Chapter 34. Lorena
lorena
“Dracula,” says Director Minaro, and Salma stiffens in her seat while I slide down in mine.
“This epistolary novel is recognized as foundational in establishing the modern vampire archetype. Who can tell me what epistolary means?”
Salma raises her hand, something she doesn’t do often in English class. “It means the story is told through letters and diary entries.”
“Correct. Why do you think Bram Stoker chose to tell it this way?”
The name Stoker sends a chill down my spine.
“It helps build suspense because each character has one piece of the puzzle. It also makes the story feel more factual.” Salma darts a look at me. “Like vampires could be real.”
Minaro stares at me, too, before saying, “Good. Lorena, perhaps you have found your new sparring partner in this class.”
“I agree with Salma’s points,” I say, looking past Tiffany to my best friend, who opted for a different seat from usual, just as she did in the dining hall. “She knows this novel much better than I do.”
I’m not just saying it to make amends. It’s true.
“Actually, you’re the newly crowned expert,” says Salma without looking at me.
Our teacher is still staring at me like she’s trying to figure something out, and not for the first time, I get the sense she knows all my secrets.
“You can keep your crown,” I say, and I hear Tiffany’s heavy exhale, like Salma and I are being childish.
“I don’t know why any woman would like this novel, given how misogynistic it is.
Lucy is pretty much the portrait of a damsel in distress, and she and Mina and the brides of Dracula are only seen through the male gaze. ”
“That’s ridiculously reductive,” says Salma in a haughty tone that reminds me of William. “Mina is the strongest character in the book. She defies gender roles by playing a crucial part in defeating Dracula. She’s the fu-reaking heroine of the story!”
It sounds like she was starting to say a different F-word and caught herself.
“I am getting déjà vu,” says Minaro, and a few others chuckle.
“Please, show your classmates some mercy and do not ruin the reading experience for them. Everything you are saying is great discussion material, but save it for the coming weeks. Your assignment for the rest of the hour is to begin your reading—or, in at least two cases, rereading. There will be no need for talking.”
I try to focus on the text, but my gaze is blurry with frustration. My neck hurts from how determined I am not to look in Salma’s direction. I get that she’s still upset, but I thought after our talk, she would ease up.
When class ends, the five of us report to Ms. Floreville’s classroom for an impromptu history club meeting that our teacher organized.
“Correct me if I’m wrong,” she says once we’re all seated, “but history club is starting to feel like a glorified study group. You keep choosing to explore the same time periods that we’re focusing on in class. ”
That’s exactly what we’re doing because we have no real interest in history.
“Personally, I have no beef with this, but Director Minaro says it’s not enough to satisfy your extracurricular requirement. Tiffany and Zach are involved in other clubs, but you three need this credit,” she reminds Salma, Trevor, and me.
“So you will have to come up with quarterly projects to work on, and I’ve thought of a couple of ideas.
” She sounds like a game show host who’s about to tell us what we won.
“You could organize a series of debates where each of you assumes the perspective of a historical figure, or you could create a historical trivia game that the whole school can play!”
When none of us celebrates her suggestions, our teacher’s gummy grin shrinks.
“Take some time to think about it, and let me know what you’ve come up with for next quarter—but Director Minaro has already decided on your first project.
You are to host a Time Period Day in three weeks, on the last Friday of class before winter break. ”
“A what?” asks Trevor.
“A day when Huntington will turn back the clock to the eighteenth century!” says Ms. Floreville with a flourish.
“You will work with the catering team to set the breakfast, lunch, and dinner menus for the day, and you will also come up with activities from the mid-1700s for the school to participate in. Director Minaro is even purchasing uniforms in the style of that time that will be distributed to everyone. Here’s a list of areas to focus on, so you can start divvying up the tasks! ”
Tiffany accepts the printout, and she brings it with her when we meet up at the LUB after dinner to discuss our plan.
“What did they eat in the second half of the 1700s?” asks Tiffany, making a face.
“Maybe we should’ve met at the real library so we’d have books with actual information inside,” says Salma, looking pointedly at Trevor.
