Page 65 of The Last Vampire
“Good morning,” says Minaro from one of the benches, and I didn’t expect her to already be here. “Come have a seat on the grass.”
The two of us do as she says.
“So, how are you thinking this club will work?” she asks. “Are you interested in putting on productions of Shakespeare’s plays?”
“No, we can leave that to drama club,” I say.
“We want to read the plays and discuss them,” says William.
“That is not enough for an academic club,” she says. “How about this: Pick a play to read and study, then you can do a presentation on it in class next month. Then next quarter you can pick a different one. Would you like to begin with a historical, or a comedy—?”
“Tragedy,” says William. He looks at me. “Hamlet?”
“You meanto carry or not to carry the burden of being a privileged male with too much time on my hands, while my girlfriend is slowly crushed by the patriarchy right in front of me?”
“Hamletis one of the most complex plays ever written,” he argues. “It is—”
“Pick another play,” says Minaro, cutting him off right as I open my mouth to retort.
“Macbeth,” I say instead.
“You must be having a laugh,” says William. “You cannot tell me you prefer that play toHamlet.”
“Why not?” I ask.
“You would rather read about a weak man who is so obsessed withtomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrowthat he throws his entire life away just because three witches read him a poem?”
“Lady Macbeth is one of the most fascinating characters in all of literature!” I say, raising my voice, and even though we’re arguing, I can’t deny it’s fun to debate books with someone as passionate about them as I am.
“What is so fascinating about a coward?” he asks. “She pressures Macbeth to take action, yet when she has the chance to do the very thing she demands of him, she fails.”
“Wow, you really don’t get it,” I say, sitting up on my ankles. “Her very existence is a challenge to—”
“Here is what we are going to do,” says Minaro, speaking loud enough to drown me out. “Iam going to choose.”
She looks from me to William and back to me.
Then a smile plays on her lips as she says, “Romeo and Juliet.”
TIFFANY ANDZach are spending most of today working on the school paper, so when I return to the room, I find Salma alone.
She’s readingJane Eyrein bed, and she must be at a good scene because she doesn’t look up when I walk in.
“Sal…”
“Hmm?”
I’ve been stalling all week, loathe to ask this question because I’m afraid of the answer. But I can’t wait any longer, and I know I won’t get a better opportunity than this one. “Did you get your period?”
She looks up from her book and meets my gaze. Then she sets the novel down on the bed as she shakes her head.
My heart slides to my belly as I climb up to join her on the top bunk and take her hand in mine. She feels nearly as cold as William. As I rub my palms against her skin to generate some heat, I ask, “What’s wrong?”
“It’s a symptom,” she says quietly, and for the second time in eighteen years, I see real fear shining in her eyes. She hasn’t sounded this small since we learned about Tía Elena’s diagnosis.
“Of what?” I ask, keeping my voice as small as hers. “Are you—?”
The wordpregnantwon’t leap off my tongue. As far as I know, Salma hasn’t been with anyone in months, not since before her mom passed.Did she have a secret romance this summer?
