Bloodsuckers and Blunders Read online

  “I wish I were dead!” she repeated. “And I’m nevereverevereverever getting out of bed!”

  The birthday girl was not in a party mood. That much was clear. Ever since Alana had told Katriona she could see “crow’s feet” on her face, Katriona had gone a little crazy. She began chasing the “fountain of youth” and tried every beauty cream, face mask, and herbal remedy on the market. No treatment was too expensive or too far-fetched. But it seemed nothing could stop the March of Time and now The Day had arrived.

  Ling Ling shrugged and retreated from Katriona’s bedroom. On the way down she met Alana’s mom, Emma, struggling up the stairs with a cake shaped like a large party hat. The cone was decorated with a capital “K” for Katriona, but in Emma’s haste to prepare it, the “K” had been smudged into a capital “D.” However, all that didn’t matter because Katriona would never see her birthday cake. Not because she found the “Life begins at 30!”-banner offensive, or because it was too early for cake, but because Emma couldn’t walk in high heels.

  “Oh nooooooo!” cried Emma, tripping and flailing, as pink fondant and lilac cream smeared itself into a pastel arc along the wall.

  Ling Ling dragged a long fingernail (painted with kumquat-colored koalas, of course), through the icing. “Hmmm, needs more sugar.”

  Emma landed on the bottom step, her poufy hair ensconced in the dunce-cap confection. Without it - and a lot more hair gel - she looked very much like Alana. They had the same kind of eyes, shaped like a cat’s, but while Emma’s were the color of dark chocolate, Alana’s contained flecks of hazel that danced in the light. Although they looked similar they couldn’t be more different. Alana, for instance, would never end up with smashed cake on top of her head. Emma sighed. She had made a real effort for the big occasion, much good it did her. Today’s cheerful sundress was made for summer and sun, not sponge cake and icing. The outfit was a huge departure from the comfortable nightie and bunny slippers Emma wore every other day as she tapped on her computer churning out articles for magazines and newspapers. Getting Dressed Up was something she reserved for interviews (with rock stars and politicians and the like) and high heels for weddings. But it wasn’t every day one of your best friends turned thirty.

  “I’m-old-I’m-old-I’m-old-I’m-old-I’m-old-I’m-old!” Ling Ling and Emma heard Katriona moan from upstairs. “And I’m nevereverevereverever getting out of bed!”

  CHAPTER 4

  Sleeping Beauty

  Cassy - Maddie’s little sister - decided that she too was “nevereverevereverever getting out of bed” only she didn’t know it yet. The four-year-old lay on a pile of blankets surrounded by hundreds of paper flowers made by her big sister’s friends over the summer. Cassy liked to believe the flowers hitchhiked on a dandelion breeze and landed in her letterbox by magic. These, and other fanciful thoughts, filled her head as she lay, eyes closed.

  “Again,” she said.

  Cassy’s mom sighed as she looked at the pile of dishes in the sink and the mountain of dirty clothes. “Cass, I’ve read it three times already.”

  “Again,” the little girl insisted, eyes squeezed shut.

  And so because it was Troy’s first day at school, and Cassy’s first day without him, their mother sat down on the floor and read Cassy’s favorite bit from Sleeping Beauty aloud.

  “Ith that how it really happenth, Mommy?” Cassy said interrupting, wide-eyed and curious. Cassy’s hair was fairer than her mom’s or her big sister, Maddie’s, with hints of gold in the curtain of brown waves, but she had the same eyes - all the Dawson children did - which were an aquamarine blue as changeable as the sea. Her chubby thumb fit nicely in the gap left by her two top missing teeth. She looked like a Christmas angel made of toffee.

  Cassy’s mom snorted and then smiled. “No, love,” she said, thinking of her own life. “Not much chance of that happening.” She got up to go. “Upsa-daisy then. Off you pop and play.”

  “I’m gonna wait a while,” Cassy whispered. “Jutht in cathe.”

  Cassy was still there by tea time and wasn’t interested in moving by lunch.

  “Come on, you,” Cassy’s mom said later, a little brusquely, “you can’t lie around all day.”

  Cassy’s nose remained buried in her favorite book as she turned the pages. “I’m waiting for my printhe.”

