"What's wrong with you?" she asks as I take the opportunity to step away. "You're acting like you've never met."

"We have not," Vlad says, obviously annoyed. He scowls at me over his head.

She turns around, looking for a denial, but I force myself to nod and agree. She frowns for a few seconds, giving me a look that says she thought I was on her side. Finally, she says, "You're both crazy," and marches toward the door.

We listen to her heels as they click across the lobby's floor, and I try to gauge everyone's suspicion level. Neville is still pouting, while Vlad watches Caroline's back with a moody scowl. Marisabel stands beside him, trying so hard to look innocent that she might as well stick her head up in the air and whistle, and Violet continues to study the five food groups display so James will see that she has moved on to better things, apparently fruits and vegetables. Against my better instincts, I sneak a glance in his direction and am met with a small smile that does nothing to mask the worry in his eyes.

"Wait a moment," Vlad says, and I whip my head around to find him watching me. I feel the fluttery, zooming sensation in my heart that means I'm starting to panic. And when I start to panic, my mind goes blank. The more I try to train my thoughts into one orderly progression, the more they want to scream "Vampire, vampire, vampire!" James steps forward, worry on his face, and it heightens my panic. If he can tell, anyone can tell.

As if on cue, Vlad's countenance darkens. I prepare for the worst. This is it. This is the end. But Vlad doesn't reach for my throat - instead he pulls away, disappointed. It takes a few seconds to realize that it's not because James has betrayed him; no, it's because he has no excuse to kill me. I've passed. Somehow, I've passed.

"Maybe I'll see you around," I say, giddy with good luck, and head toward the door, half expecting to be tackled from behind. Soon enough, however, the High School Musical argument starts up again. Talking to Mr. Amado can wait until tomorrow. Right now I need to get out of here and go where I can be sure my thoughts are completely my own.

I'm almost to the door when James catches up with me. A part of me wants to yell at him, but his relief at not being found out is plain, and for a moment, that's something we share. If I'm being honest, the temptation to put everything on hold and celebrate is overwhelming, especially when I note that he seems to have recovered from whatever was ailing him.

"Are you feeling better?" I ask, just as a figure appears at the other side of the lobby. It's Lindsay, the girl I almost let become the prime entree of a vampire buffet. Now she's heading toward us with a determined stride, her hands hidden by the stack of papers clutched to her chest. Plea for forgiveness number one is on my tongue when she bypasses me for James.

"Thanks again for finding me today," she tells him with no hint of ill will. "The articles are due to our journalism teacher tomorrow, so my head was about to, you know, spin around and pop off."

"No problem," he murmurs.

"It's so great that you're going to join our class," she continues. "Maybe we can work on something together."

"Sure," he says, but his eyes are on me.

Lindsay follows his gaze, and I brace myself for another well-deserved telling off. But all she does is apologize for ignoring me and ask if I've given any more thought to joining the collection drive for Greenpeace. "I think we could really use you," she says. "Final sign-ups for the planning committee were on Friday, but, well, this whole weekend is kind of a blur." She frowns. "I think I need to stop pulling all-nighters."

It's like our almost death never happened. I look at James for an explanation and find one in his guilty expression. So that's why he was late to chemistry, and that's why he looked so tired. He may not have mind-wiped me, but he had no problem doing it to someone else.

Lindsay picks up on the tension immediately. "Okay, then. I'm, uh, just going to go. Check in with you later for Greenpeace," she says, and then bolts out the front door. I try to follow but James steps in front of me.

"I had to," he says. "I tried to explain some things to her, but she freaked out and started screaming. She's safer this way, I swear. The fuzziness wears off after a few days."

"Where were you after lunch?" I ask, even though I already know the answer.

His jaw tightens. "I had to find Vlad," he says stiffly. "It took more out of me than I expected."

"There's not going to be an extra space in the front row tomorrow, is there?" I say. It's a bad joke, mainly because I'm half serious.

