3

A Trip Through Dullsville

I wasn’t sure what Sebastian’s opinion of Dullsville would be. It certainly wasn’t London, Paris, or Lisbon. He, like Alexander, had been to places I’d seen only in Armstrong Travel’s brochures.

As we sauntered down Main Street, past the courthouse, fine restaurants, and trendy boutiques, I held my crimson-streaked head high, knowing that I was in the company of two vampires and that glaring Dullsvillians weren’t aware of their true identity.

I had to admit we were a motley crew. Sebastian sported his wild dreadlocks, shining rings, and snake tattoos.

Alexander was gorgeous in his studded leather jeans and white T-shirt, while I danced around the sidewalk in a dark knit hat, torn black-and-red minidress, and midcalf lace-up boots.

Townspeople, decked out in their designer jeans and Kate Spade bags, avoided us as if we were the stars of a freak show. But I loved it! I felt triumphant being surrounded by what I thought was normal. Though

Dullsvillians gawked at us, I sensed that most of them were staring at me, wondering who I thought I was, drawing such negative attention.

“That’s it,” I said when we reached the Main Square’s fountain. “That is our bustling metropolis.”

“This town is really quaint,” Sebastian remarked.

“Yes, different from what you are used to, I suppose. Instead of the Eiffel Tower, we have a ten-foot-tall bubbling fountain. And instead of the Roman Colosseum, we have Dullsville High’s stadium.”

“No, I like it. I can see why Alexander and his grandmother moved here.”

“You do?” I asked. “Did you know Alexander’s grandmother?”

“I never met her. She moved here years ago and rarely came back to Romania to visit. But I hear she was a wonderful woman.”

“I hear that, too.” I squeezed Alexander’s hand tightly.