Nate just stares at Emmet when he opens the door. Emmet gulps as those all-American, blue eyes rove over him up and down.  

          Was it too obvious? Should he have worn a costume with a mask instead? Curse his dad for suggesting dressing up as the one thing he’s trying to convince everyone he isn’t.  

          “Wow,” Nate says after a moment of silence.  

          “What?” Emmet returns, trying desperately to seem unbothered and unafraid.  

          “Are you wearing fangs?”  

          Emmet clenches his jaw closed on instinct. He’s become so used to wearing the facemask he didn’t even think about covering his mouth. But that is the point, isn’t it? Tonight is the one night a year he might get away with it. 

          “Uh, yeah. They’re fake,” Emmet mutters, once again moving his lips as little as possible.  

          “Well, let me see!” Nate says brightly, leaning forward.  

          “Hide in plain sight!” Emmet’s dad’s voice taunts in his mind. 

          Very slowly, Emmet smiles, revealing the very large pair of fangs he has kept hidden for so long. Nate’s nose scrunches slightly in the same way it does when he’s focusing on a video game before he laughs, standing up fully and flashing his perfect teeth. “Dude, those are so realistic.” 

          “Thanks,” Emmet replies, sinking back into himself in relief. If he can fool Nate, who knows him better than anyone else here, then he must be able to fool the rest too. 

          “You’re a cop?” Emmet asks in regard to the tight and rather short blue uniform Nate sports.  

          “Sexy cop,” Nate corrects as he grabs a pair of handcuffs at his waist and twirls them around his finger. “The sexy part is really important.”   

          “Could have fooled me,” Emmet teases, watching the silver manacles flash in the porch light as they spin. 

          Nate gasps exaggeratedly as he catches the cuffs in his hand. “I’m sorry, would you like someone else to drive you to the party?”  

          Emmet shakes his head slightly as he moves past Nate to the vehicle in question. It doesn’t matter what he wears. Nate, with his impeccable physique, chiseled jaw, and perfectly tousled hair always looks sexy. It is really unfair to Emmet’s poor gay heart that his best and only friend in this podunk town looks like he stepped right out of a magazine cover. 

          “Nah, I just don’t understand the sexualization of a holiday for kids.”  

          “Says you,” Nate jeers. The red sports car beeps and locks just as Emmet reaches for the handle. 

          “You dressed up as a sexy vampire.”  

          “I did not!”  

          “Could have fooled me.”  

          Emmet gapes at where Nate looms over him--he always does being so ridiculously tall. 

          “Are you mocking me?” Emmet splutters as Nate takes another step forward, his shit-eating grin widening.  

          “I’m just saying, it’s kinda hard not to look sexy in leather pants and a lace white top.”  

          Emmet huffs and leans against the car before crossing his arms, creating a slight barrier between the two of them.  

          “Vampire. Just vampire. Nothing sexy about it.”  

          “Uh oh, lying to a cop?” Nate teases, waving his handcuffs overhead. “You know that’s illegal right? I’m going to have to arrest you.”  

          Emmet can’t help but snort, “First off, lying to a cop is not illegal, and second, even if you did, I’m pretty sure I can get out of a pair of fake Halloween handcuffs.”  

          “See you would think that,” Nate returns before reaching into the chest pocket of his skimpy uniform and procuring a small silver key, “but these are the real deal. Nicked them from my dad’s stash for authenticity.”  

          Emmet stares at Nate, both surprised and somewhat impressed.  

          “See now that is illegal,” Emmet returns.  

          Nate laughs easily before sliding the key and handcuffs back into their respective pouches.  

          “What the chief doesn’t know won’t kill him.”  

          With that, Nate clicks his car key and Emmet is finally able to clamber into the black leather interior.  

          The whole ride to Jessica’s, Nate talks idly about other parties he’s been to and the antics that took place: jumping off balconies, sex in the master bathroom, streaking, fistfights. By the time they arrive, Emmet is fully nervous once again.  

          “Maybe I shouldn’t have come,” Emmet spits out as Nate pulls into a parking spot a full three blocks away from the house. The streets are packed with vehicles. 

