GIRLS THAT GROWL excerpt © Mari Mancusi

I can’t believe it’s the first day of school already. Seems like the summer flew by.

Sure, technically I don’t have to go to school anymore. After all, I’m an immortal vampire. Part of the Coven. I could just collapse on a velvet couch and sip blood cocktails from a crystal goblet. But at the same time, if I’m going to live thousands of years, I figure I might as well spend a few finishing high school. Get myself an education. After all, I’ve met more than a few undead dropouts and they’re dreadfully dull at dinner parties.

Not to mention if I want to stay living with Mom and Sunny I’ve got to keep up the normal teenager act.

Still, as I walk down the halls of Oakridge High, dressed in a black lacy Lolita dress, fishnets, and platform boots, swinging my Beatlejuice lunchbox, I wonder if this really was such a good idea. I mean, it’s so obvious I don’t fit in here with the rest of the Mean Girls and jock boys. I watch them, as if a fly on the wall, as they excitedly greet each other, first day of school style. The trend slaves in their brightly colored back-to-the-eighties horizontal striped shirts, belts and leggings. The retro grunger girls in their shapeless dresses worn over bellbottom pants. The preps in their boot cut denim and fitted collar shirts. Everyone has a style that suits their clique. Maybe in a bigger school there’d be others that look like me. Not here though. Oakridge High sucks.

Not that I care. I am who I am. And I don’t need 3,000 MySpace friends to validate my existence on this planet.

“Ooh, look! It’s freak girl!”

I do however, need to be left alone.

I turn around to see which Oakridge Clone is trying to feel better about her own sorry existence by poking fun at mine. My eyes fall on a cluster of cheerleaders, staring at me from across the hall. Of course.

Of all the losers at Oakridge High, cheerleaders have to be the worst. With their sickly sweet fake smiles, swishy skirts, and bouncy, sun-kissed (aka highlighted from the muddy brown color they were born with) blonde hair, cheerleaders think they’re God’s gift to high schools. They expect worship from guys, girls, even teachers. And they get it. And if one isn’t interested in falling on their knees to kiss their perfectly sculpted asses, they might as well catch leprosy. The cheerleaders will guarantee them social outcast status for the rest of the year.

“Hey freak girl!” calls another cheerleader. They all look alike to me. “I thought vampires couldn’t walk around during the day.”

I roll my eyes. Of course she has no idea I really AM a vampire. She’s making a clever assumption based on the fact I’m not wearing a stitch of pink.

“Of course we can,” I retort back. “How else can we sink our teeth into succulent virgins such as yourself--oh wait! I’m sorry, I must have been thinking of someone else. Someone who HASN’T banged the whole football team.”

The girl’s eyes narrow. “You’d better watch yourself, Freak Girl.” Yup, that’s her oh-so-clever comeback. No denial either, I note.

“Oh yeah?” I grin saucily, sauntering up to their gang with my most confident steps. “How come?”

“Because if you don’t, I’ll kick your skanky vampire ass.”

I let out an overly loud laugh. Gotta let them know I’m not afraid. “You and what army?”