  “Waiting for her prince?!” Auntie Mo scoffed, hours later. Hours where no amount of persuasion, bribery, or threats could shift Cassy’s resolve. “Leave her. The sooner she realizes no one’s rescuing her scrawny butt but herself, the better!” And with that, Cassy was left lying on her mound of blankets, clutching the book of Sleeping Beauty, surrounded by a paper pile of blooms.

  CHAPTER 5

  Vampires vs. Werewolves

  Maddie had no idea her little sister, Cassy, was waiting for her prince in bed, just as Alana had no idea her mom’s best friend had taken to hers in a fit of despair. Both girls were too excited to see Khalilah and Sofia on their first day back at school. After doing a quick physical - exclaiming over Sofia’s latest good luck charm ... in her belly-button (!) and electric blue dreads, Khalilah’s weight loss (2 kilos - yay, let’s celebrate with a cream bun!), Maddie’s new old violin, Alana’s diminutive stature (now the shortest of the four) and magenta-streaked hair - they pored over the heavy book which Alana had borrowed over the summer holidays.

  The book was a love story between a mortal girl, a vampire, and a werewolf and it brought back memories of the girls’ own “love triangle” with Flynn Tucker last year. But because three of the girls had fallen for the Jet Tierbert-look-alike, Alana had called it a “love square.” The love-struck girls had gotten over their crush and now saw Flynn as a brother ... at least three of the four girls did. Sofia still insisted Alana harbored secret feelings of her own for Flynn, but was too chicken to admit it.

  “Who would you choose, vampires or werewolves?” asked Sofia, keen to find out which camp they belonged to.

  “Vampires for me,” said Khalilah. Her face had a cherubic mischievousness which her friends knew only too well. She wore her trademark hoodie and was sporting a new pair of glasses in rhubarb red. They were the reading kind. Her parents, Mr. and Mrs. Madzaini, were expecting Big Improvements in her grades as a result.

  Maddie disagreed, lowering her violin. (People rarely saw her without it.) “No way! Werewolves for sure. How about you, Alana?”

  Alana was too busy watching her new neighbors glide down the corridor of lockers toward the administration office. She gulped. Of all the schools they had to choose to go to, it had to be hers: Gibson High! For Alana it was a no-brainer. “Yep, werewolves. All the way,” she said loudly. “And Will had better keep those fangs of his to himself!” she muttered.

  But Sofia, who had also spotted the new students, and was eyeing Will, in particular, was quick to even up the vote. As the Gothic duo passed, Sofia pulled back her blue dreadlocks into a thick ponytail, exposing the lucky amulets she wore around her delicate neck. Alana swore she could see Will’s nostrils quiver. She grabbed Sofia’s arm and jerked her back. The violent movement made them stumble into another couple behind them. Coach Kusmuk and Miss Beatrice!

  There was a growl.

  Miss Beatrice, formerly a nun of the Benedictine Sisters from St. Bernadette’s College, and now the girls’ music teacher, was quick to place a pacifying hand on Coach Kusmuk’s arm. “Raindrops on roses,” she began to sing to the unhappy teacher. It was a well-known fact that Miss Beatrice adored musicals and sang at every opportunity. Kusmuk’s bulldog stance was the perfect trigger to launch into one of her favorites from The Sound of Music. “Where’s your banana?” Miss Beatrice sang to the Roger’s and Hammerstein melody. She traced her mouth in a semicircle with one hand as a hint. With reluctance, Kusmuk’s lips turned up at the edges. The grimace looked painful. “There it is!” Miss Beatrice clapped. The pair of them moved forward, Kusmuk with a robot’s smile and clenched fists, as Miss Beatrice’s voice faded... “We simply
remember our favorite things, and then we don’t feeeeeel sooo bad...”

  None of the four friends exhaled until both women were gone.

  “What was all that about?”

  Sofia was not the only one surprised. Had that really been Coach Kusmuk, their P.E. teacher? Alana had expected a sarcastic comment from her at the very least. The coach enjoyed inflicting Public Humiliation and Pain, especially upon Alana who was Public Enemy Number One. It was a crown she’d usurped from Sofia, who’d called the coach a bird-brain the first day of high school in Year Seven. And mistaken her for another student. And a boy on top of that. No, Sofia’s crimes had dwindled into insignificance since Alana knocked their teacher out in a “friendly” bout of kickboxing last year with Nurse Cathy in attendance. It didn’t help that Flynn had untied the hand-knitted straitjacket (a gift from Mrs. Snell), while Coach lay unconscious. Luckily the cord of Nurse Cathy’s defibrillator had been too short. There was no telling what damage the nurse would have done otherwise. The woman was keen. Too keen!