          “No way, dude!” Nate retorts as he pulls the key out of the ignition. “You have to experience at least one high school Halloween party before you graduate!”  

          “Really, it’s fine. You go without me. I’ll just walk home,” Emmet says, fumbling for the door handle.

          “Emmet,” Nate interrupts, suddenly serious. His impossibly warm hand comes forward to rest on Emmet's shoulder. “Do you really not want to go? Because we can head back to your place and watch horror movies instead.” 

          Emmet turns back to look at that soft, caring, stupidly understanding smile on Nate’s face. Of course, he would be so nice about it.  

          “No, you should go to the party,” Emmet tries to argue.  

          “The whole reason I want to go to this party is to go with you.” Nate shakes Emmet’s shoulder gently for emphasis. 

          Emmet bites his lip against his guilt. Nate is always so accommodating and understanding to him. What kind of friend would Emmet be if he didn’t at least try to do the same? 

          “Okay.”  

          “Yes!” Nate whoops before climbing out of the car. Emmet follows suit with considerably less enthusiasm.

          “Let’s do this!” Nate cheers, looping his arm over Emmet’s shoulders and steering the shorter boy toward the party house.

          It’s a really nice neighborhood. The kind of place where the buildings are at least two stories and have balconies. As they approach Jessica's home, the pair even pass by a small park with a duck pond.  

          Music comes muffled through the front door and different colored lights flash in the windows even through the drawn curtains. Nate knocks on the door, though how it could be heard by anyone inside is a mystery to Emmet. However, only moments later, the door swings open, and Jessica in pink cat ears and matching bodysuit is illuminated from inside.  

          “Nate!” she exclaims excitedly, the red solo cup in her hand sloshing as she bounces excitedly. “I was worried you weren’t coming.” 

          “We thought we’d arrive fashionably late,” Nate replies easily while squeezing Emmet against his side as though to signal to Jessica that there is another boy standing on her porch. She clearly didn’t notice.  

          Jessica’s eyes turn toward Emmet and her smile instantly sours. Her gaze raking over him feels largely the same way Emmet imagines her stiletto nails would. It’s like she’s tearing him apart in her search for something, though Emmet has no idea what. She can’t possibly suspect he’s a vampire. Can she? 

          After a long pause, she finally speaks, though much less exuberant, “You brought your friend.” 

          “Sure did,” Nate replies. “Drinks in the kitchen?”  

          “As always,” Jessica says dryly as she turns to head back inside.  

          Nate moves to follow but Emmet roots himself to the spot.  

          “What’s wrong?” Nate asks quietly as Jessica whirls back, her nose somehow scrunching even further. 

          She didn’t invite him in. Emmet can feel the force of the doorframe rejecting him, as solid as a brick wall. 

          “Emmet?” Nate tries again after a moment.  

          “Can I come in?” Emmet blurts out, unable to think of any more subtle way to ask.  

          “What?” Jessica huffs.  

          “You didn’t invite me in yet,” Emmet replies, a sense of doom washing over him. Why can’t he just think of a lie?  

          “Oh!” Nate exclaims. “He’s a vampire so he can’t come in unless invited.”  

          Emmet almost melts in relief as his friend points out the two red marks he stenciled on his neck earlier, conveniently over the pre-existing scar. A joke. A vampire joke. Because it’s Halloween.

          Jessica’s brow only furrows farther as she swipes that sharp gaze of hers up and down Emmet’s form. He feels like the frog they dissected in class: helpless, completely exposed, and under the knife. 

          “Yeah. Sure. Come in.”  

          The invisible brick wall seems to vanish, and Emmet takes a grateful step forward.  

          “Let’s go get some drinks!” Nate says, steering Emmet away from Jessica’s contemptuous gaze and further into the house.  

          The kitchen is quieter, and the only place fully lit. A group of boys greets Nate as he enters. They all clutch hands or high-five, leaving Emmet standing stiffly at the edge of the kitchen island. He knows he probably looks horrifically awkward. He’s completely out of his element here. 

          Nate comes to the rescue once again as he pushes a red solo cup full of some kind of purplish juice into Emmet’s hand.  

