Page 31 of Such Sharp Teeth

Ash frowns. “Already?”

“We’ll come by tomorrow. Will help clean in exchange for leftovers.”

“Deal,” she says.

We lock it in with our supersecret best friend handshake, developed at a childhood sleepover, perfected over years of committed practice.

I break off into the crowd, elbowing my way through clusters of strangers. I’m accosted by a drunk vampire near the stairs.

“Hi,” he says. “I like your costume. I’m Mike.”

“So weird. You look more like a Dracula to me,” I say. “Sorry. I’m actually looking for someone.”

“You’re here with someone?”

“Yeah,” I say.

He stumbles forward, and I can see in his eyes that he’s gone. He stinks of liquor.

“Are you really?” he asks.

He’s wilting, getting closer and closer to me. He’s about to touch me, about to fall on me. I can’t tell if it’s on purpose or not. I put my hand up and push him back.

I swear I don’t exert much force.

It was a light nudge. I swear.

But he goes flying. Literally. He gets some air as his body travels away from me. His head snaps back on impact with the front door. It’s not quiet.

It gets the attention of everybody nearby, including Ian.

Mike groans. His legs crumple beneath him, his arms and neck go limp. His vampire teeth have fallen out. They glide on the narrow floor space between us in a blood-tinged puddle of spit.

Either that guy was already out on his feet or I’m much stronger than I realized. Pilates. Who knew?

“That guy’s really drunk,” I say to the members of Mystery Inc., who stand beside me horrified.

“Vampires always suck the life out of the party.”

I know that voice. A natural rasp, the tone of good trouble. My former accomplice in mischief. My old friend. I turn around, and there she is.

Mia Russo.

She’s wearing the same costume as me. We look each other up and down and laugh. Just laugh.

“It’s been a while,” I say, reaching for her long bottle-blond hair.

I can’t remember the last time we spoke. She moved out to Los Angeles postgraduation to pursue acting, but Mia bores easily and was done after a few auditions. She was a spin instructor for a minute; then she started a fitness blog that turned into travel blog. Now she’s essentially an influencer. She’s had a string of handsome, square-jawed suitors who appear and disappear from her feed without much fanfare. Honestly, I haven’t thought about her much in the years since high school. I never really missed her, not until now with her hair in my hands.

“You look fucking great,” I tell her.

“You’re terrible at keeping in touch.”

“I know.”

“You look good, too. Surprise, surprise,” she says, leaning over and kissing me on the cheek.

Beside us, the woman dressed as Velma hands Mike a Solo cup full of what I assume is water. He promptly spills it and laughs. Velma throws her hands up and says, “I tried!”