The first thing Lester does once we're out of the house is loosen the top two buttons of his shirt.
"This heat is killer," he mutters, more to himself than to me. It is hot for the middle of fall, but I spent the whole day walking around comfortable in my hoodie and jeans. I assume he's just not used to the heat, but then again — Washington can't be that much colder than New York, can it?
While we're walking, I think about the sense of familiarity I saw in Lester earlier. I sneak a glance at his profile. In his black Ray-Bans and khaki slacks, he looks exactly like the kind of person you'd picture from a gated community called Aspen Hill Commons.
Believe me when I say that Aspen Hill is as pretentious as it sounds. Rows of immaculately trimmed lawns and McMansions with driveways that sprawl and wind in unnecessary swirls fill the neighborhood. Although it's easy to use the size of someone's house as the most telling measurement of wealth and status — or, I should say, attachment to wealth and status — in my experience, it's the flashiness of the cars lining their driveway that's the most definitive factor. Houses don't make a whole lot of noise. Unless they're filled with drunk people, but that's something else entirely.
My point is, Aspen Hill is pretentious as hell. With that in mind, it's pretty safe to say that Lester should fit right in.
He doesn't even look at me when he says, "The sooner we get going, the sooner we can both go home."
I don't disagree, even though the obvious statement makes me want to just to spite him.
As we near the toll gate, a wild mess of frizzy black hair pops out of the toll booth's window like a horror movie jack-in-the-box.
"Yo, Mattie," says Samantha Li, blowing up a piece of bubble gum before popping it. "Who's your friend?"
Lester's nose scrunches at the word 'friend'.
On some days, Sam is the kind of person who gives blunt, but otherwise genuinely good advice. On others, she spews messages more cryptic than Nathaniel Hawthorne's writing, but even then I always get the strangest feeling that whatever she's saying is probably true.
"This is Lester," I say when he makes no effort in answering her for himself. "I'm showing him around. He just moved in next door from me, on number 12."
Sam scowls. "Garrett's gone?"
I nod.
"Damn," she says. "He owed me money."
"You and me both, Sam."
Sam and I share a laugh as she opens the gates for us.
"Alright kids, don't get lost now. Lester, honey—"
Lester stiffens. He doesn't seem to like the endearment.
"—look out for yourself, this one's trouble. Stay on high alert. He might loop around on purpose just to mess with you," Sam says before she slides the toll booth window shut.
"You might wanna take the headphones off before you get fired!" I yell. Sam points to her neon green Sony's and gestures like she can't hear me.
I chuckle to myself as Lester and I turn right down a quiet street in the direction of the school. I inhale the fleeting scent of over-ripe honeysuckles in the woods nearby. Usually, this is the best time of the year to walk to school, the air being crisp enough to keep you cool but not cold enough to warrant a heavy jacket. But summer's been clinging onto the air like a lifeline. It's already October and the leaves have barely yellowed, and it's impossible to reach the school without breaking a sweat on the way.
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My Neighbor the Vampire <Hiatus>
الفكاهة[lgbt+] Sixteen year old Matthias sees himself as a pretty normal guy: Smart but not brilliant, cool but not popular, and stuck in a school full of what seems to be the biggest assholes in the entire planet. (Including himself, of course. He's a wor...