“No way, this is our history club meeting place,” he says. “And we need a game plan first.”
“I brought something to help,” I say, pulling out a book from my bag that I picked up from the library before dinner. “It’s called A Day in the 1700s, and it’s all about what life was like in that century in different parts of the world.”
“Navarro, you’re the MVP,” says Trevor, taking the book from my hands and scanning the table of contents.
“What else do we need, besides meals?” asks Salma.
“Help,” says Tiffany, consulting the list. “We need the newspaper staff to create a newsletter from that time—Zach and I can handle that. We need the drama club to put on a performance from that era. We have to come up with a list of games and activities that were popular then—”
“I’ll talk to the drama club, and I can work on a list of activities,” says Salma.
“I’ll take games,” says Trevor. “Maybe we can play rugby. Did that exist in the 1700s?”
“Crack that book open and find out,” says Zach, and Tiffany smirks. I’m glad she got over herself and forgave him for daring to excel in her field.
“I’ll research foods and talk to the dining hall staff about what to serve,” I say.
All this talk of the eighteenth century makes William feel so present that instead of going back to the room with Salma and Tiffany after our meeting, I head in a different direction.
“Where’s Lore going?” I hear Tiffany ask, and I don’t linger to learn Salma’s answer.
I shiver the moment I enter William’s room.
Using my phone for light, I can see the puffs of my breaths in the frigid air. I remove the icy-cold stone from the wall to check that all his things are still here. After the effort of putting it back in place, I rest on the floor next to the box with his clothes.
I bring his uniform shirt to my nose, but I can’t smell anything.
William has no scent.
I reach beneath the cotton fabrics, and I touch the smooth embroidery of his waistcoat. I pull it out, remembering how he offered it to me when I was cold, and something topples to the floor.
The green book.
“COMING TO breakfast, Lore?”
It’s Tiffany, not Salma asking. She’s started treating me like I’m some pitiable character. I think I liked it more when she was insulting me.
“No,” I say, and Salma doesn’t even spare me a glance as she takes off with her new best friend.
Once I’m alone, I open the green book and flip through it until I get to the Legion of Fire logo. It’s the only ink in the whole text. What if there’s more, but it’s just like the ceiling of the LUB—hidden ink?
I spend all morning testing the book’s blank pages. I try writing in it, holding it up to the sun, wetting it with water—I even borrow Salma’s skull-shaped silver candle lighter to see if fire will do the trick. But all I manage to do is destroy a handful of pages.
At one point, I think horrible thoughts to make myself cry, then I collect a tear and smear it across the paper.
But that doesn’t work, either.
So, after tossing the book to the floor and stomping on it, I stuff it in my bag and slam the door behind me.
I make it to breakfast right at the bell, but only to grab a wedge of lemon from the beverage table and smear it across a blank page.
Nothing happens.
As I’m putting the text back in my bag, I hear, “You missed breakfast.”
I zip it shut quickly before looking at Trevor. “Stayed up late, researching foods.”
“Was that green book from the LUB?” he asks, frowning.
“No, it’s my diary,” I say, quick with the lie.
“Oh.” His forehead is still creased, like he’s not convinced.
“Gotta get to history,” I say, rushing out of the dining hall.
Salma ignores me in classes again, so at lunchtime I make myself a quick sandwich, and I hurry back to our room to eat it. Maybe there’s a special passcode I need to write for the ink to reveal itself.
I flip past the first few pages, which are scarred with my earlier attempts, and pick an unblemished page. I write: Vampires.
The text just stays there, and nothing happens. So I turn the page and try: William Pride.
Same thing.
I flip the page so roughly that I cut my skin on the thick paper. “Shit,” I murmur as a drop of blood smudges the white canvas.
As I suck my finger clean, the red stain is absorbed by the paper.
I stare with wide eyes at the impeccably blank surface—
The door’s lock clicks, and I shut the book. Then I slide my copy of Dracula on top of it, right as Tiffany walks inside.
“Hey,” she says, leaning against the doorway. It’s still jarring to see her styled so natural and low-key, without makeup or heels. “You good?”