          “Bottoms up!” Nate proclaims before tapping their cups together and lifting it to his lips. Emmet ignores his prompting and simply watches as Nate chugs the cup down. A drop of the stuff works its way past the corner of Nate’s lips and drags down the perfect cut of his jaw and onto his throat. Emmet has to blink and shake himself slightly so as not to stare.  

          Finally, Nate pulls the plastic from his lips with a satisfied smack and turns his attention back to Emmet.  

          “You didn’t drink it,” Nate remarks. 

          “What is it?” Emmet asks hesitantly, still getting over the image of that damn drop running down his neck.  

          “Best guess? Vodka, tequila, Sprite, orange juice, and Kool-Aid mix.”  

          “You mean you don’t know?”  

          “Everyone makes the juice a little different, but it doesn’t really matter. It’s a party, not a wine tasting.”  

          Emmet steals himself before following Nate’s lead and drinking. 

          It tastes like nothing. Just an ashy sensation that leaves his throat feeling even drier than normal and causes his stomach to growl at the tease. 

          As Emmet finishes the cup, Nate laughs out loud.  

          “I’m gonna be honest, I didn’t think you could do it.” 

          “Why?”  

          Nate snorts as he moves back to the dispenser cooler and begins filling up his cup again.  

          “Because you weigh like 90 pounds soaking wet. You’re gonna get so trashed so fast.”  

          “I don’t weigh 90 pounds,” Emmet retorts, his usual defensiveness rising to the surface; ashy throat be damned. “And I’d even bet I can outdrink you.”  

          The boys still in the kitchen all begin to ‘oooohhhh!!’ As Nate quirks an eyebrow.

          “Bring it on, short stuff,” he says with all the bravado of a man sure of victory.  

          “Consider it brought,” Emmet replies, tipping his drink back to his lips, knowing fully well he can’t get drunk.  

          “Put your money where your mouth is, kid!” one of the kitchen boys calls. “You too, Nate. We’re going to play beer pong!”  

          Emmet sucks at beer pong, but Nate is really good, so in the end their team levels out as mediocre. They were repeatedly crushed by the boys from the kitchen.  

          “No more drinking games,” Nate says as he slams the loser cup down.  

          “Why? Because you can’t handle your alcohol?” Emmet teases, feeling stone-cold sober. 

          “No, because I have a reputation to protect, and you have no hand-eye coordination.”  

          Emmet rolls his eyes and shrugs, somehow much more relaxed than he was before. He’s not sure how long he’s been in the house with the pulsing music and flashing lights and tons of people, but weirdly he thinks he’s getting used to it. Or maybe the alcohol is having some effect on him after all.  

          “So, what do we do now?” Emmet asks as the kitchen boys begin setting up the table for a one vs. one.  

          “Now we go dance to trashy pop,” Nate giggles, actually giggles. Yeah, he is definitely feeling the booze.  

          “I don’t really dance,” Emmet replies, the familiar sense of dread beginning to creep back into his chest.  

          “You do tonight, Dracula!”  

          Nate grabs Emmet’s hand and drags him into the room with the source of music. There are so many bodies jammed into one room and the lights are so dim it would be nearly impossible to distinguish anyone if it weren’t for Emmet’s impeccable night vision.  

          Before Emmet can even consider hesitating, Nate tugs him into the center of the cluster. It’s so warm and there’s so much skin everywhere. The bass seems to move in time with the many heartbeats suddenly very present in Emmet’s ears.  

          The sound of so much blood rushing almost drowns out the music. Emmet closes his eyes hard and forces the hunger that begins to raise its ugly head down.

          “You okay?” Nate shouts over the music as he bobs to the beat.  

          Emmet forces himself to focus on Nate and his words rather than the warmth of the bodies all around him, tantalizingly held just beneath the skin. “It’s like a mosh pit!”  

          “How would you know?” Nate laughs.  

          “I lived in Chicago!” Emmet manages to huff, desperately wrangling his warring instincts while still trying to appear normal. 

          “Oh my god. Come here, dude, you’re dying out there.” 

