Atlas took off his wide-brimmed hat, and his leather gloves. "Good morning, sir," he said, as he shook hands with Principal Fly.
I was busy trying to get warm by keeping my arms as tight around my chest as possible, inside my grey zip-up hoodie. My father shuffled in his seat to pull out his wallet, then a business card. I sank into mine, waiting to tattle on Drake for his blood-thirst.
Mr. Fly coughed as he read the card. "Young Mr. Romero..." he began, "...just what is it you're accusing my student of?"
"I'm no doctor," said Atlas, "but it looks to me like Garcia is suffering from two puncture wounds, a hangover, and possibly stress."
"A HANG-OVER?" he bellowed.
"Yes, many of our upper-class students drink in secret, but my son is still quite young. Despite his size, he can't handle very much of it," Atlas explained.
"Well then why were you drinking, you fool? One day you're a DRUNKEN DUNCE, the next you'll be DROPOUT DEAD." Mr. Fly was interrogating me now.
"I was with Drake. He gave me a couple sips of vodka, then took me to his room and bit me on the neck, and chased me around in the rain." I explained.
"You are a boy, correct...?" he inquired.
"Yes sir, but I don't see what-"
"Then it was a jest, surely, between friends! Or maybe rivals, as it were," he decided.
"Then he's good friends with Jules, too." I retorted.
"Ah! A serial prankster. Not unlike you, Garcia. Who was it that had the whole school in cross-dress?"
I stared at him. "You... agreed to that."
"Oh, of course, pin the blame on me," Mr. Fly laughed. "I was out of ideas, you had one, and at that point I might've taken anything. We simply could have had boys in blue and girls in pink, did that occur to you? Of course not."
Atlas was confused. "I'm sorry, is that... some sort of inversion? Are blue and pink supposed to be girls and boys' colors?"
"Yes, and in that order," Claude answered.
I shook my head. "Everyone had fun, I don't get why you're suddenly acting this way."
He sighed wistfully. "You really like to squawk, don't you? Like a sparrow in my garden. I never told you what to say. You really are quite the manipulative little bugger, aren't you?" He twirled around in his chair, twiddling his thumbs. He was really just going to ignore the obvious violence here, wasn't he? "Why not come forward on the day?" Mr. Fly asked.
"The school was closed last night," I answered, not believing the level of ignorance I was seeing.
"That's enough! Has anyone else been 'bitten'?"
We shook our heads.
"Then it is a prank, or love-bites from a repressed boy who simply needs a girlfriend. This is no concern of mine." Mr. Fly declared.
"Come on, Mr. Fly, it was a date gone wrong! I wanted a kiss, and he brought teeth instead! When I didn't give him what he wanted, he stalked me in the night!"
"You readily admit to a romantic consortation with another boy, and yet you sit here laying the blame on him? Are you aware that homosexuality is a sin against God? How do I know he wasn't simply defending himself from your advances?"
Atlas cleared his throat. "Sir, it's perfectly natural to explore. It's not as if they're getting married."
I added, "God wouldn't have made me like boys if he didn't want me doing it, right? Same with Drake. He DEFINITELY likes boys, and he's all ABOUT God." I was, admittedly, kind of messing with Mr. Fly there. It really was fun to see him get upset.
Claude's eyes widened considerably. "WELL, perhaps the Lord is testing you, teaching you to resist this unnatural attraction! And you have FAILED, my son! In his name, I should rap your hands with every ruler in this school-"
Atlas put his hand up. "That won't be necessary, sir. I'll have a talk with my son later. What shall we do about the other boy? The one who bites, and draws blood." He flashed his teeth, mimicking fangs with his fingers. "We can't have kids using their teeth on the other children! Surely, that's a much bigger problem?"
"No, no it's not. It's no problem of mine at all, in fact. You, on the other hand, are a BIG problem, Garcia Romero." He said my name with condescension, for measure. "I'll have to figure out what to do about YOU."
Mr. Fly ordered us to leave, and I could tell my dad was trying his hardest not to slam the door on the way out.

Some time later, Atlas gave me "the talk". He said that while it was normal for people to like their own gender, they did it behind closed doors, and pretended to be straight. Lots of people all over the world saw nothing wrong with it, but lots more did. That, and the government made it illegal, because they were scared of being out-bred by the rest of the world. Including the Native Americans, who were here first – which meant, at least in part, me. Regrettably, I understood that this was bigger than me and Drake, and that the threat was serious. I could end up dead, at the hands of my own neighborhood. They wouldn't care that I was a kid, or that I'd be accepted in other lands. All they cared about was preserving the status quo, to save themselves.

At the end of the day, Mr. Fly insisted that I come with him to the rink, so I followed him around the campus. He wanted to show me something "manly" to save my "wicked soul". The field rink was small, and sat between the football field and the soccer field. Slate Middle School had an awful lot of land for a junior high.
Everything was freshly painted, and sparkling. The cool air was a refreshing feeling, along with the smell of wood. The ice was untouched, as pristine as glass and as solid as diamond.