James's face wrinkles in disgust. "No. Vlad has a cooler from - "

"The fair," I say quickly. "I know."

"I don't want to know how you know that. Sophie, I'm serious, this is not a stupid journalism assignment. You need to stay away from him. You're lucky he was distracted. I could hear you, and I was farther away than Vlad. You may think that you're a fortress of snark and bad-assery, but you're not."

The fact that I didn't entirely succeed in wearing my antivampire hat is not exactly comforting, but I can't let that deter me. "Not until I make sure the girl is safe," I say. "I won't just leave people in danger."

James's face hardens, and I realize that I've just destroyed any chance of a truce. He steps to the side to let me pass. When I exit into the sunlight, he doesn't follow, leaving me to wonder exactly how many reminders I need before I realize that he's not on my side.

Chapter Twelve

Mr. Amado collects our Welcome Back articles the next day. When it comes time for me to hand mine over, I experience a moment of panic. Last night I caved and looked over them again, after which I tried to do some final-hour touch-ups, but they are still hovering more toward the "suck" end of the spectrum than the "stellar."

"Thank you, Sophie?" Mr. Amado says calmly, tugging a few times when my fingers continue to clutch the end. "I'm taking them now."

Left with little other option, I let go, and he moves on to the rest of the students. I notice that Lindsay doesn't hesitate at all when it's her turn; she offers her handful of pages proudly and with a bright smile that Mr. Amado returns. Mind-wiping, and Other Keys to Better Journalism: An Expose. Maybe I should have asked James to go ahead and wipe me as well.

I risk a peek at the back corner of the room, where James has stashed himself in the most isolated desk and is now propping his cheek up with his hand as he watches the proceedings with a bored eye. This has been his position of choice in all of my classes, with the exception of English where he finagled a seat directly between me and Vlad and sat up so straight in his seat that I couldn't even see the tippy-top of Vlad's head. We haven't exchanged a single word since yesterday's fight in the foyer, although once when he caught me looking at him, I thought I saw the ghost of a smile before he schooled his face back into impassivity.

Mr. Amado has finished his rounds. I force my attention back to the front of the room just as he sets the stack of articles on his desk and then sits on its corner. "This is great, guys," he says. "On Thursday we'll start using the computers to lay everything out - and remember, if you need to brush up on your InDesign skills, I'm holding refresher workshops after class for the rest of the week." He claps, which I've learned is his way of drumrolling. "But right now I wanted to check in and see how you are all holding up after the first assignment and brainstorm ideas for the next few issues. Remember, this is a forum and I am just the steward here to help you."

"What's a steward?" Neal asks.

Mr. Amado's mustache twitches. I also noticed during the assignment roundup that Neal turned in a handful of comics and not an article about the missing blood. That makes me happy, but it means that Mr. Amado's Neal Frustration Level is high.

"A guide, Neal," he says. "A guide."

"I want to keep covering girls' sports," Mark Echolls says before anyone else can stake claim to his territory.

"I anticipated that, Mark," Mr. Amado says. "I don't see any reason why - " He stops when he notices that I've raised my hand. "Sophie?"

I was really hoping to suggest this in a one-on-one meeting, but it looks like I'm going to have to do it now since Mr. Amado turned into a Super Sophie Evader over the weekend. "I've been thinking that maybe we should shake things up this year," I say. "I mean, Mark, you're excellent at girls' sports, but you've been doing it forever. And I've been doing the investigative stuff forever, and Emma has been doing the horoscopes forever. The paper might be fresher if we all brought a new perspective to the articles."

I stop, realizing that most of my classmates are glaring at me. Well, except for Lindsay, who is doing her best to look encouraging, and James, who's watching this with more interest than anything else that's happened today.

"Also, it will make our clip files more diverse for when we're applying for colleges and university newspapers," I finish in a rush. "We'll have so much more experience."