          Suddenly, Nate grabs Emmet by the wrists and pulls him flush against him.  

          Emmet’s eyes widen with surprise. For probably the first time, he thanks his vampirism for being physically incapable of blushing. Because he can see now that all the dancing bodies aren’t just dancing, they’re all moving together in some kind of grind. And now here he is plastered against Nate as the song changes and picks up pace.  

          “Dude, relax!” Nate laughs, his hands moving down from Emmet’s arms to rest on his waist. “You’re stiff as a board.”  

          Anything Emmet could have tried to reply with gets stuck in his throat as Nate pushes on Emmet’s hips to get him to start dancing. All thoughts of vampiric feeding are gone in the wake of pure gay panic. 

          Does Nate not realize what this seems like? Is he already so drunk he doesn’t notice the looks they’re getting? Because it’s like Nate is the only person in eyesight who doesn’t realize. Emmet glances around and sees nothing but eyes staring right at him. And why wouldn’t they stare? The star quarterback is currently grinding against him. Him! The school freak. The scrawny loser kid from the big city who never talks to anyone, wears all black all the time, and is allergic to the sun.  

          Emmet pushes himself back off of Nate’s chest, trying desperately not to spontaneously combust.  

          “I need another drink,” he says as a meager means of explanation before darting out of Nate’s grasp and squeezing his way through the crowd.  

          Emmet emerges back into the kitchen, wincing slightly at the bright light, but ignoring it in favor of attempting to calm himself. 

          “Emmet,” Nate’s voice suddenly appears behind him. “You okay?”  

          Emmet rights himself before slowly turning to face his best friend. Those stupidly blue eyes are full of concern. 

          “Sorry,” Emmet replies, rubbing at the back of his neck. “That was just kinda overwhelming.” For multiple reasons.  

          “It’s cool, man.” 

          Not sure what else to do, Emmet goes back to the cooler and refills his cup. Nate does the same but makes no move to drink from it.  

 “You quitting already?” Emmet tries to joke, gesturing to the untouched liquid.  

          “I may have misjudged; you hold your alcohol surprisingly well.”  

          Oh shit. He is holding it well. Too well, isn’t he? Should he act more drunk? He’s never been drunk before. What should he even do?  

          “Fast metabolism?” Emmet suggests pitifully as he brings the cup back to his lips. He needs to be more careful. He is fully on display here. Any slip-up could reveal him. He could have gone full Dracula back there in the mosh pit.  

          Suddenly, Jessica barges into the kitchen with Ryan directly behind her. “Nate! There you are,” she says. “We’ve been looking for you. A bunch of people are playing spin the bottle downstairs.” 

          Nate snorts, “Spin the bottle? What, are we twelve?”  

          “Come on, man. Just take the excuse to make out with some fine ladies,” Ryan reprimands his captain.  

          Nate rolls his eyes and gestures for Emmet to follow. 

          “Alright, we’re coming.”  

          Ryan and Jessica’s attentions turn to Emmet for the first time since entering.  

          “Right,” Jessica says, that same disdain from earlier in her voice.  

          Emmet trails after Nate and his two friends as they make their way through the house and descend into a fully finished basement. The music from above is severely muffled, but the same dim lighting occupies the space. A horror movie plays quietly as a bunch of couples sit on the giant couch in front of the TV making out.  

          Nate and Emmet are led into a different room where a large group sits in a circle on the floor.  

          A boy and girl kneel in the center, lips locked as the ring of people cheers.  

          “Look who we found!” Jessica calls out, gesturing to Nate. The crowd responds in kind, making space for Nate to sit, though they don’t have the same courtesy for Emmet.  

          “Move over, douchebag,” Nate laughs, shoving one of his friends out of the way so Emmet can squeeze in next to him.  

          “Jamie it’s your turn!” A girl calls as Jessica and Ryan also find spots in the circle and the game begins again.  

          A bunch of people spin the bottle, and a bunch of different kisses are had, from full-on tongue sessions to chaste pecks that, according to the rules, must last at least three seconds.  

          “My turn!” Jessica giggles as she reaches for the empty wine bottle in the center. She gives it a tiny shove.  

