Morganville High wasn’t huge, but it was crowded; too many loud, proud students all jammed into ancient hallways built too small. Tough swimming upstream to her locker, but one thing about being Morganville’s resident Weird Girl: people tended to give her personal space. Unlike some of the poor kids she saw getting slammed face-first into lockers. Bullying might be a problem in other places, but it was a way of life here. You were a predator, or you got eaten. The kids who were getting locker facials weren’t at the top of the food chain, and they were trying hard to settle for being invisible.
Eve didn’t consider herself a predator, but she always made sure everybody saw her. Hard to ignore her rice-powder makeup, black eyeliner, funky black hair, and generally Hot Topic–worthy outfits. Today’s combo featured heavy combat boots, skeleton tights, a red mesh poufy skirt, and a tight black top. Distressed leather jacket, natch. Being Morganville’s only Goth had its benefits.
Halfway down the hall, Shane Collins spotted her and waved her closer. He towered over most of the crowd, so he always found it easy to see her; given he was well over six feet, the basketball coach was always pestering him to join the team, but Shane wasn’t a joiner—more of an avoider. Eve had that in common with him. As she got closer, she saw he was talking to Michael Glass, her own personal rock-star crush. Michael was Shane’s best friend and, without any doubt at all—at least in Eve’s mind—the hottest guy in Morganville.
Eve’s steps slowed a little, because her heart had sped up. Just the sight of Michael did that to her . . . made her feel light inside, a little giddy, a little terrified. He was just so . . . yeah. That.
Ironic that he was just about the only person in school who didn’t seem to really notice her, despite all the careful, time-consuming work she put into it. Not that Michael ignored her—he looked at her; he smiled; he said things. But not the right smiles. Not the right things. He always seemed to be thinking of something else.
As she came closer, Michael’s deep blue eyes fixed on her, and again, she wondered what was really going through his head under that mop of blond hair. He was good at not showing it, and although he smiled at her, it wasn’t a warm Hey, gorgeous, can’t wait to get to know you better sort of thing. It was just a smile, to a person.
She smiled back. It probably looked awkward.
Shane wasn’t happy. She could tell by the tense lines of his face that he was upset about something. Pretty much a normal day, then. Her morning horoscope had said, Take today’s terrific personal energy in a positive direction—ask out that hot babe you’ve been admiring from afar, or impress your boss with initiative. She imagined Shane’s horoscope read more like, Today you’re going to be funny and awesome, but also angry about something dumb. Because that would be his every-single-day horoscope.
“Did you see this?” he demanded, and waved a pink paper in her face. She grabbed it from him and glanced at it. Yep, cartoon heart right on top.
“Everybody got one,” she said, and shoved it back. “Good morning, Drama Queen. What have you got against Valentine’s Day? Oh, except the total lack of girlfriend.”
“Are you flunking English, Club Dead?” He was staring at her like she’d grown fangs or something. She was pretty sure she hadn’t.
“What? No! Of course not. It’s kind of my mother tongue. Be pretty embarrassing to fail.”
“Breaking news, then, Vampira, your reading comprehension sucks. It’s not a V-Day flyer.”
She grabbed it away and looked it over, this time carefully. Pink paper, check; red heart, check . . . with a drop of blood dripping from the point at the bottom of that heart.
The text below read SHOW US SOME LOVE. . . . GIVE BLOOD!
“Seriously?” she said, and then at a higher pitch, “Seriously? A blood drive? In Morganville?”
“Keep reading,” Michael said. His gaze on her was steady, and she wished for the eleventy millionth time it was more . . . something. God, he was so cute she almost forgot about the paper in her hand. Almost. She managed to pull her attention back to it.
The Bloodmobile was coming. That evil black beast was coming here, to Morganville High, for a blood drive organized by . . . “Seriously?” she blurted again, and laughed. Because if there was anything the MHS Spirit Leaders—aka the cheerleaders—were known for, it was for being a showcase for Monica Morrell, the mayor’s daughter, and generally useless otherwise. At sixteen, the same age Eve and Shane were, Monica was already a world-class brat, maturing into full-on bitch. “Why in the hell are our cheerleaders running a blood drive? Is Monica trying to bathe in the blood of the innocent again?”
“She’s standing right behind you, by the way,” Michael said. Yes. Of course she would be. Eve turned to see Morganville’s Most Likely to Succeed by Climbing over the Bodies of Others staring at her from a distance of, like, two feet. Her girlfriends were attached to her shoulders like bat wings. All gorgeous, all glossy, but of course Monica was the glossiest and gorgeous-est. She was also, by virtue of those insanely tall pumps she had on, the tallest. Those looked painful.
Eve still topped her by an inch or so, though. Score.