The sultry homeschooled Romanian vampire Alexander had brought life into my already darkened one. As the lonely old Mansion remained empty of its unearthly inhabitants, I began to miss specific things about him—the way he softly brushed my hair away from my face or traced the lace of my skirt with his ghost white fingers. I missed his dreamy chocolate brown eyes, his bright, sexy smile, his tender lips pressed to mine.
I managed to remove myself as the third wheel from Matt and Becky’s go-cart of fun. In the moonlit evenings, instead of reluctantly cheering on the school’s soccer team, I often visited the empty Mansion, sitting beneath its skeletal trees, by its wrought-iron gates, or on its uneven weed-filled cracked cement front steps. Other times, I’d hang out in the gazebo where Alexander and I’d shared romantic desserts and stolen kisses.
I assured myself that at any moment I’d see the headlights of Jameson’s Mercedes beaming up the winding driveway, but every night I went home alone, the driveway devoid of any hearse-like vehicles.
I crossed each passing day off my Emily the Strange calendar with a giant black X. It was starting to look like a one-sided tic-tac-toe game. Occasionally the doorbell rang, and when it did, I’d race to the front door in wild expectation of Alexander wrapping his pale arms around me, scooping me up, and planting me with a passionate kiss. Instead of being greeted by my boyfriend, I was met by the Flower Power delivery woman holding a bouquet of roses. My already darkened bedroom was beginning to resemble Dullsville’s funeral home.