          “That wasn’t a spin!” one of the boys cries out.  

          “Yeah, you’re just trying to make it land on Nate,” a girl accuses.  

          The bottle barely makes half a spin, but when it does come to rest it isn’t pointed at Nate. It’s pointed directly at Emmet.  

          The circle of people cheers and laughs as Jessica makes shocked eye contact with Emmet. 

          “You guys are right!” she says quickly. “That wasn’t a good spin, let me go again.”  

          “No way, Jess!” someone shouts.  

          “Yeah, you did this to yourself!”  

          “It’s okay she can spin again—“ Emmet tries to interject.  

          “Respect the sanctity of the bottle, Emmet,” Nate slurs before slapping Emmet on the back. “Pucker up, buttercup.” 

          “Yeah, Jess. Kiss the freak,” someone calls. 

          “Hey,” Nate warns, looking around for whoever spoke.  

          “Fine!” Jessica huffs before crawling into the center of the circle.  

          Nate pushes Emmet forward gently and he has no choice but to make his way to meet her.  

          “At least three seconds, Jess,” someone goads.  

          Jessica rolls her eyes before scrunching them closed and leaning in. 

          “Aaaaw, are we about to see Freakshow’s first kiss?” a voice hollers.  

          “Knock it off, Adam!” Nate responds.  

          Emmet closes his eyes just in time as Jessica puts her lips to his as lightly as she can. 

          “1...2…3!” the circle chants.  

          Jessica pulls back the exact moment she is able and wipes her lips with her hand.  

          “Bet you hated that as much as I did,” she hisses under her breath before standing and returning to her spot in the circle.  

          Emmet does the same, trying not to look at anyone as people whoop and cheer and whistle. What in the world did she mean by that? 

          Emmet finally returns to his spot, only to see those blue eyes staring straight back at him with an intensity he was not expecting. The solo cup Nate holds crinkles slightly as he squeezes it. 

          “Nate, you haven’t gone yet,” a girl says. 

          Nate flinches as though awoken from some kind of trance.  

          “Huh? Oh yeah. I—uh, actually need a refill.” Nate says dully, standing up and pulling Emmet with him by the arm. “Be right back.”  

          “Nate?” Emmet tries to question him once they are out of the game room, but the quarterback ignores him as he pulls him up the stairs of the basement.  

          “Nate, are you okay?” Emmet tries again once they emerge to the first floor, but Nate makes a beeline for the kitchen, dragging Emmet behind him. 

          Nate only releases Emmet’s arm to grab at the dispenser spout of the cooler. The kitchen feels like a separate universe to the rest of the party, emphasized by its emptiness.  

          “Nate, what’s wrong?”  

          “Nothing’s wrong,” Nate replies flatly before leaning back against the sink. “What makes you think something is wrong?”  

          Emmet approaches and stands against the island opposite Nate, setting his cup down so he can give his friend his whole attention. 

          “The rushed exit? Your cup still being full?” Emmet gulps before adding the last part. “Me kissing your ex-girlfriend?”  

          Nate sighs and tilts his head back, revealing the long column of his throat. He sets his drink down by the sink as he turns his abnormally steely gaze back to Emmet.  

          “Yeah. I’m gonna be honest. I did not like that.”  

          “I’m sorry,” Emmet says quickly. “I shouldn’t have kissed her. I mean I know she still likes you and you like her and—“  

          “I don’t like her.”  

          Emmet hiccups over his next words at Nate’s interruption.  

          “What?”  

          “I don’t like her.”  

          “Then why are you—“ 

          “Because,” Nate cuts him off once again, pushing himself away from the sink and advancing into the two steps of space between them. Emmet feels the island behind him digging into the small of his back as he is once again loomed over.

          “Because, Emmet. I’m not upset that you kissed her. I’m upset that she kissed you.” 

          Emmet blinks up into Nate’s eyes as they stare down at him with sharp intensity despite his intoxication. He fumbles for some kind of explanation for Nate’s words, but it just doesn’t make sense. Aren’t those the same thing?  

