"Can I help you?" she said.

Well, yeah, theoretically she could. But I didn't know how.

Finally, I said, "How's it going?"

"Fine." She sounded irritated but I couldn't worry about that. I was too busy staring at her skin, so much of it exposed, every inch flushed with warm life and shiny with sweat. She was absolutely beautiful.

"Nathaniel," she said. "It's Nathaniel, right? What happened to your face?"

I decided to go with a half-truth and said, "I got in a fight."

"Looks like you lost."

"Yeah." I glanced past her into her house. It didn't look like anyone was home except for her. "Can I come in?"

She seemed suspicious, but she stepped away from the door frame and gestured me in. "Only for a minute. I'm a little busy."

Now here's the part where I walked right into Emily Harding's house. I mean, seriously. I invited myself in, and she agreed to it. This is not something I ever would have been brave enough to try on a normal day. For one thing, I was never interested in Emily except on the days when she wore mini-skirts. More importantly, she was never interested in me ever. Yet here I was. Walked right in like I owned the place. That still gets me.

Emily shut the door and looked me up and down while she picked at one of her nails.

"Out with it, already," she said.

"Out with what?"

"You're going to ask me out, right? Well, I'm very flattered, but unfortunately, I just don't feel that way about you. Thank you for asking, though, it was very sweet." This rolled off of her tongue as though she'd already said it a hundred times. "Now, off you go. I have a bubble bath waiting for me."

I laughed, but I couldn't put much energy into it. I was too mesmerized by the smell of her, by the pattern of blue-green veins that ran beneath her skin. By the pulse I could see fluttering in her throat.

"That's not why I'm here."

"Then why? Selling cookies?"

"Where are your parents?"

"Oh, you want them. They took my little sister out of town."

"But you're here."

"Studying, like I said. Not like I wanted to spend the weekend with my Aunt Marian, anyway."

This news came to me like a breath of fresh air. She was alone. And she was going to be alone for the foreseeable future. I smiled at her, but she just glared back.

"Dude, you have five seconds to tell me why you're here. Then you're getting ou---"

"I need you." It was out of my mouth before I could stop it. Even in my half-starved state, I knew it was the wrong thing to say. "I mean, um---I need you to help me."

"With what? You want a D in chemistry?"

Oh, god, I couldn't stop myself anymore. I was running on pure instinct, and I didn't know where it was about to take me but I had to get there fast. I took a step toward her and her eyes narrowed in confusion, another step and they widened with surprise.

"Don't tell me you're about to try and kiss me."

I put an arm around her waist and pulled her toward me. She lifted her hands in a defensive position, but slowly like she still couldn't believe I was touching her. I didn't give her a chance to get used to it. I put my teeth in her neck.

She grabbed the front of my shirt and screamed. Right in my ear. It hurt like heck and I knew I was doing something wrong, but my teeth were out of her neck now and some kind of elixir, rich and magical, was pumping into my mouth. I didn't even have to suck it out.

Finally, I was getting what I needed. Every cell of my body affirmed this for me. I tried to relax and focus on drinking, but Emily was still screaming and clawing at me like a psych patient. So I urged her to be quiet. I didn't know what I was doing, but I never said a word to her. My mouth was busy at her neck. I just pushed, somehow, and she got quiet and still.

I drank for what felt like a long time. Eventually, her whole body went limp and her knees buckled. I lowered her gently to the floor and held her, but in the process, I lost my place at her neck. From this angle it was easier to reach the other side, so I bit her again and waited for more food.

This time the flow was weaker. I sucked and didn't get as much. But I felt better now. My body hummed with satisfaction and relief, flush with gratitude for sweet, beautiful Emily. If she hadn't been home, or if she hadn't let me in---but no use dwelling on worst-case scenarios. She'd helped me when I needed her, and I loved her for it.

I kissed her forehead as I placed her on the carpet. Then I drew back and watched her sleep, a pale doll with honey-colored hair. Her blood warmed my veins and I began to rise out of the haze that had surrounded me all afternoon. It was like waking up after fifty years of sleep. A real Rip Van Winkle moment. I looked down and realized that I was touching her face, her lips, and that her skin was damp and cool.

Too cool. Maybe it was the irreconcilable juxtaposition of the human skin and the cold, clammy texture, but it finished the process that her blood began. The room brightened, or, rather, my eyes widened, and suddenly I was awake. And I remembered everything.

Parva. The attack. The feeding. The blinding, burning pain.

She was a vampire. And Emily Harding lay cold and drained on the floor in front of me.

I fumbled with Emily's wrist, trying to check her pulse. I couldn't find it, but then I realized that I could hear it. It was too fast, like hummingbird wings. Trying to circulate what wasn't there. How much blood had I taken? How much could possibly be left in her body?

Killed her. I'd killed her. Or she'd be dead in a minute if I didn't get her some help. I reached for my phone, patted empty pockets until I remembered that I'd left my phone at home. I had to call nine-one-one, and in the back of my mind, I also knew that I had to get Emily help without getting caught with her.

That's when I heard footsteps on the front porch.

"Emily!"

Someone banged on the front door. I recognized the voice. It was Brick Johnson, a guy who lived on the other side of Emily and went to our school. He was a jock, popular, and normally he strutted around campus like a tough guy. But right now his voice was cracked and borderline frantic.

"Emily, open the door!"