"That seems like a fair point," Mr. Amado says. He's trying to act casual and facilitatorish, but I can tell that he likes the idea. "What do the rest of you think?"

"But I spent all summer reading Linda Goodman's Love Signs," Emma says, flipping her black, curly hair over her shoulder. "That's not going to help me if I'm stuck watching the school play three thousand times."

"And I've always covered girls' sports," Mark says. "They know me."

There are some murmurings from the rest of the class. Mr. Amado is looking at me with a newfound admiration, and that gives me the needed boost to press forward. "But don't you guys want to try something new?"

"No," Mark says emphatically, pushing his glasses up his nose.

I should have waited until I caught Mr. Amado alone. He's not against getting dictatorial with individuals, but he won't support something that the class is clearly against. And if I don't have the girls' sports cover, then I have no idea how to even start looking -

"I think it's a great idea," Lindsay offers. "I mean, I cover almost all of the volunteer drives, and it's wonderful and everything, but maybe I'm missing something because I've gotten so used to it. I don't see why it would hurt us to try it for at least one or two issues."

She smiles at me, and I'm overcome by a wave of gratitude, but also guilt, considering that she was robbed of the right to be angry. It feels like I've gotten away with something that I shouldn't have.

"That's one vote for yes," Mr. Amado says, "and two votes for no." He folds his plaid arms across his chest and leans backward. "Anyone else for yes?" he asks hopefully.

The bulk of the new sophomore staff members raise their hands along with me and Lindsay, clearly wanting to get on Mr. Amado's good side right from the get-go, not to mention either one of the editor in chief hopefuls.

"That's twelve yeses," Mr. Amado says, and then blinks a little because the no's have already raised their hands. "Okay. And that's eleven no's. Did anyone not vote?" he asks and then frowns. "Neal?"

Neal looks up from his binder and rubs his cheek, leaving a smudge of dark blue ink on his chin. "What are we talking about?"

"Whether we want to switch up assignments for the next issue."

"I want to keep doing the comics. So . . . no?"

Mr. Amado sighs. "Of course. Twelve and twelve. Who's our tie-breaker?" He scans the room until he finds James, who's been doing nothing but idly rolling his pen back and forth throughout the whole thing. "What do you say, James?"

James is obviously frustrated to have been singled out. Please say yes, I think, even though I'm fairly sure that he's too far away to hear me. I wonder if he realizes my ulterior motives for this switch. Even if he doesn't, he might vote no just because we're on the outs. I'm still holding my breath when he looks at the ceiling.

"Yes," he says finally.

"Wonderful!" Mr. Amado says. "Why don't you guys think over what you want to handle and come talk to me when you're ready to pitch article ideas."

I'm at his desk before he's even halfway in his seat. When I tell him that I want to cover girls' sports he does a double take. "Are you sure?" he asks.

"It will be a challenge," I say, doing my best to put a Future-Journalist-of-America spin on it, "and I really want to try my hand at something new. Cross-country, soccer, and tennis all have their first official matches next week."

"We usually do a full spread for the sports pages. Can you write enough to fill that or do you need a buddy?"

"I got it," I say.

"Then it sounds good to me. Great idea, Sophie. Really," he says, and for that moment, it feels like it might just be easy to fix everything after all.

One week later, when I'm about to be hit in the nose by a flying soccer ball, I realize that feeling was premature. "Watch out!" someone yells, and even though I duck soon enough to avoid being beaned, I drop my pen beneath the bleachers in the process. Seeing that the game is paused due to some infraction (note: find out what sort of penalties there are in soccer), I jump off the side and crawl beneath the risers, kicking aside stray cups and candy bar wrappers until I finally find it plopped in the center of a cheesy leftover nacho tray. By the time I've successfully de-cheesed it and made it back to my spot, the entire Thomas Jefferson girls' soccer team is hugging one another and jumping up and down. I have a sneaking suspicion I've missed something important.