          “But why—“  

          One of Nate’s hands plants itself on the counter behind Emmet and he can’t help but lean back again on instinct. Before he can go too far, Nate’s other hand comes up to his face and gently cups his jaw.  

          “Because I want to kiss you,” Nate all but growls in the lowest voice Emmet has ever heard him use.  

          “What?” Emmet gasps, incredulous. Nate’s breath is hot against his face and his heart beats at a quickened pace, almost roaring in Emmet’s ears. 

          “I’ve known you for three months and have barely even seen your mouth,” Nate continues, his voice still low and hushed, “and tonight it’s like your lips are the only thing I can look at. It’s driving me crazy.” 

          Those blue eyes dip to said lips before slowly continuing further down, tracing Emmet’s neck and landing on the lace which obscures his chest. 

          Emmet gulps nervously, unsure how to react to Nate’s almost hungry gaze. If his own heart still beat it would be as fast as a hummingbird’s. 

          “I mean damn, Emmet,” Nate laughs lowly as his hand slips from the countertop onto Emmet’s waist and then higher, lifting up the thin silk shirt. His eyes trail back to Emmet’s face as he smirks. “I already like you, and now you’re dressed like this.”  

          Emmet can only stare back into those stupidly blue eyes as Nate’s thumb rubs mindlessly along his jaw. He can’t speak or blink or even move.  

          “Can I kiss you, Emmet?”  

          Emmet's mind races, trying to keep track of all the sensations his body is feeling as well as all the emotions flooding his brain. He feels hot and his body is heavy with shock, yet his brain feels light as air. Everything is a mess, but one thing is clear: Yes. Emmet wants Nate to kiss him. He wants it so bad. Has wanted it for so long but hasn't allowed himself to acknowledge it because Nate is his only friend here and he can’t ruin that. Because how could these feelings of attraction ever actually be reciprocated? But now there’s no way he can avoid the subject. Not with Nate so close. Not with him rubbing at his jaw like that. Not with him looking at him like that. 

          Still unable to vocalize, Emmet gives the smallest of nods.  

          Nate smiles, looking relieved before pushing forward the last inch of air between their lips.  

          Emmet’s eyes flutter closed as Nate cups the back of his neck and pulls him in, their lips a breath apart. 

          “I KNEW IT!”  Jessica’s sharp voice cries out, shattering the moment.  

          Emmet snaps his head to the side and Nate does the same, only to see Jessica, Ryan, and a bunch of the other football guys crowded in the doorway to the kitchen.  

          “They’re fucking!” Jessica declares before turning and storming off into the house with a scream.  

          “What the fuck, Nate?” Ryan spits, coming into the kitchen further. Nate takes a step forward and Emmet instinctually ducks behind him.  

          “What do you mean what?”  

          “I mean is this really what you’ve been ditching us for?” Ryan gestures to Emmet who flinches as all eyes turn to him once again.  

          “So some drugged-up freak can suck you off?” 

          “Don’t call him that!” Nate barks.  

          “Oh, I’m sorry,” Ryan gasps mockingly. “Would you prefer I call him emo garbage—?” 

          “Stop.” 

          “Retarded, city rat—?” 

          “That’s enough!” 

          “Or how about fruity faggot boy—?” 

          It happens so fast. Nate’s fist collides with Ryan’s jaw.  

          Ryan reels from the punch and staggers to keep his balance, helped by his football buddies.  

          “Don’t call him that!” Nate yells out. Emmet has never seen him look so angry.  

          “You son of a bitch!” Ryan screams as he charges straight forward.  

          “Nate!” Emmet screeches as the two boys begin to clobber one another.  

          “Stop it! Stop it! Get off of him!” Emmet yells as Ryan slams Nate back on the countertop.  

          “What’s the matter, captain?” Ryan spits as he holds Nate down. “You telling me you don’t play a little rough?”   

          Nate roars and tries to tackle Ryan to the ground, but two more of the football guys grab him and slam him back against the sink.  

          “Stop it! Stop! Let him go!” Emmet screams, panic clawing up his throat. A small crowd surges into the kitchen, drawn by the sound of fighting. Cheers and screams ricochet off the walls as Ryan begins punching Nate in the face while his buddies hold him down.  