He pounded again. I sat torn between letting him in, running for my life, or waiting and hoping he would go away. I was saved from my own indecision when Brick's footsteps crashed around the perimeter of the house through bushes and plants. His voice came through the big picture window.

"Emily! Open the door or I'm breaking in!"

Instinct took over and I darted for cover. I ran into the kitchen and ducked beside the refrigerator. Then the window shattered as Brick bashed it in with something heavy. He made several more swings at the glass and I heard it crack and fall away from the window sill. Then his footsteps were in the house.

"Oh, my god."

Brick knelt beside Emily. Every sound that he made, no matter how minute, painted a picture that I could practically see. I heard him lean over her. Then he took his phone out and called for help. The nine-one-one operator answered, and her voice was so clear that she might as well have been standing in the room with him.

"Nine-one-one, what's your emergency?"

"Send an ambulance to 916 Maple Drive. Hurry!"

"You need an ambulance?"

"Yes! There's something wrong with my friend. She can't breathe, and---" His voice cracked. "Oh, god. Please hurry!"

"Okay, I'm sending help right now. Slow down and tell me exactly what happened."

"My friend, Emily. She lives next door to me. I was in my room and I thought I heard her screaming. You're sending an ambulance, right?"

She had been screaming, I remembered that now. And I'd done something to quiet her down, but not fast enough. Or maybe too fast. Either way, she was going to die and it would be all my fault. Because I drank her.

Brick said, "I heard her screaming, so I broke into her house and she's just lying here. She's all pale and she's barely breathing!"

"Okay, what's your name?"

"Brick Johnson."

"Alright, Brick. Look at her chest. Is it rising and falling?"

"Yes. But . . ." I heard him push her hair aside. ". . . there's something weird on her neck."

"What does it look like?"

"Holes? Bruises? I don't know."

"Is she bleeding?"

"No."

"Okay, Brick. Listen carefully and do what I say."

I stayed hidden behind the refrigerator while the dispatcher had Brick monitor Emily's vital signs and explained CPR in case he needed it. But how would CPR help her? By circulating her blood until the paramedics arrived? What blood?

After what felt like forever, I heard sirens in the distance. I waited until Brick got up to let the paramedics in, and I used the opportunity to slip upstairs and find a better hiding place in a child's bedroom. I could still hear everything. The paramedics loaded Emily onto a stretcher, talking quickly in medical jargon. What difference did any of it make? They'd probably try to shock her back to life or something, and it would never occur to anyone that she didn't have any blood in her body.

I should tell them. Tell them what I'd done. But I couldn't make myself move. The paramedics put Emily in the ambulance, then the doors slammed shut and they drove away with the sirens wailing. There was still a fire truck and two cop cars on the street below, so I backed away from the window. I could hear the police down in the living room, talking to Brick. Trying to figure out what had happened. Brick sounded worried sick to me, but his masculine training had kicked in and he was putting up a good front for the cops.

"I broke that window over there so I could get in."

"What did you break it with?"

"A rock."

"And you said she was cold when you found her?"

"Well, not cold. Not like . . ." Brick's voice faltered. "Not like a dead body. Just cool and wet."

"And you said she was home alone?"

"Yeah, she told me her family was going to be out of town. Tonight we were gonna---never mind."

"I get the picture," said the cop. I heard a pen scratching on paper.

"No, it wasn't like that," Brick said. "We were just going to watch a movie. She's not my girlfriend or anything."

"Not yet, anyway. Right?"

Brick was still for a moment. Then he said, "You're really getting the wrong idea about this."

He sounded flustered. It was a surreal experience. At school, he was always the picture of cool. Was it just that he was upset about Emily? Or was the cool guy thing a school-only persona?

"Don't get upset," the cop said, with a hint of humor that sounded false. "I can't help it if I remember being a teenager. Is Brick your real name?"

Hesitance. And then, "It's Marlon."

"Mind if I take a look at your driver's license, Marlon? " In a different, lower voice, the cop said to someone else, "I'll finish up here. You search the house."

I stiffened.

My brain tossed up a vague map of the house, and my position on it in relation to the cops. They were on the first floor, near the base of the stairs. The room I was in faced the street, and I hadn't seen a way to get out through the window, anyway.

Feet began to climb the stairs. I darted across the hall to a different bedroom. A teen girl's room. Emily's. I ran to the window as quietly as possible and looked outside. The backyard was empty, but the drop to the ground below was a tall story-and-a-half with nothing in between that I could land on or climb down.

The feet were still on the stairs, but getting closer. I left Emily's room and slipped into a bathroom, but the window was too small and didn't seem to open.

Then, just before the cop's feet hit the landing, I hurried into the last room. A guest room. It had two huge windows that faced the backyard but, again, there were no trees and no drainpipes or anything that people used to escape houses in the movies. I closed the door quietly and stood by one of the windows, my heart pounding. Not just from the fear of being caught, but from the idea of being trapped. I felt like a wild animal about to be caged.

I listened as the cop went from room to room, searching. I had absolutely no idea what I was going to do. The only plan my animal brain was giving me was to drain the cop, too, and buy myself some time. And once I thought of it, I really wanted to do it. Hurt him before he hurt me.

There was a nauseating moment when the cop reached the room I was in and I knew I was going to kill him. In the end, it wasn't fear of being trapped or discovered that made me move. It was fear of myself.

I threw open the window and jumped.