“I’m fine. Shouldn’t you be at lunch?”
“It’s over. Class starts in a few minutes.”
“Then why are you here?” I ask, stuffing my books into my bag and avoiding her gaze.
“Because you don’t seem fine.”
“We both know how you feel about me,” I say, sliding my arms through my bag’s straps. “Why are you pretending to care?”
“Salma told me what really happened at that party. I’m sorry for what I said about you. I didn’t know the full story.”
I don’t immediately respond. The fact that Salma shared one of our biggest secrets with Tiffany makes me feel like our fight has crossed a point of no return.
“Why didn’t you or your mom explain what really happened?” Tiffany prods, ever the reporter sniffing out a story.
“You got what you wanted. Salma is your best friend now. Congratulations.” I try reaching for the door handle, but Tiffany blocks it with her body.
“I get that you’re hurting, but Salma is, too. You’re both clearly miserable without one another, and neither of you is handling this break well.”
“What exactly has she told you about our break?” I ask.
“She hasn’t. She told me it’s private between the two of you”—good to know some things still are—“but I think it’s time you hash it out. Or those lines on your forehead could become permanent.”
“Thanks for your concern. Can I go now?”
“Look,” she says, sucking in a big breath like she has a lot to say, and I already know I don’t want to hear it. “You have no reason to trust me. But I thought after helping you get ready for the dance, you would see that I’m trying to start over.”
“I don’t want to start over,” I say, reaching around her to hook my hand on the door handle. “I’m fine with how things are.”
Then I stomp past her and bolt down the stairs.
ALL THROUGH my afternoon classes, I fixate on the green book in my bag. What does it mean that it absorbed my blood?
By the time I get to English, I can barely sit still. I’m just one hour away from finding an empty corner and continuing my experiments with the blank pages.
My gaze snags on the only empty chair in the room, the one in the front row where William once sat.
I never thought to ask him what he thought of Dracula after handing him the book in the library.
I wish I could hear his opinions now and ask him questions about the mythology.
I wish I could tell him about the green book and how it drank my blood—
“Stop reading, please,” says Minaro, and I realize I’ve been on the same page the full forty-five minutes.
She comes around to the front of her desk. “We have been discussing Jonathan Harker and Dracula, but by now you should also have met Lucy and Mina. We already heard from Lorena and Salma on this matter a couple of days ago, so I will ask the rest of you: What do you make of them?”
No one says anything right away.
In my peripheral vision, I see Salma’s head turn toward me, and I meet her gaze for the first time today. And even though our teacher was specifically not asking us, she volunteers an answer anyway.
“I think they had a great friendship until Dracula came along.”
AFTER DINNER, I don’t head back to our room. I go to William’s. It’s the only place I won’t be interrupted.
Earlier, I snatched one of the dozen pins decorating Salma’s bag, and now I poke the sharp edge into the pad of my finger, producing barely a drop of blood. Then I rub my fingertip across the blank page.
Again, it swallows the red. But nothing else happens.
Maybe it needs more.
I stick the pin in a little deeper, until it stings—“Ow!” Now I release a small dribble of blood, enough to draw a W.
This time, the blood doesn’t vanish. Instead, the W moves.
I gasp as the lines of the letter shift to form an X.
Like I entered the wrong password, and my access is denied. Or maybe …
It’s the wrong blood.
It’s none of my business.
It’s none of my business.
It’s none of my business.
I repeat the same mantra to myself all night, trying to summon enough peace to sleep. But all I can think is that maybe this book is important. Maybe there’s a message to William from whoever sent him here.
And maybe a small part of me wants to show the vampire that this mere human did what he couldn’t. I found the key to unlocking the green book’s secrets.
When I can’t take it anymore, I sneak out of bed. Once I’m dressed, dawn is only an hour away, so I grab my coat and hurry to the administrative wing. Then I use one of the phones to call a cab.
The sky is blue-gray when I sneak out of the manor and walk down the long driveway toward the iron gates.
If William won’t come to the book, the book will have to come to him.