          “Stop! Stop it!” Emmet cries as he stumbles forward, unsure of what he can even do to help.  

          The next crack of fist against flesh comes with a rush of a strong metallic scent that assaults Emmet’s senses.  

          He watches almost in slow motion as Ryan draws back his fist and blood begins to stream from Nate’s nose.  

          Blood. Red. Hot. Blood.  

          Emmet’s awareness of everything else disappears as his entire being focuses on that stream of red.  

          The smell, the heat, the taste, how refreshing it will feel after hours of ashy alcohol.  

          The next fist connects with Nate’s face and Emmet is knocked back to the present.  

          His body moves before he can think.  

          Emmet grabs the collar of Ryan’s shirt and yanks him back, sending the bulky football player flying over the island, crashing through the coolers and discarded cups on its surface. Emmet then rips one pair of the hands holding Nate down away, and easily sends their owner to the floor with an elbow to the throat. Emmet kicks the final attacker’s legs out from under him, barely registering the horrific crunch as his face connects with the tiles on the ground. 

          Singularly motivated, Emmet grabs Nate and drags him upward. He is hardly aware of the fact that the room has gone almost completely silent.  

          Nate’s weight is nothing to Emmet as he half-carries half-drags him through the house and out the front door. No one tries to stop him.

          “Emmet,” Nate sputters, struggling to find his feet beneath him as he is pulled along. “Emmet, wait. Slow down.”  

          But Emmet will not slow down, because if he stops for even a second, he will succumb and finally know exactly what Nate tastes like. 

          Emmet finally drops Nate at the edge of the duck pond he saw as they arrived.  

          “Wash your face,” Emmet commands.  

          “What?”  

          “THE BLOOD! WASH YOUR FACE NOW!”  

          Emmet turns from Nate and walks to a safer distance before plopping to the ground and covering his head with his arms.  

          A moment of silence before finally the splashing of water and the overwhelming smell of blood begins to fade. He hears the footsteps as they approach him but does not turn. Instead, he buries his face in his knees.

          “Emmet?” Nate’s voice is quiet and gentle. 

          “Yeah?” 

          “What just happened?” 

          “We left.” 

          “But how did you do that?” 

          “What do you mean?”  

          Nate finally raises his voice. “What do you mean, what do I mean!?”

          Emmet slowly lifts his face to see Nate staring down at him, water dripping down the front of his skimpy jumpsuit.  

          “Ryan, Adam, and Winsley are like three times your size. How the fuck did you do that?”  

          Emmet clenches his jaw and tries to shrink back down to hide behind his arms, but Nate kneels in front of him and pulls at his wrist.  

          If Emmet wanted to outmatch him and keep his arm in place he could, but he doesn’t.  

          “Emmet, what is going on?”  

          Emmet wants to tell him. He wants to tell him everything. About Chicago, about the real reasons they moved, about being a vampire. But then he thinks of everything he saw. The death and pain and all the terror. He can’t put him in danger like that.  

          “Adrenaline?” Emmet suggests, sounding unconvincing even to himself.  

          “Oh, don’t lie to the boy,” a chillingly familiar voice calls out into the still night. 

          Emmet is on his feet in an instant. It’s not possible. But there he is, sitting at the top of the little metal and plastic playground.  

          “Vinny.”  

About the Author

Camp has wanted to be an author since they won their first ever writing award in second grade. They have been attending the University of Iowa for its incredible writing program for the last five years and intend to graduate this summer. This chapter is actually the first part of Of Footballs and Fangs that Camp ever wrote. Like one might get a song stuck in their head, Camp had this Halloween party scene stuck in their head for an entire week before finally writing it out. They have been building a larger story around it since, creating the backstory leading up to this pivotal chapter. Of Footballs and Fangs takes the typical tropes of supernatural romance and flips them on their heads. Camp, as a nonbinary member of the LGBTQ+ community, wants to write stories with queer characters that aren’t always about being queer. Sometimes, gay people want fun and frivolous supernatural love stories too. Get ready to laugh and cry and gasp at this fun, exciting, and borderline satirical teen vampire romance!

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