Read Jessica's Guide to Dating on the Dark Side for Free Online
Authors: Beth Fantaskey
backward!) or whether there will be a "good show" on the television at night. (The Packwoods have been kind enough to supply me with a TV out here in my backyard exile, to which I can only reply with the Americanism "Whoopee.")
But of course I realize that I am here not for the entertainment, the arts, or the architecture. (Can I ever again be happy in our soaring Gothic castle after walking the halls of Woodrow Wilson High School, a literal ode to linoleum?) Nor should I be focused on the cuisine. (Really, Vasile —vegans.7) Or the scintillating conversation of my fellow students. (The word like has become completely unlikable.)
But I digress.
The girl, Vasile. The girl. Imagine my shock at finding my future wife — my "princess" — knee-deep in animal waste, barking at me from across a barn and then attempting to stab me in the foot with a farm implement, like a demented stable hand. I will not address the fact that the horse excrement seemed permanently encrusted on her man-boots; it is probably bad manners even to bring it up.
Regardless. She is rude. She is uncooperative. She lacks any appreciation of her culture — and certainly of her duty, her destiny, the rare opportunity being afforded to her by the simple fact of her birth.
In sum, Jessica Packwood is not a vampire. Living in America seems to have cleansed our future princess of all traces of the royal blood that we know must have coursed through her veins at birth. She has undergone a terrible cultural dialysis, so to speak.
Blessed with the black, curling hair that makes Romanian women so distinctive, she tugs and greases it into submission in a vain attempt to look like every other American teenager. But why be someone else?
And her fashion sense . . . How many manifestations of denim can there be? And the T-shirts with the horses and the arithmetic-related "puns" . . . Is it really "Hip2B2"? Would it hurt to wear a dress now and then?
To smile?
Vasile, I realize that I am honor bound to form a relationship with this young woman, but really, can she lead our legions? And as for the two of us sharing any sort of physical intimacy . . . Well, any details you can provide regarding my responsibilities toward that end would be greatly appreciated.
You know I am always willing to "take one for the team" — a new expression I've learned here; rather like that one — but honestly, this all seems a bit out of hand. Perhaps we'd be wiser to call the whole thing off and just hope for the best. Are we really certain there would be an all-out war between the clans if the contract is not fulfilled? If we're talking only a few minor clashes, with minimal losses, I say let's think about this marriage pact. But, of course, your opinion must prevail.
In the meantime, I shall continue my thus far fruitless efforts to educate and engage this impossible American female, in that order. But please, Vasile — do consider my concerns.
Your nephew, duty bound,
Lucius Vladescu
P.S. I've been recruited for basketball. The coach thinks I might start!
Chapter 8
"I CANT DO IT," Mindy complained, scratching out yet another wrong answer.
"These problems are not that hard," I said, glad that this was the last year I'd have to tutor Mindy in math. Calculus was totally stumping her, and we were getting on each other's nerves. It probably didn't help that my bedroom was insanely hot. No matter how much I begged, Dad refused to install air-conditioning, saying it wasted energy. I picked up the textbook and began reading. " 'Two men are traveling by trains, which leave the station—'"
"Nobody uses trains anymore," Mindy nitpicked. "Why do we always have to talk about trains? Why not planes?"
I glanced up from the book. "You are impossible to teach."
Mindy snapped her notebook shut. "Speaking of teaching, how about Lucius in class today? Mrs. Wilhelm about had an orgasm when he stood up and
But of course I realize that I am here not for the entertainment, the arts, or the architecture. (Can I ever again be happy in our soaring Gothic castle after walking the halls of Woodrow Wilson High School, a literal ode to linoleum?) Nor should I be focused on the cuisine. (Really, Vasile —vegans.7) Or the scintillating conversation of my fellow students. (The word like has become completely unlikable.)
But I digress.
The girl, Vasile. The girl. Imagine my shock at finding my future wife — my "princess" — knee-deep in animal waste, barking at me from across a barn and then attempting to stab me in the foot with a farm implement, like a demented stable hand. I will not address the fact that the horse excrement seemed permanently encrusted on her man-boots; it is probably bad manners even to bring it up.
Regardless. She is rude. She is uncooperative. She lacks any appreciation of her culture — and certainly of her duty, her destiny, the rare opportunity being afforded to her by the simple fact of her birth.
In sum, Jessica Packwood is not a vampire. Living in America seems to have cleansed our future princess of all traces of the royal blood that we know must have coursed through her veins at birth. She has undergone a terrible cultural dialysis, so to speak.
Blessed with the black, curling hair that makes Romanian women so distinctive, she tugs and greases it into submission in a vain attempt to look like every other American teenager. But why be someone else?
And her fashion sense . . . How many manifestations of denim can there be? And the T-shirts with the horses and the arithmetic-related "puns" . . . Is it really "Hip2B2"? Would it hurt to wear a dress now and then?
To smile?
Vasile, I realize that I am honor bound to form a relationship with this young woman, but really, can she lead our legions? And as for the two of us sharing any sort of physical intimacy . . . Well, any details you can provide regarding my responsibilities toward that end would be greatly appreciated.
You know I am always willing to "take one for the team" — a new expression I've learned here; rather like that one — but honestly, this all seems a bit out of hand. Perhaps we'd be wiser to call the whole thing off and just hope for the best. Are we really certain there would be an all-out war between the clans if the contract is not fulfilled? If we're talking only a few minor clashes, with minimal losses, I say let's think about this marriage pact. But, of course, your opinion must prevail.
In the meantime, I shall continue my thus far fruitless efforts to educate and engage this impossible American female, in that order. But please, Vasile — do consider my concerns.
Your nephew, duty bound,
Lucius Vladescu
P.S. I've been recruited for basketball. The coach thinks I might start!
Chapter 8
"I CANT DO IT," Mindy complained, scratching out yet another wrong answer.
"These problems are not that hard," I said, glad that this was the last year I'd have to tutor Mindy in math. Calculus was totally stumping her, and we were getting on each other's nerves. It probably didn't help that my bedroom was insanely hot. No matter how much I begged, Dad refused to install air-conditioning, saying it wasted energy. I picked up the textbook and began reading. " 'Two men are traveling by trains, which leave the station—'"
"Nobody uses trains anymore," Mindy nitpicked. "Why do we always have to talk about trains? Why not planes?"
I glanced up from the book. "You are impossible to teach."
Mindy snapped her notebook shut. "Speaking of teaching, how about Lucius in class today? Mrs. Wilhelm about had an orgasm when he stood up and
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