"That looks like Raven!" the girl shouted.
"Gross. It probably has cooties," another warned, returning it to him.
Trevor's gorgeous smile turned into a hideous frown. He glared at me and threw my gift back in the box.
I remained alone on the patio steps for the rest of the party while the other kids ate cake and ice cream.
My stomach turned as I remembered that day. I paused for a moment and wondered if instead of running up to Trevor's room and warning him about Luna's intentions, I should sneak back out the way I came in.
I heard the laundry room doorknob turn.
I quietly raced up the pristine staircase and past more doors than were in the MGM Grand Hotel. After peeking in a million guest bedrooms and bathrooms down a hallway the length of an international runway, one final door awaited.
I'm not sure what I expected to find— Trevor had been sleeping since sunrise. It had been confirmed by several sources that he was sick and pale. If Trevor had already been bitten, I was putting myself in danger.
I had no other choice. I double-checked the garlic stashed in my purse.
I knocked gently.
When I didn't get a response, I slowly twisted the handle and opened the door. I took off my glasses and my hood. I crept inside.
Light from the hallway shined softly through the bedroom. The dark curtains were drawn closed—one sign Trevor could already be turned.
The soccer snob must have had his own personal interior decorator. His bedroom could have graced the cover of Architectural Digest Teen.
Next to the curtains, a giant flat-screen computer sat on a white modular desk. On one side of the room was a wall-mounted gazillion-inch plasma TV. Underneath it was a teen's dream lounge—a red futon couch, a soccer-themed pinball machine, and a foosball table.
Lastly and most ghastly was his midnight blue king-size bed with a soccer-goal headboard.
I almost gagged.
I could see Trevor's golden blond hair sticking out from underneath his comforter.
As much as I would have liked to short-sheet his bed or stick his hand in warm water, I decided to open his computer desk to search for any hidden clues. All I found were unsharpened pencils, a school lock, and loose batteries.
I opened two shutter doors, which led to something more like a sporting goods store than a teen's closet. A few feet away a glass bookshelf was adorned with a million soccer trophies and medals, and on the wall hung ribbons, a half dozen framed soccer pictures, and Dullsville High Chatterbox articles. I glided my finger across a dust-free gold trophy when I noticed something dust-filled hidden behind it—a decade-old Dracula action figure.
For a moment I almost felt a warming sensation filter through my icy veins. Then he stirred.
I quietly tiptoed over to him. I stood frozen. The normally sun-kissed soccer snob looked like one of the undead. But even when he was sick, Trevor was gorgeous. It almost made me ill that he had gotten so much by having a pretty face and a fast kick to midfield.
I wondered why this conservative snob was so attracted to the gothic Luna. Was it because she was pursuing him? Was it to get back at me? Or had my nemesis found the true love of his life? The major issue that perplexed me was why I cared.
I opened my purse and pulled out Ruby's compact. My fingers quavering, I angled it toward Trevor. All at once, he turned over and knocked it out of my hand. I scrambled on the floor to find it.
"What's going on?" he asked, his voice hoarse.
I curled up alongside his bed, breathing the shallowest of breaths.
"Jasper? Is that you?" he asked.
I lifted up his blue duvet so I could squeeze underneath his bed. Instead of an open space to hide, I found a handle to a king-size trundle drawer—as if he didn't have enough closet space.
I had nowhere to escape. I'd have to switch to plan B.
"Hi, Trevor," I said, popping up.
Startled, the soccer snob let out a scraggly yell. "What the hell are you doing here?" he shouted, sitting up.
"I just—," I stammered, fumbling with the compact and trying to shove it back into my purse.
"How did you get in?"
"Your nanny let me in," I teased. "I'm not surprised you still have one."
"What are you doing in my room?" Trevor wondered, fingering his tousled blond hair.
"I heard you were sick."
"So?"
"I wanted to know if you needed anything."
"Are you insane?"
"I'm fulfilling my health class assignment: Help someone in need."
"But I'm not in need, especially from you."
"I'll be the judge of that. I think you should start with some sunshine," I said, like a gothic Mary Poppins. "I'm the only one who likes it this gloomy." I went to his window and pulled back the heavy drapes.
"Stop!" he said, shielding his eyes.
But I continued to draw the curtains as far as they could go.
"Get out of here, freak!" he hollered, squinting.
I waited to see if there was any reaction. He could recoil. Maybe he'd melt.
I got a reaction from Trevor all right, but it wasn't what I expected. He got up, his pale face now flushed with anger.
"Get out already," he ordered. "Go back to the troll hole you live in. You've contaminated my house enough already."
I grabbed the garlic container from my purse and held it out to him.
"What's that?" he asked.