Ethan sat at the cafeteria table, the clamor of voices and clinking trays buzzing in his ears like a distant swarm. His fingers twitched around his soda can, the cold aluminum feeling sharper against his skin than usual. He blinked, trying to focus on Jamie's chatter, but the sounds of the room seemed to press in—forks scraping plates, laughter spiking too loud, the faint hiss of the vending machine across the hall. Everything felt… clearer, as if the world had turned up its volume just for him. He wasn't sure if it was his imagination or something more.
"I'm good, how are you?" Ethan mumbled, his voice cracking as his throat tightened. His cheeks flushed under Mia's steady gaze, her hazel eyes glinting with a curiosity that made his stomach twist. She was his crush, the one person who could unravel him with a look, and today, with his nerves still raw from the transformation, he was a mess. He shifted in his seat, hyper-aware of the way his hoodie clung to his frame, the fabric rougher against his skin than it used to be.
"I'm good too," Jamie interjected, his tone awkward but edged with a smirk as he nudged Ethan under the table. Jamie knew exactly how Ethan felt about Mia, and the glint in his eye said he was reveling in this moment of chaos.
Mia tilted her head, her braid slipping over her shoulder like a dark ribbon. "You look different, Ethan. You okay?" Her voice was soft but insistent, cutting through the cafeteria din with unnerving clarity.
Ethan's heart lurched. *Different?* did she see it—the subtle shift in his posture, the way his eyes caught the light? His mind raced back to the mirror: broader shoulders, a jawline too sharp, and a flicker of something wild in his pupils. "I—uh, yeah, I'm fine. No need to worry about me, Mia," he stammered, forcing a grin that felt more like a grimace. His hands clenched under the table, nails digging into his palms as he fought to steady himself.
"Okay, I—" Mia started, but a voice sliced through the noise. "Mia, I'm over here!"
"Coming, Harper!" Mia called, her gaze lingering on Ethan for a beat longer before she turned. "See you later." As she walked away, her braid swayed with each step, and Ethan caught Harper's teasing murmur, "When did you start talking to them?"
"I was just curious about Ethan's changes," Mia replied, her tone light but deliberate. "Aren't you guys?"
"Are you sure it's just that, or are you catching feelings?" Jasmine's playful jab followed, and Mia's flat "No" hit Ethan like a punch. His stomach flipped between hope and mortification—he wasn't used to being noticed, especially not by her.
Jamie leaned back, grinning smugly. "I skip school for *one day*, and you're already chatting up Mia. Sneaky, Ethan. What's your secret?"
Ethan rolled his eyes, irritation masking the relief of Jamie's familiar teasing. "You know that's not it. I'm as confused as you are about what just happened." He took a sip of his soda, the fizz stinging his tongue more than usual, another reminder of his heightened senses.
They talked through lunch, the bell finally dragging them to Computer Science. The classroom hummed with the low drone of computers, a sound that scraped against Ethan's nerves like sandpaper. He slid into his seat, fingers hovering over the keyboard, but his mind was a tangle of memories—the ritual, the fire, Ryan's red eyes glowing in the dark. He typed a line of code, but his strength slipped; he pressed too hard, and the keys clacked louder than usual, drawing a few glances. Jamie snickered beside him. "Dude, chill. You're not the Hulk."
Ethan muttered an apology, his pulse racing as he clenched his fists under the desk. *Control yourself,* he thought, the words a mantra. The room felt suffocating—the fluorescent lights too harsh, casting stark shadows; the chatter of students a chaotic buzz; the faint smell of burnt coffee from the teacher's mug sharp in his nose. His senses were a gift, sure, but right now, they were a curse he couldn't escape.
Later, in Trigonometry, the teacher's voice droned into a distant hum as Ethan doodled on his notebook. His pencil scratched out a rough sketch of the stone circle from Sehome Hill, the runes jagged and uneven as he pressed too hard, snapping the lead with a faint *crack*. He cursed under his breath, brushing the broken tip aside. He didn't notice the bell until Jamie nudged him, jolting him back to reality.
---
After school, Jamie climbed into his beat-up red Honda Civic, the chipped paint glinting dully in the afternoon sun. Ethan fired up his Yamaha V-Star, the engine's growl vibrating through his bones as they sped to his house. When they pulled up, Jamie's eyes narrowed at the battered, patched-up door. "Long story," Ethan said, unlocking it with a weary sigh. "I'll explain inside."
Inside, Jamie flopped onto the couch, stretching out with a groan as if he'd run a marathon. Ethan grabbed a bag of chips from the kitchen, the crinkle of the wrapper piercing his ears like static. He dropped into the armchair, fixing Jamie with a serious look. "What I'm about to say might sound insane. I'm not even sure myself, but I need you to take it seriously. No jokes."
Jamie sat up, his usual grin fading into something cautious. "I promise, man. I've got you."
Ethan took a deep breath, the weight of the truth pressing on his chest like a stone. "Do you think supernaturals are real?"
Jamie blinked, caught off guard. "I mean, I don't—wait, are you saying they are?"
"I don't know," Ethan admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "But yesterday…" He kept it concise: the bathroom confrontation with Ryan, those eerie red eyes, the ritual on Sehome Hill, the blood magic, and the fire that consumed Jaxson and Carter, leaving Ethan irrevocably altered. Jamie listened, wide-eyed, his face paling with each revelation, his fingers gripping the edge of the couch.
"No way," Jamie breathed, his voice hushed with awe. "If anyone else said this, I'd call bullshit, but you're dead serious. So, what—they made you a vampire or something?"
"Maybe," Ethan said, the word heavy on his tongue. "I feel different—sharper, like everything's louder, brighter—but I don't know what I am. I need to figure it out before I lose control and hurt someone. I need your help."
Jamie leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his brow furrowed. "How?"
Ethan hesitated, then plunged in. "I thought about testing with blood, but that's too risky to try randomly. I need a blood bag from the hospital. Your parents work there—can you get one?"
Jamie groaned, slumping back dramatically. "You know I hate those night shifts. The hospital smells like bleach and sadness. Why do you always rope me into this stuff?"
"Because I trust you," Ethan said, his voice steady and earnest. "I wouldn't ask if it wasn't critical. I'm scared, Jamie. I don't know what's happening to me."
Jamie sighed, but his expression softened, a flicker of loyalty breaking through. "Fine. I'll tag along with my parents tonight and try to snag one. But you owe me big—like, new-game-for-my-birthday gift."
Ethan managed a small smile, tension easing slightly. "Deal."
They hung out a bit longer, the air lightening as they munched on chips and veered into safer territory—school gossip, the latest video game. But the unspoken weight lingered, a shadow neither could fully shake.
When Jamie stood to leave, Ethan walked him to the door. "I'll head home and get ready. Wish me luck," Jamie said, clapping Ethan on the shoulder with a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes.
As Jamie's car rumbled away, Ethan lingered in the doorway, staring at the cracked wood. The house felt emptier than ever, the silence pressing in like a living thing. Whatever he was becoming, he couldn't face it alone—and Jamie was his lifeline to answers. But a question gnawed at him, cold and relentless: *What if I'm not a vampire? What if I'm something worse?* He shut the door, the thud echoing in his chest, and turned back into the quiet, uncertain of what lay ahead.