Chapter 1:
My name is Hailey. I'm going to turn sixteen in seven minutes. I watch the clock tick on the mantle, so slow it's like it's taunting me. I hug my knees, which are tucked into my chest, and wait impatiently. The room is dark, a sliver of moonlight shining through the window. The curtain of lace drifts about, fluttering silently as the light wind flows through the window.
My thin, straight blond hair flutters around my face with the curtain as the wind blows through the "window bars," as I've always called them since I was little, though it's really the screen on the window. The clock ticks, and my eyes flit back towards it. Still 11:53.
Seven Hours Before:
"Hey Hailey", said Amber. "Hey, I can't believe it's my birthday in 5 hours", said Hailey. I turned away took of my sun glasses and put on my hoodie. "God your eye's are so creepy, how do you get red eyes from two parents with blue eyes, just creepy", said Amber. RING, RING, RING...... "Yes school over, I'm going home bye", said Hailey! "Bye text you later", said Amber!
(Which brought to this point on the story)
My hands press together, and I suppress a smile, thinking of my parents doing the annual "jump-into-my-room-at-twelve -and-give-me-a-present" routine since I was six, along with "breakfast" in bed (it's always twelve, don't forget). It's Saturday, so I don't have to worry about school the next day, although my parents would let me stay home anyway.
My parents are sort of creeped out by anyone coming into the house at night, which is why the alarm is always on even when it's daytime. Especially then. At least, that's what they say. I gaze out of my window, marveling at the moon; it looks like liquid silver mushed into an almost-perfect ball shape.
My head turns sharply towards the clock as I remember its ticks, and it reads 11:57. I bite my nails in anticipation, leaning on my stomach, excitement rushing through me like mistaken adrenaline.
My parents told me they would give me a huge present on my sixteenth birthday. They were telling me that for as long as I can remember. They must have been planning it for a very, very long time. I'm both scared and excited for it. I don't know why I'm scared. I just am. I've always been aware of time passing so much faster than other people. I think it's just a gene in my family. Maybe there's a glitch in our brains. Whatever.
My head flicks back towards the clock, which reads 11:59. I get up off my bed, planning to lean confidently off the side with my back up against the bed, crossing my arms, a faint, playful smile on my face and my eyes glittering mysteriously. Then I change my mind and find myself lying prostrate on my bed, pretending to be asleep; and then I'm pacing the room; and then I'm back in the bed, my pillow propped up against the bed board, leaning my back on my pillow and staring at the door in anticipation.
The clock strikes twelve.
Immediately, Mom and Dad burst into the room, like they've been waiting outside the door for just as long as I've been waiting inside, smiling tentatively. I sit up from my position, smiling widely, but when I see the cautious look in their eyes and body language, my smile fades slightly.
"Happy birthday, sweetie," Mom whispers. Her hazel eyes sparkle in the weak moonlight shining through the screen on the window.
"What's my present?" I ask as a response. I know, greedy--but I've been waiting for it for sixteen years.
"It's...it's not a physical gift," Mom admits, ignoring the rudeness in my question. "You might want to sit down for this. You've had it since you were born."
"I am sitting," I reply.
"Well..." Mom wrings her hands together, looking extremely uncomfortable.
The clock reads 12:02.
"Mom!" I complain.
"I...it...you're not...human. You're--a vampire."
My entire world spirals out of control. Not human? A vampire? Why didn't she tell me earlier? Is this why the windows are always closed? Because she doesn't want the sunlight coming in? Or maybe...no. This must be some sort of practical joke. A sick practical joke. One that they've been planning since I was born. But that doesn't make my sense. Why wait until I'm sixteen? Maybe they decided that's when I would be able to decipher it was simply a joke. But I would also have come to the same conclusion when I was fifteen, or fourteen--or even ten, for crying out loud, six years ago.
But if she was planning this for sixteen years--or maybe even before I was born-- shouldn't she have pondered over it, and realized it's not a good idea, that it's not funny?
"Mom, this isn't a good joke," I tell Mom, looking into her eyes.
When she looks back at me, her expression shows that she really believes her own words.
And I find myself believing her own words.