Then, the kids showed up, big gym bags slung over their shoulders and hockey-sticks in their hands. They poured into the stands, with Jules, Tank, Max and Tony among their ranks. Everyone was gearing up, and soon they hit the ice. I watched them skate around, slapping the ice with their sticks and making shots on an empty net. It was neat to look at.
A whistle blew, and under a Venton Petrolords ballcap I recognized him – Coach Richard. He was the man who'd been driving that swerving car, the night my dad and I went camping.
"Alright, line up!" he shouted, commanding the boys with ease. Somehow despite his chubby, friendly appearance, he was still tall, dark, broad-chested and wide-shouldered, and he had a hidden storage of masculine power. It burst forth from his voice like a Turkish Mafia Boss – serious and vaguely threatening. "You two, three laps, behind the nets. You three, back and forth across the middle. You four, puck shots on you two, nets. When I blow my whistle, everybody moves: laps to lines, lines to shots, shots to nets. First-to-come, last-to-go." Then, PHWEEEEET!! And off they went.
"Ah, Coach Richard!" Mr. Fly greeted him. "How goes the good old game?"
"Good as ever, Mr. Fly." Richard greeted back. "Have you seen Drake around? Hockey is his best sport, and I would very much like to see my son."
My eyebrows furrowed. This was the guy who abused Drake. His bullying was probably the reason he was acting out in the first place.
Mr. Fly coughed, "Well, I imagine he's quite distraught over the recent passing of his grandfather, isn't he? Renfield Tempest."
"Ah, yes. My father, Reff." Richard replied. "Drake's always been fond of him," he explained, as he sipped his flask. The smell was identical to Drake's... both the vodka, and their sweat. His was seeping down his armpits like ooze... it looked as thick as syrup, and reeked like vinegar.
"Richard, I apologize if it helps you cope, but I can't allow drinking on school grounds." Fly warned.
"Yes, of course, Mr. Principal." Richard put the flask away. "As I was saying, Renfield was taking care of Drake for me in the home country, but Drake ran away a couple times and my dad was just sick of trying to catch him. It's probably what killed him, all the work. Bringing Drake back here was the only choice I had. I just hope he can adjust again."
"Sure enough, I suppose. What do you think of our team?"
"Half these kids can't even skate."
I watched as- PHWEEEEEETT!! -two skaters fell over, and another walked awkwardly on the ice, picking up his blades with each step. Max and Tony skidded along easily, in circles around the new recruits. Jules and Tank were right behind them. I stared at the floor.
"Okay, I think I'm gonna go. There's no reason for me to be here." I told Mr. Fly.
"Are you sure? You might want to try on a pair of skates yourself, give the ice a go. Get that fire pumping through your veins like only good sports can."
I nodded. "It looks fun, but I get cold too easily."
"That's too bad," Mr. Fly replied, "we could use someone on defense."
He meant 'as a human shield'. "No thank you, sir. I'm going to focus on my studies."
"Suit yourself, young Mr. Romero." he said, and waved goodbye. "Let me know if our Drake tries to, what was it you said, 'drink your blood' again."
"Drinking blood?" Richard repeated, looking shocked. "My boy?"
"Yes, well you know, I think he may be some sort of... erm, homosexual," said Fly. So he did notice!
"Nonsense." Richard shook his head. "He is as straight as an arrow, my child. I have raised him well. He loves the ladies, and I have taught him to have the confidence of a dragon among sheep, just like his name."
"Seems more like a mosquito to me." I muttered, leaving the rink. As I did, what I saw let the chill grip my bones.
Drake, decked out in hockey gear, walked out onto the rink and started to skate around. Next to Tony, he was pretty good, but compared to the skate-walker, he was like the wind on ice. He scored on one goalie, then did a lap, and scored on the other. PHWEEEEET!! He took the net, and nothing got through. The other kids starting getting competitive, and an exciting tension built in the air. It made me sick to my stomach.
"Why, he's a natural!" Mr. Fly proclaimed, sitting near the door. "Who is that lad?" he asked me.
"That's Drake, the vampire." I told him.
"Well, we may be keeping him yet. Good thing he's here, isn't it?" he said.
"Are you serious?! He assaulted me!"
Mr. Fly just sipped his coffee. "Yes, he'll need to be disciplined. My father once said, 'why cage a beast that can hunt?' We may need him against an even bigger monster."
"I don't see a bigger monster." I replied, angry at both his incompetence, and his inaction.
"You know the team from British Columbia has a perfect score, no losses, from the last two years. Now there's a pack of wild beasts." Mr. Fly replied, looking over at Richard.
"Agreed, like perfect animals." Richard added. "We shall have to be much the same to win." He waved Drake over and started shouting at him. "We will STOMP those homosexuals from British Columbia, until they are MINCE-MEAT! I want all of you FIERCE! Do you understand me, boy?!" He singled Drake out with a pointing finger.
"Yes, sir." Drake said through a fanged grimace. "Perfectly."