  Alana hoped she stayed healthy enough this year to avoid visits to the clinic. And she hoped Coach Kusmuk was suffering from amnesia (if that explained her odd behavior), and while she was at it, she really hoped her mom would do something boring for her 15th later this year — after all, who organizes kickboxing lessons with Kusmuk for a birthday present?

  While Alana was mentally adding a school transfer for their history teacher, Mrs. Snell, to her wish list, she noticed a sudden silence. Everybody was looking at her. Maddie was waiting for an answer, although to what question, Alana had no idea. She’d been too busy imagining Mrs. Snell’s transfer to another state. Tasmania, maybe? The woman’s thermal underwear would come in handy there. Alana sighed. It was nice to dream. But scholarship students like her didn’t have that luxury. They had to maintain high grades if they wanted to get the education they couldn’t afford. That was the simple reality for Alana, who came from a single-parent family. Alana’s dad, Hugo, hadn’t left them penniless, but Emma’s earnings as a freelance journalist didn’t leave much left over for extras.

  “Sorry? What did you say?” Alana asked.

  “Khalilah wanted to know if you were happy to hang out with Jefri sometimes, to help him settle in,” Maddie repeated with a strange expression on her face.

  “Of course!” Alana said. “I can’t wait to meet him.”

  Jefri Madzaini, Khalilah’s older brother, had been in Brunei to finish Islamic religious studies. Alana wondered what he was like. Would he be like Sofia’s older brothers, all five of them as loud and as brash as each other? Or like Maddie’s little brother, Troy, shy and sweet? Alana was an only child and, not for the first time, wished she had a brother or sister to call her own. Even though her friends complained that the ones they had were too bossy, messy, or annoying.

  “Look, there he is!” Khalilah exclaimed, pointing at a boy exiting the same office into which Alana’s new neighbors had disappeared.

  Khalilah’s brother gave a big, friendly wave that managed to knock a passing senior in the head. He threw a hasty apology over his shoulder before pounding over to them with frantic enthusiasm. He was a taller, thinner version of Khalilah, who gave the impression of being all arms and legs. His big, brown eyes were pushed deep into an eager face, like two raisins in an undercooked bun. The smile he gave them was like an enormous beam of sunshine.

  “G’day!” he said, pumping everybody’s arm up and down like a jackhammer. “I’m Doofus.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Twinkle toes

  Khalilah’s mom and dad were not impressed when they discovered the practical joke their daughter had played on Jefri. But nothing Mr. or Mrs. Madzaini said could convince their son that the average Australian did not call people “blokes” or “sheilas,” or that “Doofus” was not an English equivalent of the Malay abang (older brother).

  “He’s acting very strange,” Mr. Madzaini whispered to his wife, while he prepared the evening meal of not-shrimps-on-the-barbie.

  As if to emphasise the point, Jefri came flying through the kitchen with a cry. “That’s not a knife, Dad,” he said, slashing the air with a parang he’d brought from home. “ This is a knife.” The sudden appearance of the razor-sharp, 16-inch blade sent the newly-cut broccoli florets and carrots flying.

  It was no surprise Jefri was the way he was. He had studied the material Khalilah had sent to Brunei with religious zeal. Books like She’ll be right, mate: How to speak Aw-strine in Thirty Minutes and From Never Never to Woopwoop: The A to Z of Aussie Culture, as well as a stack of DVDs including Priscilla: Queen of the Desert, The Dame Edna Experience, and the classic, Crocodile Dundee. Thanks to his little sister, Jefri Madzaini called everybody “Possum” and was an expert in all things True Blue, Ridgy Didge, and Dinky-Di Aussie.

  Oi! Oi! Oi!

  “He’ll figure it out,” Khalilah said, blinking through her new glasses at her friends, unconcerned, “...eventually.”

  The three girls weren’t so sure.

