about going to a game tonight. That was reckless of her, but he could at least be sure to be there. “Speaking of which, I need to take my fair share. There’s a game tonight, isn’t there?”
“Yes, but that’s okay. Nola and I have it, don’t we?” Tonia gave the track coach a rather fake grin; Nola didn’t bother smiling back. These two clearly didn’t even pretend to get along when a newcomer wasn’t in the room.
“Take the night off,” Balthazar said. “I’ll go to the game, do my first shift.”
Tonia’s face lit up, and too late he realized that he’d sounded like he was flirting with her. “Aren’t you sweet? Isn’t he the sweetest thing?”
“Like a Snickers bar dipped in maple syrup,” said the algebra teacher dryly, with an acerbic glance in Tonia’s direction. “Good luck, More.”
I’m going to need it, he thought.
During the day’s classes, as the kids supposedly studied but mostly texted quietly, Balthazar reviewed some of what he’d be teaching this year. Ancient Civilizations: Well, that would take some work. He’d never been friendly with anybody from further back than about the eighth century AD. American Colonial History Honors Seminar, Skye’s class: piece of cake, so much so that he didn’t even bother flipping through the textbook. World War II Honors Seminar: Okay, doable. He’d just concentrate on the Pacific Theater, where he’d served his tour of duty. U.S. History, 1945–Present: been there, did that, had the T-shirt.
It was odd to look out at all the roomfuls of students and think that he was supposed to be an authority figure for them. They looked roughly the same age he looked most of the time, and the four centuries he’d walked the earth did nothing to change the fact that, deep within, Balthazar felt that he was a teenager. He always had, always would. Vampires never truly changed, after death—they gained experience, gained knowledge, and yet their souls remained, like their bodies, frozen in time.
And if there was any more proof that being a vampire was a form of damnation—well, Balthazar had never heard of a purer definition of hell than eternal adolescence.
His final hour at school was to be spent supervising an actual study hall in the library, which turned out to be Skye’s study hall as well. As she walked in and saw him again, he had to turn his face away so as not to smile; it was going to be tough, pretending not to know each other every day.
But that didn’t mean they couldn’t communicate, as demonstrated by the fact that, about three minutes after Skye sat at her table with a friend, his phone vibrated to tell him he had a message.
He carefully slipped his phone in front of the Ancient Civilizations text he was reviewing to read: OK, I’ve been wondering. Why didn’t you just transfer in as a student? Then we could, you know, talk to each other during the day.
NO WAY. I’ve tried real high schools several times in the past couple of centuries. They’re all horrible. Unless another version of Evernight Academy comes along, I’m done being a student forever. So I figured I’d try it on the other side.