  But they had little time to dwell on the matter as Year Nine was turning out to be Preparation For Year Ten and Life-Changing Decisions that Affect the Future.

  “Really?” said Sofia. “I had no idea planning a career was so serious.”

  Maddie, who decided at age four that she would perform with the Sydney Symphony Orchestra, looked at their substitute science teacher, Miss Metcalf (nose buried in another surfing magazine). She shrugged her shoulders. Wasn’t it obvious?

  The news put Khalilah and Alana into a slight panic. Unlike Maddie, their ambitions had thus far been limited to beating teams from the Soccer Academy and playing music together in their band, neither of which they saw as a life-long career path. But graduation, Sofia reminded them, and Year Twelve, was ages away yet, and by the way, what did they think of the new boy, Will?

  Alana could not shake the memory of Will and his sister in the yard of their spooky house to say anything positive, and the arrival of someone even creepier made it impossible to do so. It was hard to imagine something scarier than a houseful of vampires moving into the neighborhood, or even Mrs. Snell teaching history, but there it was. In the flesh. In front of them. Standing where Coach Kusmuk should have been.

  Was it the sequins? The frills? Or feathers which were the most frightening? Whatever it was, the new teacher had the same effect on everyone, except a boy called Colin, who moved closer to admire the woman’s outfit. The woman’s face had the powdered sheen of cracks filled in with putty. Her hair (under the feathers) was white and gelled firmly into the shape of a doorknob. She raised one hand-drawn eyebrow as she glanced around the group of gaping students before taking a delicate sniff of her perfumed handkerchief.

  The Year Nines were squeezed into the Police Boys’ Club classroom which doubled as a dance studio. Despite its location at the back of the main gym, however, there was a pervading stench of soggy feet. Although the gym was home to Coach Kusmuk’s Boot Camp, the P.E. teacher was nowhere to be seen. Alana checked her schedule. No, she hadn’t made a mistake. First and second period was definitely P.E.

  “Good morning, Year Nine!” the peacock woman said brightly. “I’m Mrs. Cronenberg and I will be taking you this year for ballroom dancing.” It was a voice made for dainty cups of tea and raised pinkies, but her announcement floored them like a sledgehammer.

  Shocked whispers ran around the room. “Did she say dancing?” “Ballroom dancing?” “What?”

  “As you may be aware,” the teacher continued, ignoring the gasps, “next year is your Year Ten Formal. Traditionally, the school celebrates the occasion with dances accompanied by the school’s orchestra —”

  “So if we’re in the classical orchestra, we don’t have to do ballroom dancing?” Maddie interrupted hopefully.

  “That is so. Although,” she held up a warning hand as some music students began hissing in triumph, “you will ALL need to learn ballroom basics this year.”

  Alana’s face fell. She played t
he electric guitar. There seemed little chance she could get out of this terrifying class. She hated to say it but she would give anything to see Coach Kusmuk walk into the room. There was a knock at the door. Alana looked up expectantly. Instead it was Will and Khalilah’s brother, Jefri, who were new to Year Ten. They had been sent to learn the basic steps with the Year Nines. The contrast between the two boys couldn’t have been more striking. One looked like a walking corpse. The other looked like an overdose of caffeine.

  “Cheer up,” Flynn whispered. “You might even like it.”

  Easy for Flynn to say. Flynn had been studying ballet for the last four years. He’d have no trouble with ballroom dancing. At first Alana thought ballet was an odd choice for a guy who could have chosen any sport or activity to excel at, but after spending more time with Flynn over the summer (a summer where Maddie had gone to her usual music camp, Khalilah was playing tour guide to family, and Sofia had moved houses), she’d learned that dance was Flynn’s way of keeping his mother close, the same way Alana did by learning her dad’s mother tongue, French. It was hard enough Alana’s father had died in a hit-and-run car accident, but she couldn’t imagine being abandoned. Flynn’s dad explained it by saying it was cruel to cage a butterfly. And so Ketut, the delicate Balinese dancer who had given Flynn his large, slanted eyes and fine bone structure, had danced out of the Tuckers’ lives as softly as she had entered it. The only thing she took when she left was a photo of the four of them, arms around each other and laughing in front of Luna Park. That, and the light from her husband’s eyes.